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⊰ 11 ⊱ Immunity in Ink
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…
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I sit at my desk, staring blankly at the computer screen. The cursor blinks mockingly at me, a bleak reminder of the unfinished assignments and looming deadlines that have been piling up, threatening to bury me alive for the past two weeks. I’ve been spending all of my time in the lab, working with Ben and Pablo, and everyday, I feel a bit of myself chip away. Each time I step foot into the room and have to sit there, pretending that I’m not constantly thinking about the truth behind the masks they wear, I want to scream. By the time the day is over, I hardly have the energy to carry myself to the shower, let alone study. I can’t do this anymore. With a heavy sigh, I open a new tab and navigate to the university’s student login portal, my fingers trembling slightly as I fill out the form to withdraw from the semester. Each click of the mouse feels like a nail in the coffin of my academic dreams, but I know I don’t have a choice. I can’t keep pretendi
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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
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 13.5 ⊱ Hour of Reckoning
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The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 14 ⊱ Ashes of a Dream
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 likesucha 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
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The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 15 ⊱ Unbreakable
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