Page 7 of The Deceptions
I return to the SUV and slam the door behind me. My body sags into the warmth of the seat, and exhaustion pulls me under, draining the remaining dregs of my energy from my body.
"Did you get out what you needed to get out?" Jonathan asks, handing me a small hand towel he gathered from the back seat.
I nod as I wipe the wetness and mud from my face and hands, keeping my eyes forward. No matter the freak out I just went through, I don't want to show him the evidence in my eyes.
"It's okay to be emotional, Olivia," he says, pushing the car into drive.Yeah, fucking right.The Viotto's entire existence has always been–Don’t show your emotions. Don’t be a fucking human.And here, my uncle—a Viotto by adoption—is sayingthe complete opposite. "Feeling nervous and terrified to be back here is okay. It’s a normal part of being human.” His gaze soars through me, practically burning a hole through the side of my head.
"I'm fine," I say with a slight shrug.
I don't know who I'm trying to convince—me or him. I'm beyond not fine. I'm fucking fried. I need to unwind. I need a drink, a game of pool, a swim, or a really good fuck to get my mind out of the darkness pulling me under once and for all.
"Mhmm," he hums unconvinced, pulling out of the cemetery and heading straight through Greenwood.
I sigh, leaning my forehead against the window, and stare at the lights blurring by. Pirate-themed casinos line the main strip of Greenwood, lighting up the visitors spending their money and never winning a goddamn thing with the walls. A long time ago, despite the laws forbidding gambling in casinos in California, Franco found a way around it. Laws? What laws? Franco doesn’t abide by them. He simply greases the palms of the commissions in charge and gets whatever his heart desires. Someway. Somehow. They’ve built it up and never looked back. Never having to follow the rules. But when has he? He commits crimes every day under the watchful eyes of the law, and no consequences seem to find him.
I think it’s about time that changes.
"He's expanded," I say, mentally counting the brightly lit casinos.
"Indeed," Jonathan agrees. "He's somehow been able to open at least thirteen more casinos, despite the laws, in a small time period but still owns the largest casino in the region. He’s made Greenwood a destination for gamblers and vacation goers." Emerald Cove was the first place I learned about when I was a kid. Hux, JJ, Mack, and I snuck in there all the time andsnooped. Hell, Franco even put his foster sons and me to work there. Illegally, of course.
"He's also made Greenwood a paradise for all things seedy, and the criminals are flocking here in waves." Well, that’s nothing new. Greenwood has always been a haven for criminals. Even when Franco owned one large casino and a criminal enterprise.
The SUV travels over a large bridge overlooking the Greenwood River, flowing through the middle of town. When I look out the window, I'm smacked with the memories of our time, walking by the river and picking up rocks that Mack swore he loved to collect. He always gave me the shiniest one he could find.
"For you, my lady." He bows like a gentleman, sporting the familiar lop-sided grin and holding out a beautiful, shiny black rock. His shaggy blond hair blows in the slight breeze.
"It's beautiful," I say, pecking his cheek. "Thank you, Mack." He beams, blushing from my kiss, and nods.
"There will be more where that came from," he says, shoving his hands in his pockets and taking a few steps. "I'll always find you rocks, Livy."
I guess he really meant it when he said he'd always bring me rocks. Why, though? It doesn't make sense to me. I don't understand why the three of them have stamped their presence on my grave like they own me.
They don't.
Not anymore.
"That's nothing new for him," I say, shaking my head. "Franco always had his hands in other business ventures, except the skin trade." Thank fuck. For such a piece of shit, he drew the line at trafficking people in his city. Hookers, though? Well, that's a different story and is highly regulated by Franco himself. "His casinos are where he launders his money."
Jonathan hums in response, pulling into the parking lot of the Greenwood Grand Hotel near the middle of downtown. People walk the sidewalks, heading in the direction of the shiny casinos on almost every corner. No matter the time of night, Greenwood is alive with bustling citizens and vacationers.
"You're sure that it's safe for me here?" I ask reluctantly, eyeing the people milling outside.
Franco could be around the corner ready to finish what he started with his boys in tow.
If I'm in Greenwood, then I'm not safe.
"Even if they walked by you, Liv. They wouldn't recognize the woman staring back at them. You've grown since then, and your features have changed." What he's not saying out loud is the plastic surgery I had to obtain after the attempt on my life from my friends and their psycho foster dad altered my look a bit. "Now, why don't we go to sleep? In the morning, I'll brief you on the case. Okay?" He doesn't offer anything else when he gets out of the car, pops the hatch, grabs our bags, and stands beside my door until I emerge.
I cast my eyes to the ground when I grab my suitcase from him and follow him into the lobby of the massive hotel where we stop at the front desk. It's not a place I'm familiar with, but I know Franco has spies on every corner of this town just waiting for something suspicious to happen. I'm even more surprised my Uncle Jonathan isn't hiding his face from the cameras and people around us. He may not look like my father in the least, having been adopted into the family at a young age, but he's still his youngest brother—the only Viotto to not take a slice of California for their own and build a mafia empire.
"This way," Jonathan says as I follow him to the elevators. We travel to the top floor before entering a suite with two bedrooms, a kitchen, and a living room.
"Damn, you went all out," I say, wheeling my suitcase into the first bedroom I see.
"We'll be here through Sunday night, Liv," he says, making me stop dead.
"S-Sunday?" I ask, abandoning my suitcase and coming to stand before him.
