Chapter 1 #2
He didn't act alone, though. No. They were like the three musketeers. Always together. They were all complicit, standing around me with the knife in their hands as they slashed my throat and left me burning in the embers of my home with the bodies of my sister and mother.
Sophia Viotto. Espie Viotto. Olivia Viotto.
Now, we're nothing more than a memory etched into marble. The only one missing is my traitorous father, Raphael Viotto—the man who took off the second he knew a storm was coming for us and left my mother, sister, and me to die for his crimes.
Whatever they were.
"Your mom and sister were good people, Liv," Jonathan whispers, clutching my shoulder and pulling me from my thoughts.
If he only knew.
"Yeah," I croak, shaking the emotions from my voice.
Standing out in the open, breathing in the same air as that night that I fled while hanging on to the last thread of my life, has my arm hairs standing on end.
My heart sings in my ears, blocking out the storm brewing around me.
Absent-mindedly, my fingers trace the scars lining my face, traveling to the one that should have ended my life—across my throat.
I swallow the lump lodged in my esophagus beneath my fingertips.
I wasn't supposed to come back to Greenwood, California.
No matter what. Jonathan made a promise to me after he found me clinging to life with burns on my face, neck, and shoulders.
Injuries courtesy of the fire that took my home, my family, and almost my life.
I was barely recognizable, gasping for breath in a secure hospital room, far away from the public eye.
No one knew I was there, except for Jonathan.
Somehow, I defied the odds and got out of my home before it collapsed, taking everything with it. Including the bodies of my mother and sister. That was almost me. I was teetering at Death’s door, lightly knocking, looking for entry.
Except I made it out. Death’s door never opened, granting me solace. Instead, I was thrust back into a painful existence.
And the worst part of all? I have no idea how I made it out alive. My last thoughts were filled with darkness. A void before me.
But somehow, I woke up in the hospital with my uncle at my side, begging me to stay alive and granting me a new life without all the pain from before.
"I'll never make you go home," he whispers, clutching my hand as I fight for my life. The machines beep above my head and an IV drips into my veins. "You have a new home with me and Veritas."
"You broke your promise," I mutter, not bothering to look at him again.
I can't.
Or the tears burning the backs of my eyes will fall. I can't have that. I'm strong. Stronger than my tears and emotions. I could yell until I'm hoarse and my throat is raw. I could punch him in the throat and knock him to his knees.
But I can't. Won't. I'm too frozen by the reality of my situation. I’m back in my own personal hell.
The place I fled from with my life barely intact.
Greenwood, California almost killed me.
My stomach sloshes, threatening to spill its contents onto the grass above my grave. How fitting to puke on my eternal resting place.
Hold yourself together. You don't know what he wants or expects. This anxiety could all be for nothing.
Yeah, right.
"I know," he says solemnly, digging into his pocket and retrieving something.
He clicks the end of his flashlight and points it at the names, illuminating them.
"I know I promised you that you'd never have to come back here.
Even in the line of duty. You know I wouldn't have brought you back here unless it was important, Liv. "
And there it is. The kicker. The case. He's about to rock my world and push me off my axis.
Fuck.
I lick my lips. Of course, he wouldn't harm me by bringing me here.
Right? He's been in the line of duty under Veritas for years now, conducting investigations on the world's worst people who seem to slip through the cracks.
In fact, every agent beneath him has the same job—going after the bad guys.
We're the Dexters of the world, minus the serial killer part and tying people to metal tables with plastic.
Although, my roommate Jordy might fit that part.
He's a goddamn psycho. But with his background, that's easy to come by.
You see, the agents of Veritas are all connected by terrible pasts and deaths that didn't take. We're all ghosts in the eyes of society, making us the perfect spies. No name. No face. We're no one.
Olivia Seven. Agent Seven.
The number at which I arrived on their doorstep.
My new name. New me.
"Has Franco finally gone off the rails?" I quip softly, internally cringing at the sound of his name rolling off my tongue after years of not saying it.
The ringleader. The master of the fucking gang that believes Greenwood, California is theirs to fuck with and manipulate.
And the mastermind behind my death.
Nathanial Franco. Scumbag extraordinaire. Gang leader. Hux, JJ, and Mack's foster father, who collects children to train and fill his ranks.
Also, Franco is my sperm donor’s former employer. I've been waiting to get my hands on him and show him what a knife in the back feels like. Maybe throw a little fire in there, too. He'd probably like that.
Those thoughts only cross my mind when I'm lying in bed and staring at the ceiling while plotting his demise. I’ve imagined his death a million times over at my hands.
Only, I never imagined I'd be back in his territory—a literal walking dead girl.
"The facts of the case are something we shouldn't discuss out in the open," Jonathan says, clicking his flashlight off and shoving it back into his pocket. “They're protected details no one but you, Agent One, and I will be privy to.”
"So there is a case here." I swallow the information down, digesting it as his hand falls off my shoulder.
I almost fall over, blowing with the howling winds that whip through the multitude of large oak trees creaking from the pressure.
He just confirmed my suspicions with words. If there's a case here, then he needs me to be strong and level-headed.
Easier said than done.
A heavy sigh rocks through him. "I've rented us a suite at the Greenwood Grand Hotel downtown across the river."
I whip my head in his direction, but he holds up a hand when my mouth falls open, ready to retort. Driving here for the day is one thing, but staying through the weekend? That's a whole other story.
"You're in no danger, Liv. Remember, you're dead in his eyes.” He cruelly gestures to the darkened headstone etched with my old name. “You're here.” He flops a hand at my gravestone carelessly like it isn't a stab to my heart.
Yes. I'm dead in the eyes of everyone I've ever known. A ghost walking the streets with no true identity.
And maybe that's what kills me the most.
"He could recognize me, Sir," I say more forcefully than I intended, almost spitting every word.
Fortunately, the man who reluctantly gave me life taught me a long time ago to hold my tongue and emotions.
"There's no room for your weak tears, bitch. You should have been a goddamn boy. Then you’d be fucking useful." My father, Raphael's, words from years before continue to haunt me long after being in his presence.
"And Raphael?" I gag out his name, barely containing the trembles rocking through me.
I haven't seen or heard from my father since two days before all hell broke loose and we lost our lives. He could be dead. Alive. Hiding. The list is endless.
All I know is that he knew something was about to happen and fled without warning.
Coward.
"Unknown," Jonathan says, shaking his head.
"How, after all these years? You can't just disappear..." I trail off, rubbing my temple with my soaked, pruny fingers.
"We have ideas." That is all he says when he turns on his heels and takes a few steps away from me. "Let's get out of the rain, and we'll discuss the difficulties of this case tomorrow.”
Every case I take comes with difficulties. Life-ending possibilities. It's the joys of working for Veritas and putting myself into these situations.
"Give me a minute?" I ask, gesturing to the graves.
He nods, handing me the flashlight and wandering through the shadows toward our SUV waiting on a gravel road.
Lightning flashes again and thunder rumbles in calling, shaking the ground, and the trees sway in the frantic breeze as I fall to my knees, unable to hold back my emotions.
I'm alone now. Able to process the situation without him watching over me.
I'm fucked. Truly fucking fucked. A heaviness settles on my chest. A shriek rests in my throat, ready to release into the storm and carry it away.
All the anguish I've pushed away. The betrayals. My old life and memories.
I'm about to face them head on, crashing into them without a choice.
It's been taken from me.
Mud soaks through the dark denim clinging to my skin. My fingers curl in the wet grass, yanking at the blades until they're pieces in my grip.
"I will avenge you," I whisper, tossing the grass over my sister’s grave.
Tears pour out of my eyes, finally escaping the hold I had on them and mixing with the rain.
"I will make them fucking pay for what they did to you.
And Mom. And me," I murmur, running my fingers over my mom's name over and over again, smearing mud across the marble.
"I will bring them to their knees for ever doing this to us.
" I hang my head, sucking in several breaths into my aching, tight lungs.
"And you," I say to my name, clicking the flashlight on and lighting it up one last time.
"We will make sure they never hurt anyone ever again.
" The light moves across the surface of the marble, finally landing on the inscription I didn’t catch before.
Olivia Viotto - 17 years old. Gone too soon. But always in our hearts. 224.