Page 2 of Shot For Mercy

Maybe I am a monster after all.

His body slumps back against the couch, brain matter and blood splatters decorate the white wall behind his head. He looks almost as fucked up as his wife, and I can’t help but feel a deep sense of satisfaction at that fact. Almost like I’m avenging the child in my vehicle. I shouldn’t care that much, but I’ve already decided Luca is going to take him in. The least I can do is make him see what I do for people who are loyal to me.

I make my way out back and to the SUV, holstering my gun before I’m visible. I made sure to be careful with the doorknob as I closed the door behind me. The last thing I need is for fingerprints to be traced back to me. Or Luca. He doesn’t deserve that, and I need him by my side.

Luca stands by the driver’s door, keeping watch, and I walk directly to him. “I need you to take him in,” I tell him, and his eyes widen. “Do this for me, please. We can’t afford to let him go.”

He nods slowly, his eyes still wide. He looks terrified. “I don’t know the first thing about kids, boss.”

“I’m sure you can figure it out,” I reply, suddenly feeling desperate. “Please.”

“Alright, I’ll take him in.”

“Let’s take him to the penthouse.” I sigh, running a hand down my face. “I think he should meet Matteo. It would be good for him.”

“And then?” he asks shakily.

“Then he goes home with you,” I reply, and he nods.

Cole stares at me wide-eyed as I get in, scooting all the way until he’s plastered against the side of the door on the other end of the vehicle. I look at him patiently, a soft smile on my face. I hope it reassures him, and sure enough, he relaxes slightly.

“Did you kill him?” he asks me, a hopeful shimmer in his eyes.

I nod. “Yes.”

“Good.”

I face forward for the rest of the ride, not saying anything to that, and when we finally pull up to the parking garage of my penthouse, I open the door and slip out quietly. He waits in the car, and Luca goes around and gets him.

The walk to the elevator is silent, and Cole doesn’t look at me once. He’s still visibly shaking, and a pang fills my gut. There’s probably nothing I can do for him right now, but he’ll have Luca now, and that’s reassuring. I know he’d never let anything happen to him. He’ll do right by him.

Once in the penthouse, the sound of cartoons greets us. Maria is in the kitchen fixing dinner, and Matteo, my five-year-old, is sitting on the white sectional couch with a bowl of chocolate ice cream. His face is dirty with it, and I smirk. When I look over at Cole, his eyes are wide with fear.

“Matteo, what did I say about eating ice cream on my couch?” I ask him gently, and he grins.

“You said not to do it.” He shrugs. “But I want to watch this.”

“Give me,” I tell him as I close the distance between us, and he hands me the bowl with a pout. “I want you to meet someone.”

Cole runs behind me and hides, and I grab his arm and tug him ever so gently to my side. His eyes are wide, and when I look at Matteo, so are his. But then a smile fills his face.

“Papà?” Matteo grins. “Is he staying with us?”

I shake my head. “He’ll be with Luca.” I look between them, and Cole tenses. “Matteo, this is Cole.” I turn toward Cole, whose eyes are wide. “Cole, this is my son, Matteo.”

Cole gulps and says nothing, but Matteo is not deterred in the slightest.

“Papà, he can have my ice cream.” He grins at Cole. “Quick before it melts!”

I shake my head. “He needs dinner first. You know the rules.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Matteo shakes his head. “Cole, do you want to go look at my toys?”

Cole’s eyes light up, and he nods rapidly. Matteo gets up from the couch and offers his pudgy little hand to Cole. He looks at it for a brief second before taking it in his, and they run off to Matteo’s room together. I follow closely, watching as my son sits Cole down on his bed, raising his hands in the air as if trying not to spook him. But Cole smiles widely, clearly at ease, and I rub my chest when Matteo gives him a hug.

Cole breaks down.

“Papà says men don’t cry,” he whispers, “but I won’t tell.”

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