Page 117 of Once Upon a Lie

“I should have your fucking ass. I should—”

“Maybe another time, Mike. Let’s focus on the important shit right now,” Nico suggests, and I feel Tommy’s knees nearly give out as his biggest fears are confirmed right before his eyes. Nico isn’t here for the gala. Nico is working the gala . . . as a Fed.

And it’s clear that betrayal by his own flesh and blood to this degree is beyond every expectation that Tommy Cordone has ever had for his son.

“Nico. Do not fucking tell me,” Tommy says, and his voice cracks. “Do not fucking tell me that what I’m seeing is real. Tell me I’m fucking dreaming.”

“You’re not dreaming, Dad,” Nico says, and his voice is so eerily calm it puts fucking goose bumps on my own goddamn arms. I can’t imagine what it’s doing to his own father. “And you and I both know you know exactly what’s going on.”

“You’re taking me down, Nico?”

It’s safe to say, tonight, Tommy wasn’t expecting exposure. He was expecting his fancy gala. He was expecting another backdoor deal with some seedy group that wanted more of his fucking weapons. He didn’t expect the Feds, but he really didn’t expect his son being one of them.

Nico stares, his eyes cold and remorseless, and Tommy keeps going. “You brought it into my fucking house, Nicolas? You turned my gala into a takedown? You let them hit me here? I’m your own fucking father! I’m your flesh and blood!” Tommy shouts, but he’s no longer fighting against me. In fact, he feels weak right now. Like a man who is witnessing his entire world go up in flames.

But I have zero sympathy for him.

In fact, right now, I only have one priority.

“If you don’t mind, sir,” I interrupt, gesturing toward Mike with Tommy’s cinched arms. “Maybe you could take over here and put the ass-chewing for me on hold for a bit while I take care of something else?”

Both Nico and Mike stare at me with slack jaws as I hand over Tommy Cordone to their custody and make quick strides back to the structure of the Parthenon. I climb the steps and make my way to the column where I tucked Teeny away. She’s still there, clinging to the stone with shaking hands.

“Hey,” I say gently when she startles. “It’s just me.”

I tuck my pistol into the holster under my tux jacket and hold out a hand for Valentina to take. Her knees shake as she takes it and uses my guidance to stand from her squat, and her lip quivers slightly as she fights the crash of adrenaline.

“It’s okay,” I comfort, sliding my free hand from her wrist to her elbow and pulling her closer. It’s only as her chest hits mine that the shock wears off enough for her anger to return.

“You left! You disappeared! And now you’re here with a gun and . . . and . . .” Her teeth chatter with the cold of shock. “W-what the fuck is going on, Shane?”

The dangerous aspect of what’s just happened hits her suddenly, rendering her questions to me old news. “Wait. Where’s my brother? And my dad and my mom? Who the hell was shooting?” A sob breaks free from her throat. “What is going on?”

“Come on,” I say, reaching for her and then pulling my hands back when she jumps away. “I’ll take you over.”

People still scatter, limping and jogging in all directions now that the scene has settled, but in the middle of the dance floor, Nico stands to the side with his hands on his hips while Mike handcuffs Tommy, some of the other Feds holding back Teeny’s mom as gently as they can. She seems shocked, just like Valentina, and I wish that there were some way to make news like this easier on the innocents involved.

Upon seeing Nico, Valentina breaks away from me and runs into his arms, and he levels me with a stern look over her back. When she gets it together enough to take in the rest of the details, confusion returns.

“Daddy?” She searches her brother’s face and then mine as her father is walked past her with his hands behind his back. “Daddy?”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he says, his voice both stern and gruff at once.

“Somebody better tell me what the hell is going on right now!” she demands, spinning wildly in the middle of her brother and me and a smattering of FBI agents.

I want to step up and comfort her, but I hang back for a minute, leaving Nico to do the talking first.

“Teen, it’s complicated. I can’t explain all the details of the case against Dad right now, but . . .”

“Case against Dad?” she snaps. “What case against Dad? He’s clean. He’s legitimate.”

Nico’s eyes are sad as he shakes his head. “I first heard chatter a little over two and a half years ago on my assignment overseas. He’s not clean, Teeny. Not even close.”

“So . . . what?” She shakes her head. “You took him down?”

“Not me, but the Feds. The FBI,” he hedges. “I’m just intelligence. I’m CIA.”

Her eyes go wide in shock. “You’re . . . you’re . . . you’re CIA?”