The interior is no different than it was the day before I left, though I can only imagine the damage done that morning. I’m fairly certain the walls house shells of bullets in between sheetrock and touched up paint. But all traces of that horrible night are gone, as if I imagined it.
If only that were true.
“No one leaves breathing.” I shudder as I think of the look on Tobias’s face when he gave that order. Tyler said Miami had pulled up ten cars deep.
If the ravens succeeded in carrying out that order, there had to have been a significant body count. And then there was the brotherhood side. I didn’t know them all personally, but I hated to think they’d lost more brothers that day.
Odds are, they did.
I’d accused Tobias when we met of being a petty thief who threw parties trying to downplay the extent of what I knew, all the while they kept me cornered, shielded, and safe from the ugly truth of the reality of what the war they waged entailed.
Dominic had admitted as much to me the night he died.
“You were amongst liars, thieves, and killers.”
And as many times as I was told, I still had to see to believe. And that night, I became a believer in the worst imaginable way.
But I understood their logic. They never wanted me exposed to it, so they distracted me, kept me ignorant to it for as long as possible because they didn’t want me to see them for who they really were—dangerous criminals whose bad deeds ran more along the lines of corporate theft, blackmail, racketeering, espionage, and if forced, retaliation that included bloodshed.
They were never cold-blooded killers, but they all had blood on their hands, and I share in that secret now.
Though I searched the web for endless days of any report on what happened in this house, I came up completely empty. Not a word was spoken, no reports on any media outlet, not even an obituary or service announcement for Dominic, which infuriated me.
I have no knowledge of what transpired after I left, but it was covered up in a way that is unfathomable to me.
For months I checked the papers, the web, searching for clues, arrests, anything pertaining to that night and drew a blank. I also checked Miami papers as well and got nothing. Not even in the nearby counties. It was eight months later that I finally stumbled upon an obituary for Delphine, who’d finally succumbed to her cancer.
And after that investigation, I checked out. I had no choice. My health and sanity were at risk by that point, and I had to give in and do their final bidding.
I had to try and move on, start to live some semblance of a life.
I’d spent months and months between grief and anger in the waking hours before I made a decision to try. I never returned Roman’s inquisitive emails on my well-being or progress at school, avoiding him altogether until the day he died of colon cancer two years after I left.
Not once after, had I tried to contact anyone in the brotherhood. I knew it would be pointless. Anger and resentment had helped me with that task.
I played along for the sake of self-preservation, despite my eyes being pried wide open by what went down here.
It was the decision of preservation that helped me forge ahead and finally yanked me from the spiral. But shortly after, the dreams took over, threatening to destroy every bit of progress I made.
I’m declaring a new war by coming here, and I need to be ready. It’s not just my sleep I want back. I’m not certain of exactly what my motives are. But my dream last night set this into motion, so for now, I’m going with it, knowing the truth will never really set me free, but maybe it will close a few doors, and I’m hoping it’s enough.
Shaking off the freezing rain and unease of being back at this house, I take a step in and close the door behind me as history threatens to come at me from all sides. I shiver in my jacket and rub my arms, making my way over to the thermostat and cranking it up. Peeking over the couch in the formal living room, I note the board still intact sitting where it rests on the lip of the fireplace. Unbelievably, the pieces are set up from the last time Tobias and I played chess.
“Your move,” he prompts after taking another of my pawns.
I sip my wine and gaze at him bathed in the amber light of the few candles I lit when I came downstairs after my shower. We’d shared an intimate smile when I spotted him from where he stood, uncorking a bottle of wine. After lathering myself up in juniper lotion, which I learned was his catnip, I’d chosen an off the shoulder, thin sweater, and nothing else. I don’t own any lingerie, except for the nightgown he bought me that I decided to save for our last night together, which will be the night before I leave for school, which I refuse to think about. The clear approval of my choice shines in his eyes as he sweeps me appreciatively while passing me my wine before we take our seats. The board rests diagonally on the fireplace, where we sit across from the other, very little space between us. The game itself, I still find incredibly boring, but the beauty and mystery of the company I’m playing with make it more than bearable. And if I’m truthful makes for some intoxicating foreplay.