Truth in Pieces

by RC Boldt

  “But that obituary… If he was trying to hide us, why would he have listed only my name on it?”

  Her voice hardens like steel. “He was forced into it. A nurse overheard him praying in the hospital chapel when he spoke your name. He should’ve known better, but evidently, she didn’t overhear him say my name.”

  Her lip curls up in a derisive sneer. “She was convinced that Johanna was your typical heartbroken woman who’d just lost her child, so she went to her. Thinking she was helping someone mourn the loss of her child, she offered to pray with her for the soul of Oliviana Isabella.”

  “How do you know all this?”

  “He left behind some belongings in a safe-deposit box. After my mother, Rosa, passed away a few years ago, I was going through her things and came across the key and note.” She reaches for the paper resting on the table and hands it to me. “I assume he left it with her because he knew Liam and Beth moved so frequently it might be difficult for them to keep up with it.”

  The edges of the note are worn and discolored with a masculine scrawl etched across the paper.

  If the time comes when you want the truth, you’ll find it here. Find your sister. Make sure she’s safe.

  I love you both very much. That’s why I had to leave you. It was the only way to keep you safe.

  I trace a finger over the handwriting, battered with the yearning and anguish at never having the opportunity to know him. At never meeting the man who sacrificed everything to keep me—and my sister—safe.

  I can’t tear my eyes off the note. I can’t bear to hand it back just yet because this is as close as I could possibly get to him. “What was in the box?” My voice sounds fragile to my own ears, barely above a whisper.

  “This.”

  She passes me a journal that’s seen better days, the cover creased and edges curled. I accept it with robotic movements.

  “It has everything in there. He explained when he knew Johanna was taking over for her father, that she didn’t want the simple kind of life he did.

  “He paid off the doctor to distract her when she’d go in for prenatal appointments and had him turn off the volume of the heart rate monitor and play a recorded sound of a single heartbeat instead.

  “He tells how she’d never get her hands dirty and would have someone kill for her.” She falters briefly, but I catch it. “It’s all in there.”

  I wrench my eyes off the journal. “What’s your name?”

  She hesitates visibly before answering in a hushed tone. “Camila.”

  My gaze sharpens. “What kind of work do you do?”

  She laughs. “Calm that FBI brain of yours.” Then sobering, she sighs. “I used to work for Uncle Sam, but I fly solo these days. Doesn’t mean I’m planning to cause you trouble.

  “I’ve still got some irons in the fire to take care of, but I had to fulfill his request and get this to you.” She rises from her seat. “Now that I’ve done it, I’ve got to go.”

  I dart to my feet, the journal and note held in my tense grip. “Wait! Will I see you again?”

  She stops a few feet away from me, turning her head. “Is that what you want?”

  “Yes. It is.” My tone is emphatic. “I went all this time without knowing you existed, and now…” I falter.

  “And now?” She faces me, expression curious.

  “I’d like to get to know you.”

  She inspects my features before nodding. “So would I. Just…” Head tipped to the side, she studies me for a beat. “Keep an open mind when you read that.”

  Her words leave a figurative track of ominous bread crumbs behind her as she strides to the rear patio door. When her hand touches the doorknob, she hesitates and shifts to face me again.

  “I watch people when they don’t know they’re being watched. And whatever you had with him, it wasn’t one-sided.”

  At the mere mention of my time with Nico—I mean, Luca—I cross my arms over my chest against the sensation that I’m being flayed open.

  Whatever Camila detects in my expression makes her smirk. “Yeah, we’re related, all right. We definitely share the same stubbornness.”

  A tiny burst of laughter escapes me. “Good to know I’m not the only one.”

  “Not anymore.” With a punctuating nod, she says, “Read up. Then we’ll talk again.”

  “But how will I—”

  “I’ll be around.” She pauses with a wink. “Might need to re-tighten this outdoor bulb so it works.” Stepping out quickly, she disappears in the darkness of night.

  I close the door softly and lock it, leaning back against the surface while tears prick at my eyes. I’ve gained a sister I never knew I had. And that journal she left me holds the details of a father I never knew.

  Right now, I’d give anything to have Luca hold me in his arms.

  Sliding my back down the door, I drop to the floor and draw my bent legs close, wrapping my arms around them. I squeeze my knees flush against my body in an attempt to prevent my heart from spilling out of my chest. I’ve never felt so desolate or had my brain feel like it’s been fractured into segments and rearranged into a jumbled mess.

  A few tears spill free before I drag myself upright once again. I’ve felt broken before and I survived. I made it through by my iron will. And I know I’ll do it again.

  I just wish I didn’t have to.

  Once I crawl beneath the covers, I read journal entry after journal entry, my eyes frantically devouring every detail.

  Johanna had men killed today. She told me it was necessary. She never does it herself—she merely gives the order.

  How can a pregnant woman do such a thing? She wasn’t like this when we met four years ago. There was a brightness in her eyes, a zest for life. But stepping into this role at her father’s demand has changed her. All this time, I thought she was different than him. But she’s not.

  How can she be this way? She was once the woman I loved more than life itself. The one I planned to spend the rest of my days with.

  But now, I can barely find a trace of the woman I once knew—of the woman who promised me she’d love me forever.

  When she told me she was pregnant, I thought it might be a sign that things might take a turn for the better. That this could help her see things differently and maybe even change.

  I should’ve known better than to think that evil wasn’t rooted deep in her already.

  The next entry is dated five months later.

  Johanna’s hostility toward me has grown. Every time I bring up the idea of us breaking free and starting fresh on our own and making an honest living—one that doesn’t include drugs or murder—she screams at me. She told me she’s staying in this life and demanded that I support her the way she feels I should.

  But I can’t support a murderer.

  I am a proud man, but I begged her to let me go. I promised that I’d do anything if she just let me walk away from all of it—and allow me to take our child.

  Of course, she refused. Even worse, she told me the baby likely wasn’t even mine. She was so proud when she confessed that she’d been unfaithful to me with my best friend. She drugged him because she knew it would be the ultimate revenge.

  This entry is dated three months later.

  I’m thankful for the doctor who helped disguise the babies’ two heartbeats throughout each prenatal visit. I offered him more money to medicate Johanna enough to make her mostly incoherent. He showed her a stillborn baby instead of my twin girls while she was still under the effects of the medicine.

  Because I couldn’t stomach the thought of bringing innocent children into this kind of world—into Johanna’s evil world—I did something today that I’ll have to live with for the rest of my life.

  I gave up my daughters.

  The ink is smeared on the last word, and I run the pad of my index finger over it, wondering if it was from my father’s tears…or Camila’s.

  Oliviana and Camila are beautiful babies, and they deserve more from
this world than to be raised by a murderous woman.

  I lie awake at night trying to determine another way, but this was all I’ve been able to come up with. The safest way. Because I know Johanna will kill me. We haven’t been the same since she’s become entrenched in her father’s “business.”

  I have so many regrets already, but they can’t sway me into changing my mind. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.

  I don’t care that these girls aren’t truly mine. Maybe I just refuse to admit that I was betrayed by the woman I’ve loved for years. That I was betrayed by my best friend.

  I hope my babies know that they were loved. Even in the brief time I held them in my arms, those moments are ones I’ll keep with me forever.

  When she has me killed, I’ll take the secret with me, leaving only this journal with Rosa for safekeeping. It will hold the truth that I wasn’t your real father. That I never gave him a chance to meet you. A chance to change the path he was on. But I don’t regret getting you free from the cartel life.

  I love you girls like you’re my own. I suppose this is what you do for those you love—you do whatever it takes to protect them—even if it breaks your heart.

  The final entry is dated one month later. An onslaught of regret has my throat growing painfully tight to know that these were his final sentiments. That he sacrificed so much for us to ensure we were free of that kind of life, yet he never lived to see what we’ve become.

  He never lived to see that his brave efforts enabled us to grow up and be good people.

  If you girls find this, know that I wanted you to have a chance at a normal life. A safe one. You must understand that I gave you up to save you. It was never because you were unwanted. If I could have, I would’ve escaped with you both, but I knew that was far too risky, and I refused to endanger you anymore.

  You must believe me when I say that while you were growing inside Johanna, I never thought of you as anything but mine. I planned to hide you away regardless of whether I was your biological father. That never mattered to me. I loved you both with all my heart from the very start.

  I believe there’s some good left in your real father. If he’s still alive, it may take time, but if anyone can bring him back to the man he was years ago—if anyone can convince him to leave that kind of life behind—it’s you.

  Don’t do what I did. Don’t put yourself last. Don’t allow the person you love to put their job before you and your well-being and safety. You deserve more.

  You deserve it all.

  There’s a quote by Franz Kafka that I think of often. And whenever Johanna gives the order, I know it’ll be in my mind while my girls are in my heart.

  “Everything you love is very likely to be lost, but in the end, love will return in a different way.”

  I swipe at the tears that spill faster and faster while regrets and anguish pummel me. Even though I know it’s futile, I hate that I was robbed of knowing this man. A man who loved so fiercely and protected us the best he could—even when it broke his heart.

  More than that, I hate that my biological father never knew any of this. That he was denied the opportunity to get to know his daughters.

  I’ll never know who he was or if he had a penchant for psychology or if he was a hugger. Or if he, too, was more of a loner.

  Maybe, just maybe, Antonio Jiménez had a role in helping me, even in his absence. He’s already helped Camila find me.

  But, like that quote mentions, now I wonder if he sent me love in a different way.

  In the form of Luca Nicochávez.

  64

  Olivia

  Luca is a popular man.

  My innate awareness of his presence brings this to my attention. Each time we lock eyes during a quick break and he takes a step with the intent to approach me, one of his superiors or colleagues delays him.

  He has the patience of a saint. Every question they pepper him with is met with a response that’s thoughtful and well-spoken.

  We’ve been working nonstop on preparations for the trial, and it’s been mind-blowing. I commend these agents for putting in so much time and work for as long as they have. Remaining undercover for five years would take a toll on a person. Hell, I can attest to that, and I only did it for a brief six months.

  “Now, this is where Wright comes in…” Kramer segues for me, and I launch into details regarding the start of our operation.

  Penman stops me a few times to ask for clarification. Though the man is tedious and nitpicky as hell, perhaps it’s necessary, because once this heads to trial, the defense will attempt to rip it apart like a vulture does carrion.

  “Shortly after the video went viral of me saving a student from choking, Nico Alcanzar and his men were waiting inside my house when I arrived home from work. Alcanzar informed me that it was the video that led him to me.”

  “And did any of the men use inappropriate force or coercion that day in the house?” Penman rattles off questions rapid-fire.

  The memory of Nico’s hands skating over my bare skin sends a rash of goose bumps rising along my skin, but I maintain composure when I answer Penman. “No, sir.”

  “Proceed.”

  The arrogance in Penman’s voice has Kramer bristling beside me, but I ignore it and continue.

  “He claimed that I was the daughter of the rival cartel leader, Johanna Santilla. The same daughter rumored to have died at birth. Alcanzar had a photograph of her to show the resemblance.”

  Penman eyes me sharply. “Were you previously aware of this? That you’re Santilla’s daughter?”

  One of them, you mean, an inner voice taunts, but I shove it aside. “No, sir. I had no idea. You’ll see that I also submitted documents in the shared folder which include my birth certificate and my parents’ legal names. They were the only parents I knew of…up until this point.”

  He nods, apparently satisfied with my answer.

  “I determined it prudent to cooperate with Alcanzar since my assignment was to confirm whether university officials were connected to the drug cartel and whether they were using campus property to assist in any way. And if my connection to Santilla was proven true, then I could possibly infiltrate their cartel.”

  My throat feels like it’s threatening to swell shut when my eyes accidentally snag Luca’s, so I jerk them away. “Alcanzar claimed to need me to pretend to be his live-in girlfriend in order to gain Santilla’s attention.”

  “Sounds like our boy. Can’t get a girlfriend, so he makes one pretend,” a guy with a DEA badge clipped to his shirt hoots, and the others laugh, a welcome moment of levity filling the room.

  Of course, Penman cuts the man a sharp look, and the man’s laughter morphs into a cough covered by his fist. I suppose we’re all getting a little loopy after such lengthy and tedious discussions.

  “Excuse the interruption, Wright…” Penman checks his watch. “But lunch should be here, so we can break a minute early—”

  As if on cue, there’s a knock on the door, and a DEA employee nearest the door jumps up to open it. Two other men have rolling carts laden with our supplied lunch and beverages. Penman waves them inside the room, and they push the carts to the far corner.

  As expected, as soon as they leave the food unattended, everyone converges like they’ve gone months without a meal.

  I turn to Tim. “I’ll be back. I need to run to the restroom.”

  “Want me to snag you one of the salads?”

  “Please. And a water?”

  “You got it.”

  I weave through the crowd of people gathering in messy lines for the food, intent on escaping as quickly as I can.

  A large shadow drifts over me when I reach the doorway. Warily, I lift my gaze and lock with a familiar set of eyes.

  “Professor. After you.” Goliath—or Kai, rather—gestures for me to precede him. Once I step into the quiet hallway, he matches my easy stride toward the restrooms.

  “How’s the arm?”

  “It’s
good.”

  Brows descending with concern, he scowls as if the idea of me hurt physically pains him. “You had us worried.”

  The tension that’s held me captive ebbs a fraction, and I offer him a small smile. “I’m tougher than I look.”

  He lets out a chuckle, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Tell me something I don’t already know.”

  We share a little laugh, and I’m certain he’s recalling the number of times I stood up to Nico, especially in the beginning. I draw to a stop at the women’s restroom door and peer up at him.

  It’s now that I realize the suffocating weight of worry and responsibility on my shoulders has eased now that I’ve gained distance from the din of conversation spilling out from that conference room. Lately, I feel like I’ve become a target, assailed from all sides with earth-shattering revelations. That my life has been built on lies.

  And, perhaps, the weight has also been lessened by the man who’d become more to me than just a criminal’s number one henchman. A man who’d protected me.

  A man who’d weaved a tenuous thread between us, bordering on a unique relationship I’d almost dare to call…friendship.

  “See you later, Professor.” That almost-smile tugs at the man’s mouth, affection gleaming in his eyes, before he turns and slips through the men’s restroom entrance.