Page 9 of Mercy in Betrayal

My father is on a roll and won’t shut the fuck up.

He thinks you are weak. And he’d be right; he did find the man first.

I move toward the man, unable to stand still and listen to my father for one more second. The closer I get, the weaker the man appears; when he sees me, his face pales. I lean in, remove my damaged hand from my pocket, and place it on the table. His gaze darts to the blood-soaked bandage before he whimpers. He shifts in the seat, his long brown trench coat flapping open with his quick movement.

My lip curls. He thinks he can escape me.

I straighten and turn to Ivan. “This can’t be the guy.”

Ivan’s dark eyes almost dance with amusement as he takes in my bleeding hand, and he raises a brow. When I don’t fill in the blanks, his face falls, and he once again looks like a man who’s ready to kill at any second. “No, this is him. He is sitting on a towel because he pissed himself,” he says.

I glance back at the man, and he shakes his head, the motion frantic. “I am loyal to the Scarpetta family. I swear. Please.”

So fucking weak. I don’t look away from the man as I ask Ivan the next question. “What’s his name?”

“Elmo Salzano.” Ivan spouts an odd laugh, and I can’t prevent mine at the mention of the man's name.

“Elmo.” I repeat his name.

Elmo shows a glimmer of a spine as his green eyes flash with anger at my and Ivan’s mockery of his name. “It’s an Italian name! It means ‘God’s helmet.’”

I lean in and knock on his thick skull. “You will need God’s helmet to save you today, you stupid motherfucker.”

I take a step back before I, too, break the code here and kill this man where he sits in his own piss. “What was your relationship with Geno D’Aquino?

“He is not Il Veleno. Please. He was not with us.”

“Yes, but you are Il Veleno, and Il Veleno worked with the 17s, Geno’s group,” I say.

Ivan slips into the opposite side of the booth and leans back, looking very comfortable. I remain standing.

“Geno was fucking crazy, man. We all agreed with how the Commission handled him.” Elmo seems to relax; maybe it’s because Ivan is sitting now, looking for all the world like he’s about to share a drink with a friend. Maybe that’s Ivan’s intention. Maybe he’s right. People talk when they aren’t half terrified, but I don’t have that kind of restraint in me right now.

I grin and lean against the table again. “Firstly, don’t address me as ‘man’ unless you want me to remove the part that makes you one. And for you, I use that term loosely.” I glance down at his wet pants and don't hide my disgust. “Secondly, a gunman from Il Veleno tried to kill my sister. “

“We were lied to.” Elmo shakes his head vehemently.

“Who ordered that hit?” All I want is direct answers here.

“Geno misled us,” Elmo says.

“But you led Il Veleno. Did you order that hit?”

“Please… I don’t want to fight the Scarpettas. We have listened. We won’t go against you again.” Elmo flinches. I’m not sure at what, but the fear on his face drains him of every last drop of color and life.

I straighten my spine. The bandage that covers my hand is now soaked in blood. I slowly start to unwind the bandage as I speak. “No, you won’t. This place. This is your sanctuary. As long as you are within these walls, I cannot touch you.” I slowly drop the bandage onto the table and examine the wound that I have reopened. I tighten my hand into a fist, and a slow but steady dribbling of blood plops onto the table. I lean in and smile through my pain. It is nothing. Insignificant. A nuisance.

“Let’s see how long you last in here.” I open my hand and press my wound to his face, smearing blood across his cheek as I draw his shaking body toward me. The smell of piss nearly overrides my need to hurt him. “I will make you one promise. It’s going to be slow.” I release him and walk away. Ivan slides out of the booth and follows me.

We leave the speakeasy and make our way to the main dining room. Once we do, Ivan goes to the bar and returns with a white napkin. I take it and wrap it around my wound. He waits a beat like I’m going to tell him what happened to me. I roll my eyes. “I caught it in a door.”

His snort is quick before he grows serious. “If you need my men to watch the restaurant for Elmo’s departure, just say the word.”

“I will have two of my own guys watch the place and take care of him.”

“A drink?” Ivan asks.

I don’t want to, but I also don’t want to decline. I nod my head, and we climb up on the stools. The bartender slides two glasses of brandy toward us, surprising me. Maybe Ivan ordered while I was lost in thought. I'm trying to talk myself out of going back there and taking the man’s life. I’m weighing up the pros and cons. I’d die, but it would be worth it.

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