Chapter 14
CHAPTER 14
NOAH (PRESENT)
Her question hung heavily around us, the weight of it sitting against my chest.
I knew I’d have to tell her one day, that my revelation might change everything between us forever. I just hoped that despite my lies, my next words wouldn’t create an irreversible rift between us that I wouldn’t be able to mend.
I hesitated for a moment, unable to meet her gaze. But then, with a heavy sigh, I finally let go of the one truth I’d kept buried inside, the admission breaking free like a dam succumbing to the weight it’d been holding over for too long.
“Because I used to be one,” I admitted, my confession suffocating the air around us. I chanced looking over at her to find her brows pulled together in confusion. “Omar Barrera’s my father.”
Her eyes searched my face for answers and when my expression didn’t falter, a wave of understanding washed over her, melding with hurt and betrayal that threatened to swallow me whole.
I would give anything to turn back time and meet her again for the first time, to right my wrongs and make sure the look on her face right now would never have a chance to make its way there.
She closed her eyes and turned away from me, her attention back on the road. My stomach sank with each passing second she didn’t speak.
“Say something,” I pleaded, needing her to say or scream something, anything . Anger I was prepared to deal with because anger meant she still cared. But indifference, her silence, that I didn’t want to fathom its repercussions.
I needed her to be angry. I needed to know that deep down, no matter how much time had passed, she still cared.
Maybe it was foolish of me to think that despite my constant betrayal and lies, she’d still want anything to do with me, but a foolish heart reached for hope and I wasn’t ready to give that up.
I didn’t think I ever could.
It felt like hours had passed when she impassively said, “All you seem to have ever done was lie to me, so no, I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“That’s not true,” I started, my voice strained with guilt. “I didn’t lie about everything.”
I kept my focus on her, hoping she’d talk to me. But she stayed silent, her eyes remaining on the road and refusing to meet my gaze. I eventually turned my attention to where we were going, stealing glances at her from the corner of my eye every once in a while.
It was a few minutes before midnight when we passed a white town sign that read Ben Sbih .
We drove for another few miles before she left the paved road and turned into a dark narrow alley. Amalia navigated through a labyrinth of narrow alleyways, passing a group of kids playing football in the streets, until a one-story property, its rammed earth facade weathered with time, came into view.
She came to a stop behind a motorcycle already parked there, turned off the engine, and said, “We’re here. Let’s go.” Her hand reached to open her door, but my hand shot out to grasp her arm. She immediately jerked away from my touch. “Don’t,” she said coldly, still refusing to look at me.
“Amalia,” I whispered, urging her to look at me, but she ignored me and stepped out of the car, leaving me behind.
I thought I knew what heartbreak felt like when I’d promised her I’d return that morning, only to leave and never see her again.
It had taken me a while after my mother’s passing for the true weight of losing Amalia to settle in. But when my emotions kicked back in, I’d spent months feeling like a knife was constantly being twisted into my chest whenever anything reminded me of her.
But this somehow made whatever I’d felt back then like child’s play.
My heart was pounding in my ears, the blood rushing too quickly to my head. All I could feel was an immense pressure sitting against my chest, but I refused to let it win, no matter how overwhelming it tried to be.
This wasn’t over.
The sound of someone slamming against the hood of the car startled me out of my thoughts. I looked up to find Amalia standing outside, an aggravated expression on her face.
“We don’t have all day,” she called out, her voice cutting through the night.
Without a second glance in my direction, she spun around and strode toward the white iron front door. She reached for the back pocket of her pants to retrieve a key, then moved to unlock it. With a groan of protest, the door swung open and she disappeared inside, leaving it ajar behind her.
With a heavy sigh, I stepped out of the car and made my way over to her. When I stepped over the door’s threshold, I found myself greeted with an unexpected sight—the glint of a gun barrel.
It wasn’t the first time I’d met the end of a barrel, so I chose to disregard it, instead focusing my attention on the figure holding the weapon.
With the entryway hallway cloaked in darkness, his features remained mostly obscured, but I could still discern that he was around Amalia’s age—or maybe even mine. He had on a long-sleeved shirt, dark straight pants, and a beanie over his head despite the suffocating August humidity.
The lights were suddenly turned on. “Lower your gun, Nassim,” Amalia’s voice rang out, tinged with impatience. “He’s unfortunately with me.”
I didn’t let myself dwell on her “unfortunately” and watched as this Nassim reluctantly lowered his gun, his expression tense as he eyed me.
“Who is he? You didn’t tell me anything about us having company,” he inquired, his gaze still on me.
Amalia shed her jacket and hung it on a hook farther down the hall, leaving her in only a black tank top. She then approached us and leaned her shoulder casually against the wall behind him. “You didn’t exactly give me the opportunity during our last conversation,” she replied dryly.
I hated not knowing how they knew each other, hated how familiar they sounded with one another. I had no right to be jealous, but it didn’t stop the resentment.
“Do you trust him?” Nassim asked, glancing at her over his shoulder.
I waited with bated breath for her answer, although deep down I braced myself for disappointment. After everything that had transpired between us and my latest admission, why would she say yes?
Her gaze flickered briefly to mine before settling back on the stranger who was still standing between her and me. “No,” she admitted as I’d expected, but it didn’t stop the expected disappointment from washing over me. “But you can for whatever you have planned. Something tells me he has more at stake in this than I originally thought.”
Nassim furrowed his brows at Amalia’s response and turned toward me. Shifting his gun to his left hand, he extended his right one toward me and gave me a small smile. “Nassim Aguilar,” he introduced himself.
I accepted his outstretched hand and firmly shook it once. “Noah Brown.”
Amalia shook her head, a sigh of disbelief escaping her lips. “Now that we’re all acquainted, we have matters to discuss.”
With a nod of agreement, Nassim tucked his weapon in the back of his pants before motioning for us to follow him farther into the house. I gestured for Amalia to take the lead, trailing closely behind her.
The interior was a surprising contrast to what I’d expected for a safe house or its drab exterior, warm hues welcoming us inside. Traditional decor adorned the stone walls, and a vibrant rug lined the hallway that led to the main living area.
A half wall divided the space, revealing a small kitchen to the right with an iron back door that mirrored the one at the front, likely leading to some sort of courtyard.
On the other side of the divide, the living room was set up in a traditional Moroccan seating arrangement. Over the large matching rug to the one at the front were two low cushions that lined the walls in an L shape. At the center, a low wooden table was ladened with an array of bread, butter, honey, and a silver teapot, its fragrant mint tea wafting through the air.
Nassim wrinkled his nose in distaste as we settled around the table. “What the hell is this smell?”
“That would be me,” I replied flatly. “Didn’t really have much time to shower between being held captive for the last three weeks in a damp cell and then brought here against my will.”
Amalia, who was sitting next to Nassim on the cushion facing the entryway, rolled her eyes. “You’re welcome to go back.”
Nassim’s gaze bounced back and forth between Amalia and me as he reached behind him to place his gun on the wooden surface in front of us. He then grabbed the teapot and asked, “Tea, anyone?” with a smile playing on his lips.
Bewildered, I just stared at him because why was this stranger being this cordial by offering mint tea and smiling minutes after having a gun pointed at my head.
When no one answered his offer, he poured himself a glass and said to himself, “Guess that’ll leave more for me.” After taking a leisurely sip, Nassim reclined against the pillows, his hand hanging as he toyed with the teacup.
Amalia met his gesture with a glare, but he seemed completely unfazed by her demeanor.
“Relax, Amalia. You’re always so serious. You just got here, and it’s quite rude to refuse when someone offers you tea, you know.”
“Don’t tell me to relax, Nassim,” Amalia interjected, her tone sharp with impatience. “Just cut to the chase and tell me why you had me come here.”
His gaze shifted between us, his expression thoughtful as he seemed to contemplate his next words. Finally, he leaned forward, setting his glass aside with a sigh.
“All right,” he began, his tone now serious. “Barrera’s planning to move on Alaoui’s territory and expand Adil’s special operations.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in before continuing. “He sent out a hit on his head for fourteen million rial three days ago.”
Amalia’s brow furrowed, her gaze fixed intently on Nassim. “That doesn’t make sense. Why would he contract someone else to kill Alaoui when he could’ve just asked me? Are you sure about the intel? Who even told you this?”
She fired each question without giving him time to answer, but he let her as if he was used to her way of processing information.
Which meant he knew her and I didn’t like that.
When she was done, he met her gaze squarely, his expression turning somber. “I wouldn’t tell you to leave and meet me here if I wasn’t sure. My contact sent me this the day I called you.” He reached into his pocket, retrieved a folded picture, and placed it on the table in front of her. “I haven’t confirmed yet if you’ve been made, but when one of my guys told me a hit had been posted for Alaoui’s head, I knew something was wrong.”
She peered at the picture and her features darkened at the sight of whatever was on the table.
Nassim spoke again as I grabbed the photograph from the table. It was a grainy print of Amalia and another man, talking at the docks in Bemes. She was handing him something, but it was too blurry to tell exactly what it was.
“We need to move quicker than we’d planned,” Nassim continued. “Your cover might not be blown, but if there are talks about you betraying the cartel, it’s just as bad. Barrera already has a monopoly in the country. If he overthrows Adil, we’re fucked. He’ll have too much control for us to do anything about it.”
The gears turned in my head as I processed everything he’d just said, but I still didn’t understand what was his connection to Amalia or his interest in my father. I could tell he wasn’t from the Bureau because I would have known about an operation aiming to come after my father’s empire.
I might have let go of my need to bring Omar down, but I still monitored his whereabouts and what he was involved in. That’s how I found out about what happened to Jamal and his wife.
Placing the picture back on the table. I turned my attention back to him. “Who are you?” I asked curtly. I knew I was being short, but I couldn’t care less right now. I was itching to know his connection to my father and most importantly to my Amalia.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he countered.
“I asked you first,” I insisted.
I expected him to push back or give me an elusive answer, but instead, he leaned back against the pillow behind him and met my gaze head-on. “My father used to be Barrera’s right-hand man back in the seventies and eighties. He had to flee the cartel years before I was even born and I’m back to finish what he’d started.”
His revelation hung in the air, the implications sinking in slowly as I processed his words.
“You’re Reda’s son?” My question came out barely above a whisper, memories of the past flooding my mind.
Shortly after we’d boarded the plane that night, exhaustion and the pain medication my mother had given me after stitching my neck up had pulled me into a deep slumber.
I’d woken up hours later in Colombia with a new last name and a new life. I’d learned later on that my uncle Reda had been in contact with someone in the Aguilar cartel and had eventually been able to broker a deal in exchange for sanctuary within their ranks.
Reda and I had had a relatively close relationship, but he’d always been secretive and vague about his private life. I’d actually thought there was something between him and my mother and they just didn’t want me to be aware of it.
But when my mother and I had left Colombia years later, he hadn’t come with us. He’d insisted on staying behind, claiming he’d had business to tend to and that he couldn’t leave it behind.
Guess this is what he meant by that?
Nassim furrowed his brows. “How do you know my father’s name?”
“Because he’s part of the reason I’m still alive today.”