Chapter 6 - The Interrogation That Wasn’t
Monday morning arrived with the clinical, antiseptic efficiency that characterized every operational day at Stonegate.
Tessa Cole walked through the heavy security doors at exactly 11:00 a.m. Her face was whiter than usual, the bruised half-moons under her brown eyes darker, heavier. She looked like a woman walking toward her own execution.
She knew the security team had been watching her. She knew Miller had been on her tail Friday night. In her world, when a syndicate boss like Zo Rossi took an interest in a low-level maid, it didn't end with a reprimand. It ended in a shallow grave somewhere in the Indiana dunes.
Her hands shook so badly she dropped her keys twice while trying to unlock her locker in the mudroom.
"Steady," she whispered to herself, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. "Just get through the shift. Just get eight hours. Then you can go back to Lily."
She pulled on her oversized gray service dress, tied her hair back into its severe bun, and picked up her bucket and rags.
Her first rotation was the third-floor private wing.
She walked up the grand staircase, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. Every shadow in the hallway looked like a man with a gun. Every creak of the floorboards sounded like Zo Rossi’s approaching footsteps.
She reached the third-floor study.
The door was wide open.
Tessa froze.
Inside the room, sitting behind the massive mahogany desk, was Zo Rossi. He wasn't looking at his monitors. He was looking directly at her.
"Tessa," he said.
The single word dropped into the quiet hallway like a lead weight.
Tessa dropped her bucket. The tin hit the hardwood with a deafening crash, soapy water splashing across the polished floorboards. She dropped to her knees instinctively, her hands scrambling to clean up the mess, tears instantly springing to her eyes.
"I'm sorry," she choked out, her voice breaking entirely. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Rossi. Please don't hurt my little girl. Take everything I have. Take the bag. Just... please don't hurt Lily."
She pressed her forehead against the cold wood of the floor, trembling violently, waiting for the sound of a hammer being pulled back.
Instead, she heard the smooth, rhythmic sound of leather shoes stepping across the room.
Then a pair of dark trousers stopped inches from her hands.
A hand—warm, steady, calloused—reached down and gripped her forearm, pulling her up with a strength that brooked no argument.
Tessa stumbled backward, her back hitting the wall, her wide, terrified eyes fixed on his face.
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Zo Rossi wasn't holding a gun.
He was holding a plain, heavy-stock manila envelope.
