Page 35 of The Deceptions

What if I’m not strong enough? Smart enough? Fast enough? What if they discover it's me and want to finish the job they started? What if… What if…

Jordy snorts. “Not strong enough? Sometimes I wish I could smack you and get away with it.” I glare at him through the mirror now, noting the tears on his cheeks. It’s sobering and humbling to have my best friend sobbing alongside me. Especially Jordy. He’s all laughs and jokes, but for him, it covers up the traumas of his childhood. Banishing them to the darkest recesses of his mind.

But not right now.

We’re living this together.

“You’re stronger than anyone I know. But don’t tell anyone I said that. Or this…” he trails off, wiping the tears off his cheeks, and sets the scissors down. “Liv, you can do anything. You’ve taken down cults and serial killers. What’s three idiots? You can poison their coffee or bash their skulls in their sleep. Which I’ll help with, by the way. Because what are friends for? We can even chop them into little pieces and deliver them straight to Franco’s doorstep.” He gives me a watery grin. “You have a heart of fucking iron, Liv. You’re strong, capable, and I fucking believe in you.”

I swallow his words like razor blades scraping against my throat. “Okay,” I croak.

“Pfft. Okay, she says. That’s it? I pour my heart out for you, and you just say okay? Bitch, look in that mirror…” He softly grips my chin and forces me to stare at the new woman before me. “Tell yourself you’re capable every time you see this person in the mirror. Tell them you’re strong, independent, and a damn good person, too.”

“I’m capable,” I whisper to my new reflection staring back at me.

“More than capable. Do it again until you fucking believe it, okay?” He bends down, grabbing my hair from the ground and holding it in the air. “They took a lot of shit from you, but this? This is nothing. You’re Olivia fucking Viotto. Former Mafia princess turned government agent. You’re a badass in my book. You don’t need a name or hair or what fucking ever. All you need is what lives in here.” He points to his chest, poking it three times before he lets the hair fall to the ground. “Now, we good here? Need any more motivational speeches?” He grins at that when I turn and bury my face in his chest. I soak in the love Jordy has for me. Because in two point five seconds, we’llbe right back into the brother-sister role we’ve carved out for ourselves.

“I don’t think I could survive without you,” I mutter, pulling my face from his chest and wiping away the tears.

“Don’t I know it,” he quips, shaking his head. “Now, no more of these tears, all right? It’s time to try on some new clothes, put on your contacts, and kick some ass!” he whoops, harshly slapping my ass before he walks out of the bathroom, leaving me there to stew in my own shit.

I lick my lips, turning to view myself in the mirror again.

“I can do this.”

“Hell yeah you can!” Jordy shouts from the other room, as the sound of the fridge opening and slamming shut has my eyes rolling.

We just ate.

I huff a laugh, shaking my head.

“I’m Olivia Viotto. Former Mafia princess turned agent of the law. I can fucking do this.” I give myself a hard nod, before turning around and jumping into the hot shower.

Once the heatof the shower subsides, I stand directly in front of the mirror, wiping away the moisture built up on the glass. My tongue threatens to leap down my throat the moment I lay my eyes on the person staring back at me.

Short, shaggy brown hair hangs past the tips of my ears in the front, but it’s slightly longer in the back, with its tips touching my neck. Green-colored contacts change my eye color. Thick, black-rimmed glasses rest over my eyes to record my every move and interaction. No makeup covering my scars or blemishes.

Not me.

My reflection stares back at me, yet it doesn'tfeellike me. I'm different. Yet the same. It's not really me. There's a stranger in my place—a man with glasses and green eyes.

Not Olivia.

Oliver.

My newest identity.

My fingers cling to the counter in the bathroom, curling over the edges and digging into the flesh of my palm, leaving indents. My eyes squeeze shut as the pain takes over, drawing my focus to the physical pain. Not the mental pain festering inside, trying to claw its way out.

Everything I successfully locked away into a black box in my mind comes back with a vengeance to haunt me.

Their faces. Names. Voices.

Our memories. The good. The bad. All the ugly parts of us scream from the depths of my mind, reminding me of who they are. Their claws reach out, attempting to pull me back to the moments we shared. The happy. The sad. The fucking devastating. Leading to the betrayal swimming before my eyes as a fire erupts and eats away at my existence.

I'm dead. Barely alive. Barely functioning.

Barely fucking breathing.