the Mafia's Mercy

⊰ 9 ⊱ Tempting Fate: Part 1

As of late, it seems that I often find myself thinking about the past. Even as I sit here, in the elegant dining room, staring at the computer screen in deafening silence, I'm drawn back to the haunting memories of the choices that I made that contributed to this.

It'd been a week since learning about Marcel's identity and I was home alone, yet again, like every Saturday evening for the last two years. Levi didn't waste his breath on telling me to stay home—he didn't have to. I'd felt so ashamed of the vulnerability and stupidity that led to me making desperate choices that I only left my room to go to school whenever he was home. In fact, I avoided him when I could. I couldn't bring myself to look him in the eye. The humiliation was too much.

It was the middle of December, and being in South Texas, it was just a little below 60 degrees. I'd curled up on the corner of the couch, wrapped in a blanket as I leaned into my side, my elbow resting on the armrest and my head propped up as I dug my chin into the palm of my hand.

At times like these, binge watching nighttime TV and eating an entire tub of ice cream was just about the only thing that made me feel better, and being lactose intolerant, you can imagine my disappointment at how bloated I was after a single scoop. Nevertheless, having to switch into one of my brother's sweats was a sacrifice I was willing to make.

It was like clockwork. The second I walked out of his bedroom in his baggy gray sweats, a knock echoed through the front door. Standing across from it, on the other side of the kitchen island, I furrowed my eyebrows in suspicion as I looked at the clock on the electric stove reading '11:45PM'.

He's home early. Did he lose his keys or something..?

There I was, like an idiot, pulling the door wide open. And there he was, like an awfully vivid hallucination, standing in his black leather jacket, dark blue jeans, navy blue t-shirt, black boots, and a soft look on his face.

Marcel...

I inhaled sharply, gasping softly as I tightened my grip on the door handle. I felt more disappointment and sadness than anger, and as I gazed into those mesmerizing eyes of his, instead of wishing I'd never met him, I wished that I'd never found out the truth. Because the truth was that, deep down, I didn't want him to go despite my saying, "You need to leave."

I pushed the door shut—or, at least, I tried to.

He pressed his hand firmly against it, forcing me to bring my movements to a halt. "Mercy," he called softly as he pushed the door inward, toward me. My strength was no match for him, and even if it was, I hardly tried to stop him when he made way and invited himself inside.

He shut the door behind him, his eyes never leaving me as his intense gaze remained fixed on me. I nearly stumbled back over my own feet, stepping back until I met the kitchen table and there was nowhere for me to go. With my heart at my throat and the sleeves of my oversized sweater in my balled fists, I eyed him as he moved closer to me, coming to a stop just a foot short from me.

I waited for him to say something, but he never did. I stared up into his eyes until I folded and muttered, "What do you want..?"

"Alright!" The sound of Fabio's voice pulls me out of my thoughts as he comes to stand beside me to shift the laptop toward him. In black, thick-rimmed glasses, a tucked-in, button-up, blue striped shirt, and dark jeans, he is precisely like the stereotypical tech guru in every modern day movie—minus the part where he oversees the Mafia's encrypted network.

"You should be able to search freely without being flagged now," he says as his fingers type at the speed of light before shifting the laptop back to sit directly in front of me.