"Faded" by Alan Walker

It's been about a week since the warehouse incident. Surprisingly, it never made the news. It was like it had just never happened but I couldn't figure out why. I know it made me uneasy. Maybe it just meant that they thought it was random-or the copycat that was murdering priests and random people instead of criminals to frame the boys. Or they had evidence and they were hunting us.

I was leaving a grocery store, wishing I hadn't stopped smoking, when a tall woman with natural light red hair came up and pulled me into a hug.

"Oh Cecilia, it's been so long since I've seen you. Let's walk together," she smiled, her voice laced with a Southern accent. I was too shocked to prevent her from grabbing one of my bags and linking her arm with my now free arm.

I smiled nervously. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"How silly you are. Paul Smecker wasn't lying when he said you were hilarious," she laughed. She's FBI, I realized. I tried to keep my composure as we walked along. "Now, I don't want you to panic. I'm a friend of yours. My mentor really admired your boys but it seems like someone's following you."

"Other than you?"

"Other than me." She glanced down at my bags. She leaned close, whispering in my ear. "Lets go to my hotel. I've got a fridge. You call your boys and we'll set up a meeting at that bar that they like."

"That sounds lovely," I paused, raising my eyebrows for her name.

"Eunice." I nodded, doing my best to look like we were old friends. Eventually she stopped holding my arm but continued to carry my bag.

"He's not following you any more. I'm impressed that they've figured out who you are. Nobody seems to know anything about you in any of the files."

"Smecker kept me out of everything, I think."

"He was a smart old devil," she smiled admiringly.

"Was?"

"He passed on some time ago."

"I'm sorry for your loss, he seemed kind."

"He was underneath his own bullshit." She stopped at a nice looking townhouse and unlocked the door. "The kitchen is through there, the fridge should have enough room for whatever you've got in there."

I opened the door. It was empty other than a few takeout containers and some condiment bottles. She must have been watching me.

"I said there'd be room."

I laughed. "I guess you did." She handed me a cellphone.

"Call your friend at McGinty's. Set something up."

After hesitating, I dialed Doc's number. He answered after a few rings.

"We're not open-fuck cunt," he answered.

"Doc, it's Cecilia."

"Fuck, Cecilia?"

"Yeah, I'm in Boston."

"Ye with-"

"Yes. Something's happened. I need you to call them and get them to come to the bar tonight."

"We're closed tonight."

"That's the idea."

He paused briefly. "I'll set it up. Ye got a time-fuck, ass?"

Eunice mouthed ten at me so I relayed that and said goodbye. "Now, we've got some time to kill," she broke the silence. "Why don't you tell me about yourself and why there's a mid-level Yakavetta thug following you?"

"I'm sorry, what?"

"It can't just be because of the Saints. They'd know where they are by now. So it must just be you. What'd you do?"

"Not much."

"You were at the warehouse, right? Upstairs, using the machinery." I said nothing. "You and I both know the boys aren't smart enough for that. They just shoot everyone and call it a day. I've read your papers though, you're fucking smart. So how'd you piss off the Italian mob?"

"I honestly have no idea."

She hummed to herself, opening a laptop. "Well let's find out then, shall we? Last name is McCarthy?"

I nodded. "Your father died in Boston when you were young." She frowned. "The records are archived. Barely anything here." She put a finger to her mouth in thought. "Your mom's Italian?"

"And German, why?"

"She wouldn't happen to be the daughter of one of these assholes, would she?"

I stared blankly. "My grandparents are dead. All I have is my mom as far as immediate family goes. I don't know her maiden name," I added before she could ask. She clicked around a few times, not replying.

"Gabriella Luciano. There it is. Her father served some time in prison before he died for the Yakavettas."

"I'm sorry, what?"

"Testimony in his case is redacted. I guess I'll have to get clearance for that archived file." She pulled out her cellphone and punched in a number. "Bloom here. Working on the Yakavetta case. I need clearance for some files I think are related just to cover all of the bases." A guy replied, sounding annoyed. "Well if you'd just give me fucking clearance to everything I wouldn't have to fucking ask." Another annoyed reply. "You'll just give me clearance to whatever I need for the next couple hours? Oh, days. Well bless your heart, you sweet man." She hung up.

I couldn't help but chuckle, deciding that I liked Eunice.

"Killian Declan McCarthy-your son's named after him. That's cute." She started reading before looking at me. "You might want to read this yourself." I tried to read her expression but her face was deliberately blank.

With a sigh, I accepted the laptop from her and started reading the file in front of me. As I continued to read, I could feel the color drain from my face. My dad was in the fucking mob. It was how he had met my mother. The file included a collection of statements and testimonies from my mom. Why the fuck did she never tell me this? I immediately wanted to call her and just rage but I refrained. That means she fucking knows who Murphy and Connor are.

My dad had been an "associate." They called him a "numbers guy" according to the file. He was good at making money, keeping money, and collecting money. It was his payment for being able to marry my mom and get her out of Boston. My grandfather, her dad, was one of the underbosses for the Yakavettas. Too high ranking for her to just escape. And he had owed a debt to the family for marrying an outsider, which was served in prison until he was murdered by another inmate several years after my grandmother died of cancer.

Eunice gingerly took the laptop from my deathgrip as I tried to stare a hole into the picture of my mother on the witness's stand.

"I'll just leave you to your thoughts."

I said nothing. What was there to say at this point? The family history I had built up in my head wasn't factual at all. It all has to be rewritten.