Page 66 of Mercy in Betrayal

“I want to see Vitto Marzano,” I say.

Tom glances at the bodyguards, cagey with his words. “What’s going on?”

“I have a few questions.”

Tom doesn’t answer me, but assesses me as a potential threat. I’m tempted to offer a smile, but I know he will see through it.

“It’s okay,” he tells the bodyguards, who step aside.

“Come on,” he calls to me over his shoulder, knowing that regardless of how angry I am, I will not harm him. I step into the grand hallway that’s stuffed with artwork, statues, and precious heirlooms. The air smells of old money, with fresh flowers on every available table in the entryway.

“He’s dying, Enzo,” Tom says, looking at me from the corner of his eye.

“I’m aware of that. I did see him at my sister’s wedding.”

We walk deeper into the house. The artwork becomes scarce, most of it showcased closer to the foyer, but with each doorway we pass, I see rooms filled with grandeur.

“You only want to ask questions?” Tom half whispers as he stops outside a closed door.

“This house is surrounded, Tom. I’m not a fool.”

He nods a few times and knocks on the door with three taps. No one calls back, but Tom opens the door.

Vitto is sitting in a large red leather chair hooked up to an oxygen tank. This is his main office, but the desk is clear of any paperwork. A fire is lit, making the room unnaturally warm.

Vitto doesn’t look surprised to see me standing in his office. He removes the mask. “Hello, Enzo.”

“Enzo has a few questions he would like to ask you.” Tom starts. I want him out of the room.

“Alone, please,” I say.

Tom's gaze darkens, and he gives me a look that suggests that isn’t such a good idea. He’s right, of course. But Vitto waves a frail hand in Tom’s direction.

“Give us a moment, Tom.” Vitto doesn’t look like a man who is afraid. Why would he be? He thinks his son being an Untouchable makes him Untouchable. He raises his head like he’s the one in control here. Like nothing can hurt him.

Stupid man.

Tom leaves, but I don’t miss his warning look. I ignore him.

“So, my boy, what is it you want to ask me?” He sounds so confident in his words. Like I’m a child in the room.

“I saw you at Carina’s wedding.” I start with something light.

He has placed his oxygen mask on the arm of his chair, but tubes run into each nostril, providing him the vital air he needs to keep him alive. “What a beautiful day it was. And congratulations to you, too, my boy.”

If he calls me “my boy” one more time, I’ll wrap his oxygen cord around his neck.

“Thank you; it was a day I won’t forget.”

I won’t forget what I learned.

I smile at him and walk to his grand desk. “I brought you a gift,” I say and reach into my jacket pocket.

The old man’s gaze lights up with surprise. “A gift?”

“I know it would be hard to compete with all the artwork and heirlooms, but this is something I think is close to your heart.” I take out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter and gently place them on the table.

Vitto’s eyes darken, and he shifts in his seat. His gaze is glued to the cigarettes. He coughs, and that leads to a fit. I stand and enjoy the show as he reaches for his oxygen mask. He takes in a few lungfuls of air until the coughing subsides.

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