Chapter 6: Ghosts of the Past

The Package

The sun in the morning flooded in through Olivia's makeshift apartment's thin curtains, casting long shadows on the tiny living room. She sat at the edge of the squeaky couch; her hands wrapped tightly around a cup of hot coffee. All that had happened over the past two days whirled in her mind—Victor's murder, the accusations, the confrontation with Nicholas and Helena. She was merely a pawn in a game that she had no idea how to play.

A knock on the door startled her, the sound loud and insistent. Olivia set down the mug and moved towards the door hesitantly, her heart racing. She peered through the peephole, but the corridor was empty.

She pushed the door open a bit, gazing down the hallway. A little package of wrapped brown paper lay on the floor, bound up with a string. Her name on the outside was scribbled in rough script.

Olivia's breath caught. She took the package, her hands shaking as she brought it in. It felt heavy, like it held something that would break the delicate illusion of security she had established.

She laid the package on the table and slowly unwrapped it. Inside was an old photograph, whose edges were frayed and colors faded with age. Her heart stilled as she gazed at the photograph.

It was a picture of her and Damien Cross, years before. They were hugging in front of a casino, beaming with smiles. Damien's face made a wave of sickness wash over her. She had thought him dead. She had thought so for years.

Written beneath the photograph was a note, scrawled in the same careless handwriting as the package:

You should have stayed hidden. Again? Was this fellow torturing her with her past with Damien? What's the meaning of all this?

Olivia's hands shook as she set the note on the table. Her mind reeled, memories flooding back—memories she had fought so hard to keep buried.

The Flashback

The neon lights of the Las Vegas Strip sparkled in Olivia's eyes as she stood beside Damien, the two of them laughing like they didn't have a worry in the world. They were a team, a pair of partners in crime, and they were unstoppable.

You ready for this?" Damien asked, his voice low and confident.

Olivia grinned, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. "Always."

They stepped into the casino, the scent of cigarettes and desperation heavy in the air. Damien's arm was across her shoulders, his presence a thrill and a reassurance.

They moved through the throng like ghosts, their eyes scanning for their quarry. It was a high-stakes game, and they were playing to win.

But something went wrong.

The quarry wasn't what they had thought he was. He was connected—dangerously connected. And when he realized he'd been played, he didn't take it well.

The very last thing Olivia had remembered was the sound of shots, the noise in the casino, and Damien shoving her into a taxi, his face set pale and hard.

"Go!" he had shouted. "Don't look back!"

She never saw him again.

The Investigation

Olivia paced back and forth in the small living room, her mind whirling. The photographs and the notse were a warning—a sign that her past was not as deeply buried as she had thought.

She snatched up her laptop and opened it, fingers swiftly typing across the keys as she looked for any current news regarding Damien Cross. The results were meager, but one article stood out.

"Former Con Artist Damien Cross Connected to Underground Crime Syndicate."

Olivia's breath caught. She clicked on the article, her eyes swiftly scanning the words.

"Damien Cross, once infamous for his involvement in high-stakes scams, has reappeared in connection with a powerful crime syndicate. He is believed to be acting as an intermediary for the syndicate, who have ties to money laundering, extortion, and homicide."

Her stomach churned. If Damien were alive—and involved with a crime syndicate—then her life was in greater danger than she had realized.

The Break-In

The apartment was dark, except for the light coming in from beyond the streetlamp. Olivia was on the couch, her computer in front of her, opened, still sorting through the events of the day.

A noise from down the hallway stopped her. It was faint, but distinct—the rattle of a key being inserted into the lock.

Her heart thudding, she rose from the bed, her eyes on the door. The lock unlatched, and the door creaked open.

Olivia grabbed the nearest object to defend herself with—a heavy glass vase—and held onto it tightly as she moved tentatively towards the window.

Someone stepped inside, silhouetted by the dim light emanating from the hallway. Olivia's breath froze as the individual moved closer; their face illumined.

It was Damien.

"Hello, Olivia," he said softly, his voice suave.

She stared at him, attempting to understand. "You're dead," she whispered.

Damien smiled to himself, the shine of humor in the darkness.

"I've been called dead before," he replied.

Olivia tightened her grip more around the vase. "What are you doing here?"

"I might ask the same of you," he responded, stepping inside the room. "You were snooping where you shouldn't."

"I have no choice." she snapped. "Victor's dead and I'm on trial for murder."

Damien's expression turned darker. "Victor Harrington? You married him?"

Olivia nodded, her breath catching. "I wanted a fresh start. I wanted to leave the past behind."

Damien spat a sour laugh. "The past never stays buried, Olivia. You'd know that better than anyone."

She couldn't even respond before a noise in the hallway brought them both up short.

"Get down!" Damien snarled, pulling her down onto the floor.

The window shattered as a bullet tore through the glass and became stuck in the wall above them.

The Chase

Olivia and Damien sprinted down the alley, their footsteps hammering against the brick walls. In their wake, the chase was intensifying—shouting, the screech of tires, the unmistakable crunch of a gun being loaded.

"Who are they?" Olivia gasped, her breathing in jagged bursts.

"The syndicate," replied Damien, his own voice tight. "They've been stalking you. And now they're clearing up loose ends."

Olivia's heart pounded as they hit a corner, the alleyway spilling onto a busy street. The neon lights of the city blurred before her as they ran, the chaos of the night surrounding them.

A car screeched to a halt in front of them, stopping their path. Damien swore, pulling Olivia into a doorway beside them as the car doors opened.

"Stay close," he growled, his fingers closing over hers.

They crept through a side entrance, the door thudding shut behind them. The building was dark and deserted, the air thick with dust and decay.

"Where are we?" Olivia whispered, her voice trembling.

"Somewhere they won't find us," Damien replied, his eyes scanning the blackness.

But the echo of footsteps reverberated through the building, increasing with each passing second.

The Confrontation

11:30 p.m. – Abandoned Building

Olivia and Damien moved through the building; their footsteps silent on the cracked concrete floor. The pursuit was close at hand now, the footsteps closing in.

"We can't keep running," Olivia whispered, her voice barely audible.

"We don't have a choice," Damien replied, his voice strained with resolve.

They reached a dead end, the corridor into a huge, empty room. There was nothing but a rusty fire escape on the opposite side, too far away.

The sound of the footsteps grew louder and louder, then the door burst open. There were three men inside, their faces concealed behind masks and their guns pointed at Olivia and Damien.

"End of the line," one of the men said, his voice flat and emotionless.

Damien stepped in front of Olivia, his body shielding hers. "If you're going to shoot, then shoot," he said, his voice steady.

The man raised his gun, but before he could pull the trigger, Olivia grabbed a piece of broken pipe from the floor and hurled it at him.

The pipe struck him in the head, and he stumbled, his gun bucking wildly. The bullet ricocheted off the wall, and there was pandemonium.

Damien grabbed the second man, stripping him of his gun in a swift, vicious movement. Olivia ducked as the third man shot, the bullet zipping past her ear.

She picked up a shard of glass on the floor and plunged it into the man's arm, making him drop his gun. Damien leaped onto him in an instant, delivering a sucker punch to his solar plexus that knocked him flat on the floor.

There was complete silence, the only sound being Olivia and Damien's jagged breathing.

"We have to get out of here," Damien said, his voice low and desperate.

Olivia nodded, her trembling hands still grasping the railing as they climbed up the fire escape and disappeared into the night.

The Aftermath

The safehouse was a small, drab apartment on the outskirts of the city. Olivia occupied the side of the bed; her trembling hands folded tightly in her lap. Damien stood at the window, his gaze scanning the street below.

"They're not going to let up," Olivia said, her voice hollow. "They'll just keep coming after me."

Damien whirled to face her; his expression stern. "Then we'll make them stop first."

Olivia stood her ground, her green eyes racing with fear and resolve. "Why are you doing this for me?"

Damien hesitated, his eyes softening for the first time. "Because I owe you," he said softly. "And because I'm not letting you go through this alone."

Olivia's chest tightened, but she agreed. "Then we do this together."