Page 28 of Merciless Sinner

I will find out who is responsible for what happened to her and her parents.

When I do, not even God will be able to help them.

No one will.

ChapterEight

Olivia

I’m in the living room of Virgo’s manor home sitting with my uncle, Seamus.

We’re opposite each other on the wicker chairs near the potted plants. He’s been filling me in on my life and telling me about my family and friends by regaling me with memories and stories.

We’ve spent the last four hours together. Eden prepared a nice lunch for us after she finished giving me the tour of the property, then we came in here to talk privately.

I got the whole family history from Ireland to New York.

He told me about my older brother, Cillian, who lives in Ireland and takes care of the family bank and brewery. Then we got into a deep conversation about my parents where he dropped the bomb that my father was one of the heads of the main clans in the Irish Mafia and our family are worth billions.

Virgo alluded to our net worth when we spoke on the flight back, but I could never conceive he meant that much money.

Or the whole mafia thing that’s really unnerved me.

Apparently, my father provided a wonderful life for all of us here in New York. The place of my birth. Seamus explained that’s why I don’t have an Irish accent like him. He also told me Cillian had a slight accent that became stronger in recent years because he’s spent so much time in Ireland.

I’ve been listening to him and taking in the warmth in his presence and the fondness in which he speaks, but I can’t help the feeling of disconnection wrapping around my soul.

Every time he tells me some memory about myself, I feel like he’s talking about somebody else.

I know he’s probably doing it with the hope of sparking my memories, but he can also see nothing’s happening.

I wish it would, though, but one thing my doctors warn me about was that the damage in my brain could mean I’d never remember anything ever again.

Or my mind is protecting me from remembering because of the traumatic experience I went through.

“There's still a lot more to tell you.” Seamus smiles. “But I don't want to overwhelm you with more information. I know I've already given you a lot to digest.”

“Yes, we've talked about a lot,” I agree. “It’s been nice talking to you, though.”

Seamus seems nice, too, and like somebody I could trust, but the panic in my soul makes me want to be wary of everyone no matter how genuine they seem.

Now that I'm back in New York, instinct makes me want to keep watching my back because I’m worried something might happen.

“I’d like for you to come to my house whenever you're ready. There are a lot of photo albums there. Your brother didn't want to sell the family home, so he's rented it out. But I kept all of your things and your parents’ stuff, too. Most of it is in storage, but I kept the special things at my house.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.” I don’t have to remember my life here to know that’s a kind gesture.

“You are more than welcome. I’m so sorry about your parents, and sorry for what happened to you.”

As he says that, I try to assess if he’s really sorry or if his compassion is fake, but I can’t find either.

“It was horrible, but I don’t know what’s worse. Remembering or not.”

“Both. The protective side of me wants to spare you the pain, but I know we can only keep you safe if you remember what happened.”

“I’ve been trying. But there’s a wall in my head, and I can’t see over it.”

Sadness fills his eyes, and he reaches out his hand to take mine. “No matter what happens, make sure you do what’s best for you. Don’t do too much and don’t get upset if nothing comes to you. The important thing is you’re home now.”

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