38. Ty

Chapter 38

Ty

T he decision to fly to Italy felt like it was made for me. One second I was booking the ticket, the next I was sitting in an airport hotel, staring at the ceiling, wondering how the hell my life got so messy. The flight was a total blur—just me, stuck in my head, trying to make sense of the mess I left behind and the even bigger one I was walking into.

Morning came way too fast. Sunlight sliced through the thin curtains, way too cheerful for my mood. It took a few seconds to remember where I was, but the sharp scent of the air brought it all back. I was home.

I skipped breakfast; my stomach felt like it was tied in a hundred knots. Instead, I paced my tiny hotel room, going over my plan for the hundredth time. I hadn’t been back to my family’s villa since before prison. After I got out, I avoided it like the plague—too many memories, too much unfinished business. But now, I didn’t have a choice. If there were answers to be found, they were waiting for me there.

With a deep breath, I grabbed my backpack, checked out, and stepped into the crisp morning air. It felt lighter than the weight I was carrying. An Uber pulled up, and I slid in, letting the app’s robotic efficiency take over where my brain couldn’t.

The drive was surreal. Every curve in the road, every landmark we passed, pulled me back to a time when life felt simpler—when my family was still whole. I stared out the window as the city gave way to rolling hills and vineyards, the countryside impossibly beautiful. For a moment, I let myself forget why I was here.

The driver made small talk, the kind of chatter that was easy to ignore. I grunted in response when I had to, letting him fill the silence while I tried to steel myself for what was coming.

When we finally turned onto the familiar gravel road, my chest tightened. The villa came into view, all stone walls and sprawling greenery. It looked the same, but it didn’t feel the same. The gates were overgrown with ivy, weeds spilling onto the path like the place was tired of pretending to be perfect.

The car stopped. I climbed out, mumbling a quick thanks, and stood there as the Uber pulled away. Alone, staring at the gates, I felt the weight of everything I’d been running from crash down on me.

I didn’t believe for a second that my parents’ tattoos weren’t connected to what Camille found in Silas’s dad’s house. I just wanted to be wrong.

A low rumble broke the silence, and a beat-up truck pulled up beside me. Rosa climbed out, her leather jacket snug, blood-red lipstick as sharp as her grin.

“Ty,” she said, her voice warm as she pulled me into a hug.

I stiffened but didn’t push her away.

“I’ve missed you, Bambino,” she teased, using the nickname she knew I hated.

“Still creepy that you call me that,” I muttered, stepping back.

She smirked. “But you’ll always be my baby cousin.” She reached for my cheek like she was about to pinch it. I batted her hand away, and she laughed, but her eyes softened. “I was so happy when I heard you got out. Not so happy that you didn’t bother telling me yourself.”

I clenched my jaw, not answering. What could I say? Sorry for ghosting her? She wouldn’t buy it.

She sighed and looked at the gates. “I still miss them every day.”

I swallowed hard, the lump in my throat too heavy to speak past. I wanted to tell her I felt the same way, but the words got stuck. It wasn’t like me to open up, not even to her.

She held up a bag. “Is this what you needed?”

I nodded and took it from her.

“You sure you want to do this alone?” she asked.

“I’m sure.”

Her eyes searched mine. “Have you told Camille the truth yet?”

I tensed, the mention of Camille hitting like a sucker punch. Rosa was the only one who knew about her—the one person I’d trusted with even the smallest details. I didn’t answer her question.

“I should go,” I said instead, brushing past her toward the gate.

“Ty!” she called, stopping me in my tracks.

I turned.

“When you’re ready, I’ll be here.” Her voice was steady, her smile genuine. Then she climbed back into her truck and drove away.

I watched her leave before turning back to the gates. The weight on my chest got heavier. There was no going back now. Whatever answers were waiting inside, I’d face them alone.

I shoved the gates open, the rusted hinges groaning like they hadn't been touched in years. The path to the house stretched out in front of me, cracked and overrun with weeds.

The garden hit me like a punch in the gut. It used to be my mom’s pride—pristine, bursting with flowers arranged just so. Now it was a wild mess. The shrubs and flowers were out of control, beautiful in a way that felt wrong, like the chaos was mocking the care she’d once poured into this place. I stopped for a second, memories rushing at me.

I used to help her out here when I was a kid, digging into the dirt with tiny hands, convinced I was some kind of gardening prodigy. She’d laugh, always patient, even when I planted things all wrong. That laugh—it was like sunshine, bright enough to make you forget every shitty thing in the world.

I pushed those thoughts down as I made my way to the front door. Every step was a reminder of what I'd lost, what had been ripped away. It hurt, yeah, but there were flashes of something else—moments of happiness that cut just as deep because they were gone.

Inside, the air was stale, like the house had been holding its breath all this time. I headed straight for my dad’s study, a place that always felt like it had a big “Keep Out” sign over the door. The desk was still there, dark wood that screamed authority. It was piled with papers and files. I went through them, my frustration building with every meaningless page. Shady business deals, sure—but that was nothing new. My dad had always played in the gray. But secrets? The kind I was looking for? Nothing.

By the time I was done, my patience was hanging by a thread. There was only one place left: his safe. It was tucked behind a painting in the master bedroom. I’d always known it was there, but this was the first time I’d had the nerve to crack it open.

CU hadn’t been a total waste—I’d learned some useful skills. In less than three minutes, the safe clicked open. I rifled through the contents, snapping pictures of anything that looked even remotely important. Most of it was junk. But then I found it—a sheet of paper covered in symbols.

My heart stopped. It was the same symbols I’d seen in the photo of the banner in Silas’s dad’s house, but some of them were circled.

I stared at it, my knees giving out as I sank to the floor. My head spun with anger, confusion, and a sick kind of clarity. My family wasn’t squeaky clean—I’d known that forever. Thieves, liars, money launderers—that was their world, the world I was born into. But murder?

I wanted to tell myself it wasn’t true. Just because Silas was a killer didn’t mean every member of the cause my parents had been a part of was. But deep down, I knew I was kidding myself.

When I finally got it together, I took a picture of the paper and tucked it into my jacket. I glanced around the bedroom, once my parents’ sanctuary. Now, it felt cold and hollow, the warmth replaced with shadows I couldn’t shake.

Needing a break, I wandered into my sister’s old room. It was like stepping back in time—band posters on the walls, photos of us smiling on some vacation I barely remembered. I collapsed onto her bed, letting the memories wash over me.

For a second, I thought about staying here. Just disappearing into the mess my family left behind. But I couldn’t. Whatever my parents had been tangled up in had ties to CU, and those symbols were the key to something way bigger than I’d imagined. Running wasn’t an option. This was my legacy now, as fucked up as it was—a puzzle of blood and lies I had to figure out.

As I lay there, exhaustion finally catching up with me, my thoughts drifted to Camille. She deserved so much better than the mess I’d made, but I couldn’t stop thinking about her—the way she’d smiled, the way she made me feel like I wasn’t completely broken. I wondered if she’d ever forgive me for shutting her out, for choosing this toxic legacy over her.

Eventually, sleep claimed me. My dreams were a mix of symbols and shadows, secrets pulling me deeper into a mystery I wasn’t sure I could survive. But somewhere in all that chaos, there was hope. A flicker of it. Enough to make me think I might still find a way to fix this. To fix myself.

To fix us.