Cyprus

“You're really going to sit there and act like you don't know anything?”

“I don't. I don't know why they disappeared. I don't even know who you're talking about.”

“I'm here to help you.” The officer leaned back in his chair, flipping a pen around between his fingers. “Tell me your name.”

“I told you already, my name is Cyprus Rottera.” Rubbing my temples, I closed my eyes. “Why are you doing this? I told you I don't even know the people you're talking about, there's nothing else I can say.”

“Miss, I know you think you're protecting them, but you're only hurting yourself. I need to know who you really are.”

“I don't know what else you expect me to say, I'm Cyprus—”

Cutting me off, he dropped the pen onto his notebook and rolled his chair closer. “Rottera, yeah you said that. But I know that's not true. You don't exist, there's no record of you anywhere that I could find. I'm going to be honest with you, I've had enough with this bull-shit. Just tell me, who are you really?”

Veering my stare, I felt my hands begin to shake. “My name is Cyprus, that's the truth. If you can't find me in your system, maybe that's because I don't have a record. I've never been arrested before this.”

Smiling, the detective hung his head, tipping it up a hair to look me in the eyes. “You're right, we don't have you in our system. But the funny thing is, I can't find any record of you having ever been born.” Clapping his hands together, he pushed his palms into his knees and sat up straight. “So is the joke on us? Are you a ghost?”

Fuck you.

You people couldn't help me when I needed you, why would I trust you now?

Shrugging my shoulder, I folded my arms over my chest. “Seems that way I guess.”

“Why are you protecting him—them? I mean. . .” Pausing, he ran his hands down his face and shook his head. “They're bad people, they do bad things. I know you know that, so why would you risk yourself trying to protect them?”

He thought he could talk me into a corner. . . Screw him, he was wrong. I knew better than that. I knew exactly what he was trying to do.

“Is that what you think? You think they're bad people?”

Detective Jones crooked his jaw, as if I was speaking a different language. “Tell me why they're good?” Holding out his arms, he relaxed in his chair, loosening his muscles. “I've got all day, tell me what they've done for you. Maybe you can change my mind.”

You don't deserve to know! Where were you when I needed you?

Where were you when I was lost and alone?!

The cops had done shit to find out the truth, they left me to deal with it on my own. They abandoned Nick and wiped their hands clean of the long lost little girl. Now he suddenly gave a shit about me?

No, that's not how this worked.

The officer could say whatever the hell he wanted to. Yes, they had hurt people. Yes, they had done things that didn't follow the straight line of the law. But did the officer really give two shits about the dirty ass men they snuffed out?

Was he even aware of what the men they killed had wanted to do to me or what they had done to others?

There were far worse people out in the world than the Rotteras. I knew that first hand. . . Because I had looked them in the eyes.

“I don't have to tell you anything. I don't need to prove to you what I already know.”

“Are you willing to go down for them? I don't know who you are, but I know them, I know what they're capable of. Do you think they're willing to do the same for you?”

Of course they are. What kind of stupid question is that?

Grinding my jaw, my eyes turned to slits. “What do you expect me to say, huh?” Tapping my nails on the table, I flipped my hand up in the air. “Do you really think you can bring me in here and expect me to just throw them under the bus? Because I won't. They're family, they didn't do anything wrong.”

“Family, huh?” The cop eyed me, drifting his gaze around my face. “You look nervous. Why do you look so nervous?”

“I'm nervous because I've never been arrested before.” Fiddling with my fingers, I stared right at him, doing my best to remove the emotions that were running rampant. “So yeah, this is making me a little uncomfortable. It doesn't help that you assholes didn't let me get dressed and gave me this shitty jumpsuit to wear instead.” Plucking my shoulder, I let the fabric drop back onto my skin as I arched a distasteful brow. “And maybe it would help if you told me why you're so interested in that family you brought up. They're all adults, don't adults have the right to be missing if they want to?”

I had been afraid that they found out what happened with Antoine and his family. But the detective didn't say anything about this being a murder investigation, and I figured he definitely would have if that was the case. He kept referring to it as a disappearance. He hadn't spoken of finding water logged bodies or gun casings in the sand.

Luckily, I wasn't naive or a rambler. I was going to wait for him to give up the reason, not feed him information he might not know.

But this was something else, something different. He was far too relaxed for this to be about murder. Maybe it was about the truck they stole last year or the money that Nick had me launder through the bar.

Either way, he didn't have enough to charge anyone, let alone me. Because if he did, we'd all be behind bars right now and he wouldn't be sitting here fishing for information on me.

“Look, you're not under arrest. We read you your rights because we have to, and we put cuffs on you for our own safety. You were a bit wild back there, we had to be cautious.”

“If I'm not under arrest, then I want to leave. You can't hold me here if I don't want to stay.”

“Okay, alright, I get it.” Letting out an audible exhale, he pinched the bridge of his nose. “I just want to know who you are. There's no record of a Cyprus Rottera anywhere. You obviously came from somewhere. I'm just trying to sort this all out.”

“And I'm trying to figure out why you thought you had the right to come storming into our home the way you did.”

“Well,” he said, sucking air in through thin lips. “If what we think is true, Nicholi and Birch are going to be put away for a long time. People talk and secrets don't stay buried forever. So if you want to help them, you can start by telling me where you came from. The sooner you tell me, the sooner you can get out of here. I'm just trying to help, that's it.”

Bullshit. Trying to help? He's trying to get me to talk.

“What kind of shit? You need to give me more than that.”

“Well for starters, we've been keeping a close eye on Nick for years. Never really had much until recently. It turns out he was pretty close to the men we're looking for.” Resting his head on his hand, he smiled smugly. “Now it's your turn. Who are you?”

I sat in silence. How could I even give him an answer when I didn't know myself. If they had done their job to begin with, we wouldn't be sitting here wondering what name I was born with.

The two of us glared at each other, neither one ready to break the silence. My loyalty wasn't with the police, it was with my family. I would do anything to protect them and they would do the same for me.

That's how this worked, that was the binding holding it all together.

“Do you really know the people you're living with?” he asked, tilting his head a hair. “Do you have any idea?”

“I do. And I know that what you think of them is wrong. You see bad people doing bad things, I see the family that has taken care of me and provided for me. Bad people don't do that.”

“Cared for you?” His eyes flirted with mine, leaving me to wonder what the hell he was thinking. “I hate to burst the little bubble you're living in, but bad people do a lot of shit, even when it seems good. There's always a layer of selfishness built inside. I can guarantee it's no different right now.”

A knock at the door cut through the air, forcing the banter between us to stop.

An older woman with gray hair poked her head in, her face sullen and concerned. “I'm sorry to interrupt, Sir, but Detective French needs you for a minute.”

Nodding, Jones grabbed his notebook and pen, and stood up. “I'll be back. Take this time to think about what you want. Do you want to spend time behind bars for these assholes? Or do you want to be free to live your life? It's up to you.”

Holding the door in his hand, he gave me one last look over his shoulder and stepped outside the room.

Why should I have to chose?

Dropping my head to the table, I wasn't sure what the hell I should do. A piece of me wanted to tell him the truth, to tell him that he was asking me a question I didn't have an answer for.

I wanted to tell him how this family had found me and taken care of me for all these years. I wanted him to know that I owed them my life and that without them, I'd probably be dead.

But why should I? Why did he deserve the pleasure of listening to me spill the deep dark secret I was holding inside?

Shouldn't he know this already? Shouldn't there be a record of me in their system from all those years ago?

The thought made me pause, it chipped away at my brain, making me question why he wasn't already aware that I was the girl Nick had found.

Fuck them, they never gave a shit anyway.

They had their chance to help me and they failed. The police had deserted that young girl looking for answers herself. I was Cyprus now, that's who I was. I was part of the Rottera family, nothing would change that.

He could threaten me with time behind bars, he could take my signature off all the paperwork and use it to lock me up for fraud and tax evasion. It didn't matter, I still wouldn't speak ill of Nick and Birch.

Since I stepped foot in that house, the one thing that Nick had drilled into my head was that being part of their family meant standing on your own two feet if you had to. You take a bullet for those you love, this was my bullet.

Closing my eyes, I folded my arms under my head and laid there on the table. I didn't really care how long they kept me, I wasn't going to say shit.

I heard the door creak open and the sound of footsteps approach me from above. But I didn't get up, I just laid quietly, waiting for something. For what? Who the hell knows.

Maybe he would tell me I could go home now, maybe he would apologize for being a prick and send me on my way.

“Miss, I need you to sit up.”

“Why? I'm good right here.”

“No, I think you should sit up.” His voice was different, it was softer and less intimidating than before. “Come on, sit up.”

Is this part of his game? A Good cop, bad cop routine that he altered between.

Rolling up slowly, I peered at the detective with as little emotion as I could. I didn't want him to think he was getting to me, or that he was building some relationship with me he could use against my family.

“Better?”

Detective Jones sat down, running a hand through his thick blonde hair. His green eyes were dull, lost in thought. He stared at me, not saying a word, just looking at me like he had a million things running through his head and he didn't know where to begin.

“What is it? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Do you recognize this?” Placing a small purple book on the table, he rested his hand on top. “Have you ever seen it before?”

Tilting my head, I looked at the notebook. “No, I've never seen it before. What is it?”

“Are you sure?” Using the tips of his fingers, he turned it. “Just take a minute and think about it. Have you ever seen it before?”

There were small flowers lining the top and bottom trim, a thick leather strap held the front and back cover together. Doodles of stars and hearts were drawn in pen down the binding, and the name Fiona was scribbled in the bottom right corner.

“I've never seen this before. Where did you get it?”

“Well, Cyprus,” he said, stroking his jaw. “I think it's yours.” Pushing it forward, he nodded his head. “Go on, take a look.” Folding back the cover, he opened it. “Maybe you'll remember if you read it.”

Gripping the trim on either side, I pulled it in. I stared at the detective for a moment, trying to figure out what type of game this was. This book wasn't mine, it had nothing to do with me.

Why the hell does he want me to read it?

Touching the corner, I fiddled with the thin seam and dropped my eyes to the paper. Inside I felt horrible, like I was violating some little girl's deepest thoughts. This was her book, it was her feelings and wishes, her anger and sadness.

We had no right reading what was in there. My eyes kept popping around the page, afraid to truly see what this girl had put down.

“Read it, read what she wrote.”

“What does this have to do with me?” Snapping my eyes up, I glared at Jones, doing my best to tear him apart. “We don't have any right reading this.”

“I think we do, I think it's more important than you realize.”

“Where did you get it?”

“I don't think you'd believe me if I told you. Read it first, then we'll talk.”

Huffing under my breath, I flicked my eyes down and started reading. My heart began to break, it folded up and split in half, refusing to beat one more time.

There was a little girl begging for help. There was a child aching with pain and no one was listening but the pages of her private book.

Where is she now?