Chapter 5

If he was an impostor, to know these intimate details about our childhood, he must have captured the real Leo and tortured the information out of him.

But if he had already captured Leo and compromised us, why did he let the entire cartel get destroyed?

And now, instead of running away with his money, he was actively trying to enter the United States with me—a place where law enforcement would make his life ten times harder.

"Mason!"

"Talk to me, man!"

"You didn't pass out on the toilet like Wyatt did back in academy, did you?"

He sounded genuinely worried, knocking louder.

"I'm coming out!" I called back.

The puzzle pieces weren't fitting.

If he wanted to fool me, knowing my childhood was enough. Why would he remember a stupid story about our classmate Wyatt passing out in the bathroom six years ago?

Even under extreme torture, no cartel interrogator would ask about classmate gossip.

And Leo would never crack.

His conviction was absolute. He would never bow to these monsters.

I walked out, and he immediately checked my forehead for a fever. His worry looked 100% real.

Could it be... that the years of psychological trauma had messed up Leo's mind? Had his memory fractured, making him truly believe we had a literal "blood brother" ritual?

That was the only logical explanation left.

"Leo, let's go to the hospital," I muttered, holding my stomach. "I think my ulcer is flaring up again."

Before I could finish, "Leo" grabbed a passing waiter. "Where is the nearest ER?"

Once he got the address, he threw my arm over his shoulder and practically carried me to a cab.

He didn't even look this panicked when he was chained up in that basement.

My throat tightened.

I wanted to believe he was real.

I went to the hospital to buy time. I had secretly messaged a local backup agent to meet us at the hospital and quietly collect a hair sample from "Leo" for an express DNA test.

If he was the real Leo, we would go home together.

If he was fake, I would arrest him right there.

I managed to snag a few strands of his hair from his jacket and handed them to the undercover agent in the hospital hallway.

The next twenty hours of waiting felt like a slow death.

Finally, my phone buzzed.

*“DNA matches Leo Vance. The sample is clean. He is who he says he is.”*

The moment I read the text, I let out a breath I felt like I'd been holding for years. I could finally breathe.

I ran back to his room. "My stomach is fine now, Leo. Let's go home! Let's get the hell out of here!"

He grinned, relieved, and immediately pulled out his phone to book the flight.

In the Uber to the airport, I finally let my guard down. We talked about where we’d go for vacation, and how we would take our parents’ ashes to all the places they had wanted to visit but never got the chance to.

It felt like stepping out of hell straight into heaven.

Knowing Leo was alive and safe was all that mattered.

"Oh, wait—"

As we pulled up to the airport terminal, "Leo" suddenly snapped his fingers. "We don't have much savings, and the department's bonus is going to take months to clear probate. We don't have the cash to travel right now, do we?"

"How about we dig up the stash our parents left us? We agreed back then that once we got revenge, we could finally use it."

My body went completely rigid. "What stash?"

"Leo" laughed naturally. "What do you mean, 'what stash'? Did you forget?"

"The cash we buried under the Tree of Wrath."

My eyes widened. Cold sweat broke out across my entire body, and my blood turned to ice.

There was no "Tree of Wrath."

There was only the oak tree.

"Tree of Wrath" was a code word we used to describe our target list. It was a psychological tool we created to keep our hatred alive, to remind ourselves never to compromise, never to give up.

And there was no treasure.

Only our parents' ashes.