Karly is lying dead on the ground as the officers slowly approach, yelling and screaming at me to show them my hands. When they reach the dumpster, I’m curled with my hands up. My Scorpion is at least six inches from me.
“Holy fuck…” Kemper whispers.
The cops lunge, knees in my back, face in the dirt as they forcefully cuff my hands behind my back. I’m mumbling a bunch of words that don’t make any sense, clearly having an episode because I don’t rememberanyof this.
“EMT’s now! We’ve got a 10-70,” one of them hollers.
“Jesus Christ…” the one whose camera is recording this shivers, looking down at Karly.
She’s very visibly dead, gunshot wounds all over her. But none evenremotelyclose to where my rifle had been aimed. And even so, I was turning itawayfrom her when the first shot rang out.
“I didn’t shoot her…” I jitter. “It wasn’t me… I was aiming away from her when the first shot happens. Ididn’tkill her.”
“No,” my father sighs. “You didn’t.”
“Sir… this is—”
“Shut that off,”I hear someone bark right before the video cuts out.
“Oh… my God,” Kemper grumbles.
“It wasn’t me. It wasn’t…” I croak. “Holyfuck, I didn’t kill her. They covered it up. TheyknewI didn’t kill her.”
“The Police Commissioner instructed the officers to erase the footage,” my father says. “Karly was cremated to prevent autopsy. Why would Governor Russo do that…?”
“He knew,” Kemper murmurs.
“Or was at least suspicious,” a new voice joins the conversation. It’s The Ivory.
“My connections in the Brooklyn PD came to me with the footage before it was erased,” he says. “I always knew I’d need leverage against the Commissioner. And Russo, though I’m sure he could claim he wasn’t aware. But I know him better than that. Sorry,knew.”
His lips twitch. My father isn’t grinning—he rarely does—but he too looks pleased that Governor Russo is dead.
“Why…” my voice trails and I clear my throat. “Why are you showing me this?” I ask, both of them.
“I simply wanted you to know that you did not kill the girl, moy syn,” my father says.
I shrug. “So? I’ve killed other people.” I sniff. “I’m not innocent. And I still got Karly killed, whether I fired the shot or not…”
“Dascha, it only comes down to this,” The Ivory says. “Youdeservedto know the truth. Being accused of doing something you didn’t do is a terrible feeling. Trust me.”
Kemper and I stare at him, well aware that he’s referring to the death of Velle’s mother.
“It doesn’t have to mean you’re a good person. Even if you’re not, you still deserve to be vindicated once in a while.”
Nodding, I take a deep breath. Idofeel better knowing I didn’t kill Karly. That shit’s been weighing on my conscience for nearly a year.
“So… what now?” I ask.
My father plucks the flash drive out of the laptop, pocketing it. “I will be returning to Vegas. It would be nice to keep in touch, Dascha. But I understand if you do not want this…”
I stare up at him for a bit, considering if I think I could allow him back into my life; into mynewlife. But one question is still… nagging at me.
“Were you planning to leave?” I ask my father. “Or did he make you… because it was better for his business?”
My eyes flit in The Ivory’s direction.
Dad’s gaze shifts uneasily between me and The Ivory, who’s pursing his cut and swollen lips, eyes on the floor.
