Page 4 of Mercy in Betrayal

I didn’t delve too deeply into the details.

The dog isn’t the only security they have in the room, of course. Some of the waiters, bar staff, and hotel security are owned by more than one of the famiglia in this room. Two of the waiters and one of the catering staff in the kitchen are on my payroll.

My sister laughs at something Luca whispers into her ear. I spoke briefly to her when I arrived at the party, but like always, she looks at me with a longing for more. I can’t give her anything more than I have. I’m not Francis, and that is what her heart truly desires. She adored our brother; honestly, if I allow myself to go back to the past, I even understand why she adored him. He was a magnet that attracted people toward him. Everyone loved him, even Luca, who looked at my sister with adoration. Luca was best friends with Francis. After his death, they drifted apart, and I took glee in seeing the perfect trio broken apart.

I direct my attention away from the disappointment I seem to be to my family and distract myself with the view.

Not much light filters in from the ceiling-to-floor windows that run the full length of the large, dimly illuminated ballroom. Lights twinkle from far-off skyscrapers in a cloudless sky. The sun set long ago, replaced with a round full moon that peeks between the city buildings and shines brightly through the windows.

Everything appears serene. It’s not.

The slight bump against my arm is subtle, but I smile inwardly and turn to face Ivan Romanov. I don’t like many people, but I make an exception for Ivan. He doesn’t show his hand ever, and in this world, that is not an easy feat. I wouldn’t say we are friends, but if I had to give my respect to another leader, it would be Ivan. The suit he wears is all dark charcoal, apart from a red tie the hue of freshly spilled blood. It’s apropos. Ivan Romanov has spilled a lot.

“I have news for you,” Ivan speaks plainly, without preamble. His words are heavy with his Russian accent, but each word is clear. He isn’t looking at me, his focus pinned instead on Evie O’Hanlon and Cassidy O’Rourke. Their backs are to us, and they are deep in conversation with another couple I don’t recognize, but I’m sure they are important to garner Evie’s and Cassidy’s attention. This is their first public appearance since they announced they were together. I wouldn’t have paired them together, but then again, if anyone was capable of handling the likes of Evie O’Hanlon, it was O’Rourke.

I didn't particularly like either of them.

“This new year may be hard for the Scarpettas,” Ivan proclaims.

This is what Ivan and I do: we share information. I haven’t seen him much in the last few years. Once the Valachis made their marriage agreement with Ivan, he disappeared back to the part of the city the Romanovs controlled. The Romanovs hide themselves in plain sight, working stolidly and under the radar as a unit, not really fully immersing themselves in the politics of the Five Families as the rest of us squabble for more territory and control.

He’s always reminded me of a very cunning beast of prey, lying patiently in wait until he spies exactly what he wants and then seizing it before it even recognizes the danger at hand.

“What do you mean?” I pick up my drink and face Ivan. I’ve fed him information about what happens with the other families, in hopes that one day he may return that favor. Maybe today is that day.

My gaze narrows. Is it the docks? Ivan and I have a tenuous partnership as far as the New Jersey docks in Port Elizabeth. The Scarpettas have helped all of the families smuggle shit in for decades. The idea that one of them would double-cross me doesn’t sit well.

“Rumor has it…” Ivan pauses and runs a tattooed finger along his neck, nodding to a man in a gray suit. The man looks away hastily.

Most of Ivan’s neck is coated in ink. It’s something most leaders avoid; marking our bodies makes us identifiable, but not Ivan. He paints his skin without care. I don’t think even one tattoo is done without thought or meaning. I’m sure some of them are rank markings. But it’s hard to know as he never discusses himself or his people.

“Cassidy and Evie think that their experience is more valuable than the Scarpettas,” he finishes.

I can’t help but glance at the back of the couple’s head in question. “Do they now,” I murmur.

“With word moving easily through the channels, some local gangs are considering switching allegiance.”

I glance back at Ivan.

“To the Irish.” He adds. His accent is heavier, showing his disapproval. I’m not sure if it is about gangs switching allegiance or who they are switching their allegiance to. The Irish have long been a thorn in the Italian world. Most of them were crushed, but not all. Some, like Evie O’Hanlon, we’ve learned to live and work with. Her power continues to grow.

Ivan picks up his drink but doesn’t bring it to his lips. “This is a problem for you, my friend. Angel does not allow any of us to deal with customers directly. Without the gangs, you do not have the docks.”

He drinks like he didn’t just land a blow that I’m struggling to hide. He’s obviously had time to digest this information as it affects him, too, yet he doesn’t show any signs of anger. But my own body sings with rage.

I rise, unable to control that anger that pulses through me. Ivan’s lips part like he’s about to speak but he drinks instead as I give him a quelling look.

I can’t lose the docks. I move through the room as Angelus “Angel” Valachi carves his own path through the space; he’s like Moses parting the Red Sea. His smile is painted on his face, and pinned to his side is his precious sister, shyly smiling at people.

I can’t make a scene here, but the need to release some anger has me moving faster through the ballroom. I know I’m attracting some attention, but I can’t slow down. I can’t seem to find my calm in the middle of the storm that’s tearing its way through me. The Conrad, being a five-star hotel, wouldn't like it if I smashed up their luxurious ballroom.

To the left, I see one of my security guards start to make his way toward me. I flick two fingers in his direction, telling him to stop, and he freezes on the spot. The double doors swing open as my palms hit both doors at once.

It should have been Francis…

My father’s hateful words haunt me and nip at my heels as I turn the corner into the corridor. I pass more arriving guests before ducking down another corridor that’s empty. I pause and try to find my composure, but it’s nowhere in sight. A three-foot-tall vase sits on a golden tabletop. I grip it with both hands and let it sail through the air. It smashes with a satisfactory crash against the wall, shards of broken porcelain raining down, and I turn to the large mirror that hangs before the table.

Francis wouldn’t have lost the docks… I stare into soulless eyes, and my fist collides with the image. Fifty dark eyes stare back at me; I blink, and they all blink back.

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