Fractured Truth

Threads of Deception

Chapter 3

"Please, Winston. Let it go," she said, holding up a hand to silence him. As they departed, Victor's hand was like a vise on her lower back. She was hyper-aware that to Winston, they were anything but an ordinary couple departing for an ordinary life.

To him, they were a couple on the verge of something very special and very clandestine. As they pushed through the throng, her thoughts whipped frantically around inside her skull.

Victor’s hand felt like a vise around her waist, but she could not afford to show any sign of weakness. Not now. Barely above a whisper, Kira answered, “I had no choice.” Victor's eyes narrowed; he was making a point. Kira always had a choice and the way Victor was saying it...well, it was almost as if he were suggesting her life might take a different and better course if she took his words to heart.

Kira thought about this for a moment. Had she really gone along with the line of least resistance in engaging with a Reaper? Had she really had no choice because someone had threatened her with death if she didn't do what they wanted?

She couldn't respond right away because her phone had buzzed in her clutch. Pulling it out, she looked at the screen. One message and one message without a sender ID only stared back: “You shouldn’t have come back into his life.” Running cold in her veins was blood.

She had a tighter grip on Victor's arm; she could nearly count his pulse, and hers was hammering so hard in her ears that she thought she might pop. “Is everything okay?” Victor inquired, his gaze searching her countenance for any hint of trouble.

"Yes," Kira said to her husband, as she put the phone back into her handbag. "It's all good." Yet it was not even close to being good. She felt it again in the crowd...that prickly sensation that announced someone was studying her every move.

And whoever it was had clearly made up their minds to keep her in their sights. She was not getting off the hook. Not today.

*Kira*

The mingled sounds of conversation and laughter and the faint aroma of local food greeted us when we entered the expansive Cape Coast market. This is a place where pretty trinkets are not so hard to come by. Handcrafted jewelry was everywhere. It was tempting in its assortment and beguiling in its presentation. "I am a mademoiselle of pretty things," I said to the young woman at the stall, my basic school French adding flair to my English. I ran my fingers over the display, and my eyes hesitated over a necklace glittering in the sunlight.

She met him there. Starkly contrasting with the brightness of the shop, Winston stood a few feet away, an imposing figure. His sharp eyes scanned the crowd, a habit from years spent in the military and as a mafia strategist. He was not supposed to be here—too public, too exposed—but something had drawn him in, or someone.

Jacinta's gaze latched onto his, and she looked up. “Does this look like a compass to you?” she asked, her voice dripping with curiosity as she tilted the necklace to catch the light. Winston was taken by surprise and paused, then moved closer. “A compass?” His voice was controlled and deep. “Could be. But to me, it seems more like something that’s meant to guide you in your mind.” A bright, disarming thing, Jacinta smiled. “What a compass does is a guide, isn’t it?”

Winston sensed an unusual tug in his chest, a connection to this girl that he was feeling for the first time with anyone. "I almost can't believe what I'm hearing," he said, and then he smiled—maybe not the first smile he'd ever given, but certainly the first in a long time. Kira showed up before Jacinta could say anything.

Her face, as she recognized what was happening, lost all color. "Winston, here!" Kira managed to get out, "So close to the truth!" She fell silent, then mustered up all the strength she could to drag Jacinta away—whatever was about to happen, Kira wasn’t about to let them be part of it.

Jacinta scowled. "But I was—" Kira interrupted, her tone leaving no opportunity for argument. She yanked Jacinta free, her heart thumping wildly as Winston’s stare drilled into her spine. Winston observed them as they departed, and his smile disappeared. Kira was not displaying loving protectiveness—she was being defensive. She had something to hide, and Winston, in his strong way, could not let that go.

Winston’s World

*Winston*

At the Ofosuhene headquarters, my department's work atmosphere was thick with tension. The buzz of activity in our dimly lit command center was mixed with urgent whispers as the men and I reviewed intelligence reports and mapped out our next operational steps.

It was hard to tell where the expressions on our faces left off and the shadows of the room began; the main thing was that we looked serious. And, in truth, we were dead serious. “Abdul said the EKUBANS are pushing hard.” He pointed to a map littered with red markers. "Our supply lines are under attack," Winston said. "They're after the men. It's no longer just about money. It's personal." Winston's expression tightened. "It always is," he added.

Abdul paused. "Kira coming back complicates things. If they discover she’s—" Winston interrupted him, speaking in an icy tone. "They won't," he said. Not unless I let them. Yet, the things he said lacked real meaning.

Kira's being here made him weak and exposed. And the girl…? Jacinta. There was something about her that tripped every last one of his switches. She was a distraction he couldn’t afford.

He sat back in his chair, placing a hand over his face. “Find all there is to know about Kira. Not just the big things but every little detail. I want to understand why she has come back for real.”

Victor’s Hidden Depth

Alone in his study, Victor sat, the quiet room illuminated only by the cackling warmth of the fireplace. He stared at the photograph resting on his desk. It was an old image—one where a much younger Winston smiled with uncontainable pride as he posed for the camera in his full military uniform.

To either side of Winston were men who looked to him for leadership and inspiration. The edges of the photo were softly grazed by Victor’s fingers before he opened a journal that had seen better days. It was not a commissioned work of art that lay before him—a smooth palette upon which words could be rendered in clean, straight lines. No, these pages were crowded with cramped scrawls.

And yet, one entry seemed intent on standing out from the rest: The day everything changed: March 15th. The day my family was destroyed by Winston.

The journal was held firmly by Victor as he concentrated on the words. Love did not result in Kira's and his marriage; strategy did. Revenge was why they were together.