Fatally Yours

Chapter 70

•INDIANA•

The weight of the room pressed down on me as Sergeant Cruz finished his sentence, his expression a mixture of confusion and curiosity. My heart hammered in my chest, the sound filling my ears.

"No disciplinary action," he repeated, almost as though I hadn't heard him the first time.

I stared at him, my stomach twisting into knots, unable to hide my shock. His steady gaze made it clear that he wasn't joking.

"You're sure about that?" I asked, my voice tight, trying to suppress the tremble.

"Yes," Cruz said, leaning back slightly, his brow furrowed. "I don't understand why you're asking me, though. Is there something I don't know?"

I swallowed hard. "It's about what happened during my undercover job. When the mission was compromised... I thought there'd be an investigation. Some kind of disciplinary action taken against me."

His head shook slowly, his confusion deepening.

"The FBI hasn't said anything about a disciplinary action. And as far as I'm concerned, the mission has been dismissed until they find another solid lead on the Valahia Syndicate. If that happens—and it's a big 'if'—they'll reach out if they need your assistance again."

The words hit me like a slap. No investigation. No action. Dismissed.

I couldn't understand it. How could there not be a single inquiry into the mess I left behind? The kind of decisions I made should have warranted at least one meeting, one form of accountability.

But there was nothing.

And then there was his last sentence—"if they need your assistance again."

As much as I hated to admit it, I already knew that wouldn't happen. I wasn't just sidelined. I was out of the game for good.

I'd made that decision myself a week ago, long before any potential FBI closure. The risks, the lies, the danger—it had cost me too much already. And now, standing here with that confirmation, I felt something solidify in my chest.

I was done.

"Was it the chief who dismissed the case?" I asked, breaking the silence that had hung heavy between us.

"Yeah," Cruz said with a quick nod. "He's the one who called it."

"Is he upstairs in his office?"

"He should be," Cruz replied, glancing at his watch.

I nodded. "Thanks, Sergeant."

Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked toward the staircase, my boots clicking softly against the floor. My thoughts raced, colliding and tangling with every step I took.

It was time to face him. Time to confront the man who had put me in this position in the first place—my uncle.

I pushed the door open without knocking, stepping into the office I used to know so well. My uncle was on the phone, his deep voice rumbling through the room. The faint scent of coffee and old leather lingered in the air.

He looked up at me, surprise flashing across his face before he masked it. His eyes flicked toward the door, which I closed behind me with deliberate intent. Narrowing my eyes at him, I folded my arms across my chest, waiting.

He finished his call after a few more words, setting the phone down with a sharp click. Then, to my utter irritation, he had the nerve to smile up at me, as if nothing was wrong.