Chapter 2 - THE TRAP IS SPRUNG
The silence in the sunroom was suffocating.
Fallon Caruso stepped forward, his leather shoes clicking against the stone tiles—the same sound that had haunted Sloan hours earlier under the dinner table. He didn’t look angry; he looked bored, which was infinitely more terrifying.
“You’re a clumsy girl, Sloan,” Fallon said, his voice a low, gravelly baritone. “First the wine. Now you’re rooting around in my late wife’s garden like a rodent. Valentina told me she saw you sneaking down here.”
Valentina crossed her arms, her eyes gleaming with malicious triumph. “I told you, Daddy. She’s a thief. Look at her hands—she’s hiding something behind her back.”
Sloan’s mind raced at a million miles per hour. If they found the ledger, she wouldn’t just be fired; she would be buried in the woods behind the estate before sunrise. Her mother would die alone in the hospital, her treatment cut off the second the Caruso checks stopped clearing.
“I was... I was looking for my earring, sir,” Sloan stammered, forcing her voice to shake, playing up the terrified maid persona. “I dropped it when I was dusting the plants earlier. I didn’t mean to disturb anything.”
“Bring your hands forward,” Fallon ordered. The boredom was gone from his voice, replaced by a cold, lethal authority.
Silas, the head of security, stepped out from the shadows behind Fallon, his hand resting casually on the holster beneath his jacket.
Sloan knew she had one chance. She didn't bring her hands forward. Instead, she took a deliberate step backward, crashing directly into the massive, heavy terracotta pot holding the prize-winning winter orchids. The planter shattered against the floor with a deafening crash, exploding in a cloud of dirt, shards, and roots.
In the chaos and the instinctive flinch from Valentina, Sloan dropped the ledger behind the intact base of an adjacent brick pillar, kicking a pile of loose soil over it with her heel.
She then threw her hands up, palms empty, covered in black dirt.
“I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, I stumbled!” Sloan cried out, dropping to her knees again, intentionally mirroring her humiliation from dinner. “Please don’t fire me! I’ll clean it up!”
Silas stepped over the broken pottery, roughly grabbing Sloan by the arm and pulling her to her feet. He searched her waistline, her pockets, and her apron. He turned to Fallon and shook his head. “She’s clean, boss. Nothing on her.”
Valentina looked furious. “She’s lying! She threw herself into the plants on purpose!”
Fallon stared at Sloan for a long, agonizing moment. His eyes searched her face, looking for a crack in the armor of her terror. Finally, he looked down at his ruined plants.
“Clean this mess up, Silas,” Fallon said quietly. “And as for you, Sloan... you’re done here. Pack your things and leave the property tonight. If I see your face on this estate again, the hospital housing your mother will receive a notification that her expenses are no longer covered by the Caruso charity foundation.”
Valentina smiled a sick, satisfied smile. “Enjoy the streets, rat.”
They turned and walked out, leaving Sloan standing in the ruins of the sunroom. Silas stayed behind, watching her with a cynical sneer. “You heard the boss. Get your locker cleared out. I’ll escort you to the gate in ten minutes.”
“Can I at least change out of my uniform?” Sloan asked, her voice hollow.
“Ten minutes,” Silas repeated, stepping outside the sunroom doors to light a cigarette.
The moment his back was turned, Sloan lunged into the dirt. Her fingers clawed through the soil behind the pillar until they hit the heavy leather of the ledger. She grabbed it, shoving it deep into the oversized internal pocket of her heavy winter coat that she had left on the service chair earlier.
Ten minutes later, Silas escorted her to the iron gates of the estate. The heavy gates slammed shut behind her with a metallic clang that echoed through the empty November night.
She was out. She was unemployed. Her mother’s clock was ticking.
But as she walked down the dark, winding road away from the mansion, a pair of headlights flickered in the distance. A beat-up pickup truck pulled up beside her. The window rolled down to reveal Leo.
“You alive?” he asked.
Sloan didn’t say a word. She unzipped her coat and pulled out the heavy, leather-bound book, covered in sunroom dirt.
Leo’s eyes widened. “Holy hell. You actually got it.”
“That’s not all,” Sloan said, her voice turning completely cold, the fear entirely gone. “Get your phone out, Leo. We’re going to upload that dinner video. But we aren't sending it to the news. We’re going to leak it directly to the one person who hates Fallon Caruso more than the feds.”
May you like
Leo frowned. “Who?”
“Dante Vance,” Sloan said, a dangerous smile spreading across her face. “The rival underboss who’s been trying to take Fallon’s territory for a decade. Let’s see how Fallon handles a gang war and a murder investigation at the exact same time.”
