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I cross the room and head into the washroom, soaking a washcloth and wringing it out before heading back to him. Salvatore says nothing as I take his hand and start dabbing at the blood. He hisses when I clean up the biggest cut, his hand jerking in mine.
“How long have you known that I might know these people?”
Salvatore gives me a sheepish look. “Since the first day we got here.”
Irritation rolls through me. “Why the hell didn’t you tell me? I could have helped with this earlier.”
“It wasn’t any of your business until now.”
“Not my business?” I dab at his other hand a little harder, a small stab of satisfaction rising to the surface when he hisses again. “Why would the people trying to kill menotbe my business?”
“You’ve had a lot going on. There was no point in making you worry until there was reason to worry.”
I drop his hand and toss the washcloth on the dresser. “Salvatore, when the hell are you going to start being honest with me?”
He looks at me, his jaw tensing. “Do you want me to lie to you?”
“Fucking try it.” I cross my arms and glare at him. “I'm not a little kid and I’ve been on the run since I was twelve. I’ve killed people. I’ve done everything I had to do to stay alive, but you’re still treating me like I’m going to break down every time something bad happens.”
“Maybe I’m trying to protect you.” He takes a step closer to me, looking down as my heart skips a beat. “Have you ever thought that everything I’m trying to do is to protect you from having to deal with more of the same shit that you’ve been dealing with? Maybe I just want to make sure that you get a shot at a normal life.”
“I never asked you for that.”
He shrugs and grabs my laptop from where it sits on the desk in the corner. Salvatore says nothing as he starts the computer and inserts a thumb drive. A file opens up with several thumbnails of pictures.
“Come look at these and tell me if any of them look familiar to you.”
“We’re not done talking about this. If both of us are going to make it out of whatever the hell is going on alive, then you need to start telling me everything. No more secrets. You have to trust me eventually.”
“I trust you more than I trust nearly anyone else.” Salvatore sits down on the edge of the bed with the laptop in his lap. “If I thought that there was anything significant to tell you, I would, but right now I want to know what you think of these pictures without telling you who I think they are.”
I sigh and sit on the bed beside him, taking the computer and opening up the first picture file. I scroll through a couple of them before I see two faces that look vaguely familiar.
It’s a picture that’s been taken from a good distance away on what I’m assuming is a phone. I drag the photo into my editing software and start cleaning it up, trying to make the picture a little less blurry.
The two faces come more into focus and the bottom of my stomach falls out. I feel like I’m going to be sick.
Though the picture is still a little blurry, and the people aren’t looking at the camera, I know that what I’m seeing is impossible.
“I watched them die,” I say softly, my voice barely more than a whisper. “How is this possible? When was the picture taken?”
“It’s a picture off an old security feed,” he says, purposefully avoiding my questions. “I don’t know if it is your parents or not.”
“Why the hell would you show me this? I don’t recognize any of the people in the other pictures. Why is this one important? I could have shown you pictures of my parents.”
Salvatore sighs and takes the laptop from me, setting it to the side. “The picture was taken after they died. They were defectors from the Alvarez cartel. Some people believe that they could still be alive, but there hasn’t been a truly credible source yet.”
I shake my head and grab the computer, taking the picture and reverse searching it on the internet.
“Brielle, we’re going to keep looking into this. Sofia is going to look through more of her files and see what she can find. We have a few more people to talk to. I need you to stay with Matteo while we deal with this.”
“There’s no way that they’re alive,” I say, barely hearing everything else he says to me.
“They might be.”
I shake my head and get up, putting the laptop back on the desk. When I turn to him, I can feel the tears burning in my eyes. “They’re dead. I watched them die. I was there when they were killed. They’re dead.”
He nods and gets up, pulling me into a tight embrace. My heart is beating rapidly as he kisses the top of my head. “It’s going to be okay. I’m sure they are dead. It’s a bad picture. It’s likely just two people who look like them.”
