Page 2 of Mercy in Betrayal

He places his hands back on the chair in a relaxed gesture, his fingers flexing slightly before they grow still.

“Could we have a moment alone?” he asks as his gaze sweeps across my men.

I take another look at my father’s capos. Sweat stains their faces, and the smell of fear is heavy in the air. I have no love lost for them.

I nod at Arturo, and he lowers his gun; the rest of my security hesitate a bit longer until Arturo turns, and they follow him out of the room.

“I’m sorry about your father,” Angel offers. “You can put your weapon away now.”

I’m normally a shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later type of guy, but I also would like to walk out of this room with no holes in my body. I lower my weapon.

“The Valachi have been using their resources to keep the property secure since Carina is living with Luca.”

“That isn’t necessary,” I bite. It's more than unnecessary. It's an overstep.

Angel doesn’t so much as blink.

“My father had men to take care of his property,” I continue. My father had men for everything. Even ones who didn’t mind giving a kid a beating.

“You are correct, Enzo. But I thought you would prefer the way I was handling it.” Angel steps out from behind the desk, and I’m hoping this is the part where he tells me what the fuck is happening. He glances at my father’s men, still on their knees. “You see, I wanted to extend some compassion and kindness by renovating this office for you so you wouldn’t have to see the carnage Geno D’Aquino created in this room. But I realized that would be a waste of time and money.”

For a moment, I regret lowering my weapon. “Why is this any of your business?” I step closer to Angel, and the air in the room shifts.

I don’t see his men move, but I can sense it. The room settles as Angel raises one finger, telling his men to stay where they are. “Mr. Scarpetta, I told you that I came here as a friend. The men who are kneeling before you are the men who swore to protect your father. Despite them all being here, a common gangster was able to enter the Scarpetta home and murder the Don.”

Garbled shouts that I can’t understand start to come from the gagged mouths of my father’s men. One tries to rise, but the butt of the gun sends him sailing to the ground. “Of course, if you wish, I can remove the gags, and you can torture them for hours just to arrive at the same conclusion I’ve already come to: these men are traitors.”

More muffled shouts. I look in the eyes of men I’ve known my whole life, men who have shown me kindness at times or the back of their hands at others. Each name dances in a line behind my eyelids. I blink their identities away like I would with an enemy who once was a friend. It erases any attachment or emotion I might have toward them.

I’m drawn to the desk where my father should be sitting. Did he cry out in his final moments? I highly doubt it. I’m sure he was spewing some poison about how they would pay with not just their lives but the lives of their families also. It didn’t matter what his final words were in the end; all that mattered was making my mark here and now in front of Valachi. We're both sons of the Five, with legacies to uphold. I can't show weakness.

“I’ll deal with this myself,” I say. “My men should be the ones to take them out since they will replace them.” I will not surround myself with men I can’t trust.

Through smiling, victorious eyes, Angel nods. “If that is what you wish.”

Yeah, it fucking is. I jut out my chin.

Like a rising wave, all the men fight to get to their feet. Their main objective is to reach me as they continue to babble behind their gags; one almost reaches me before he is beaten back down; his fingers touch my black polished shoe before he’s dragged back to what will be his final resting place.

With each man kept away from me and firmly on their knees, their shoulders start to shake from tears that soak the gags.

I should feel something.

I don’t.

“Arturo,” I call, and the door opens. The rest of my men enter the room, their movements as one, and at last I feel something—a swelling of pride.

“These men allowed my father to die. His blood is on their hands, and so they will die.”

I look at each of my men. “All we have is loyalty. Without it...” I wave a hand in the air. “There is no structure, there is no respect. Loyalty is when you...” I step closer to Arturo. “Would you take a bullet for me?” He nods. I know he would.

“Disloyalty, well…” I face my father’s capos. “You will take their places.” I tell my men, “So first you must take their lives.”

I step aside and the Valachi release my father’s capos. More sobs and pleading fill the air. My men raise their guns. They don’t fire; they wait patiently for my signal.

One of my father’s men holds up his bound hands; tears pour from his eyes, and I can almost hear him beg behind his gag.

“Kill them.” I give the command. The noise of so many pistols being fired at once sends a thrill through my body; the hair rises along my arms and the nape of my neck.

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