The address of the dropping point led me to an unexpected place—a roller-skating rink that looked like it hadn’t been open in at least twenty years. I arrived five minutes early, alone, although Salvadore had requested the address, and I wondered if he was somewhere close behind. He’d advised me to do what I’d been asked, and to trust that even though it would appear I was alone, I wasn’t.
At the moment, however, I seemed to be.
The door to the skating rink was unlocked. I twisted the doorknob and stepped inside. Although dark, a strand of dim lights strung along a handrail illuminated the way to the rink. In the center of the rink under a white spotlight, I saw a man with a black bag over his head tied to a chair like a caged lion.
The man’s build was unmistakable—Giovanni.
I gripped the black duffel bag tighter and ran toward him.
Somewhere behind me, a male voice shouted, “Stop.”
I ignored the demand and kept on going, even though the risk far outweighed the reward. In a moment of self-preservation, I spun around, my eyes fixed on the location the voice had come from, but it was too dark to see anything.
“If you want your money, don’t pull the trigger,” I said.
“I could shoot you now and just take it,” the man said.
“Then you’ll only get half.”
I reached Giovanni and removed the black bag. His head slumped forward into my hands like it was unable to sustain its weight.
“He’s not moving,” I yelled. “Why isn’t he moving?”
“I said I’d make an exchange. I never said he’d be alive.”
I knelt down, touched Giovanni’s face.
Warm.
“I delivered as promised,” the man said. “Now where’s the rest of the money?”
“You drugged him.”
“For now. He’ll come to in the next hour.”
“The little boy you shot? He’s dead.”
Silence, and then, “What about the other one?”
“Why do you care?”
“It was an accident, what happened to those boys. I didn’t know they were there.”
The tone of his voice was different now—unsettled and laced with remorse.
“You left them there to die.”
“I didn’t mean ...it’s why I ...let’s just get on with this.”
But I wasn’t done yet. “Why kill Falcon?”
“It doesn’t concern you.”
“Answer me. How am I part of this? How do you know me?”
“Falcon wanted you dead.”
It was a twist I hadn’t seen coming.
How was Falcon affiliated with this man?
And if Falcon had wanted me dead, why was he killed instead of me?
“Falcon wanted me dead? Why? I don’t understand.”
“Don’t you?” I saw the shadow of a man step out from behind a counter, not enough for me to get a good look, but enough for me to know his location. “You didn’t see me in the parking lot by chance. You saw what Falcon wanted you to see when he wanted you to see it.”
I thought back to earlier in the hospital room, to the moment when Falcon had stood next to me, so close it pushed me toward the window.
“Why am I alive and he’s dead?”
“You’re a little slow for a private detective.”
“Am I? Bette wasn’t skimming money, was she?”
“No, she was not. Falcon was. Bette found out, and Falcon hired me to get rid of her before Giovanni returned from a business trip and learned what was really going on.”
“But Giovanni is smart—too smart to believe a woman like Bette, a woman who had always been loyal would turn on him after so many years. And when he suspected something was amiss, Falcon hired you again, this time to kill Giovanni.”
“It seems I misjudged you.”
“But you didn’t kill him because you knew who Giovanni was, knew what he was worth, and you saw an even bigger opportunity.”
“Falcon’s a hothead, the kind of man I don’t do business with. But in this instance, I realized there was a way to get what I wanted and take him out at the same time.”
Giovanni’s eyes fluttered open. He looked down, noticed he was tied to the chair, then looked up and squinted at me. “Sloane? What are you doing here?”
“Oh, good, you’re awake,” the man said. “About time.”
He walked toward us, his gun aimed at Giovanni’s head. He was tall. Really tall. And polished. Wearing a pair of fitted, black slacks and a button-down shirt, and sporting a short, dark hairstyle that reminded me of Cary Grant. He pressed the butt of the gun to Giovanni’s head and said, “Where’s the rest of the money, Miss Monroe?”
Giovanni yanked at his restraints to no avail. He glanced up at me, defiant and mad. It was the first time I’d ever seen him weak, the first time he wasn’t the one who had the upper hand.
“Why are you here, Sloane?” Giovanni said. “You shouldn’t have come, shouldn’t have put yourself in danger.”
“Decision time, Sloane,” the man said. “You didn’t come all this way just to watch me kill him, did you?”
As soon as I gave up the location of the rest of the money, we were both dead, no matter what he said.
Up to now, I’d kept one hand flattened on the side of my leg. I jerked it upward, jamming the knife I’d concealed into the man’s neck. He staggered back, and I used what few seconds I had to cut through the zip-ties on Giovanni’s wrists. Freed from the chair, Giovanni attempted to stand, but the remaining effect of the drug still had a strong hold on him, and he stumbled, bracing his fall by grabbing my arms.
Although I’d thrust the knife with all the force I had, the knife hadn’t penetrated the man’s neck like I’d intended. Enraged, he aimed his gun again. With Giovanni still leaning on me, I had no time to reach for my own.
I was left with no means of defense.
We were left with no means of defense.
“Forgive me, cara mia,” Giovanni said. “Forgive me. At last I’ve truly failed you.”
“The money,” the man said.
“You’ll never find it,” I said, “unless you put the gun down.”
I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for impact. Two shots rang out, and when my eyes reopened, my breath caught in my throat. The bullets had spared us both, instead lodging into the back of the man’s head. Salvadore and a man holding a gun at his side rushed forward.
“Sloane, this is Vincenzo,” Salvadore said. “He’s ...ahh ... the best at what he does.”
Salvadore shifted his attention to the dead man on the ground.
“Do you know who he is?” I asked.
“Donatello Messina, the second best hitman in the area.”
I suspected Vincenzo was the first.
Vincenzo confirmed Donatello was truly dead and then turned his attention on us. “Sloane, Giovanni, you guys all right?”
I felt weak and strong at the same time.
Giovanni squeezed my shoulder. “Breathe, Sloane, and it will all be okay.”
But it wouldn’t be, and it would never be, not as long as he was even the smallest part of my life.
“I ...I’m glad you’re okay,” I said. “I have to go. I have to get out of here.”
“I know,” Giovanni said. “We will.”
We wouldn’t be doing anything.
He released me, and I walked away. “Take care, Giovanni.”
He followed me outside. “Sloane, wait.”
I glanced back. “What?”
“My feelings for you have never changed. Don’t go. I still love you.”
I knew he did, and I supposed a small piece of me had love for him too, only it wasn’t the same feeling he felt for me. It was more of a childish love, the love a girl had for a boy before experiencing the love of a man.
A real man.
“Take care of yourself,” I said. “Goodbye, Giovanni.”
I picked my phone out of my pocket and dialed, smiling when a familiar voice said hello.
“Cade, it’s me,” I said. “I love you. I’m coming home.”
THE END
***
Thank you for reading DEADLY SINS: GREED!
I hope you enjoyed getting to know a few of the recurring characters in the Sloane Monroe mystery series as much as I have enjoyed writing them for you. This is a continuing series with other novellas coming before and after the ones you’ve just read. You can find the series order (as of the date of this printing) in the “Books by Cheryl Bradshaw” section below.
In the next book in the series, DEADLY SINS: ENVY, we get pulled into the unusual disappearance of Willow Cooper, niece to Park City, Utah’s police chief Drake Cooper.
A cryptic message. A missing niece. And only twenty-four hours to pay.
After traveling to New Orleans to see his niece’s band on tour, Police Chief Drake Cooper, a.k.a. Coop, finds a piece of paper stuck to the front door of his brother’s home. A handwritten message reveals his niece has been abducted, a ransom is being demanded, and Coop’s family has twenty-four hours to pay.
A few words of praise for the Deadly Sins series:
“You feel like you are watching the events unfold.”
“Grips you from first paragraph. I wasn’t able to guess the murderer until the end.”
“If you are not familiar with the series, or this author, this is a good introduction.”
Order DEADLY SINS: ENVY now by clicking HERE. And enjoy the first chapter below now to get a glimpse of what’s to come.
DEADLY SINS: ENVY
CHAPTER 1
Envy (n.) A feeling of discontent or covetousness with regard to another’s advantages, success, possessions, etc.
It had been a long, tiresome few months for Willow Cooper, a twenty-six-year-old guitarist and lead singer for The Wild Honeybees. Over the last few weeks alone, her two-person band had toured twelve cities in three states, and they still had another month to go before the tour wrapped up. Tonight’s performance was in her hometown of New Orleans at the Crescent City Blues & Barbecue Festival held in Lafayette Park. Connecting with the excited, interactive crowd invigorated her, and for a time, she forgot all about the sleep she’d been lacking.
After her set concluded for the night, Willow invited a few family members and friends to join her for a celebratory drink at 3 O’clock Blues, her favorite local bar. She played catch up for a while and then decided to call it a night when her phone buzzed. She held it in front of her while reading a text message from Dean, her ex-boyfriend.
Saw you at the festival tonight.
You were amazing.
If you have time, come over.
Would love to see you before you go.
I’ve missed you.
Willow clicked the phone off and smiled. She hadn’t seen Dean in three months. The last time they were together, they’d argued about the same thing they always argued about—moving in together. He wanted to move forward in the relationship. She wanted to wait. He was tired of waiting. So, when he gave her an ultimatum of moving in or breaking up, she walked out of his apartment and his life for what she feared was forever.
Thinking back on the experience now, tears pooled in her eyes. She loved Dean. He was the reason she’d chosen not to date anyone since. But his ultimatum had stunned her, crushing the hopes she’d had for her own future. The way she saw it, if he loved her, he never would have forced her to choose in the first place. But now she’d had time to reflect, and she realized part of the blame for their fallout was hers. She hadn’t handled it well. She could have stayed that night. She could have agreed to think about what he was asking and discuss it further the following day. Instead, she did what she always did when faced with an uncomfortable confrontation—she ran.
Willow shoved the cell phone inside her purse, chugged a glass of water, and said her goodbyes to the group. Dean’s place was five blocks away, just far enough for her to gather her thoughts before she arrived.
She rounded the corner onto Dumaine Street, pausing a moment when she passed the home that Tennessee Williams had lived in for a time before his death in 1983. She breathed in the fragrant night air and thought about the first thing she’d say to Dean. Two words came to mind: I’m sorry.
She was sorry.
If she could have wound the clock back to the minute before she’d stormed out of his place, she was certain they’d still be together now.
Maybe it wasn’t too late.
A breeze kicked up and, with it, a flicker of what appeared to be someone lurking in the shadows nearby, waiting and watching. Willow craned her head, peering into the darkness. The shadow didn’t move.
Stop being paranoid. It’s nothing.
She continued on, glancing over her shoulder from time to time as she walked. The shadowy figure was enough to put her on edge, and now she swore she heard footsteps. She looked back, walked a little more, and looked back again.
No one was there.
Two more blocks to go, and I’ll be at Dean’s place, and this nonsense will all be over.
No matter what she did to quell her feelings of unrest, there was a nervous tension she couldn’t shake tonight. It rattled her enough that she reached inside her handbag and removed her keyring. She slid a key between two of her fingers so it jutted out like a knife, a protection tactic she’d seen once on a self-defense video online. It wasn’t everything, but it was something, and for now something eased her nervousness a little.
She reached Dean’s block and saw him sitting beneath the light on his front porch, staring up the street, waiting. Heart pounding in her chest, the words she’d rehearsed before no longer seemed like enough. She didn’t just want to tell him how she felt—she wanted to show him.
Dean saw her coming and stood, and Willow sprinted in his direction. She spread her arms, planning to wrap him in an embrace, but stopped short when a woman stepped out of his house, bent down, and said something to Dean. The woman was unfamiliar, someone Willow had never seen before. Confused, Willow lowered her arms and greeted Dean with a stiff, awkward, “Hey.”
“Hey!” he said. “I’m just ... I can’t believe ... you’re here! It’s great to see you. I’m glad you came.”
Dean threw his arms around her and pulled her close. She gave him a few quick pats on the back and then stepped aside, her focus shifting to the mysterious woman.
“Hi, I’m Willow,” she said. “And you are ...?”
“Blake.”
Tall. Long, blond hair. Lanky. Perfect skin.
She looked like a Blake.
“I’ve heard a lot about you,” Blake said.
Willow held her tongue, stifling the words: Yeah? Well, I’ve never heard a thing about you.
Dean seemed to sense Willow’s slight irritation and said, “Blake’s my ... ahh, roommate. Well, just for a few more weeks. She’s moving to Texas next month.”
“What’s in Texas?” Willow asked.
“Jaxon, my fiancé,” Blake said. “We’re getting married.”
Willow breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh, cool. Congratulations.”
Blake narrowed her eyes. “Hang on. Did you think that Dean and I ... that we’re a couple?”
“I ... no,” Willow said. “Well, maybe. I’m sorry. I wasn’t sure who you were.”
Blake socked Dean in the shoulder and tossed her head back, laughing. “How funny. He’s like a brother to me. We’re just rooming together for a bit, okay? Nothing more.”
Dean looked at Willow and said, “Do you want to come in?”
She nodded. “I wish I could stay for a while, but I can’t. We’re headed out at six in the morning.”
Once the words left her mouth, she wished she could have reeled them back in. Tonight was about making amends, not about her and her band.
“I understand,” he said. “I’ll take whatever time I can get.”
Blake excused herself and disappeared down the hallway. Willow followed Dean into the living room, and they sat down. It felt strange being there again. In some ways, it was familiar. In others, three months apart felt like a year. The abstract painting she’d given him still hung on the wall but was now surrounded by a few new pieces of artwork he’d acquired since she left.
“When did you decide to get a roommate?” Willow asked.
“About a month back. I got laid off at work and started bartending while I was looking for another job. I met Blake one night. We got to talking, and she said she needed a place to stay for a couple months, so I let her move in.”
“She seems nice,” Willow said.
“She is.”
“I was surprised to get your text message tonight.”
“I, ahh, worried you wouldn’t come.”
Willow leaned back on the sofa and turned toward him. “Dean, I want you to know how sorry I am.”
“For what?”
“I should have never walked out on you the way I did that night.”
“Why did you then?”
“At first, I was angry. When I stopped being angry, I became embarrassed about how I’d left things. The longer I waited to reach out, the harder it was to contact you. So, I kept putting it off. I was so down on myself about the way I behaved, I started to believe you deserved a lot better than me.”
Dean reached out, taking Willow’s hand in his. “I shouldn’t have pushed you like I did. It wasn’t right. I knew you weren’t ready. I was so focused on what I wanted, nothing else mattered.”
“It’s in the past now. It’s fine.”
“No, Willow. It isn’t.”
“Maybe we both could have handled it better. But I’m here now. There’s no place I’d rather be.”
“Are you ... dating anyone?”
She shook her head. “Are you?”
“I met a woman about a month ago. We went out a couple times. It had the potential of going somewhere, I guess, but there was something missing. After the second date, I didn’t ask her out again. What about you?”
“I’ve talked to a few guys here and there on tour. It was just talk. Nothing happened. I found myself comparing them to you. It wasn’t fair to them, but I couldn’t help it. No matter how sweet they were, they weren’t you.”
“Have you ever thought about trying again, giving us a second chance?”
It was what she hoped he’d say tonight. Her voice cracked as she looked at him and said, “Yes.”
The front door blew open, and a man stepped inside. He was tall and brawny, dressed in jeans and a tattered T-shirt with a large skull on the front. A black bandana covered a majority of his face.
Dean threw himself in front of Willow.
“Get out of my house,” Dean said. “Now.”
The man pointed a gun at Dean.
Stunned, Willow stared at the gun, noticing it was equipped with a silencer.
“Step away from her,” the man said.
“No,” Dean said. “I won’t.”
A loud commotion boomed through the hallway. Blake came barreling into the living room wielding a large, cast-iron frying pan. She leapt toward the man, who stared at Blake like she’d startled him. He aimed the gun at her and squeezed the trigger. The frying pan soared through the air like a weighted Frisbee, and Blake collapsed to the ground.
The man stared at Blake for a moment and then focused the gun back on Dean. “Move or you’re next.”
Willow slipped out from behind Dean and crawled toward Blake. Blood pooled from the back of Blake’s head, and she wasn’t breathing. Willow opened her mouth to scream, and the man said, “Don’t. Keep quiet.”
He wrapped a hand around Willow’s arm, jerked her off the floor, and said, “Let’s go.”
“What?” Willow asked. “Go where?”
Dean lunged at the man and shouted, “You’re not going anywhere with her!”
The man kicked Dean backward and fired off a couple of shots. One ripped through Dean’s thigh, and the other pierced his chest. Dean glanced at Willow and tried to say something, then dropped to the ground.
Willow wrestled with the man, trying to break free from his grip, but it was no use—he was much too strong compared to her.
“Now,” the man said, “let me tell you what’s going to happen. We’re going to walk out the door, and you’re not going to make a sound. Got it?”
Terrified and numb, Willow stared down at Dean and said nothing.
The man grunted something under his breath and then bent down, checking Dean’s neck for a pulse.
“Come with me now and don’t resist ... and I’ll let him live,” he said.
She opened her mouth and tried to respond. The words were there, but she couldn’t bring herself to say them. Tears streamed down her face as her eyes fixated on Dean, the love of her life. There was no choice to be made. After he was shot, she’d already made it. She would lay down her own life for even the slightest chance of sparing his.