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Chapter Eighteen

Cyprus

“Well?” I asked, tappingthe table and leaning back in the chair. “What is it you have for me?”

Detective Jones stood in the doorway, holding a cardboard box. “Good to see you too.” Smirking, he tilted his head towards Birch. “Good to see you too, Birch. How are you holding up?”

“I'm doing pretty well actually,” Birch said with an uncomfortable smile. “Things still feel weird, but we're doing good.”

“That's all that matters.” Resting the box on the table, Jones placed his hands on the edges. “I saw you sold the bar, I don't blame you for not wanting it anymore.”

“Yeah, I had mixed feelings on doing that. It was hard to let it go, but Cyprus and I have bigger things to think about.” Slipping his hand over my belly, Birch grinned. “Once we're done with everything here, I think we'll finally be ready to really start fresh.”

In the two months since his father willingly admitted to everything he had done over the years, we also found out I was pregnant. It was a wonderful surprise in the whirlwind of shit that we had gone through.

Three months along, and it was nice to have something positive to focus on finally. And Birch, I don't think I've ever seen him this excited about something. Last week I had found him huddled around the computer, searching baby names and what to expect during pregnancy.

Unfortunately none of this was over, not in the least. Nick's sentencing hearing wasn't for another three months, and we both decided it would be good for us to go for very separate reasons.

I wanted to be there to support Birch. He had lost his entire family, his mother and now his father, I knew exactly what he was feeling. And he wanted to be there for his dad, to show him that regardless of what was happening, he still loved him for the father he had been and that he was grateful for what he had done for us.

Nick had taken the fall for everything. The death of my parents, the deaths of Antoine and his brother and father. He came clean about a handful of other murders I had refused to acknowledge and others I had never heard about.

He agreed to tell them every detail, to give them all the information they needed to close a dozen cold cases and the warehouse where he kept stolen goods and cash we hadn't laundered through the bar yet.

We got lucky the police hadn't been able to seize the bar. The place had been in Valentina's name, and when she passed, it was left to Birch. With Birch in the clear, the bar was his to do what he wanted with.

The only thing Nick demanded for his cooperation was immunity for his son, that was it. Leave Birch alone and they'd get answers. I couldn't believe he was giving himself for his son. It was an act of selflessness I didn't think he had and was beyond grateful for.

The district attorney agreed after much consideration, finding his request to be small in comparison to what he promised to give.

“Congratulations.” Leaning in, the detective held out his hand. Birch hesitated for a split second, then gave him a firm shake. “I've got two of my own, there's nothing like having a child to make you see the world differently.”

“Okay, are we done with this small talk?” Glancing between the two men, I brought my eyes back to the box. “Why did you insist on me coming here again?”

“I have some stuff here that belongs to you. We don't need it anymore, so it's yours.”

“What is it?”

Pushing the box in my direction, Jones folded his arms over his chest and smirked. “Why don't you look for yourself.”

Pulling back the flaps, I shuffled through some of the items on top. There was a pair of brown loafers, a thick leather belt, and a quilt. Beneath that I found some eyeglasses and a pair of earrings.

“Who—” Tugging out the glasses, I cocked my head, unable to finish my question.

“These were your parents, now they're yours.” Holding up his finger, he wagged it in the air like he had just had an epiphany. “Oh, and this.” Reaching behind his back, he tugged out a folder and opened it up. Pulling out a small photo and a piece of paper, he handed both of them to me.

Pinching the picture, I smiled. It was the one he showed me before, and I was excited to finally have it.

Holding up the paper, I knew what it was immediately. The small seal in the bottom right corner was faded and worn. The upper edges were frayed and torn, the ink barely legible and bleeding out from the sold print.

My birth certificate. . . This is my birth certificate.

Fiona McKayla Deltorro. Born: September seventeenth, Nineteen- ninety six.

Mother: Brandy Seline Delvechio

Father: Franklin Donald Deltorro