Page 110 of Brutal Truths

“Yes, him,” she says, pushing through it. “So, as you can see, I’m perfectly safe. Can you tell me why you were hiding?”

Alma’s voice lowers, forcing us to lean in to catch her words over the hum of the tires against the road. “The man who was here… he tried to steal my paintings. I hid them before he could. I hid them… and the gun he used to shoot Rico.”

Chapter 33

Rico

The night it all went to shit!

After scribbling my granddaughter’s name on the envelope, I stack it with the others and take a moment. I imagine she’ll be quite upset with me for withholding this information for so long.

I did it to protect her.

There’s no world in which I would allow her to get pulled back into that life. It was too dangerous. I refuse to lose her to it the same way I lost her mother.

The world she was given—away from all of this—was better suited for her. Simpler. Safer. There was no risk of her becoming a pawn in a war that’s stretched on for decades. I’ve seen what men in that other world are capable of. How easily they use the innocent to punish the guilty. It’s why we all agreed that the choice we made was for the best.

All we ever wanted was for my granddaughter to live freely. To have a life untouched by the burdens we carry. To break the chains the rest of us have worn for far too long and to never once feel their weight.

Standing, I gather the envelopes and make my way across my office to the safe. The code is second nature. The lock releases with a quiet click, and I place them inside before closing it once more.

As I turn away, my gaze lingers on a photograph of my family, taken before Isabel was born. We look so… perfect. The ideal wealthy family with enough money to make us happy.

It’s a lie.

We had wealth. More than we could ever spend. But we weren’t happy. That was never part of the bargain. Not when you earn it the way we earned ours. Money like that doesn’t bring peace. It brings greed. Leaves bitterness in its wake.

A knock on my door has me pulling on the lapels of my robe, smoothing them into place despite the late hour. I know who it is. She comes by every evening to talk.

This brief moment each day is the only time I see the woman I married… not the stranger who now lives in our home.

“You’re still working?” The way Alma frowns pulls me back years, long before children, before responsibilities stretched us thin.

“Sorry. I had a few things to finish before turning in. Come in. Keep me company while I wrap this up?” I wave her into my office and quietly shut the door behind her.

Alma doesn’t take a seat. She drifts through the room, drawn toward the wall where our family photos hang.

I watch her from across the desk.

Will she recognize them tonight? Or will she ask me who they are? Think I’m hiding something from her, then accuse me of lying.

It’s a cruel thing, watching her mind unravel in pieces. Each day takes something new, leaving her reaching for memories that no longer settle where they should. It’s put distance between us. Making me feel isolated while I protect our secrets, unwilling to let them come to life now that she can’t remember.

She picks up a frame and studies it closely. “When did we take this photo of Sofia? I don’t remember it.”

I don’t even have to look up to know she’s mistaken. The photo isn’t of Sofia; it’s Isabel. My granddaughter looks so much like her mother that Alma can no longer distinguish the differences between them. And I never have the heart to tell her the truth.

“I don’t remember, either.” I tap my desk as an invitation. “Come sit with me. Tell me about your day.”

Placing the frame back on my shelf, Alma turns and walks over, wearing a beautiful smile. Taking the high-backed chair across from me, she sighs. “Sofia and I scoped out the Hamlet’s place today. I must say I was quite impressed with how good she’s become at seeing things others miss.”

I frown, my gaze sharpening on her. When the hell was this? She’s never told me this before. The thought unsettles me more than I care to admit, dragging old frustrations back to the surface.

“I thought we talked about this.”

“Don’t start.” With a soft exhalation and an eye roll, she brushes aside my concern. “If I’d told her no, she would’ve done it anyway. Is that what you want? At least this way she learns properly. From someone who understands what they’re doing.”

She gestures around us, confident. “Look at all the beautiful art we’ve collected over the years. I’ve honed my craft, just like you have yours. I know how to get our customers what they want. You manage the business and ensure everything runs as it should.”