The Pilot
1676 Words
Pearl’s P.O.V.
I stood by the gate, holding my suitcase. I wanted one last look at my dad, but I knew he wouldn’t come out. The windows were shut, the house looked empty, but I kept staring at the door.
Behind me, Mom leaned on the car with her arms crossed. She sighed. “Pearl, get in the car. He said he doesn’t want to see you.”
I pressed the doorbell again. No answer. I knew he was inside. We used to be close, but after the divorce, he acted like I didn’t exist. Now I had to move to L.A. with Mom’s new husband and his son.
I turned to leave when the door opened.
“Princess,” a weak voice said.
He looked older, thin, and tired. “Sorry, Pearl… I was asleep.”
I knew he lied, but I didn’t say anything. “It’s okay, Dad,” I whispered and hugged him.
“I’m sorry, princess. I shouldn’t have said those things. I was never angry at you.”
“It’s fine. I just came to say goodbye. I’m moving to L.A.”
“I know. You’ll be safer there. Call me if you need me. You’ll always be my little girl.”
I promised to visit on his birthday and turned away before I cried.
Mom was quiet in the car. I thought about my stepdad’s scar and how I hadn’t met his son. I didn’t care. I only had to get through one year. Then I’d turn eighteen and go back to New York to live with Dad.
---
Carrick’s P.O.V.
I sat in my office, reading through files on the Miami project when the door creaked open. My father walked in with a cocky grin, gripping an envelope like it was gold.
I already guessed what was inside. I knew what was coming, but I stayed quiet. No point letting him know I had the men wrapped around my finger. If he realized the under bosses followed me now, he would lose his temper and cause another m******e.
“Carrick,” he said like he owned the world. “Got something important for you.”
I didn’t bother to hide my annoyance. “That's right? What is it this time—babysitting or cleaning up after one of your messes?”
“Enough with the attitude,” he barked, waving the envelope. “You and Vale are going undercover. Some fancy school uptown. I need you to dig into the sheriff’s little brother.”
I dropped the file in my hand and raised a brow. “You want me… to go to school? I run half the East Coast, and you want me to pretend to be some damn teacher?”
“This is bigger than your ego,” he said. “The sheriff’s been taking out our people one by one. His brother’s only weak point. No records, no photos, nothing. All we know is he’s at that school. You get close, figure out his connection, and find us a way to take the sheriff down.”
I scoffed and grabbed the envelope, flipping it open. New ID, background files… a full fake identity.
“Why don’t we just shoot the sheriff between the eyes and be done with it?”
“Because that hasn’t worked for anyone else,” he snapped. “Every hit on him failed. He’s a ghost. But his brother? He’s real, and he’s unprotected.”
I leaned back in my chair, blowing out a slow breath. “And while I’m stuck playing, happy little teacher, you’ll be at home, playing husband?”
His jaw tightened. “You leave my wife out of this.”
I sneered, lighting a cigarette just to piss him off more. “Your wife? The same woman you met three months ago? And that stepdaughter I’ve never seen? You act like their royalty.”
“They’re part of this family now.”
“No. They’re part of your midlife crisis,” I said coldly. “I don’t care if you tattoo their names on your chest—they’ll never be my family. You better tell them to stay out of my way because if they show up at my place, I’ll send them back to you in pieces.”
His hands curled into fists, but he kept himself in check. I knew I got under his skin, and I liked it.
“Get it through your thick skull,” he said, his voice low. “This is about survival. You do this, we survive. You screw it up, we’re all dead.”
I stood up and leaned across the desk, towering over him. “I’ll handle the job because I don’t feel like dying anytime soon. But make no mistake—I won’t answer you. You’re the boss in name only. Remember that.”
He stared back, his mouth set in a tight line, but he didn’t say a word. He just turned and walked out.
I sat back down, crushed the cigarette in the ashtray, and grabbed the envelope. Inside was an IF card with my face on it. I facepalmed, "You have got to be kidding me."
As far as fake ID goes, this was a joke. My name was not changed. The only thing different from my original ID card was the address and identification number.
"Whoever thought this plan would work was brain-dead."
I am famous in the Mafia world, and not just because of my father's name. Going undercover with this was suicide—or maybe that was exactly what I wanted. Let it fail, just to show my father how useless his plans were.
I barely flipped through the documents when Vale barged in without knocking, like he owned the place.
“Ever heard of knocking?” I muttered without looking up.
Vale chuckled. “Since when do I need permission to walk into your office?”
I sighed and set the papers down. Vale was the only one I tolerated—my brother without the blood. But today, his cocky grin annoyed me.
“Maybe you don’t need permission, but some sense would help. I’m not in the mood.”
Vale dropped into a chair. “Let me guess—you’re sulking over the high school gig? Dad’s not stupid. There’s a plan.”
I shot him with a sharp glare. “Vale, stop defending him. We both know this is stupid.”
“Convince me,” he said.
I leaned in. “One, everyone knows who I am. Two, this ID is pathetic. Three, I’m losing my mind, waiting months. I need to spill blood, not babysit a kid.”
Vale was quiet, thinking. Then he asked, “When was your last therapy session?”
I tensed. “Been a while.”
“How long?”
“Six months, maybe.”
“And meds?”
“Stopped them too.”
He snapped, “You know what happens off those meds.”
I looked away. Vale paced. “Get up. We’re going to the doctor.”
“I can’t,” I said.
He stopped. “Why?”
“Because,” I sighed, “I killed him.”
Silence. He stared, stunned. “Why?”
“He knew too much. The less people know about me, the better.”
He sank in the chair. “You should’ve told me. Now I have to find another shrink.”
“I don’t need to be sane,” I said.
“Yes, you do. Or you’ll be dead by thirty. Next time, talk to me before you kill someone.”
I raised my hands. “Fine. You pick the therapist. Just no feelings talk.”
“No promises,” he said.
I changed the subject. “Why don’t I just kill the sheriff?”
Vale raised an eyebrow. “You said that wouldn’t help. He’s part of a team. Kill him, someone worse comes next. We need his secrets or to turn him.”
I groaned. “Right… I said that.”
“Yeah, you did. That’s why Dad made this school plan—get close, gain leverage, crippled them from inside.”
I rubbed my temple. “Maybe I’m more screwed up than I thought.”
Vale nodded. “You think? And you haven’t even heard the best part.”
I scowled. “Go ahead, ruin my day.”
Vale grinned. “Your stepmother and stepsister are moving in tomorrow.”
I blinked. “No.”
“Yes.”
“No.”
“Yes, and it gets better,” Vale continued. “The stepmother knows about the business, but the daughter doesn’t. Boss wants you to keep it that way. You’ll be playing the perfect big brother… and an English teacher at her school.”
My jaw dropped. “You’re kidding me.”
“Nope. She thinks you’re the heir to a luxury empire and some bored billionaire with a writer hobby. The boss had all the police records wiped, rewrote your history, and scrubbed every trace of your name from investigations.”
I couldn’t believe it. My father managed to pull off the impossible. Either he did it because he loved me… or because he wanted to play my perfect husband and stepfather.
I scoffed. “He didn’t do it for me, Vale. Don’t be naive. It’s for his shiny new family.”
Vale stayed quiet.
I stood, grabbing my jacket. “Fine. I’ll play along. I’ll be the good boy, the helpful big brother, the boring English teacher.”
Vale chuckled. “And no killing the stepsister.”
“No promises,” I grinned.
Vale’s grin faltered. “Carrick…”
I waved him off. “Relax. I’ll behave… for now. But when this is over, I’m getting what I want. And when I’m done, our dear old man won’t be calling the shots anymore.”
Vale’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know if that’s a promise or a threat.”
“Neither,” I said with a smirk. “It’s a guarantee.”
- Writer
