The Lies They Told in Sicily

I barely slept that night. By the time I got up the next morning, Mark was already gone. I took a shower, trying to calm myself down. The deal Mark mentioned was scheduled for midnight at the port of Genoa, so I still had time to prepare. However, I first had to figure out two things.

The first thing I had to figure out was who Lilian was. If she really were Mark’s weakness, then revenge would be simple. However, if she wasn’t, then she was targeting me, trying to drive me away from him. Her true purpose remained a mystery.

The second thing was to figure out whether my identity had been exposed, and that worried me the most. Mark was cunning and ruthless, and no one could predict his next move. Everyone in the family feared him because he could smile at you while sending you to meet your maker.

My father, on his deathbed, had gripped my hand and said, “Make sure the Carillo family pays for every drop of blood.”

For that promise, I had spent six years in the shadows, enduring the gnawing of my conscience while my hands were stained with blood. That obsession was what had kept me alive all these years, and I absolutely couldn’t fail.

By 11:30 p.m., my car rolled along the empty highway. Even before reaching the harbor, the salty scent of the sea filled the air. Several black cars were already parked at the port. Their headlights shot out like blinding beams, forcing me to squint. This mission reeked of danger, but I couldn’t defy Mark’s orders. One refusal, and my cover would be completely blown.

I opened the car door, hands tucked into the pockets of my trench coat, squinting toward the man in front of the vehicle. He was my contact for the deal. Known as “Mad Dog” Bill, he was an outlaw who had built his empire through smuggling. Brutal and insane, his hands were stained with countless lives.

“Got the goods?” he asked lazily, hopping out of the car and sizing me up with a greedy look.

I forced down my unease and pointed toward the trunk. “They’re in there. Take a look for yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow, showing no intention of inspecting it. “Miss, do you mind opening it for me?”

His gaze lingered on me, full of ill intent. Something felt off, but the car lights surrounded me. There was nowhere to run.

I opened the trunk, but inside, there were no goods. There was only a thick stack of top-secret files revealing my true identity.

Bill let out a hoarse, eerie laugh. “Hehe… Ms. Anderson… Don’t you get it yet? You’re the goods.”