Truth in Pieces

by RC Boldt

  I lift my gaze to where she sits at the other end of the table. When a dusting of pink tinges her cheeks and her lips part, it sends a surge of pure satisfaction rolling through me.

  Me: Safe to say, I’d do anything for you.

  This time, when her eyes lift to mine, there’s a softness to them.

  And I hope like hell I mean half as much to her as she means to me.

  68

  Olivia

  I’ve just crawled into bed, Antonio’s journal still sitting on my bedside table, when my phone rings. At the sight of his name on the caller ID, the residual stress haunting me subsides.

  “Hey.”

  “Hey, Professor.” God, his voice holds husky, deep, and intimate qualities—nothing like the tone he uses in our meetings each day.

  As I let my eyes fall closed, my voice sounds ragged to my own ears. “I still can’t believe you’re actually alive.” I haven’t been able to freely share how devastating it had been that night I’d witnessed him die.

  “Olivia…” He trails off, voice hoarse with emotion.

  “When I thought you were dead…” My words catch in my throat, hung up on the thick lump of emotion. “It broke me, Luca. When I saw you bleeding on that concrete floor—” I mash my lips closed at the sharp bite of anguish as the memory of his death flashes in technicolor.

  “I’m sorry, baby.” Remorse floods his tone. “It had to look real. It had to look like Nico Alcanzar died on that floor protecting the empire he worked hard to build. I had blood squibs ready to make it more believable.”

  We fall silent for a beat before he murmurs, “I was shocked as hell to find out you were working for the FBI.” There’s a brief pause, and his voice drops lower, laced with a hint of vulnerability. “It made me wonder if you’d been playing me. If what happened between us was just—”

  “No,” I interrupt. “It was real for me. I was never pretending with you.”

  He expels a heavy sigh, his words teeming with affection. “Professor, you gotta know I was never pretending with you, either.”

  I clear my throat before posing a question that’s been circling my mind. “Have you ever…had this happen before? With someone while you were undercover?”

  “No.” His answer is quick, concise. “Never.”

  I can’t suppress my sigh of relief. When he pipes up with, “You often get romanced by criminals you come in contact with in your profession?” the humor is latent in his tone.

  A smile graces my lips. “Not a chance.” Then I tack on softly, “You’re the first.”

  He lets out a gratified-sounding grunt. “Gonna try to be the last, too.” A surge of warmth licks through my veins, and I nestle back against the pillows.

  “You feel up to telling me what was bothering you today?”

  The hesitance in his voice has a part of me wanting to divulge it, but mostly I want to sit on it for a bit. Let it sink in fully. Because, ultimately, I have to come to terms with who I really am. Who my actual parents are. That the blood running through my veins is that of two criminals, regardless of whether one has attempted to reform his life.

  “Not tonight,” I answer softly.

  “But eventually?” I can’t help but smile at his gentle prodding because I know it stems from concern.

  “Eventually, yes.”

  “Okay.”

  Just like that, he lets it drop for now. If I hadn’t already fallen head over heels for him, this would’ve toppled me over the edge: his respect for me to process things on my own time.

  He exhales slowly. “Just hearing your voice makes my night complete.”

  My heart does a little flip. “I was thinking the same thing.”

  “Yeah?” I can practically hear the smile in his voice.

  “Yeah… So, what are you up to?”

  “Just lying in bed.”

  I can picture him in only a pair of low-slung pajama pants, the cuts and curves of his chest and those tattoos on display. I’d give anything to curl up beside him in bed.

  “Me, too.”

  “Shit. You shouldn’t have told me that.” The sound of fabric rustles in the background, and he groans. “I miss you so damn much. Quick, talk to me about something else. Tell me about Pavlov or something.”

  I let out a surprised laugh. “Should I tell you that seeing you shirtless elicits a Pavlovian response from me?”

  His groan holds more hoarseness this time. “Not helping.” With a rough laugh, he adds, “But since I’m a masochist, tell me what kind of response.”

  I close my eyes and whisper, “It makes me wet.”

  “Fuck, baby.” More rustling sounds. “I swear to you, I didn’t call for this.”

  I smile at the sincerity in his voice. “I know.”

  I’ve missed him so much. Falling asleep in his arms and waking up beside him conditioned me in the brief time we were together. Now, I find myself hugging my pillow each night, even though it’s a poor substitute for him.

  “Goddamn, Olivia. I’d give anything to kiss you. To touch you.”

  “Where?”

  His breaths turn choppy. “Anywhere you’d let me.”

  I put him on speakerphone and set the phone beside me. When I slide my hand beneath the waist of my sleep shorts, imagining it’s his fingers parting my already slick folds, I can’t suppress my sharp intake of breath.

  “Jesus, fuck. Tell me you’re touching that pussy for me.”

  “I am,” I breathe out.

  “Wanna dip a finger inside and let me know if you’re all wet?”

  My middle finger slides in with ease, and I gasp. “I’m so wet.”

  “I want you to pretend I’m there with you. What do you want me to do?”

  “I want your tongue inside me.”

  “Yeah?” The word sounds like it’s being dragged over the coarsest of gravel. “You want me to taste that pretty pussy of yours, Professor?”

  “God, yes.”

  “Mmm, just thinking about tasting you gets me hard.”

  I circle my clit, my finger slick with my own moisture. “I want to watch you stroke it.”

  “Fuck,” he grits out. The subtle sounds of his movements increase my arousal. “Goddamn, I want that pussy of yours. Real fucking bad.”

  My breathing turns ragged. “I want to be on top, so I can ride you.”

  “I’ll play with those pretty nipples while I fuck that needy pussy so good.” He heaves out a harsh breath. “I’m so hard for you. Just thinking of you riding me.” His breathing is labored as he works himself. “Wish I was buried inside you. Fuck, Olivia…”

  Imagining him stretching me while the root of his cock rubs exactly where I need it, I work my clit feverishly. “Luca,” I gasp, my orgasm just out of reach.

  He lets out a guttural curse. “Get ready, baby. Gonna come so hard.…”

  Body arching, my muscles go impossibly stiff before intense pleasure overtakes me. My inner muscles clench and release as I ride out my orgasm. His ragged moan mingles with mine, and soon nothing but our combined choppy breaths fill the silence.

  Finally, he murmurs huskily, “I miss you, Olivia. But not just for that.”

  I laugh softly. “I miss you, too. And not just for that.”

  “Yeah?” It’s a single word, a question, yet his voice possesses a vulnerable quality.

  A smile tugs at my lips. “Definitely.”

  69

  Olivia

  Months Later

  POST TRIAL SENTENCING

  The press has converged on the FBI and DEA’s joint effort in dismantling the Vega-Alcanzar and Santilla drug cartels.

  Recent news articles have garnered praise for our agencies:

  Deadly drug bust connecting cartel leader, Alcanzar, and famed femme fatale of the Santilla cartel, known for her ruthless murders-on-command, La Madre de la Muerta, happens on university property…

  Indictments of racketeering, drug trafficking, and conspiracy to commit murder related to the Alcanzar-
Santilla cartel war include Miami’s mayor and chief of police, as well as personnel from the University of South Miami…

  Over 100 convictions and 202 indictments against members of Miami’s rival cartels have been…

  Due to the nature of the trial and the need for heightened security measures in place, the courtroom was closed during each undercover agent’s testimony. Thankfully, the judge also allowed us to wear disguises due to the threat of being recognized.

  “You planning to celebrate a job well done?” Tim asks while we walk toward the elevator.

  Although I’m thrilled that the trial is finally over and also pleased with the sentencing everyone received, I’m suffering from bone-deep exhaustion mentally, emotionally, and physically. Between giving testimony and taking great measures to avoid the press—which means having to wait over an hour after court convenes for the day at five—I’m tapped out.

  “No. I’m planning to head home.”

  Concern colors his features. “You okay?”

  “Honestly, I’m beat. All I want to do is go home, shower, and sleep.”

  “You did great. Not many people could do what you did.”

  I punch the call button for the elevator with a bit more force than necessary. “You mean, not everyone could testify against their biological mother, who happens to be a drug cartel heiress and also a murderer?” I ask with a wry smirk, attempting levity.

  “You know what I mean. That shit was brutal to witness, so I know it was a fucking doozy for you.”

  “Yeah.” That’s all I can honestly say.

  “So. You’re not planning to talk about resigning?”

  My head snaps up. “What?”

  “I saw the hard copy on your desk when I came to borrow your stapler.” Though it’s small and patient, his smile is also laced with sadness. “I was hoping you’d tell me beforehand and not just disappear.”

  His words pierce my heart. “I wouldn’t do that.” My tone is gentle when I admit, “I was planning to tell you.”

  Once the elevator doors open and we step inside, he presses the button for the parking deck. I let out a sigh and lean against the wall. “I just want to slip away quietly. No fanfare.” My lips twist. “No cheering from the others that I’ll be gone.”

  Tim’s mouth turns down. “They’re assholes. You and I both know that.” There’s a brief pause before he murmurs, “I’m damn proud of you.”

  “Thanks.”

  I duck my chin, uncomfortable with the praise, especially after my colleagues have avoided me like the plague during the entire trial and sentencing. It didn’t matter that the evidence proved I had nothing to do with Santilla and wasn’t aware of my connection to her until our undercover operation overlapped with Luca’s.

  We exit the elevator, and I head toward my car, keys already in my hand when I stop short in surprise.

  “What’s—” Tim stops mid-question when he sees the blonde waiting by my car. Murmuring in a hushed tone, he asks, “You know her?”

  “Yes.” The smile that forms on my face is much less brittle. “I do.” Turning to him, I say, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  His eyes flick to her before he nods. “Okay.” Walking backward, he grins. “And I’m taking you to lunch tomorrow, so don’t make plans.”

  I roll my eyes good-naturedly. As if I had any plans. “Got it.”

  He spins around, striding toward his car at the other end of the aisle while I head toward mine.

  And my sister.

  Drawing closer to my vehicle, I press my key fob to unlock it and arch an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know how you got into a protected parking area?”

  When she grins, my lungs seize at the familiarity of the sight. “Probably not.” She shrugs. “I wouldn’t tell you anyway.”

  Once we slide into our seats, I set my purse and briefcase in the back, behind the middle console, and buckle up.

  I back out of the space and head toward the exit. “So, what brings you by?”

  “Just checking on you. Wanted to see how you’re holding up. Especially after reading the journal and with the case wrapping up.”

  I’m so startled by her response that my foot slips off the gas pedal.

  “Whoa,” she says with a laugh. “Wasn’t expecting that reaction.”

  A tight laugh escapes me, and I force myself to regain composure. “Sorry.”

  The truth is, she caught me off guard. Camila has turned up out of nowhere, once again, but this time, it’s to check on me—just because. Not because she wants or needs anything from me, but because she…cares.

  This revelation deals an emotional fast-pitch straight to my heart because this is the first time I’ve felt like I wasn’t entirely alone in this—in dealing with the fallout.

  “I’m okay.” I don’t glance at her while I pull onto the road. “Am I dropping you off somewhere?”

  “No. I thought maybe we’d hang out tonight at your place.”

  My eyebrows shoot up. “Oh. Okay. That’s—”

  “Not what you were expecting me to say?” she finishes cheerfully.

  I wince. “You’re giving me mental whiplash.”

  “You’re tired, and all you want to do is veg out. I get it.”

  “Well,” I hedge. “You’re not completely wrong.” Then I hastily add with a glance, “But I do want to hang out with you.”

  She smiles, and the next few minutes before I pull up to my townhouse are spent in easy, companionable silence. The drive home allows me to shed some of the stress that’s been plaguing me.

  “Did you start packing already?” She asks this as I hit the button for my garage door and pull the car inside. I turn off the ignition and cut her a look while the garage door closes.

  “How do you—?”

  She gives me a droll Please stop asking mundane questions look. “Let’s just get this out of the way. There’s a ninety-nine percent chance that I know everything.” She holds up her index finger. “I know you had to change your last name—to Jones, which I’d like to add is boring yet brilliant, because we all know that’s a common last name.”

  Holding up another finger, she continues. “I know you’re resigning from your job and that you applied for another one all the way in Manchester, England.” She raises a third finger. “And I know you haven’t spoken with Manny yet.”

  When I gape at her, she simply shrugs. “I learned from the best Uncle Sam had to offer before I decided to go solo.”

  The resolute set of her jaw tells me I won’t be gleaning more information from her just yet. With a little sigh, I grab my things from the car and shut the door without a word. Once I unlock the townhouse door and step inside, she follows.

  “You need to tell Luca about Manny.”

  “How the hell can I tell him that?” I heave out an exasperated breath, setting my bags down on a chair. My tone is derisive and biting. “Oh, by the way, my father’s the CI you worked with. Not only do I have a mother who’s a fucking murderer, but my real father has smuggled drugs, too?”

  She props a hip against the back of the couch. “All of the above.”

  I pad into the kitchen to pour myself a glass of wine. Reaching for a glass from the cabinet, I pause. “Two glasses?”

  “No, thanks.”

  I turn to peer at her curiously. “Because you don’t drink or…”

  She lets out a little laugh. “Because I think you need it more than I do.”

  I sigh and grab the wine bottle I’d opened the other night, pouring myself a hefty glass. Walking over and lowering myself wearily into an armchair, I take a large sip before confessing, “I’m planning to go see Manny.”

  Not even the slightest flicker of surprise washes over her features. Instead, she says, “We’re not defined by the blood that runs through our veins, Livvie.”

  When I avert my eyes, she lets out a weary sigh. “So. This job in England is what you want?”

  I nod. “It is. I enjoyed teaching, and I think I’ll be happy—ha
ppier—with that kind of career. I just”—I wave a hand—“need to leave everything behind, once and for all.”

  “Do you actually think you’ll be all that happy when you leave him behind?”

  The words clog in my throat, preventing me from answering. With my mind and emotions so convoluted, I feel like the lone survivor from a shipwreck, clinging to a piece of rubble, surrounded by an endless ocean without any land in sight.

  Once the trial concluded, Luca threw caution to the wind and stopped hiding his interest in me. He claims that we no longer need to keep our distance, but I’ve still held back. I’ve declined to meet with him at the office for lunch during our workdays and have been sure to maintain the utmost professionalism toward him.

  It’s unconscionable to even think of putting Luca at risk professionally, especially with the way I’m regarded by my colleagues. Because the signs are right in front of me—the blatant indications of those who view me as tainted. Corrupt. Deceitful.

  Muttered whispers disputing my trustworthiness and suspicious looks from others in my agency—simply because I’m Santilla’s biological daughter—have infected my workplace. It’s irrational and naïve to think that talk hasn’t spread to Luca’s colleagues.

  I’ll be leaving my heart behind with him, but I need to do this for me. Not only that, but he also deserves to have an escape from the rumors circling me—circling us.

  “Do you actually think you’ll be all that happy when you leave him behind?”

  My sister’s question swirls in my brain. This may be the end of my career with the FBI, but I’ve heard it said that beginnings are often hidden in endings.

  Luca prompted many beginnings for me.

  I hope that maybe, just maybe, he’ll eventually be a part of my ending.

  70

  Olivia

  I don’t normally use my credentials to garner any favors. In fact, this is the first time I’ve done so.