I used to think Camila Russo was the lucky one of the two of us. She was never my best friend—I wasn't even aware she existed until I was sixteen years old. But there was always that resentment I had towards her after I found out the truth. Instead of having been abandoned like I was as a newborn, she was the one of us who got to live a life with our real mother.
She had her reasons, Claudia used to tell me. Whoever your mother was, she had her reasons for having to give you up, Diana.
Claudia Reyes was the only mother I ever acknowledged. She and her husband, Johnathan, raised me since the age of six months. In fact, she was the nurse that found me outside the hospital the day Alina Russo decided to abandon me.
Johnathan and Claudia gave me the greatest childhood a kid could ask for. I had parents who loved me and gave me everything they could, who raised me with rules and guidance, sent me to the best schools and set me on the right path. I had everything I could have ever wished for. My life was perfect—even after I found out I had a twin in Chicago and was the only child that our mother had abandoned. It did hurt at first, but I eventually realized I didn't need Alina Russo as a mother. I had something far better. I had Claudia and Johnathan.
But when your parents are murdered on a late Chicago night in April, when you've barely reached the age of eighteen and you're left with nobody, you start to realize that there is no such thing as perfect.
So, I got the hell out of Chicago back then. I graduated, cleared out my parents' estate, collected all of their death benefits and assets, and took my ass to New York to attend John Jay College of Criminal Justice. I received Bachelors degrees in both Criminology and Forensic Psychology, then joined the NYPD as a police officer. After three and a half years, I joined the FBI. And I did everything in my power to stay away from my home state, but after a few minor mishaps at my last field office up in Boston, I was transferred back home to Chicago.
At first, it took some time getting used to. A lot of time. Chicago was filled with nothing but old memories of my parents—memories that stirred up old feelings and brought back heartache. But reconciling with my sister made it somewhat easier.
I had kept in touch with my twin all throughout my time in New York—but only after Alina Russo passed away and Camila reached out to me. Little phone calls here and there, short emails every now and then to let each other know we were still alive and doing okay. But once I joined the FBI, I had to keep her at a further distance.
That was, until I returned back to Chicago last year.
Only eight months I had with my sister. It wasn't nearly enough time. Staring at her dead body on the sofa made me numb. And the man's body beside her just confused me all the more. I didn't know who the hell he was at the time.
As a favor to me, there was handful of FBI personnel roaming through the house. My sister's house. Touching her things with gloves, photographing the bodies and evidence. It angered me; but I knew they were just doing their job.
The result of an overdose. Heroin. Most likely laced with Fentynal. That's what took my sister. And it was the scariest thing in the world, staring across at what looked like my dead self lying on the couch with absolutely no life left in her. It was like an out of body experience. Like I was a spirit looking over at the body I just vacated.
"Okay, Reyes," said Chase, squatting down in front of the chair I was sitting on. He had that sympathetic look on his face. Like I was some kind of victim he was getting ready to speak to. "It doesn't look like there was any kind of foul play here. We found some men's clothing in your sister's bedroom—in the drawers, the closet, the bathroom. There's evidence all around that suggests the guy was living here. She never mentioned anything to you?"
I shook my head because that's all I could do, my eyes lowered toward the ground. "No," I said after a while. "No, she never said anything. I didn't even know she was seeing anyone. The last time I came to see her was a little over a month ago."
"Well, according to her text messages, they'd only known each other for about that long. Guy's name is Jarred Broderick. He was on probation after serving time for possession. The heroin is the only source of drugs we found in here. Were you aware—?"
"No, Oliver," I interrupted, knowing what he was about to ask. "She didn't do drugs. She was clean. Or, at least, I thought she was."
He gave me a moment before asking, "What do you want to do here?"
"I don't know," I replied. When I arrived earlier this morning, I wasn't expecting to find my sister dead in her own home. I had planned on spending the entire morning with her. Now I'd spend the entire morning trying to wrap my head around all of this.
"She's your twin, Reyes," said Chase.
"Was my twin," I reminded him. "She's dead now."
"Your identical twin," he continued. "Reyes, there's a reason why you called me first instead of 9-1-1. There's a reason why you decided against that. What do you want to do here?"
"How the hell did she get mixed up in this shit?" I asked, looking around at the evidence of drugs on the round coffee table in front of the bodies. My sister was never the type to do drugs. She never even liked taking pain meds. How the hell did she end up with a guy who did drugs as a boyfriend? How the hell did she end up dead like this? "She didn't deserve this, Chase."
"Reyes... I'm sorry about your sister. And we will get to the bottom of this... but there's nothing we can do to bring her back. Right now, we have two options: We can let County take over and let them rule her death as an accidental drug overdose, let her have a proper funeral and burial, and let the world think Camila Russo is dead and no longer with us... or we can make sure her death means something."
At first, I didn't know what he was trying to say. I stared at him, confused... until I finally understood his words. "You want us to use her life as a cover for me?"
"She's an attractive girl with an Italian background and surname, and she lives in Chicago... the same city that's ran by the Outfit."
The Mob?
What the hell did they have to do with my sister?
"There's an Op team in the Bureau that's looking for the right female agent," Chase explained. "Law enforcement has had no luck with men infiltrating the family. The last guy who got close to them was found dead last month—in pieces, out in the woods. He was undercover for CPD, lasted almost a year. Unfortunately, without his knowledge, he got made, and he never got the chance to get the hell out of there."
I felt a small pang in my chest. "I remember hearing about that." Going undercover was always a risk. I had done it close to a dozen times throughout my career, two of those times lasting over six months and only one of those times lasting over a year. The danger of risking your life and never knowing when you could be killed was something only an undercover cop or agent would understand.
My mind traced back to what was originally suggested—using Camila's life as a cover. "Wait. How would we even pull it off?" I asked. "I mean, has that even been done before? Wouldn't living my life as Camila Russo after she's dead be considered fraud?"
"We'll take care of it," he said. "Your situation is what we'd call a special circumstance. Not many FBI agents can say they have an identical twin. And it's not like you plan on being Camila Russo forever—it'd only be temporary."
I looked down and started to lightly fidget with my fingers. It felt so wrong. This wasn't the way the FBI normally did things.
"Look. Don't worry," Chase said. "We'd get the right people to sign off on all of it. Nothing will happen until everything gets approved. And there's no reason why it shouldn't. Local PD wants justice for their guy—we all do—but they're not allowed to send anyone else in undercover with the Outfit after what happened. So, the FBI is taking over. As of now, there's not a government official who doesn't want the Outfit dismantled. We're pulling out all the stops for this, Diana. So, what do you say?"
I looked back over at my sister's body lying on the couch, as if I were waiting for her to, by some miracle, open her eyes and give me her blessing. But that was never going to happen. She was gone.
Was it possible?
Would I really be able to do what Chase was suggesting?
Would Diana Reyes truly be able to live a life as Camila Russo?
Camila was a hair stylist. She worked at a salon on the West side of Chicago, but despite being good at her job, she didn't have too many friends. She was extremely private. She liked staying to herself and preferred not to go out or party too often. Truth be told, actually, she was the kind of woman who preferred to rather come home and put on her pajamas and relax in the comforts of her own home with a glass of wine while sitting in front of the TV screen or reading a book in bed.
But she was a smart woman. She had obtained a business degree from which she earned by attending night classes mostly, and she planned to one day own her own salon. She had dreams, just like any other person did. She wanted to travel Eruope and visit Sicily, see where our grandmother grew up in Palermo. But sadly, none of that would ever happen for her. Just like that, all her hopes and dreams would vanish right along with her.
"Using my dead sister's identity as a cover." I scoffed at the thought, almost disgusted with myself. "How the hell am I supposed to be okay with that when her body's not even in the ground yet?"
"We all have decisions of our own to make, Reyes. You said it yourself—she didn't deserve this. I think the question now is, how far are you willing to go to honor your sister's memory?"
And that is the question I always kept with me after that.
How far would I go to honor Camila's memory?
"It could work," I eventually said. "Camila and I were always careful. We were never seen together out in public; she never even told anyone she had a twin, not even her friends from back in high school. When she realized our mom had kept me a secret from her for all those years, she was furious, but it was my refusal to have anything to do with them that made her continue on as if she never found out about me at all.
"There's no more family left, Chase. No one else out there who can corroborate the story of Alina Russo ever having twins twenty-eight years ago. The little bit of evidence there is, the FBI should have no trouble erasing."
"So, you're saying you're on board, then?"
Again came the question: How far would I go to honor my sister's memory?
My parents, Claudia and Johnathan Reyes, were already gone. To honor their lives, I decided to dedicate my entire career to them. Now, for my sister, I would dedicate this entire next FBI undercover operation.
"Yeah," I replied. "Set up the meeting."