Page 50 of Pieces Into Place

The unmistakable sound of tires crunching over snow and ice reaches our ears when Olivia and I are on the couch, cuddled up and watching a movie.

My muscles tense and I rush to the window to make sure it’s Henry. I relax slightly upon seeing him leave his vehicle. He sent a text this morning informing me that he’d be coming to discuss something important, and I’ve been anxiously awaiting his arrival ever since.

I spin around to find Olivia slipping on a light jacket. “Where are you going?”

“You two need a moment alone,” she announces. “I want to take a stroll and pick up some more pinecones anyway.”

“All right, but stay within the boundaries of the house,” I warn her. “It will start getting dark soon.”

She nods and utters, “Yes, sir,” before pressing a peck to my cheek and opening the door for Henry when he knocks. She will definitely be saying that later in bed tonight.

“Hi, Olivia,” Henry says upon entering, but I can tell there’s something in his tone. “You look good.”

Olivia gives him a faint smile. “Thank you,” she responds before glancing back at me and then venturing out for a walk.

“Be careful,” I reiterate before the door shuts.

Henry takes a seat in one of the chairs with an air of apprehension. “Have a seat, Kane.”

A few beats pass before he leans forward in his chair, his hands clasped together. “How much do you trust her?”

I shift uncomfortably, my brows lowering. “Who? Olivia?”

He nods. “Do you think she’s been withholding information from us?”

I think back to the conversations we’ve had, the things she’s admitted to me. There’s no way she’s been keeping secrets. She told me things that were hard to admit.

“No, she’s been truthful with me,” I tell him.

Henry blows out a breath and leans back, nodding his head. “In that case. Do you believe in fate?”

I shift my weight again, focusing my gaze on a point somewhere to the left of Henry. “I don’t know anymore.”

Henry moves to the edge of his seat, his features pinched with apprehension, clearly something is wrong.

“I’m not sure how to tell you this,” he says, his voice low but firm. “I can’t believe it myself. I mean, what are the odds?”

I sit straighter, my mouth going dry as I wait for him to tell me what the fuck is going on. “What is going on?”

“You and Olivia…Simone Holt, share a past,” he says grimly, shaking his head in disbelief. My brows furrow while I wait for him to elaborate. “The man who killed your biological father is her uncle.”

The room starts to spin around me and my breaths quicken. “What?” I mumble, shaking my head. The words refuse to sink in and don’t make any sense. “What are you talking about?”

“Her uncle is the one who killed your father.”

My heart pounds in my chest so hard that I’m sure it’s about to burst out of my ribcage. Olivia saying she has no family left races through my mind. But she never mentioned an uncle. I feel like I’m back in that hospital room, knowing my life is about to be torn to pieces. Then her words come back to me. “Someone in my family did something awful to someone with ties to the Profaci crime family. The next thing I know, both my grandparents had been killed in a supposed car accident, and my mother was found dead after being mugged.”

It feels like the walls were closing in on me, stealing each ounce of oxygen from the small space.

Henry’s voice is tired and grave when he speaks again. “He’s the reason for all of this, Kane. The Sierra Falls Strangler, John Edward Holt, is Olivia’s uncle.”

My mind races through the possibilities of what this could mean. I stand and begin pacing the small room, my heart pounding against my chest like a mad drummer as I try to make sense of everything. Just thinking about the man who killed my father makes my blood boil. Too many times I’ve thought about how good it would feel if his life were taken at my hands, and not my mothers.

Henry watches me with an expression of sorrow on his face; it’s almost as if he’s been here before, and he knows there is no right answer or way out.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, Henry breaks the silence. “Take your time,” he says gently. “There’s no rush.”

I stop and stare out the window, engulfed in the scene before me. The snow sparkles against the afternoon sun, glinting off of the thick coating of ice that has settled on the branches of the surrounding pine trees. Pockets of heavy pinecones and needles are scattered across the ground, like stars shooting through a pitch-black night sky.