Authentic Imposter by Hazel Jonas
Chapter 1
Lilly
outside of my door.
I hold it ajar, the chain lock in place, leaning heavily against the door’s frame. My face is tear-streaked, eyes red and puffy, a hint of purple bruises under those eyes. My stomach knots. I know what she’s here to tell me.
The Oddfather’s dead.
Silver’s dead.
I wish I was dead.
“I already know,” I say softly.
“I’m so sorry, Lilly,” Bonnie says and swallows heavily. “I’m here to ask for your help. If that’s alright.”
I frown, closing the door just enough to undo the chain lock, and then I step back to let her in.
“Thanks, Lilly,” she says with a small smile and a nod.
I shut the door behind us and follow the Fed into my pink living room.
“May I sit?” she asks.
“Yes, please.”
Taking a seat on a pink fuzzy armchair, Bonnie smiles up at me. She looks around the room, smile brightening as she takes in my apartment. Bonnie’s trying to be personable. But on her lap sits a bag of bloody cloth. I take a seat on the leather couch, removing the gift box from my coffee table and hiding it underneath the wood.
“How can I help?” I ask her, hiccupping and pressing the back of a hand to her mouth.
“Uh, well, first I’d like to hear what you know.” Bonnie stumbles over her words.
I take in a shaky breath, trying to hold myself together. “The Oddfather is dead. As are some of his guards and a Fed.”
“How did you find out?”
“Family told me.”
“As in biological family or Syndicate family?”
My lips tighten into a thin line.
“Biological,” I say with an air of sternness. “And they died the same way my husband did.”
“No,” Bonnie shakes her head. “Only two of them did. We think.”
“You think?” I ask slowly.
Bonnie leans forward and moves the bag from her lap to the coffee table. “Do you recognize this suit?”
I shift forward, my fingers ghost over the bag and freeze. All the heat in my skin drains. My hands fall to the table, smacking the wood gently. Fresh tears stream down my face. A convulsion-like shake rattles my body.
It’s Silver’s.
“Who does it belong to, Lilly?”
“Is he dead?” I ask, my eyes painfully wide and locked on the bloody clothing.
“Most likely. We don’t know who it belongs to and don’t have a... body per se.”
I wail. Slumping forward, my torso and forehead hitting the table with an audible thump. It should have hurt. I don’t feel a fucking thing. Arms hugging the bag, I rock from side to side. I release a mantra of pleas and cries and protests. A hand touches my upper back, rubbing slow circles.
“I’m so sorry, Lilly,” Bonnie says.
Wood crashing together down the hall makes the hand jump back. Muffled angry voices ring out around me. I don’t care. It’s Glen or Caite. They’ve been in my apartment for a while. I made them hide in my bedroom when Bonnie asked to be buzzed in.
Clutching the only thing I have left of Silver is all I want to do. My world ended this morning.
Glen steps into my view, peering down at me. He blinks slowly. “Lawyers are on their way.”
Bonnie huffs somewhere nearby.
Glen kneels down and tugs the evidence bag free. I don’t fight him, sitting up and forcing myself to hold in my sobs. He tosses the bag at Bonnie. She doesn’t catch it.
“Wi-witt Va-va-vale,” I stutter.
“The Oddfather?” Bonnie gasps and snags the bag off the floor and brings it closer to her face.
“My father-in-law.” I gasp between hard breaths.
“Glad that’s settled. Now it’s time for you to leave,” Glen says as he rises.
“I’ll see her out,” I mutter, rising on shaky legs. Glen offers a hand. I bat him away.
“Thanks for your help, Lilly. Also, I really like your decor. Spruces up the place.”
“Thanks, Bonnie. It looked better in the apartment you got me kicked out of. You’re not very subtle when surveilling me, you know?”
She cringes and stops to apologize, but I walk right past her and yank the front door open.
“Good to see you, Agent Fowler. Hope your boys actually solve a mystery this time.”
“Good bye, Lilly,” she says, her face suddenly a mask of cold indifference.
The second she’s over the threshold, I slam the door closed and flick every lock back into place. I hope the door smacked her on the ass on the way out.
One step at a time, I go back to my bedroom and crawl under the covers, ignoring my cousin’s worried face and her fiancé’s nervous twitches.
Four weeks of not leaving my bed unless my body begs me to. Even then, touching the ground feels unnatural. Vision and head swimming like I'm wearing a pair of glasses with the wrong prescription. Each step laborious. Rolling over in bed takes a herculean effort. The days all blend together. All of my time is spent in nothingness.
No television or social media or books. Just quietness and the occasional breakthrough sounds of my neighbors living their everyday lives. Even though my current activities are nothing but sleep and staring at the walls of my bedroom, I don't spend my time thinking. Something blocks my thoughts before they can bubble to the surface. My mind is struggling to protect me from the truth.
Today is an extra painful day. If life hadn't kicked me in the teeth, I'd be standing beside a church altar dressed in the most god-awful shade of orange. Silver would find it ironic. Caite and Glen should be hand-in-hand, strolling down the aisle with big dumb smiles on their faces. I'd make eye contact with Silver and blush, knowing the truth behind why they're smiling, and I'd probably have to explain it to him. Intimacy is finally acceptable and they are free to indulge without sneaking around.
Caite and Glen opted for a quick courthouse wedding a week after the massacre. No one was invited. For their safety, that’s the best.
The fake imagery of the wedding and Silver's rolling eyes fades away. Another block by my psyche. Tears of frustration run down my cheeks. I know Silver's dead! I want to daydream! I want to feel something! Anything!
But I can't and I won’t. The fake happiness from those daydreams threatens to pull me deeper.
Getting out of bed, I force myself to pace around my apartment. There’s a pile of cardboard boxes in my living room, most of my stuff packed up and waiting for my signal. I don't remember doing any of this. Multiple empty bottles of wine ditched on the kitchen island are probably the root cause there.
Out of a combination of kindness and necessity, I’m moving in with Caite and Glen. I have no clue who pays my rent or how it’s done. It seems obvious to me that I was about to be homeless.
The last thing to do is pack my bedroom. If I get part of it done today, it's a win. Dragging boxes down the hallway, I start emptying my dresser. My hand pauses over a wadded up dull black t-shirt. The fabric is stiffer and thicker than my other shirts. But the brush of it against my hand sparks happiness in my heart. What the fuck?
Unfurling the shirt, I find a pair of boxers inside the bundle and quickly noticing they both belong to Silver. When did he leave these here? My lips slope. Maybe he hid them one night when I wasn't looking, intending on wearing them as his sleep clothes. I change out of my nightgown and pull the shirt on. It barely covers my ass, but I don't care. No one’s here to see me. Tossing the boxers aside, I keep working.
Until I find an even more baffling discovery in my closet: the suit coat and pants Silver wore to the engagement party. I can't come up with a possible explanation as to how they ended up here. That whole weekend is a blur. Thinking about it brings on a headache. The ache brings tears. I throw the suit on the ground and dive back into the sanctuary of my bed.
I am truly cursed, and it killed Silver.
miracle I haven’t ended up in the hospital for dehydration. It’s been two months of mourning, a month of a deep ache in the center of my hollow chest, and a month of faking a brave face. The second I’m alone I’m crushed under a weight of guilt, regret, and loss. My selfish desires to attend an engagement party with Silver got him killed.
But no one knows the truth. After news of the deaths of the Oddfather, his fateful guards, Silver, and Wesley broke, Syndicate members assumed it was a confrontation gone wrong. Which makes less and less sense the longer one thinks about it. I can’t wrap my head around why Silver was there. Did Witt call him in for backup? Or was Witt trying to hand him over to Wesley? Silver and Witt died the same tortured way my husband did. Wesley and the guards died from gunshot wounds. Obviously an eighth person was there.
Whomever they are, one thing is clear: the killer is among the Syndicate’s upper echelon.
He’s someone the Oddfather trusted enough to give most of his staff the day off.
I try my damnedest not to get sucked into the gossip, but between six different wakes it is next to impossible. Everyone has an opinion and the Royal Rats Syndicate is unraveling around me. The captains agree that Glen should be the Oddfather’s successor, but it’s not been made official.
Everyone’s trying to keep the Feds out of their businesses. The nearly six weeks it took to release the bodies to their families only added fuel to the flames. Thankfully, Glen worked some magic and negotiated a city-wide peace truce to last for four weeks. But the lack of fighting in our corner of the crime world feels unnatural. Another two weeks of this might break what’s left of the Syndicate.
Today is the Oddfather’s wake. The last one of the bunch. Caite clutches my arm as if we’re walking along a cliffside path. Head tilted down, strands of blond hair fall loose from her French twist. She has to help me step up from the pavement to the grass. We both wear flats, but you’d think we’re in heels from the unnatural gait. The walk to Witt’s grave feels like it takes a century.
The service is quick. I think. I zoned out for most of it, too emotionally exhausted to function. When the coffin is lowered, people start to turn away. Some pass by, offering condolences. A handful of couples, some people I remember from the engagement party, offer me their apologies for both of my loses. At this point, I’m too tired to cry.
Too many captains stop to speak with me. Their words are a blur. I must be hallucinating, some of them talk to me like I’m a captain. Or a boss if the Syndicate is dead. Some of them talk with Caite too, bypassing her husband. I’m baffled. I have to be misreading everything happening around me.
There was no grave or wake for Silver because we have nothing to bury. Having a tombstone engraved seemed like a grievous waste of money.
Caite and I stay rooted to the spot. Glen stands guard with his hands deep in his pockets like he’s trying to keep himself from punching something. Caite and I stay there sniffling long after everyone has left. Well, except for some of Glen’s men keeping an eye on us and patrolling the perimeter.
“I’m so glad it’s over,” I whisper.
These are the first words I’ve said to her in weeks. She frowns.
“I’m glad we’ve got each other,” I add and squeeze her hand.
Caite smiles, her nose scrunching slightly. “Me too.”
We stand in silence for a few moments.
“Can I ask you something, Lilly?”
“Sure.”
“Why Silver?”
I snort hard enough it hurts. Caite giggles.
“Silver was thankful for saving his life and wanted to repay me. It kind of just grew from there.”
“Repay you?” Caite repeats back slowly.
A flush burns my cheeks.
“Wow. I knew Silver was ballsy, but I didn’t think he was cocky enough to think sex with him was a thank-you gift.” She chuckles.
“I felt very thanked afterward.”
We smirk at each other. A cold breeze blows through, ruffling our coats and reminding us how long we’ve been standing outside.
“Alright, I think I’ve tortured your husband long enough,” I chuckle, casting a glance over at Glen. He’s very busy glaring at the grass like it called him a name.
We hike back to the car, the guards retreating along with us.
“What are you feeling for dinner?” Caite asks once we’re in my car with the heat on.
“Something from a restaurant in a different state,” I mumble.
“I can’t tell if you’re joking or not, Lilly.”
“Fifty, fifty,” I say and sink down in my seat. I want to get the fuck out of this city. Run away and not be a part of this bullshit anymore.
Caite shifts in her seat. The remainder of the ride is in painful silence. Even after weeks of doing nothing but thinking, I don’t have much to say. I’m curious how she and Glen are holding up. She behaves like nothing changed when they married. The overly polite side of me doesn’t want to pry. It keeps my curiosity under lock and key, reminding me the last time I got too curious, I fell in love with an alien.
“You go back to work on Monday, right?” Caite asks once we’re home. Glen excuses himself to take a nap, tells us to order whatever.
I stand in the kitchen, looking at takeout menus online. “Yeah, I’m looking forward to it.”
“Cool, cool.” She drums her fingers on the island counter. Her forced relaxed tone piques my attention. But Caite doesn’t add anything to her response.
Unease pricks at my stomach. The gleam in her unfocused eyes reminds me of Glen. She’s planning something. Knowing Caite as well as I do, my gut tells me it’s not violent or flashy.
“What didn’t you want to say in front of Glen?” she whispers. “About Silver?”
“Huh?”
“Please, Lilly. The way he looked at you at the engagement party? The way he came out of the shadows and into the real world? That’s not about repayment.”
I sigh. “Silver and I were hooking up. That’s it.”
“Hooking up? Woooow,” Caite says and laughs. “Liar, liar. You seriously think I’d fall for that?”
“Yes,” I grumble.
There is a giggle of agreement followed by an executive decision to order pizza for dinner.
After we eat, my brain is stuck in a dangerous loop. I say my goodnights and wander off to the safety of my room.
Mentioning hooking up puts sex on my mind. Having dirty thoughts and touching myself are the only times when I feel anything for more than a few seconds. A cold shower does nothing to dull the yearning ache between my legs. Every time thoughts like these have popped up these past few weeks, I’ve unsuccessfully shoved them away.
Each step, twitch and movement brings a zap of memory to the forefront. Silver beneath me, letting me take control. Silver fingering his cum into me. Then my imagination takes over and creates images of all the things we didn’t get to do. Taking both of his cocks at the same time, cum dripping out of my ass. Silver fucking me like a gentle madman, refusing to put me in any sort of pain.
I’m not so gentle with myself. Sometimes a little force is necessary. Desperate for release, I grab a vibrator, lube, and a dildo. I should buy another. But for now, this will have to do. Slicking the toy and my ass with the cold gel, I press the silicone head into myself. A burst of stinging pain grips me. My eyes water as I slide it deeper, a dull ache accompanying the sting.
It’s doesn’t take me long to cum. The fullness in my ass, the taboo nature of the act, and the twinge of discomfort shove me over the edge. I’m a quivering mess, toes curling and mouth gaping. The contractions around the dildo cause the pain to grow worse. Each flash of pain adds to my orgasm. I feel like my body is stuck in an endless feedback loop.
Silver’d be pissed.
Guilt washes over me. Anger rises, trying to push back on the nonsense in my head. Silver is dead. Why do I care what he’d think of what gets me off?
Maybe I’m misreading the origin of the guilty feeling. Is it because Silver wouldn’t approve? Or because my body is ready to move on from him?
I knew for weeks before his death our relationship would end. I dove in headfirst damn well understanding the inevitable excruciating outcome.
Struggling to comprehend my grief, I clean myself up and redress. Wallowing around in self-pity isn’t going to make me feel better. But it will make me feel something. At least I’m no longer numb to the world. But I’m not confident feeling my feelings is better than total paralysis.
My phone buzzes on the nightstand. I sprint for it and unlock the screen. A frown and stab of disappointment accompanies the notification. It’s just e-mail about an upcoming clothing sale. I delete the e-mail and open my texts, scrolling to Silver’s thread. Eight weeks is a long time. I don’t want to move on, but I need to.
Typing up a message to Silver, I spill my heavy heart out.
I wasn’t brave enough to admit I have feelings for you. I thought keeping them to myself would make our eventual breakup easier. I was wrong.
Even if I only got one more hour with you, I’d give up everything to tell you “I love you” in person.
The hollow ache in my chest chokes me, mouth drying out. I ditch my phone on the bed and grab a glass of water. Sending those messages makes the sadness worse, not better. And this fucking water isn’t helping either. Pacing about the kitchen, I debate cracking open a bottle of wine and decide against it. Taking a melatonin gummy and crashing in bed is a better option.
Returning to my room, my eyes narrow on my phone. The screen is still illuminated, it should have faded to black by now. Unless activity kept it awake. Approaching my bed on shaky legs like I’m approaching an injured animal, I stare down at the screen. In light green, the word read sits below both sent message bubbles. Someone has Silver’s phone. And they’re using it. I sprint out of my room and back into the living room to find Caite. She looks up from her phone, a crooked, confused frown on her face.
“Your dad sells tech to the Syndicate, right?” I ask, my chest rising and falling in deep, harsh breaths.
“Mostly to the military, but yes?” she blinks rapidly.
“Did he supply phones to the DiLoreto family?”
Caite shrugs. “Probably. We can ask Glen—”
“No. Not involving Glen. Someone has Silver’s phone. The texts I sent him recently are on read.”
Her eyebrows rise. “And if his phone was supplied by Dad, we can trace it. Dad used to track my phone all the time.”
“Exactly! I need to know who has it.” I nearly jump up and down with excitement. “What do I need from your dad to see the location?”
Caite’s expression falls. “Access to his or another captain’s computer. Dad’s not going to agree to help you, Lilly. But Glen might.”
“No, I don’t want to drag your husband into this. It could be nothing.” The weird jitteriness dies inside me. Why did I feel like that, anyway?
“The Oddfather’s things are in storage. Glen’s crew emptied his house and a chuck of it is at my parents’ place.”
“You think his under-captains just ditched sensitive material?” I gawk. She cannot be this naïve.
“His death brought the Feds swooping in, and his underlings wanted his existence wiped away. Based on all the shit they forced into the basement, I don’t think they put any thought into what went where.”
I nod slowly. Priority number one was keeping the Feds away. Whatever needed to be done got done as soon as Witt’s guys found out he died. Hiding his crap in Howie’s basement was sloppy work, but who was truly paying attention?
“So, what’s the best time to sneak into the basement?”
“Weekday morning. If the guards ask, tell them you’re grabbing a box from my old room.”
We both smile wide.
“Sounds like a plan,” I chuckle. “Good thing I only work three days a week.”