Olivia #2
"What was I supposed to say?" Dom's voice remains calm, controlled. "Hey, by the way, that father you idolize? He was on my father's payroll."
"Don't you dare talk about him like that." My hands clench into fists. "You're lying. You're all lying."
Dom steps closer, his expression softening. "Olivia—"
"No." I back away. "My father was a good cop. He put criminals away. He stood for something."
"That house you grew up in? The college education you're so proud of? The car he bought you for your sixteenth birthday?" Dom's words stab at me like tiny daggers. "How do you think he afforded all that? A cop's salary doesn't stretch that far."
I shake my head, but memories flood in. The yearly vacations we took to Florida. The private horseback riding lessons. I'd always attributed it to my father's careful saving.
"He made good investments," I say weakly.
Dom's laugh is soft, almost sad. "Yeah. He invested in protection. For himself. For you."
My stomach lurches. "That's not true."
"Your father understood something you refuse to see. The world isn't black and white.”
"He sold out," I whisper, the betrayal completely gutting me.
"He survived," Dom counters. "And he made sure you did too."
I sink onto a chair, the fight draining out of me. "Everything I thought I knew about him..."
"Was still true," Dom says, sitting beside me. "He loved you. He was proud of you. He wanted better for you."
A bitter laugh escapes me. "So he made a deal with the devil."
"With my father," Dom corrects. "Who, yes, was probably the devil."
I look at him, really look at him. The man I've been hunting for years. The man I've been sleeping with. The man who apparently knew more about my father than I ever did.
My life, my entire career is built on a foundation of lies.
"You're overthinking," Dom says, watching me with concern in his eyes.
"Am I? My father was corrupt. Everything I've built my life around was a lie."
"He wasn't corrupt," Dom counters, irritation edging into his voice. "He was practical. There's a difference."
"Is there?" I snap. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like I've spent my career trying to bring down the very people my father protected."
Dom's patience visibly frays. "That's rich coming from someone who's been fucking me while trying to build a case against me."
The words hit like a slap. "That's different—"
"Is it?" He leans closer, eyes flashing. "You're the one who decided it's okay to sleep with me and work with me when it suits you. So maybe the answer is yes, you’re exactly like your father."
I want to defend myself, insist I haven't broken any laws, that our situation is completely different.
But he's right.
I've been compartmentalizing, justifying, drawing arbitrary lines.
"I haven't compromised my investigation," I say weakly.
"Keep telling yourself that." He shakes his head and I get the feeling that I’ve offended him somehow. But he’s the one who lied to me.
"Look, I'm not judging you. Neither is Roman. Your father made choices to protect what mattered. So are you."
I feel like I’m disassociating because his words sort of make sense. I've been so focused on the letter of the law that I missed its spirit.
Justice, protection, doing what's right even when it's complicated.
But no. That’s just excuses.
Two wrongs don’t make a right.
"I don't know who I am anymore.” I rub my temples, feeling a headache coming on. "I need to get out of here. Clear my head."
Dom puts his hand on my forearm. "That's not smart, Olivia. You're still in danger."
"I can't stay here," I snap, gesturing around the safehouse. "In this bubble with you where everything makes sense until I step back into the real world."
"Maybe this is the real world." His voice softens. "Maybe out there is the illusion."
I laugh bitterly. "That's convenient philosophy for a criminal."
"For someone who just learned her father worked with the Vitale family, you're still pretty quick with the judgment." His words sting because they're true.
I look away. "I need space to process all this."
"Process here. Where it's safe. Where I can protect you. If you need space, I’ll give it to you within the confines of this safehouse."
"And then what?" I challenge. "We just... continue whatever this is?"
"Would that be so terrible? We could see where this goes. What's between us."
"There's nothing between us, Dom,” I lie, letting my anger and feelings of betrayal get the best of me. Because the truth is, I do feel something for him.
His eyebrows raise. "Really? Because the way you respond when I touch you says otherwise."
Heat rushes to my face. "That’s just sex.”
"It could be more." He reaches for my hand, but I pull it away. "Something has to give, Olivia. And since your work isn't safe for you anymore, maybe that's what needs to change."
"You want me to quit the FBI? For what—to be your mob girlfriend?" Anger flares deep in my gut. I will not give up who I am. What I am for anyone.
"I want you to be safe," he counters. "And happy. The FBI is neither for you right now."
"And you are?" I stand up, needing more than ever to get away. “I don't see you offering to change your line of work."
I stand too. "If it’s just sex, why would I change anything?” The hurt beneath his words is unmistakable, and guilt twists in my stomach. I've wounded him.
"Dom—"
"No, you're right." He steps back, creating distance between us. "We're just fucking. No reason to complicate that with feelings or a future."
I swear I can feel him retreating. “That’s the difference between you and me, Olivia. I am not my job. Being a businessman, or as you see it, a criminal, is who I am. I'm a man who protects what's his. Who would die for the people I care about. What I do is for family."
My throat tightens. "I value those things too."
His laugh is harsh. "No you don’t. The love for your beloved father has vanished because he’s not the knight in shining armor you made him out to be.
From where I’m standing, you're nothing but FBI.
It's not just your job, it's your entire identity.” He shrugs and makes a face of disgust. “Without that badge, who are you? You’re nobody.”
I feel like he’s reached into my soul and crushed it.
"Your father understood the difference between who he was and what he did. Between justice and a paycheck. Between protecting people and following rules."
"Don't bring him into this again," I warn.
"Why not? He's the reason we're here." Dom's eyes soften slightly. "He knew when to be a cop and when to be a man. When to follow orders and when to follow his conscience."
I turn away, unable to meet his gaze. "You don't know what you're talking about."
"I know exactly what I'm talking about." His hand catches my arm, gentle but firm. "The difference between us isn't that I'm a criminal and you're FBI. It's that I know who I am outside my work. I know what matters. Do you?"
The question is impossible to answer because I'm terrified he's right.
Without the FBI, who am I?
What's left?