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⊰ 17 ⊱ When the Door Locks
The shopping bags rustle at my feet as I settle into the plush leather seat of Alessandra’s sleek black Mercedes. My feet are still aching from all the walking we’ve done over the past few hours—store after store, rack after rack of designer clothes, shoes, and accessories. It’s a world I’m still not entirely used to, a level of luxury that feels straight out of a movie.
Alessandra slides into the driver’s seat, a satisfied smile on her face as she tosses her own collection of shopping bags into the back. “I think we did some serious damage today,” she says with a laugh, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
You don’t say…
I can’t help but chuckle, shaking my head. “I don’t think I’ve ever owned this many clothes in my entire life,” I admit, glancing down at the sea of bags at my feet. “Marcel’s gonna think I’ve lost my mind.”
She scoffs, waving her hand dismissively. “Please, my brother loves spoiling you. And besides…” her gaze drifts to my sti
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The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 20 ⊱ A Room Full of Lies
The world feels hazy as Alessandra and I step into the mansion, the warm glow of lights and the sound of laughter washing over me like a distant dream. It’s surreal, being back here, surrounded by the trappings of a life that feels like it belongs to someone else now—someone who still had hope, who still believed inhappily ever afters. As we approach the front steps, my eyes land on the familiar men—Amado and Miguel—standing guard. From behind them, Frank emerges, making his way to Alessandra’s car to retrieve the shopping bags. He walks past us, his eyes briefly meeting mine as he asks, “Everything okay, ma’am?” I force a smile, the muscles of my face feeling stiff and unnatural. “Everything’s fine, Frank. Thank you.” He nods, but I can see the flicker of doubt in his eyes as we continue our way past Amado and Miguel, into the main entrance hall. Marcel is waiting for us, his dark eyes immediately locking onto me. For a moment, I’m ter
The Mafia's Mercy ⊰ 20.5 ⊱ In the Wake of a Monster
Content Advisory: Graphic depicts of violence. Reader discretion is advised. ⊰ Marcel ⊱ I sit on the edge of the bed, my heart heavy as I watch Mercy curl into herself. Her body looks so small and fragile in the oversized t-shirt I helped her into. The sight of her battered skin, the bruises marring her delicate frame, it’s almost more than I can stand. How could I let this happen? … How could I have failed to protect her, again? The questions torment me, guilt and rage warring within my chest. I want to break something, to unleash the anger that’s simmering just beneath the surface. But I can’t. Not here. Not now. Not when she needs me to be strong, to be her rock. “Are you mad at me?” Her voice is small, barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the silence like a knife. I don’t respond, my jaw clenching as I try to find the right words. The truth
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