All Chapters of The Mafia's Mercy: Chapter 81 - Chapter 90

The fluorescent lights of the campus bathroom flicker overhead as I stand at the sink, splashing cold water on my face. My head is pounding, a dull ache that’s been building behind my eyes since I finished the second round of midterm exams for the semester, just a few minutes ago. I know I should find Frank and head home, but right now, all I want is a moment of peace to myself. I need a nap. As I pat my face dry with a paper towel, I hear the sound of the door opening behind me. Glancing up, I see a woman entering, her curly blonde hair framing her face, her brown eyes sharp and assessing. Her tailored suit screams “government agent”, and immediately, my guard goes up, my heart rate rising as memories of my recent run-in with the ATF flood my mind. Please, not again… I think with desperation, anxiety washing over me as I toss the paper towel in the trash and move towards the door. I can’t do this again. But

The midday sun streams through the windows of my study, casting a warm glow on the polished wood of my desk. I sit motionless, staring blankly at the file in front of me. The ultimatum Agent Gallagher gave me yesterday weighs heavy on my mind.With trembling fingers, I flip open the cover, the rasp of paper against paper unnaturally loud in the stillness of the room. The thick stack of documents and photos seem to mock me. Every fiber of my being aches to dive in, to uncover the secrets Marcel has kept hidden from me for so long. But even as curiosity gnaws at my insides, I resist the temptation.He doesn’t want me to know. He doesn’t want me to see him like this.His trust in me, his unwavering faith…it’s a precious gift, one I can’t bring myself to tarnish further. By agreeing to this meeting with the CIA, I’ve already crossed a line. But to violate his wishes, to pry into the dark corners of his world that he’s so desperately tried to shield me from…

I sit at the edge of the bed, my fingers twisting anxiously in my lap as I stare at the closed bathroom door. The sound of the shower running echoes in the room, a steady patter of water against tile that does little to soothe the anxiety churning inside me. It’s Friday afternoon, and like clockwork, Marcel is finishing up his daily workout, washing away the sweat before diving into whatever duties await him for the rest of the day. It’s a constant, but today, the familiar routine feels different. “If Marcel hears this from anyone other than you, he might never trust you again.” Santiago’s words replay in my mind in a constant loop. I know he’s right, that I need to come clean to Marcel before it’s too late. But the fear of his reaction, of the anger and betrayal I know will be boiling inside of him, it’s almost enough to make me falter. Please, God, let him understand. Let him forgive me. The water shuts off, and I hear the

Content Advisory: Depictions of mental health crisis, substance abuse, and reckless endangerment. Reader discretion is advised. The wailing of police sirens pierces the night air as I sit frozen behind the wheel of my car, my heart pounding in my chest. I see police officers out of every window, guns pointed at me as red and blue lights flash in my rearview mirror, a dizzying kaleidoscope that makes my head spin. Or maybe that’s just the alcohol and the THC coursing through my veins, the intoxicating haze that had seemed like such a good idea at the time. What the hell was I thinking..? The thought echoes in my head as I stare blankly ahead, my hands trembling on the steering wheel. In one hand, I clutch a bottle of my favorite cheap screw-top wine. In the other, a dab pen. I take another sip from the bottle, the sickly sweet liquid sliding down my already numb throat, before bringing the pen to my lips and inhalin

⊰ Marcel ⊱ As I stand in the doorway of our bedroom, I take one last lingering look at Mercy’s sleeping form. She looks so fragile, so broken, curled up on the bed, her hair fanning out across the pillow. The sight of her like this, so vulnerable and shattered, it tears at something dark inside me, a painful reminder of my own failures, my own shortcomings. I pushed her to this point. The thought haunts me as I force myself to turn away, to close the door softly behind me. As much as I want to lock myself in the room with her, to lay with her, to hold her, the night isn’t over yet. With the looming threat of Luciano and now the CIA breathing down our necks, I have to reconvene with my family, to figure out our next move. But as I make my way downstairs, each step feels like a mile. I know what awaits me in the parlor—the judgment, the anger, the bitter reality of the mess we’ve found ourselves in. I’m only seconds awa