Final Call for Mercy

36

Anastasia

I couldn't stand to keep looking at the surprise and terror in their faces at the news that there is another Mussolini alive.

Hell, I could barely hold in my own terror. More than once I've caught myself looking over my shoulder, half-expecting Angelo to be there. Only I and I will only hurt you. The words from our very first meeting have stuck to the walls of my brain like wards. And now, they seem to be lighting up my mind with alarms, trying to shut me down.

But that was the last thing I could do. However painful, however terrorizing, this information is extremely useful to me now. So I kept walking, my family behind me, toward the groups of criminals that I would scare into submission. And with the news of a Mussolini being alive, it would just be that much easier to convince them. Hiding my own fear, however, is a different story. One I don't want to tell.

Veronica and Mateo met us halfway down the stairs. Their eyes were wide, but their faces tried to contain every feeling from showing.

"Batavia?" I asked Mateo.

He nodded, "the guards are five minutes away. Are you okay?"

"Just peachy," I quipped, walking past them both toward the space where the allies were.

"Peachy?" Veronica echoed. "What the hell happened? Who took you? Was it Nine?"

I spun. Veronica, caught off guard, stumbled back. "Yes, it was Nine. But his real name is Santino Mussolini." I couldn't help my eyes from going to my father. Mom had left with Emilio. "Ring any bells?"

"Of course," he answered, narrowing his eyes at me like he knew I was hiding something. "I shot him and put him in a coma. As far as I knew, he was as good as dead."

"Well, he's not," I laughed incredulously. "He's very alive and very determined to kill us all."

"So why didn't he," Gabriel spoke. "He had you right there, why didn't he kill you?"

My eyes went to my father again. Every time our eyes met, it felt like he got closer to discovering what I knew. The story Santino told. I know a lie when I hear one. Every word of his was true. He was certainly biased about the events and spoke with enough venom and remorse to poison a forest, but it was all true. The attacks, the betrayal, what my father did with the Alfonsi's. My eyes went to Nicolas, who hasn't stopped looking at me like he'd die if I was out of his sight again.

He'd been searching for answers about his family his entire life. Answers I had. But after Ximena, he said he didn't want to ruin the image he had of his parents. Of his entire family. I never knew much about the Alfonsi's. I knew they were near legendary in our world. They were a family of assassins rumored to never fail at a job. If an Alfonsi was tasked to kill you, the best you could do was enjoy your life while it lasted. They never missed.

When everyone but the older one and the twins died, it caused an uproar. None of them were old enough to carry the legacy. And when Esteban died, their name was stained with the cause of his death. An Alfonsi taking his own life? The little respect on their name died out.

Until Nicolas was old enough to shoot a person and Veronica started mixing chemicals and making gun models in labs. They rebuilt some of the fear and the darkness built around their name. My father made sure of that. He and Giovanni trained them to carry the legacy.

If I told Nicolas what I knew. That his parents used to work for Mussolini, that they became traitors, he'd most likely be crushed. He carried his name with pride. I couldn't ruin that for him.

And my father. What he did. The heinous acts he committed. I could feel my stomach twist. But, as we stared at each other, the memory of him crying on my bedside after I got hurt and the smile on his face the first time I told him I loved him and called him dad came to me. My stomach went still and my heart beat furiously.