His eyes soften, and I watch what’s left of his anger evaporate. “The hospital staff said you need stability and the familiar. Right now, that’s me and your name.”
My brow furrows. Is he trying to tell me I did know him before that alleyway?
He squeezes my shoulder, drawing my gaze to his. “No,” he says softly, for my ears only, as if I’ve spoken my question. “That’s not what I’m saying, and right now”—he releases me and taps the folder—“everything you need to know about your new identity is inside this. Study it and know it before you let Gallo trap you, because if you make a mistake, he will catch you.”
“And when he says everything,” Matteo interjects, “he means everything. I backtracked to make it look like you arrived here from the United States two weeks ago, including flight data. And since a passport allows you to be here for ninety days, no one will question you being here for quite some time.”
“Does this mean I’ll have an actual passport?” I ask, wondering if I can travel to the States and put distance between me and Niccolo.
“Not yet,” Kayden answers. “Gallo believes you were mugged and your identification stolen. Let him run your prints, figure out who you are, and then I’ll have to take you to the passport office to have identification issued.”
“I have amnesia,” I point out. “Won’t he want me to contact my family?” And the word family punches me in the chest, making me wonder about my real one.
“You have no family,” Matteo says, as if reading my mind. “I made sure of it. We don’t need anyone looking for your relatives to confirm who you are or aren’t and finding out they’re fake.”
“I understand the premise of your strategy,” I say, “but that leaves me alone in a strange country and I can tell you right now, Gallo will use that as an excuse to stick around. He wants dirt on Kayden, and he’ll use me to get it.”
Kayden responds unfazed. “I’ll make it clear to Gallo you’re with me. End of subject, and he can kiss my ass.”
I don’t have time to process how I feel about the nonnegotiable tone of his statement before Matteo announces, “Picture time,” and starts snapping pictures on a camera he has produced from who knows where.
Glowering at him, I hold up a hand. “Can you at least warn me or something?”
“I did,” he says, glancing at his watch and back at me. “And I’ll make the shots I just took work. The passport system is about to do its weekly security update in an hour that, ironically, allows an easy breach. Within an hour you’ll be Rae Eleana Ward, and no one will be able to say different.”
A knot forms in my throat. “I have a love/hate reaction to that news.”
“Make it all about love, sweetheart,” Kayden encourages, “because no one is going to look for Rae Eleana Ward. And we’ve made sure the hospital and police report have different dates and don’t include my name. Once we’re done, you can hide in plain sight, and no one will connect the Jane Doe that was taken to the hospital to you. We’re completely disconnecting you from that identity.”
“What about the hospital staff?”
Kayden dismisses my concern. “You were registered under an alias. We’re covered.”
My lips press together. “I’m still worried. What about the men who followed me? Won’t they keep asking around?”
“I paid a security officer to let me know if anyone is asking around at the hospital,” Kayden replies, apparently having an answer to everything.
“Those men that were following me will know what I look like,” I argue.
“They’re dead,” Kayden announces, not bothering with a preamble.
Stunned, I blanch. “What? How? When?”
“The details don’t matter,” he states, his words as cold as ice. “They would have killed you if they got the chance.”
I give him an incredulous look. “They were human beings that probably died because of me.”
“That would infer Niccolo is a human being,” he replies, “and I assure you, he is not. Moving on. Your passport will have a picture. We’re going to hack in and replace it as soon as it goes live.”
“That includes the police report as well,” Matteo interjects. “I’ve set up a notification ping. I’ll know the minute anything changes on the police report. Basically, then you’ll be a ghost.”
Only there is no “then” about it. I was already a ghost before this, wiped from existence, with no connection to a past I fear I’ll never remember. No one who cares about me will ever be able to find me, and if they did, they might end up as dead as I fear I will be soon.
nine
My eyes meet Kayden’s and his gaze narrows, telling me he’s read my reaction to the word ghost even before he says, “This is a good thing. You know that, right?”
I am suddenly angry at him, at me, at everything. “Like those men being dead?”
He doesn’t react to my attack, his expression hard, his eyes sharp but unreadable. “Yes,” he says tightly. “Like those men being dead.”
I open my mouth to ask if he killed them, but a flickering memory of me on my knees, staring at that gun, rushes through my mind and shuts me up. Suddenly needing out of this tiny space, I scoot off the bar stool, facing Matteo and in profile to Kayden, my hands flattening on my hips to hide the way they stupidly shake. “Where’s the bathroom?”
“There’s one off the living room,” Matteo offers.
“Thanks,” I murmur, already moving to make my escape, but Kayden isn’t about to allow it.
He shackles my arm, rotating me to face him, his touch a branding I both welcome and fear. Proof I need space to get my head on straight. “I didn’t do this to you,” he says, proving he’s read my anger, and the blame I didn’t even realize I was placing until this moment.
“That’s not the answer I want,” I say, afraid he’s a killer. Afraid I am, too.
“You didn’t ask a question.”
“You know the question without me asking it.”
“Did I kill those men?” he asks.
“Yes. Did you kill those men?”
“They attacked Adriel when he tried to leave the scene of your attack, and he made sure he was the last man standing. So no. I didn’t kill them, but I’m also not sorry they’re dead. They would have killed any of us in a heartbeat.”
It’s as good of an answer as I could want, considering people are dead and I’m at the root of the reason. “Can I please go to the bathroom?”
A muscle in his jaw tics, telling me he wants to push me toward acceptance, but he doesn’t. He releases me, and I don’t give him time to change his mind, darting for the door without daring to look behind me. Entering the living room, I make fast tracks toward the stairwell, intending to head to the bedroom, where I will be free to pace and perhaps indulge in pounding the mattress a few times. I’m already on the bottom step when I think better of being trapped in a room with a bed, with Kayden surely to follow me sooner rather than later.
Detouring, I cross to the second stairwell and boldly climb to the next level of the house. Once I’m at the top, I am beyond pleased to discover a wall of windows, and a door leading to a covered outdoor space. Somehow, watching a storm while one rages inside me is positively perfect. I reach for the gray wood door handle and open it, cringing as a buzzer goes off, alerting Kayden that I’m not in the bathroom. I don’t turn back. I need every second I can get to be alone and think, without Kayden distracting me by being an overwhelming presence.
I exit onto the concrete patio that extends the length of the narrow house, the cold, wet air rushing over me, the door slamming behind me. It’s shutting me outside, but then, I’m already outside every reality fathomable. Shivering, I fold my arms in front of me and walk to the waist-high concrete wall, rain and a grayish shadow draping a magnificent view of hills and rooftops. Knowing I have only a few minutes alone, I consider the situation. It seems evident that my issue is control, or rather lack thereof. I’m letting Kayden dictate everything that happens to me, and though I could give myself a pass while I was in so much pain that I was incapable of moving, I can’t anymore. It’s time to make decisions for myself, starting with what happens next.