Small Mercies Dennis Lehane Novels & Stories

I pushed myself off the table and walked toward him slowly. My footsteps echoed in the empty warehouse. “This shouldn’t take long,” I said calmly. The man coughed suddenly, while blood spilled from his mouth as he bent forward, struggling to breathe. “That is,” I continued, “if you cooperate.” The man slowly lifted his head, his eyes barely open. He looked terrified. Good. Fear made people honest. “Who sent you?” I asked, my voice was calm, almost bored. The man swallowed painfully. “I’ve already told you,” he muttered weakly. “I’m just a petty thief. I saw a rich woman walking alone and thought she would be easy to rob.”

Grace cut her off firmly. Mercy swallowed hard. Her gaze slid back to the triplets, lingering on Adan. He was busy on his phone, but as if sensing her stare, his frown deepened. His cold eyes suddenly lifted and locked onto hers. Mercy’s heart skipped a beat. She snapped her head away quickly and typed a message to her team with trembling fingers: “A big problem may be coming for both the businesses and the mafia worlds.” Then she scrolled down and sent another text to a different contact. “Boss, how can I get Hindley’s ancestors' history?”

With how long he had been in the basement since he killed that girl, I wouldn't be surprised he wanted him to die this time around “Damn you!’ Stan yelled as he coughed out blood. I got a handkerchief from my pocket and wiped his face for him “You look pathetic Stan. If I was you, I would be begging for mercy” I said “Well, you are not me” he said. I let out a sign “It's not too late to beg me to help you” I told him. Stan might be the dumb one in the family but he was stubborn and had pride, what I was asking him to do was something he would consider impossible but I loved seeing him like this, enraged yet unable to do anything about it. A loud knock on the basement door disturbed me, one o

CHAPTER SEVEN DENNIS' POV The call went dead with a ting sound. I stared at the floor, shaking. What did I do to deserve everything going wrong with me? Did I kill someone in my last life? "Troubles," Dominic whispered. When I looked up, he shook his head at me with his eyes full of pity. And I badly hate to be the object of that pity now. Then he picked up his own phone from the table. I watched as his fingers moved fast across the screen, wondering what he was doing since he did not say anything.

would never have ventured into such places, let alone rescued Derek. Yet she took my place and impersonated me as the person who saved Derek's life. The memories, a relentless tide of pain, fueled my resolve. I clenched my fists, wiped away the last traces of tears and dialed a number. "Dennis Hoppe," I said, my voice steady, "Capo of the new rising east coast mafia. You're the man who took down two gambling dens in the south within a week, and the one who wiped out the Fernando family in a single night.

--- Yet every few months, small deposits appeared. --- Tiny amounts. Carefully structured. Difficult to notice. --- Most investigators would ignore them. --- Elena didn't. --- Following the trail, she uncovered rental records. Then utility payments. Then property taxes. --- Each clue led to another. --- Until finally... She found an address. --- A small coastal town three hours from the city. --- Her pulse quickened. --- Daniel Mercer. --- Or at least someone connected to him. --- Without hesitation, Elena grabbed her keys. ---

This is why they call him dangerous. I went through the names that were written in the book. They were written in an alphabetical arrangement. I would have stopped searching but something kept me scrolling through. I scrolled through different compartments of the book with different headings above the names. As I scanned, I came across Jeremy's name under the heading 'Debtors. ' I was dumbfounded. His name wasn't ticked like others and the amount was written beside his name. Eighty million dollars. How huge! Jeremy? Jeremy works for Massimo, he owes Massimo. But what exactly does he owe Massimo for? Cocaine?

Dread filled my heart as I stared at his face. This man must be part of the mafia. And now, I owed him my life.

"Eve, can you stop being so stubborn? I've apologized, and I'm willing to pay. What more do you want? Will you not let it rest until I'm in prison?" David nodded. "Exactly. The dead can't come back to life. You need to move on. 20 grand is a lot. A life isn't even worth that much in rural areas."

Then a voice I didn’t recognize. “Sir,” the man said carefully, “this is Officer Lang. We’re calling regarding your assistant, Daniel Mercer.” My stomach dropped. “What about him?” I demanded. Another pause. Too long. “I’m sorry to inform you,” the officer said, “but Mr. Mercer was found approximately twenty minutes ago. Deceased.” The room tilted. “No,” I said flatly. “That’s not possible. He was just here, he only left few minutes ago.” “I understand,” the officer replied. “It appears to be a homicide.”