Chapter 17 Aftermath and Admissions
The blast should have killed them.
Alessia’s ears rang, a high, piercing whine that swallowed every other sound. Her body felt impossibly wrong—heavy and weightless all at once. Dust and smoke choked the air, thick and gray, turning everything into a suffocating fog.
She couldn’t see. Couldn’t hear. Couldn’t think.
Strong hands gripped her shoulders, dragging her upright.
Liam’s face emerged through the smoke, shouting something she couldn’t make out.
He was bleeding. A gash cut across his temple, blood streaking down the side of his face. His shirt was torn, revealing bruises already forming along his ribs.
But he was alive.
They were alive.
The two soldiers weren’t so fortunate.
Alessia saw their bodies through the haze—twisted, broken, still. The blast had claimed them instantly. They’d had no chance.
Bile rose in her throat.
Two more deaths. Because of me.
Liam was dragging her toward the remnants of the door. The explosion had ripped it from its hinges, leaving an opening through twisted metal and debris.
They stumbled into the main warehouse.
The gunfire had stopped.
The attackers were gone.
Only bodies remained—O'Sullivan, Scarpetti, and others in tactical gear with no markings. Professional. Precise. Trained.
This wasn’t a random hijacking. This was orchestrated.
And the FBI had engineered it.
Alessia’s stomach churned.
What have I done?
"Move," Liam rasped, voice raw and fractured through the ringing in her ears. "We need to move."
They stepped into blinding sunlight.
The convoy was gone. Bullet holes pocked the loading dock. Tire tracks etched a chaotic path of escape.
They were alone. Stranded.
Liam pulled out his phone, fingers trembling. No signal.
"Jammed," he muttered. "They jammed everything."
Alessia slid down against a concrete wall, legs finally giving way. Trembling, she sank to the ground, adrenaline crashing through her like a wave.
Liam crouched in front of her, scanning her carefully.
"Are you hurt?" His voice was urgent, raw.
"I… I don’t know."
"Let me see."
His hands moved over her arms, searching for broken bones or wounds hidden by shock.
He found one—a deep gash on her upper arm, shrapnel tearing through her jacket. Blood seeped through black fabric.
"This needs pressure," Liam said, tearing a strip from his ruined shirt. "Hold still."
He wrapped the makeshift bandage with a careful efficiency, but there was gentleness there too. Alessia’s chest tightened.
This man. Her enemy. Her husband.
He’d thrown himself over her. Shielded her from death.
Saved her.
Why?
"Liam—" she began.
"Don’t," he snapped, voice sharp. "Don’t thank me. Don’t apologize. Don’t say anything until I finish."
He tied off the bandage, then leaned back on his heels, eyes piercing hers.
Shock faded. Questions returned.
"Who are you?" he asked quietly now, though intensity still radiated. "No lies this time. I watched you move like a trained operative. Take down armed men without hesitation. Analyze situations faster than seasoned soldiers."
Alessia’s throat tightened.
The truth sat there, heavy and impossible.
"You want the truth?" she whispered.
"Yes."
"The whole truth?"
"Yes."
She looked at him. Really looked. Blood on his face.
Exhaustion in his eyes. The man who had risked everything for her, despite knowing he couldn’t trust her.
She couldn’t tell him everything—not yet. Not here.
But she could give him something real. Something raw.
"My father had my mother killed," she said quietly.
Liam froze.
"I was ten," she continued, voice breaking but steady enough. "I watched him push her down the stairs. Watched her fall. Watched her die. Then he made me lie. Tell the police it was an accident. Live in that house, under his control, playing perfect daughter while knowing he was a murderer."
Liam’s expression shifted—surprise, confusion, maybe a flicker of sympathy.
"I am not his loyal daughter, Liam," she said, eyes locked on his. "I am his prisoner. Just like you are a prisoner to your family. Just like both of us are prisoners to this marriage."
"Why didn’t you run?" he asked. "Why stay?"
"Because running wouldn’t give me what I want."
"And what’s that?"
"Justice." The word cut through the air, sharp and final. "I want him to pay. I want him destroyed. I’ve spent eighteen years planning exactly how."
Liam studied her, searching for cracks, for lies.
"And the training?"
"I learned to protect myself. To fight back." Not a complete lie. "When this marriage was arranged, I knew I’d need skills to survive."
"Survive me?"
"Survive this." She gestured at the warehouse, the bodies, the destruction. "Marrying you wouldn’t be safe. People would try to use me. Hurt me. Kill me to get to you—or my father. So I prepared."
It was the truth. Not all of it, but enough.
Liam was silent for long moments, processing.
"Your father killed your mother," he said finally.
"Yes."
"And you’ve been planning revenge ever since."
"Yes."
"Does he know?"
"No. I’ve been careful."
Liam ran a hand through his hair, wincing at the pain in his ribs.
"I should have seen it," he muttered. "The way you watch him, how you tense… I thought it was fear. But it wasn’t."
"No. It was hate."
Another heavy silence.
Then Liam reached out, tilting her chin so she had to meet his gaze.
"I don’t know if I believe all of it," he said honestly.
"Some things don’t add up. The level of training—that’s professional. Military or law enforcement."
Alessia’s heart pounded.
"But," he continued, softer now, "I believe you hate your father. I believe your mother’s death is real. And I believe you’re more dangerous than you let on."
"Is that a problem?"
"I don’t know yet." He let his hand fall. "Right now, we have a bigger issue. Someone just tried to kill both of us. Someone with resources, training, and inside knowledge."
"The Council?"
"Maybe. Or someone who benefits from our families being weakened." Eyes narrowed. "We need to find out who—and survive long enough to do it."
Alessia nodded. "So what’s the plan?"
"A truce." Liam stood, offering his hand. "We work together. Watch each other’s backs. Figure out who did this and why."
"And then?"
"Then we settle this," he said. "Whatever this is. Whatever secrets, lies, or games. We settle it."
Not forgiveness. Not trust. But something.
Alessia took his hand, letting him pull her up.
"Deal," she said.
They stood there, battered, bloody, surrounded by the aftermath of violence and death, bound by necessity and secrets neither wanted to name.
"We need to move," Liam said finally. "Find a phone. Contact our people. Get out before whoever did this decides to finish the job."
"Agreed."
As they walked side by side toward the warehouse exit, Alessia felt the weight of the SD card hidden in her room—the ledger photos, evidence that could destroy Liam’s family.
I’m sorry, she thought, glancing at him. I’m so sorry.
The truce was temporary.
The lies were still there.
And when the truth finally came out, it would destroy everything.
Including whatever fragile thing was beginning between them.
But for now, they were allies. And Alessia would take what she could get. Even if it was built on sand.