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⊰ 16 ⊱ Love Tainted by Violence: Part 1
I sit on the couch in my study, my fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sweater as I avoid Katherine’s gaze. This is our third session this week, and I can feel my walls going up, my defenses rising with each well-meaning question.
How many more of these is Marcel gonna make me sit through?
“Mercy,” Katherine says softly, her voice calm and soothing. “Can you tell me about your parents?”
I chuckle humorlessly, a bitter sound that grates on my own ears. “There isn’t much to say,” I mutter, my eyes fixed on the pastel yellow plush rug beneath my feet. “They’re dead.”
She doesn’t flinch at my bluntness, doesn’t recoil from the harshness in my tone. Instead, she leans forward slightly, her eyes filled with a compassion that makes my chest ache. “How did they die?” she asks gently.
For a moment, I’m tempted to tell her everything, to spill the secrets that have been festering inside me for so long in hopes that I’ll be left alone. But I ca
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The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 17 ⊱ My Refuge: Part 2
I linger on the memory for a moment longer, my heart racing in my chest. As I blink out of my thoughts, I notice Katherine is watching me closely, an unreadable expression on her face. “Levi slapped me once,” I admit, my voice barely above a whisper. “When I was fifteen. We were arguing about money, and I said something awful to him. I told him…” I sigh, battling my hesitation as I breathe out, “I told him I wished he had died instead of our parents.” I glance up at Katherine, expecting to see judgment in her eyes, condemnation. But instead, I find only compassion, a deep understanding that makes my throat tighten. “He felt terrible about it,” I continue, my gaze dropping to my lap. “He apologized right away, and he never did it again. I think… I think that’s why I never blamed him for it. Because I knew how much it hurt him, how much he regretted it.” She leans forward, her forearms resting on her crossed legs. “Mercy,” she says gently, her voice fir
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 17.5 ⊱ Playing With Fire
⊰ Marcel ⊱ I sit at the head of the conference table, my gaze sweeping over the faces gathered before me. Levi, Santiago, and Guillermo flank me on either side, their expressions carefully neutral. Across from us, Ben and Pablo, the two CIA agents who have infiltrated my organization, the men who used my wife as a pawn in their game. It’s been a week since Mercy’s breakdown, a week of watching her struggle through therapy sessions, of holding her as she cries herself to sleep. A week of barely contained rage simmering beneath my skin. But I keep it in check, my face a mask of calm control. I need to play this smart, need to turn the tables on these bastards who think they hold all the cards. It’s time to settle the score. “So,” I begin, leaning back in my chair, my tone deceptively casual. “Where are we with the nano-drones?” Pablo clears his throat, meeting my gaze with a confidence that sets my teeth on edge
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 18 ⊱ When Love Hurts
I step into the lab, my heart pounding in my chest as I take in the familiar surroundings. The sleek metal table, the whirring machines, the soft glow of the computer screens—it all feels like a lifetime ago, like an entirely different world. As my gaze lands on Ben and Pablo, hunched over their workstations, the reality of the situation comes crashing back. These men, my supposed colleagues, are not my friends. Their gazes flicker to me, a tense silence hanging heavy in the air as I make eye contact with them. Suddenly, my heart is at my throat, an anxious spell overcoming me. I feel a presence at my back, and I glance over my shoulder to see Frank, his wide frame filling the doorway. He gives me a small nod, a silent reassurance that he’s here, that Marcel sent him as awatchdogto ensure that I’m safe from Ben and Pablo. They’re not allowed to talk to me about anything other than work. The thought sends a pang through my
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 19 ⊱ A Promise for Tomorrow
I sit at the dinner table, my gaze fixed on the shimmering surface of the lake visible through the large windows of Santiago’s and Alessandra’s lake house. It’s the same place where Marcel and I exchanged our vows, where we promised to love and cherish each other through every obstacle. Now, as I sit here, Marcel beside me, I can’t help but feel a hollow ache in my chest. We’ve barely spoken a word to each other since our heated confrontation last night. Alessandra’s laughter rings out, drawing my attention to the head of the table. She’s glowing, her hand resting on Santiago’s arm as she leans in to whisper something in his ear. They look so happy, so in love, and for a moment, I envy them. I long for the easy intimacy they share. Why am I so fucking miserable..? As the meal progresses, the conversation flows round me, but I feel myself drifting, my mind wandering to the dark places I’ve been trying so hard to escape. I push the food around
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 20 ⊱ When Worlds Collide
I sit in the back of the sleek black SUV, my heart pounding in my chest as we speed down the winding country road. Beside me, Ben fiddles with the controls of the nano-drone, his brow furrowed in concentration. In the front seat, Pablo drives, his eyes scanning the road ahead, while Frank sits in the passenger seat, his hand on the gun on his lap. We’re on our way to a remote location, a vast expanse of land owned by Marcel’s family, to conduct a field test of the nano-drones. The same place where we tested the first set of bombs I built almost a year ago. The anticipation hangs heavy in the air, mingling with the undercurrent of tension that’s been lingering since we left the estate. As we turn off the main road onto a dirt path, the SUV bounces and jostles, kicking up a cloud of dust behind us. I grip the edge of my seat, my stomach churning with a mix of excitement and nerves. Another SUV follows closely behind, carrying a few more of Marcel’s men for added securi
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 20.5 | 1 ⊱ Heart of Fear: Part 1
⊰ Marcel ⊱ I pace the length of the foyer, my heart pounding in my chest, my blood pulsating in my ears. Every second feels like an eternity, every moment stretching out into a lifetime of fear and uncertainty. Where the hell are they? What’s taking so long? I did the best I could to stay calm, but the second I saw the call come in from Mercy’s phone, I knew something was wrong. The thought of her out there, in danger, while I was stuck here, helpless…it’s maddening. This is why this needs to end. She can’t live like this. I can’t live like this. The sound of tires screeching outside snaps me out of my thoughts, and I’m moving before I even realize it, my feet carrying me towards the front door. I yank it open just as the familiar black SUV comes to a halt, my eyes scanning the vehicle for any sign of Mercy. In the next second, the back door flies open, and there she is, her face pale and streaked wit
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 20.5 | 2 ⊱ Blood Debt: Part 2
Content Advisory: Graphic descriptions of injury and death. Reader discretion is advised. ⊰ Marcel ⊱ Six hours. It’s been six hours since the ambush, six hours since the love of my life was in harm's way and I lost one of my most loyal men. I feel like I’ve aged a decade in the span of a few hours, and even as Mercy lays upstairs, safely tucked in our bed, I can’t get past this sickening feeling in my gut that something else is going on. That the attack on Mercy is only a fraction of the worst to come. I make my way through the quiet halls of the house, my footsteps echoing on the marble floor. The silence is eerie—unsettling. It’s as if the very walls are holding their breath, waiting for the next blow to fall. I pause outside of the guest room where Ben is recovering, my hand resting on the doorknob. With a deep breath, I steel myself for the conversation I know needs to happen. These men, these CIA agents…
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 20.5 | 3 ⊱ My Salvation: Part 3
Content Advisory: Graphic depictions of violence, psychological trauma, and unhealthy coping mechanisms that may be triggering. Reader discretion is strongly advised. ⊰ Marcel ⊱ I sit on the sofa, the room spinning around me, the crystal glass clutched in my hand, the rich amber liquid sloshing against the sides as I bring it to my lips. The alcohol burns as it slides down my throat, but it’s a welcome pain, a distraction from the all-consuming torment that threatens to tear me apart. They’re gone. My parents…they’re really gone. The thought is a relentless hammer, pounding against the inside of my skull. Every time I close my eyes, I see it. The box, the blood, the heads… I see their faces—my mother’s once warm, loving eyes now blank and lifeless; my father’s strong, proud features twisted in agony. It plays over and over in my mind, a sickening loop that I can’t escape, a nightmare made flesh. A
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