Chapter 37
It’s a phone number—nothing more. There are no names or indications of who it belongs to—just a phone number scribbled quickly. I stare at the piece of paper Mikhail slipped into my grip before he took off and committed the number to memory for later. For Journey, I know she’ll want to speak to Sunshine as soon as she gets back and is able to.
God. My anxiety skyrockets at the thought of her. I don’t know what the fuck to do. An hour ago, I watched from my window as Shadow and Journey boarded a boat together with my heart in my throat. It took every ounce of restraint inside me not to open the window and yell for her to come back. Beg for my father to not take her without me.
But I didn’t.
Despite the desperation roaring through me, I held myself back even when her eyes connected with mine from below before she disappeared into the boat.
I ache to save her from her, but I know my Little Tempest is tough. She can survive anything. She already has. Multiple times over. She's a warrior—a goddamn queen. My queen.
I have no doubt she'll succeed with her mission. Whatever it may be.
When I had confirmation that Shadow, Journey, and his army of men were gone, I needed to scope out his secret office.
So, here I am, holding my breath when I step into the empty elevator with sweat prickling on my neck. Nerves buzz through my entire body with anticipation. If I’m caught, I’m fucking dead. All I have to do is get to the lower level without detection. Without stalling any longer, I perform Darrell's actions from before until the tiny keypad pops out, and I type in the code.
A breath whooshes from my lips when the doors close, and the elevator goes down, only stopping when it opens to the lower level. When the doors open, revealing the dank space, I immediately step out and let the doors shut behind me.
It's empty. Quiet. Perfect for concealing my presence here. No one else should be down here at any time. Shadow has made it known that only a few people can access this space. Thank Fuck. But I still have to keep an eye out for Darrell and his assessing eyes. I swear to fuck, he’s hiding something. I just can’t put my finger on what.
With a huff, I smoothed my palms down my jeans. There’s one thing I have to do before I can think about going into Shadow’s office. I need to check and see if the agent is still tied up in the room down the hall. I've been thinking about him all night since they locked me in my room. His metal badge has burned a hole in my jeans since I took it with me last night. In the moonlight of my room, I stared at it. Examining the number, symbols, and the Veritas name. I tossed and turned, unable to keep my thoughts from everything happening. Journey. Sunshine. The agent. Shadow’s plans.
I stop dead in the doorway of the empty room, devoid of the one I hoped to see. Ropes hang from the ceiling where the agent once was. A blindfold rests on the bloodied floor. I’m not sure what I was expecting. Him here? Yeah, right. There’s no doubt in my mind that the burly man who came with Darrell took him to the caves—or killed him.
I need to move on and get back to my mission before Darrell looks for me.
I hurry back to my father’s office and walk into the unlocked space. Darkness spreads around me, sending chills down my spine. Something about this space sets my teeth on edge and puts my hackles up. I hit the switch, illuminating the space with the fluorescent lights that buzz overhead.
Nothing has changed in this room since the last time I was here. It is still messy, with a slight garbage stench. His desk remains in the middle of the room, with a chair behind it and two in front of it. Old beer cans and water bottles are toppled over and thrown on the ground. Trash lies in the corner of the room, overflowing from the small can onto the floor.
Memories from my childhood soar through my brain at the sight of his signature mess. For someone who went through medical school and became a surgeon, you’d think he’d be more organized and clean. But he never has been.
I guess some things never change.
Move, Shepp. Get this snooping done before someone notices you're gone.
I swallow hard when I gently shut the door behind me, concealing myself from anyone who might come down here. Taking a seat in his desk chair, I go through the piles of papers on his desk. I swear, it’s like he hasn’t thrown anything away. Ever. Instead, hoarding them here. Good for me, I guess.
My brows furrow as I read over the words: deeds, money, war—all written in Shadow’s sloppy handwriting.
Deeds? Money? War? What the fuck does this even mean? His plans for the future? We already know he's been after Gabriel for three years now, sending bombs and attacking us.
I push that paper to the side, finding more hand scribbles. A phone number with crudely drawn hearts encasing the number. Hearts? Is he serious right now? The man who touched me, beat me, and cut out my tongue drew hearts on a piece of paper.
This has to be a sick fucking joke.
My stomach fucking churns again when I rifle through the pages and uncover a stack of small photographs hidden beneath the mess.
A man and a woman stand happily outside Briar Cove High School. The same school I went to with Jer, Arrow, and even Journey.
His toned arm is around her shoulders, squeezing her into him affectionately. She grins up at him, lovingly looking at his smile while he stares at the camera.
By the look of the man, I can tell it's Shadow. Younger and more sane looking. There's something normal about him. Turning it over, my eyes widen at the inscription.
Tommy and Grace. Senior year.
Drawn hearts encase their names. My jaw falls open, and I flip the picture again, staring at their youthful faces.
My father is the man. And the woman? Jericho’s mother, looking cozy and in love in each other's arms.
The next photo is a prom picture. The two of them dressed in their best in front of the Briar Cove Hotel. Hand in hand. Smiles on their faces. Pure joy radiates off them as they stare at the camera.
Tommy and Grace. Senior Prom. May 1st.
A figure lurks in the background behind them, staring in their direction with a scowl. Gabriel. His cold, dark eyes glare daggers into the two of them.
They look so damn happy in the pictures. So, unlike themselves from what I can remember. My father was volatile and a drunken mess. And Jer’s mom? She never showed her emotions, constantly doing what Gabriel told her to do. She was meek and muted, almost cutting off herself from everyone except Jericho—her pride and joy.
There was never any indication that my father and her had had a previous relationship—none at all. They barely looked at each other when he was around.
And then she disappeared.
I rub my temple. At least, that's how I remember it from the mind of my five-year-old self.
“Shut the fuck up, Aurora. Just fucking…” Glass shatters from somewhere downstairs.
My entire body stiffens at his outrage. His voice carries through the entire house. My mom cries out, begging him to stop his assault.
“It was never supposed to be you!” he shouts again, throwing something else against the wall and smashing it to smithereens.
I watch from between the rails from upstairs, trembling when he makes his way toward the front door. His chest heaves and sweat pours from his forehead. He rips the front door open, clinging to a nearly empty whiskey bottle.
“You were the worst fucking thing to ever happen to me, you fucking whore,” he growls at my mother as she walks into the foyer, clasping her wrist. “You and that fucking…” His eyes connect with mine, and I reel back. They’re darker. Evil. Like nothing lives in his soul. A side of him I had never truly seen before. “You were never supposed to be!” With that, he marches out the front door, slamming it in his wake.
The entire house falls into an eerie silence.
“Mommy?” I mutter from the top of the stairs, tears in my eyes as I descend.
“It’s okay, Sheppy,” she murmurs, embracing me when I toss my arms around her waist.
“Why is Daddy so mad?” I murmur, staring up at her.
“Because Grace Viotto has gone missing,” she mutters bitterly under her breath, soothing a hand through my hair.
I blow out a breath, trying to forget that moment in our history. My mother never comforted me like that again, getting too drugged up and compliant to remember his abuses that only got worse the longer he was in the picture. Everything escalated from there.
Was Grace the catalyst of it all? Did she cause my father to go off the rails and lose himself in alcohol finally?
I shift in my chair, flipping to the next picture in the stack. My eyes widen. Oxygen stalls in my throat, nearly choking me. I check once. Twice. Finally, a third time until it all sinks in.
There are four people in the picture now.
Grace offers the camera a tight smile, smashed between Shadow and Gabriel. My mother rests on Shadow's other side with a demure expression I recognize. It’s one I was familiar with as a child. She had checked out.
Diamond rings sit on the women's fingers, a long tradition upheld after the initiation presentation, where the men walk on stage and show off their wounds. They prove to the family that they’re men now, no longer boys, able to take their brides and walk them down the aisle.
No one has a choice in who will be on their arms. It's a contract. An obligation we can't fight. Obviously, Shadow didn't win the bride he desperately wanted. How shitty it must have been to watch the woman he loved be with another man. Especially a psychopath like Gabriel Viotto, who no doubt had probably set the whole thing up. He had the power. His father, especially.
Hidden in the depths of the picture, I noticed the fire raging in Shadow's eyes, glaring at the camera like he wanted to burn the fucking world down and take Gabriel with him. Maybe he did, considering the woman he’s been staring at lovingly was now in the arms of the Viotto Crime Family leader. Or future leader. At that point in time, he was like Jericho. A prince to the throne. One he got not long after fully initiating.
Turning the picture over, I read the inscription written in sloppy cursive and stained with small wet spots. Like tears dripped as they carved the letters of their destiny.
Thomas and Aurora. Grace and Gabriel. Initiation night. Engagements.
I run my fingers over their faces again.
They say a picture is worth a thousand words. They're right. I can see all their expressions as plain as day shining through the image. Shadow is seething. Grace is angry, too, but less obvious than Shadow. And Gabriel? Well, he's as smug as ever.
And that's when it all becomes clear, clicking into place like missing memories.
Shadow and Grace were in love with one another. Going on dates. To prom. Looking at each other like they were the only ones in the room. And because of the Viotto Crime Family, they were torn apart, ripped from each other's arms without a fight.
What a damn clusterfuck.
I set the picture in the pile, going to the next.
It's a celebration—a glimpse of a Viotto party in full swing at the mansion Gabriel built for Grace. A tall Christmas tree with lights sits in the corner of their living room, illuminating the ample space with greens and blues. People mingle in fine dresses and suits, looking at the man of the hour holding his glass in the air with a satisfied smile.
Grace looks like she’s staring up at him from below, standing next to Shadow and Aurora like they did many times before. Gabriel was the head of it all, Shadow the second-in-command. They were always together, plotting their next moves for the family.
But what catches my attention are the side-eyes Grace and Shadow share. They catch each other's gazes with love still shining in their eyes. Turning it over, I look at the caption written in neat cursive.
Housewarming Christmas party.
Jericho used to say his father loved Grace so much that he built her a haven—a mansion on a hill, a zoo in the backyard with all her favorite animals to care for. But to her, it must have been a prison.
Fuck.
It was all a sham on Grace's end. She only stayed to survive. Then… Then she ran from him, leaving her only son behind in the crosshairs. My parents, too. They were never truly happy together and always fought and hurt each other.
They hated each other, but they were forced to remain married for obligations to the family. It was their duty to carry on, no matter what.
Even my existence was forced and necessary—an heir for the Mondelli’s—a built-in second-in-command for Jericho when he grew up.
Thomas was never a good man. Too consumed with work, booze, and long nights out. When I was five, everything changed. Grace disappeared. Gabriel became unstable and reckless. And Shadow? He became my worst nightmare, spiraling down the drain with alcohol and drugs, losing himself in the family. Beating his wife and me. Torturing me, assaulting me. Whatever he could do to make me sorry for existing.
All these memories assault me, running through my mind like a vivid movie. Thoughts I had boxed up and put into the back of my mind so they couldn’t haunt me any longer. After my father died, I moved forward and ignored what had happened to me. He was dead. Gone. I wouldn’t have to worry about this shit any long. No one seemed to care what he did to us, anyway. So, why should I? Gabriel sold me out. I lost my tongue. It happened.
I stand abruptly, pulling at my hair. I want to scream into the void. Punch a damn wall. Make Shadow bleed for all that I had to endure.
But I don't. I can't. He took so much from me, always taking, never giving, and never being a father to me when I needed one.
My mind swirls with the abuse. Resurfacing when I need to remain calm and collected and hidden without detection.
Stop!
I have to stop before the panic claws at me further, tearing me open and letting me bleed out.
I blow out a breath, softly pacing behind the desk, and count to ten, focusing on the room around me and grounding me.
Arranged marriages are barbaric. My father and Grace are the perfect examples.
When we walked across the stage, we knew that Gabriel only had Journey for Jericho and no one for Arrow and me. Perhaps he saw how it tore his second-in-command apart to lose the girl he loved. Or maybe he fucking hated us and didn't want to bring us happiness. Jokes on him, though.
I'm going with the latter. Even though he took me in the moment my father died and married my mother, he loathed us.
My fingers tremble when I get to the bottom of the pile of photographs. I shuffle through the papers, trying to find anything of importance, but find none. It's all scribbles about deeds and nonsense notes, listing off ideas I'm not clued into. I need to know his plans.
He's obviously in cahoots with Grace, but what is she doing? It sounds like she was with Gabriel, but I don't understand how he'd let her back in like that. He's paranoid as fuck. Barely letting anyone pass his security details. And she waltzes back in?
Nothing makes sense to me anymore. This motherfucker was supposed to be dead, and now he's back, haunting my every move again. I had finally found freedom from his cruel ways. But I'm stuck. Here. On a fucking island with his psycho ass.
I need to fucking escape.
Sitting back in the chair, I dig through the drawers stuffed with papers. If he has pictures of them just sitting here, imagine what he'll have buried in the drawers.
My brows furrow when I pull out a loose stack of envelopes filled with contents. Setting them on the messy desktop, I spread them out. Each envelope is addressed to My Dearest Tommy, and a P.O. box is listed as the address with no return address.
My Dearest Tommy,
Oh, how I miss you and our time together. I couldn't hold out any longer. I couldn't live under his thumb with what he demanded of me. He built me a zoo, Tommy. He tried to make me happy, but it wasn't going to happen. Not with what I carried.
The guilt was too consuming, love. For my safety, I've fled. But you know that by now. I want you to know I'm safe in my little slice of paradise.
We're safe.
When the time is right… you'll know. I'll come and find you. For now… keep playing the part.
Burn this after reading. No one can know.
Your love,
G.
I recheck the front, confirming there's no date stamped on it. This had to be when she left—a confirmation to my father that she was safe. But what was she carrying with her?
My Dearest Tommy,
I miss you more than you could imagine ever since you left last night. I know it's silly to think we spent the night together in this hotel, but my heart aches to hold you. It's been over three years since I escaped my hell in Briar Cove, but you know exactly what to bring.
Blake was excited to spend time with you and cried when you left. He's getting better about our brief visits. I know you can only pretend for so long that you're on business trips to sneak away. One day soon, we'll have everything in place for you to be at my side.
We miss you.
With Love,
Your G.
I reread the letter several times. Who exactly is Blake, and why would he cry? It almost sounds like… My heart skips when I eagerly pull another letter out, trying to glimpse their love affair. They obviously never quit each other, even when they were forced to marry other people.
My Dearest Tommy,
You've missed meetings. Word through the grapevine has been rather disturbing. I’ve been hearing things. Add in you not meeting me, and I’m becoming concerned everything we’ve built will topple over. Is that what you want? Do you want me to fail before I’ve even begun?
This is your first and only warning. Don’t fuck me over. The time is crawling toward a bright future. Here. On this island. You and me. My army will become ours.
Love,
Your G.
My Dearest Tommy,
Everything is ready for you to join me. Our home is complete. Our army is solid. If the Devil wanted a war, we’ll bring it to him. We’ve done all the work. Now, come to me.
Love,
Your G.
There are a few more notes in the pile of her telling him about the different renovations she had done to the hotel. Or details on how she was building this palace so that he could help her rule, too. But there was one note that had the blood in my veins turning to ice, sending shivers down my damn spine.
My Dearest Tommy,
And so our reign as Shadow begins. The time is right now. I will see you in a few days.
Love,
Your G.
All the papers fall from my trembling fingers onto the desk. I shake my head.
No fucking way.
I jump to my feet, staring at the pages with wide eyes. I had questions coming into this office, and now I have some answers I never expected. The chair rolls back, bumping into the wall behind me and shaking a painting half-hanging on the wall. I snarl, ripping it off the wall and tossing it against the damn wall opposite of me. Glass shatters. The painting falls apart at the fucking seams, crumbling the old frame.
My chest heaves. I squeeze my eyes shut, rubbing them with my palms.
So much for being inconspicuous and making it seem like I wasn't here. I wonder if he'd believe it naturally fell off the wall and threw itself across the room. Probably not. He'll fucking beat me senseless, but he'd have to catch me first. This is my goddamn opportunity to leave. No matter what he says. I have to go to Journey. Find Jericho and Arrow at the cabin. Anything but stay here and play helpless. Because I'm not.
Blowing out a breath, I kneel and remove the painting from its frame. I shake the glass off the painted image of a river bed flowing between mountains and wildlife drinking from the source. It's a beautiful, serene portrait. Turning it over, the same beautiful cursive spells out a message.
To my Tommy, may you remember me always. I will be back for you.
I check to see if a date was listed on it. It's dated one month before his death.
Fuck me. I sit on my ass, laying my head against the shitty wood-paneled walls, huffing in breaths. Why is this happening now? Couldn't this bastard stay dead? Now, he's back, ruining my life. Again and again. It's bullshit. And now, to find out he and Grace had this previous relationship? Did they continue it throughout their marriages? Or... I shake my head. I can't go down this fucking rabbit hole right now.
I need more information on what he's up to as Shadow.
I crawl on my hands and knees toward the desk. I rifle through all the contents, reading every piece of paper with an eagle eye. One catches my attention: fire, bombs, men in black with guns. Turning the paper, I see a blueprint detailing the space: a large venue with several attached rooms, a large ballroom, a dressing room, a bathroom, and elevators.
Briar Cove Grand Hotel.
My brows furrow at the name printed on the map. Why the hell?
My gaze bolts up, and I shake my head. No. No. Fuck! He's going to attack someone at Elias' wedding with Journey in tow. He's going to start a damn war on Gabriel's territory and fucking draw him out more. God fucking damn it.
I don’t dare breathe when the door to his office creaks open, and Darrell stands there with an unreadable expression. Through all the noise of the glass shattering and my fucking mind spiraling, I didn’t hear the elevators.
Darrell blinks several times, taking in the carnage of the room. His frown deepens.
“The fuck are you doing in here?” he grunts, eyeing me with narrowed eyes. “And what the fuck did you do?” He gestures stiffly to the painting on the ground.