Chapter 2 - The Contract of Silence
The interior of the Maybach was silent, smelling of expensive leather, cedar, and vintage rain.
Naomi sat as far away from Vincent as the broad leather seat permitted, her knees pulled together, her arms folded tightly over her stained server jacket. Outside the tinted glass, Chicago sped by in a blur of neon streetlights and dark rain.
Vincent sat beside her, staring straight ahead, unbuttoning his tuxedo cuffs with methodical precision. He had not said a word since they left the hotel.
“You looked up my file,” Naomi stated, her voice trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep it steady. “You picked me because I was holding a tray in the middle of the floor, and you had your people run my background before you even walked down those stairs.”
Vincent didn't look at her. “I picked you because you were the only person in that room who wasn't looking at my wife.”
“I was trying to keep three thousand dollars worth of glass from falling off a tray!” Naomi snapped. “I don't care about your wife! I don't care about your family! I have eight hundred dollars in my bank account and my mother starts her third round of radiation on Monday!”
Vincent turned his head slowly. His dark eyes caught the blue light of a passing police cruiser.
“Your mother’s treatment costs twelve thousand dollars a month,” Vincent said smoothly. “Her health insurance denied coverage three days ago. Your landlord filed an eviction notice yesterday morning because you were forty-eight hours late on your rent.”
Naomi felt as if she had been slapped. She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing her nails into her palms until it hurt. “You’re a monster.”
“I’m a businessman,” Vincent corrected. “My wife was caught in a private suite ten minutes ago with my brother. She intended to file for divorce tomorrow morning, claim half of my corporate holdings, and use a leaked scandal to destroy my position on the Syndicate Board.”
“And you used me to hit back,” Naomi whispered, realization dawning on her face. “A public kiss. In front of every news outlet in the city. You turned her betrayal into a scandal about your infidelity before she could air yours.”
A subtle spark of interest flickered in Vincent’s dark eyes. He leaned back against the leather headrest, studying her face.
“You’re smarter than a catering temp,” he noted quiet.
“I was an auditor for Deloitte before my mother got sick,” Naomi snapped, glaring back at him. “I know how optics work. I know how corporate warfare works. And I know you just dragged me into a blood feud between two mafia brothers!”
“You were already dragged in the moment you accepted a shift at the Halstead Grand,” Vincent said flatly. “The camera footage is already on every social media platform in North America. Victoria’s father—who commands three waterfront unions—thinks I publicly humiliated his daughter for a waitress. Julian thinks I’ve lost my mind. My enemies think I’m distracted.”
“So let me go,” Naomi demanded. “Issue a statement! Say it was a publicity stunt! Say I was an actress!”
“No,” Vincent said.
He reached down, picked up a thin leather binder from the floor console, and opened it across his knees. Inside was a single page of heavy cream paper, crisp and newly printed.
“This is an employment contract,” Vincent said. “Position: Personal Auditor and Executive Assistant to the Chairman of Caruso Holdings. Salary: Two hundred and fifty thousand dollars annually. Full medical coverage for immediate family members, effective retroactively to eight o'clock tonight.”
Naomi stared at the paper. Her pulse hammered against her ribs. “And what are the actual duties?”
May you like
Vincent handed her a gold fountain pen.
“You stay by my side,” Vincent whispered, his voice dark and smooth as velvet. “You attend every dinner, every gala, and every board meeting as the woman who made Vincent Caruso forget his wife. You let the world believe you hold my heart... while you use your auditing background to find the three hundred million dollars my brother stole from my accounts before I kill him.”
