Chapter 30 The Partial Truth
Alessia’s mind raced.
Tell me who you work for.
The question hung between them, heavy as a weight she couldn’t shift.
She couldn’t say FBI. The moment those three letters left her lips, everything would crumble—the oath, the partnership, the fragile trust they’d just built.
But she’d sworn. In blood. No more lies.
So she had to give him something. Something close enough to be believable. Far enough from the truth to keep her alive.
“I—” Her voice cracked. She swallowed, tried again. “I work with a private collective.”
Liam’s eyes narrowed. “What kind of collective?”
“Former law enforcement. Intelligence operatives. People who left their agencies because they were tired of watching criminals walk free on technicalities.” The words flowed easily; they’d been drilled into her for moments like this. “They target people untouchable through normal legal channels.”
“Like your father.”
“Yes.” That part was true. “After my mother died, I spent years looking for a way to make him pay. Traditional law enforcement couldn’t touch him. Judges, politicians, police—they’re all on his payroll. So I found people who could.”
Liam didn’t let go of her hand. “How?”
“I searched. Forums. Dark web contacts. Eventually, I found them. They vetted me for months, then recruited me. Trained me.”
“Where?”
“Different locations. Never the same place twice. They’re careful. Paranoid, even.”
“Names?”
Alessia shook her head. “I only know handlers. Code names. Compartmentalized for safety.”
“Your handler’s name?”
She hesitated. Partial truth was safer than a lie. “Marcus. That’s all I know. Marcus.”
Liam studied her, searching for cracks in her story. “And this collective—what’s their endgame with your father?”
“Evidence. Documentation. Enough to expose him publicly in a way he can’t bury. They want him destroyed, not just arrested. Reputation, empire, everything.”
“And they’re using you to get it.”
“Yes. I have access. Trust. Or I did, before the marriage.”
“The marriage complicated things.”
“Changed everything,” Alessia admitted, voice raw. “The collective wanted me to expand my mission. Use my access to you, to the O’Sullivans, to gather intelligence on multiple families.”
Liam’s jaw tightened. “And did you?”
“I gathered information. Yes. But I never passed anything on that would put you or your family in immediate danger. I kept it surface level. Enough to satisfy my handler, but not enough to actually hurt you.”
“Why?”
“Somewhere along the way, you stopped being a target.” Her voice wavered. “You became something else.”
Their hands pressed together, blood still mingling, and the weight of that moment settled on her chest.
“Prove it,” Liam said finally.
“What?”
“This collective. Prove they exist.”
Alessia’s stomach dropped. “I don’t have—”
“You have something. Some way to contact them. Some evidence that this isn’t just a story you’re telling to save your life.”
He was right. The FBI had prepared for this exact scenario.
“Let me get my laptop,” she said, voice trembling.
Liam finally released her hand. They stared at the messy bloodstains across their palms.
“Bandages first,” he said.
They moved to the kitchen in silence. Liam cleaned her hand with meticulous care, wrapping it gently. Then she did the same for him. The intimacy of it—the shared care after their blood oath—made her stomach twist with something she couldn’t name.
When they were done, Alessia retrieved her laptop. Hands shaking, she opened it.
She navigated to a website the FBI had built years ago as cover: “The Themis Initiative.” Sparse, professional, and legitimate-looking—a simple page for a group supposedly holding the powerful accountable. No names, no locations, just a manifesto and contact form.
“This is them,” she said, tilting the laptop toward Liam.
He read carefully, expression unreadable. Then he pulled out his phone, typing quickly.
“The Themis Initiative,” he said, reading aloud. “Founded eight years ago. Rumored ties to former FBI, CIA, and international operatives. Targets include corrupt politicians, organized crime figures, corporate criminals above the law.”
He looked at her. “There are forum posts. Dark web discussions. People claiming they were helped by them.”
All planted. All part of the cover. Liam didn’t know that.
“And this is who trained you?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“To take down your father?”
“Yes.”
He set the phone down. “Show me what you have on him.”
Alessia opened a carefully curated folder—real evidence mixed with sanitized FBI documents made to look authentic without exposing the full scope.
Financial irregularities. Witness statements from anonymous sources. Photos of her father with criminals. And a file labeled: Sofia Scarpetti – Incident Report.
“This is from the night my mother died,” she said quietly. “Preliminary ME notes before my father’s people got to them. Injuries inconsistent with a simple fall.”
Liam read, expression darkening.
“Why didn’t this come out?”
“My father buried it. The ME was paid or threatened. The original report vanished from official records.” She gestured at the screen. “The collective found a copy. They’re building a case. When it’s ready, it’ll hit all at once. Too much for him to bury.”
“And you were the inside source?”
“I was. Before the marriage. Now I’m compromised. They aren’t sure they can use me.”
“Because of me.”
“Because of us.”
He sat quietly for a long time, staring at the screen, processing. Then he closed the laptop.
“I need time to verify this,” he said. “Parts of it. Whatever I can.”
“How?”
“I have people who find things that don’t want to be found.” His gaze was sharp. “If this collective is real, there will be traces. Patterns. Things only someone who knows what to look for can see.”
“And if you can’t?”
“Then we’ll have a different conversation.” His tone left no doubt what kind of conversation that would be.
Alessia’s throat tightened. “I understand.”
“Get some rest. This might take a while.”
He left with the laptop.
Alessia didn’t sleep.
She lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word. Had she given him enough? Would her story hold?
The Themis Initiative was solid. Years of FBI work had built it into a legend for deep-cover operatives. Tested, referenced, verified.
But Liam was thorough. Paranoid. With resources she couldn’t predict.
If he pulled the wrong thread…
Hours passed. Dawn came gray and cold.
Footsteps approached.
The door opened. Liam stood there, exhausted, bloodshot, hair disheveled, still in last night’s clothes.
“I checked,” he said without preamble. “Called in every favor I have. Had my best people verify what you told me.”
Alessia sat up slowly. “And?”
“The Themis Initiative exists. Multiple independent sources confirm it. Former intelligence operatives who won’t go on record acknowledge it’s real.” He closed the door behind him. “The dossier on your father checks out. The ME report is authentic. Forensics verified.”
Relief flooded her. “So you believe me.”
“I believe you’re working with someone who has serious resources. But Alessia… they’re using you.”
“I know that.”
“No, I don’t think you do.” He turned fully toward her. “You’re not just an asset. You’re bait. They put you back in your father’s house knowing he’s a killer. They trained you enough to survive, not enough to actually protect yourself if things go sideways.”
“That’s not—”
“And when it’s over,” he continued, voice hard, “when they have what they need—they’re going to disappear you.”
Alessia’s blood ran cold. “What?”
“You know too much. Seen too much. They’ll ghost you or eliminate you to tie up loose ends.”
“They wouldn’t—”
“Wouldn’t they?” His hands gripped her shoulders. “Assets are expendable. Especially ones dangerous enough to be liabilities.”
She wanted to argue. Wanted to defend the FBI, her mission, herself. But he was right.
She’d seen it in Thorne’s eyes yesterday—the cold calculation. She wasn’t a person. She was a tool.
“What do I do?” she whispered.
“You let me help you.” His voice was firm. “We finish this together. Take down your father. On our terms. Break their hold.”
“It’s not that simple—”
“Yes, it is.” He cupped her face. “The blood oath we made—that’s real. You’re mine to protect. I don’t let anyone touch what’s mine. Not them. Not the Council. Not anyone.”
Tears stung. Relief, fear, hope—a tangle she couldn’t sort.
“Liam—”
“Get some sleep,” he said, standing. “When you wake, we plan. How to take down your father. Neutralize Cormac. Get you free of this collective.”
He paused at the door.
“Thank you,” she whispered. “For believing me.”
Something complicated flickered in his expression. “I’m choosing to believe you. There’s a difference.”
He left quietly.
Alessia lay back, pulling the covers over herself.
She should feel relief, victory even. She’d sold the cover story. Maintained her position.
But all she felt was sick.
Because Liam was right.
When this is over, Thorne will burn her.
The FBI doesn’t keep compromised agents.
And she’d been compromised the moment she warned Liam on that dock.
She just hadn’t admitted it to herself yet.