33. Rico
Rico
The night it all went to shit!
After scribbling my granddaughter’s name on the envelope, I stack it with the others and take a moment. I imagine she’ll be quite upset with me for withholding this information for so long.
I did it to protect her.
There’s no world in which I would allow her to get pulled back into that life. It was too dangerous. I refuse to lose her to it the same way I lost her mother.
The world she was given—away from all of this—was better suited for her.
Simpler. Safer. There was no risk of her becoming a pawn in a war that’s stretched on for decades.
I’ve seen what men in that other world are capable of.
How easily they use the innocent to punish the guilty.
It’s why we all agreed that the choice we made was for the best.
All we ever wanted was for my granddaughter to live freely. To have a life untouched by the burdens we carry. To break the chains the rest of us have worn for far too long and to never once feel their weight.
Standing, I gather the envelopes and make my way across my office to the safe. The code is second nature. The lock releases with a quiet click, and I place them inside before closing it once more.
As I turn away, my gaze lingers on a photograph of my family, taken before Isabel was born. We look so… perfect. The ideal wealthy family with enough money to make us happy.
It’s a lie.
We had wealth. More than we could ever spend. But we weren’t happy. That was never part of the bargain. Not when you earn it the way we earned ours. Money like that doesn’t bring peace. It brings greed. Leaves bitterness in its wake.
A knock on my door has me pulling on the lapels of my robe, smoothing them into place despite the late hour. I know who it is. She comes by every evening to talk.
This brief moment each day is the only time I see the woman I married… not the stranger who now lives in our home.
“You’re still working?” The way Alma frowns pulls me back years, long before children, before responsibilities stretched us thin.
“Sorry. I had a few things to finish before turning in. Come in. Keep me company while I wrap this up?” I wave her into my office and quietly shut the door behind her.
Alma doesn’t take a seat. She drifts through the room, drawn toward the wall where our family photos hang.
I watch her from across the desk.
Will she recognize them tonight? Or will she ask me who they are? Think I’m hiding something from her, then accuse me of lying.
It’s a cruel thing, watching her mind unravel in pieces.
Each day takes something new, leaving her reaching for memories that no longer settle where they should.
It’s put distance between us. Making me feel isolated while I protect our secrets, unwilling to let them come to life now that she can’t remember.
She picks up a frame and studies it closely. “When did we take this photo of Sofia? I don’t remember it.”
I don’t even have to look up to know she’s mistaken. The photo isn’t of Sofia; it’s Isabel. My granddaughter looks so much like her mother that Alma can no longer distinguish the differences between them. And I never have the heart to tell her the truth.
“I don’t remember, either.” I tap my desk as an invitation. “Come sit with me. Tell me about your day.”
Placing the frame back on my shelf, Alma turns and walks over, wearing a beautiful smile. Taking the high-backed chair across from me, she sighs. “Sofia and I scoped out the Hamlet’s place today. I must say I was quite impressed with how good she’s become at seeing things others miss.”
I frown, my gaze sharpening on her. When the hell was this? She’s never told me this before. The thought unsettles me more than I care to admit, dragging old frustrations back to the surface.
“I thought we talked about this.”
“Don’t start.” With a soft exhalation and an eye roll, she brushes aside my concern. “If I’d told her no, she would’ve done it anyway. Is that what you want? At least this way she learns properly. From someone who understands what they’re doing.”
She gestures around us, confident. “Look at all the beautiful art we’ve collected over the years. I’ve honed my craft, just like you have yours. I know how to get our customers what they want. You manage the business and ensure everything runs as it should.”
“I think it’s time, Alma.” I run a hand over my face, wishing we’d had this conversation before. “Time to stop before we get in too deep.”
The truth presses in harder than I’d like.
We should’ve stopped years ago. Before Sofia ever became a part of it.
If Alma had shared she was grooming our daughter to be the next best art thief, I could’ve put an end to it.
Pushed her toward the legitimate side of her art brokering business—the one that paid well, just not well enough.
Because that’s the truth. Crime pays. And once you’ve had a taste of that forbidden fruit, it’s tough not to go back for more. It draws you in, bit by bit, until greed takes hold and refuses to let go.
“Hogwash.” She waves me off without a second thought. “You worry too much.”
My fist slams against the desk, my anger getting the best of me. “I worry because I know what this adventure will cost us.”
“Can you magically see the future?” She struggles to her feet and shakes her head. “Stop being silly. Nothing is going to happen.”
I catch her wrist before she can step away.
“You’re wrong. More happens than you realize.
It costs us everything—our sanity, our peace.
It leaves us trapped in a space we can’t escape.
Lies upon lies, until there’s nothing left of us but what we’ve become.
I would undo it all if I could. Every day, I think about it. ”
Rolling her eyes again, Alma smiles. “You’ve had too much scotch.” Her fingers brush my cheek, gentle despite the dismissal. “It’s messing with your head. Now hurry so we can go to bed. I’m tired.”
Leaning forward, she kisses my forehead, light and familiar. “Everything will be fine, Rico. Trust me. I think I’ll sit in the gallery for a bit. Clear my head. Come find me when you’re finished.”
I let her go. Know as soon as she walks out of this office, she won’t remember a thing we talked about.
She’ll return to the woman who can’t remember her children are dead and that we played a horrible part in their deaths.
We may not have killed them, but our actions led them to the people who did.
It’s a guilt I’ve had to live with for so damn long.
The door closes behind her, and I get back to work.
I need to make sure everything is in order before I can even think about calling it a night.
By the time I finish filing the last of the paperwork, my mobile phone rings.
I pick it up, noting the time—over two hours since Alma left—and frown at the caller ID.
Why is he calling me this late?
I barely get the phone to my ear before he speaks. “I hear you had a visitor earlier.”
“I handled it,” I say, already on my feet. “Like I always do.”
I move through the office as I talk, going through my checklist out of habit. Desk locked. Safe secured. Nothing left where it shouldn’t be.
“Tell your boss there’s nothing to worry about.
I convinced them it would take a few days for things to clear.
That the painting will be back with Mr. Doyle in time for them to do whatever it is they plan on doing.
All I want is for everyone to leave me out of this.
I’ve done everything that was asked of me.
Now I’d appreciate it if you left me out of it. ”
“That’s not how it works.” His voice carries that same eerie steadiness. “What do you think Alma will do when she realizes what you’ve done?”
“She can’t remember what happened yesterday, so it doesn’t really matter.” I switch off my office light as I step into the hall. “If anyone will react, it’ll be my granddaughter. She’ll probably disown me.”
“You don’t need to worry about her.” There’s something in his tone that sets me on edge. “She’ll be well taken care of.”
I stop walking, not liking what he’s insinuating. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. I’m just saying you shouldn’t worry.” His voice is quieter now, almost a whisper. “By tomorrow, all your worries will disappear.”
The line goes dead.
I’m tempted to call Trent and give him a piece of my mind, but I don’t feel like dealing with him again tonight. Once a week is more than enough. I’ll deal with him in the morning. When I’ve had time to clear my head.
Before turning in, I stop by the gallery. It’s locked up tight. I don’t bother going inside. If Alma is in there, she’ll be fine. It wouldn’t be the first time she’s fallen asleep among her paintings.
These days I suspect she prefers it there.
At least in there she’ll be safe. No one can get inside without a key.
It’s the safest place to be—her favorite as well.
She can sit there for hours, lost in her thoughts.
I think it’s the one place where, no matter how far her mind drifts, time no longer matters.
The men who stopped by early this evening…
I don’t trust them. I wouldn’t put it past them to return and do something reckless.
They weren’t invited. It’s a good thing I was prepared.
I expected Mr. Cygan to see how far he could push me.
Not far. I didn’t budge. His threats were nothing more than words.
I refuse to be bullied by a man who won’t even show his face.
That tells me all I need to know about the man.
His men were less convincing. They didn’t like being sent away shortly after Mr. Theiss left.
Why Mr. Cygan changed his mind about making an appearance, I couldn’t say—frankly, I don’t care.
I was simply relieved to have them gone before Alma and Isabel returned from their night out.
It gave me some peace of mind to know those men were gone and held no threat to the two most important women in my life.
For now I believe that to be enough. Until I step into my bedroom and close the door, and realize I’m not alone.
I don’t see anyone, but I sense them. “Don’t be a coward. Show yourself.”
He steps out and I know then this night will not end well.
Dressed entirely in black, the man who has been playing both sides finally reveals himself. He’s holding a gun in one hand and a black neoprene mask in the other. He’s not here to talk. That much is clear.
“What do you want, Drake?”
He doesn’t answer.
Rather than indulge him, or give him the reaction he expects, I continue with my nightly routine and walk into my bathroom. He follows me, of course. Watches me pick up my toothbrush and prepare it as I would any other night.
“He doesn’t know, does he?” I turn on the tap, meeting his reflection in the mirror. “Your boss has no idea you’re about to set him up for my murder.”
His only response is a faint shake of his head.
“Well then, get on with it. What are you waiting for?” I wet up my toothbrush, my movement steady.
Staring straight ahead, I study my wrinkled face. The lines have deepened over the year, each one earned.
He lingers behind me, watching. No rush. No urgency.
I’m not sure what he expected of me. This is how I always imagined it would end. A man driven by greed, deciding I’d outlived my usefulness.
I didn’t cross this man, but he represents all those I have. Every life I’ve taken. Every wrong I’ve buried. Perhaps this is how it was always meant to end.
It seems only fair I face the same fate for allowing greed to rule my life.
I’ve stood where he’s standing now. Pulled the trigger. Chosen silence over mercy.
When he raises the gun, I close my eyes and wait for the darkness to come. When it doesn’t come, I know why. He won’t take the shot until I look at him. He wants me to see it coming.
So I do.
And I wish I hadn’t.
Because that’s when fear slams into me—sudden and absolute.
I’m not scared for myself. Never myself.
I’m terrified for the woman standing just out of Drake’s view, inside my wardrobe, watching him with tears streaming down her cheeks.
God… no.
Please don’t let him see her.
Please don’t let this be how it ends for her too.
Not my Alma.