The Mafia Assassin

Chapter Twenty-Six

Alison remained motionless, her fingers still holding the picture. Nicholas' soaked body was a little darkened by the shadows from the faint light from the hidden room, and his body blocked the only way out.

Even though his breathing was unsteady and his knuckles were bruised and bloodied, his eyes—his light gray eyes—were fixed on the photographs she was holding. Alison expected him to yell at her, but his silence was much worse. Alison forced herself to look into his eyes as she swallowed. With a voice hardly audible above a whisper, she confessed, "I—I was looking for a place to hide." "I didn't intend to—" She paused, taking another look at the pictures. Amelia. The woman who looked very much like her.

Nicholas had never spoken of the woman. Like a predator moving toward its prey, Nicholas moved forward slowly and deliberately. "You're not supposed to be here.”

He said quietly. His voice was too low. Alison tried to steady herself by clenching her fists. "Who is she?" She held up the image, her hands shaking slightly. She had no right to ask but she did anyway. "What makes me resemble her?"

Nicholas's mouth clenched. His fingers briefly touched hers as he extended his hand and removed the picture from her grasp. After a long minute of studying the sight, he let out a harsh exhale. At last, he remarked, "You must forget that you saw this.”

Alison felt a surge of anger in her chest. "Forget? Nicholas, I discovered a secret room in your home that is filled with memories of a woman who resembles me exactly! What on earth am I meant to do? Act as though it doesn't exist. He brushed a hand over his wet hair and turned away.

"You shouldn't worry about it." he yelled, "Like hell, it isn't." Is Adrian pursuing me because of this? Because I make you think of her? Is that the reason you didn't kill me! Nicholas tensed his shoulders. Even if he didn't respond right away, the silence answered her question. The reality began to weigh heavily on Alison. "You cared about her," she whispered. "She is dead, isn't she?" Nicholas' expression flashed with something unreadable: anguish, anger, pain.

Then he covered it up so fast. "Go upstairs, Alison

She stood her ground. “Nicholas I—”

"Go upstairs." He spoke in a forceful, low voice. It was an order, not a request. Alison paused.

Something about the way he stood there looking at her as if struggling to keep himself together, made her back off even though she needed answers. She turned and walked out of the room without saying another word.

Nicholas took a while to follow. Rather, his fingers clenched around the picture of Amelia as he gazed at the pictures strewn all over the table. He let out a deep exhale. Too much was falling apart too quickly. Alison had just stumbled into a part of his past that he had vowed to keep hidden forever.

Somewhere in the city

Leaning back in his chair, Adrian watched the rain flow down his private suite's wide glass window from somewhere across the city. His fingers drummed absently on the armrest. A gentle tap on the door. "Enter," he said. One of his men, still drenched from the rain and with a cut on his forehead, stepped in. "Nicholas got away," the man acknowledged. He put up a fierce fight. Removed two of our men. Adrian grinned. "He did, of course." He put his elbows on his knees and leaned forward.

"Also Alison?" "She remains with him." As he swirled the whiskey glass in his palm, Adrian hummed to himself. "Well done." The man scowled. "You don't seem overly worried." With a laugh, Adrian got up and straightened his outfit. That is because I know what I have installed for them. He looked at the clock. "It's only a matter of time Nicholas figures it out.”

The game was only just getting started.