⊰ 24.5 | 1 ⊱ The Truth She Holds

⊰ **Marcel** ⊱

The parlor is quiet, the only sound the soft clink of ice against glass as I take another sip of my scotch. It’s been a day since my confrontation with Mercy, her words echoing in my head, haunting me.

*“I’m tired, Marcel. Of all of this. Of you.”*

I can’t shake the feeling that I’m losing her, that with each passing day, she’s slipping further away from me. I’d always thought that as long as I kept her safe, I’d never lose her. But now, I’m starting to realize that by distancing myself, by trying to protect her from the darkness inside me, I’ve only pushed her further away.

The irony isn’t lost on me. In trying to spare her from my pain, I’ve caused her even more.

*How do I fix this?*

Am I supposed to just bare my soul to her? Am I supposed to tell her that sometimes I get off on sitting here and thinking about all the ways I want to torture Luciano? What if she’s repulsed at hearing what goes through my head on a daily basis?

*She’s not the only one who’s tired…*

The knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts, and I glance up to see Ben and Pablo entering the room. They look as exhausted as I feel, their faces drawn and their eyes shadowed.

“Boss,” Pablo greets, his voice somber. “We wanted to give you an update before heading out for the day.”

I nod, gesturing for them to continue.

“We’re working on building another pair of drones,” Ben explains, his tone businesslike. “With more eyes in the sky, we’ll have a better chance of tracking down Luciano and Catalina.”

I lean back in my seat, swirling the scotch in my glass. “And the first pair?”

Pablo chimes in, a hint of pride in his voice. “Rick and his team have been navigating them smoothly. They think they might have a lead on Reyes’ location.”

*Finally, some good news.*

A flicker of hope sparks my chest. If we can find Luciano and Catalina, if we can end this war once and for all…maybe then, Mercy and I will have a chance at a future together.

As if sensing my train of thought, Ben clears his throat. “We also wanted to offer our condolences,” he says, his voice tinged with sympathy, “for the loss of your parents. We’re sorry for your loss.”

The familiar tightness surfaces in my chest, the ever-present grief and rage threatening to break free. But I maintain my composure, giving them a curt nod of acknowledgement.

Needing a distraction, I stand, making my way over to the bar. “Can I offer you a drink?” I ask, glancing over my shoulder at Ben and Pablo. “It’s long overdue, considering you saved Mercy’s life.”

They exchange a glance, something unreadable passing between them. Then, without a word, they take a seat, a silent acceptance of my invitation.

I pour two more glasses, handing them over before settling back in the leather armchair. For a moment, we sit in silence, the weight of everything that’s happened hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, I speak, my gaze fixed on the amber liquid in my glass. “I understand Mercy’s been spending quite a bit of time in the lab,” I say, my tone carefully neutral. “More than the week I initially allowed.”

Ben and Pablo exchange a glance, a flicker of worry crossing their faces. “We should have told you,” Pablo admits, “It’s just…she seemed like she really wanted to help. And she’s been such an asset to the project, we—”

I hold up a hand, stopping him mid-sentence. “It’s fine,” I say, my voice weary. “It's probably for the best that she’s had something to keep her mind occupied. She’s too smart to just sit around and look pretty all day. “ I chuckle, shaking my head. “Too damn smart for her own good, sometimes.”

Ben nods, a small smile tugging at his lips. “She’s brilliant.”

Pride swells my chest, but with it, I feel a pang of guilt. I’ve always known how special Mercy is, how gifted she is. But being reminded by someone else, someone who understands her world in a way I never will…it’s a bittersweet feeling.

Pablo takes a sip of his scotch, a thoughtful look lingering on his face. “Beyond this, it would be an honor to work with her again,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “In a less…hostile environment, I think she has a real chance at doing something extraordinary. But here, this life…I don’t think she’s cut out for any of this.”

I bristle at his words, a defensive anger rising up inside me. But before I can speak, Ben continues, his voice softer.

“We’ve grown fond of Mercy,” he admits, his gaze meeting mine. “We’d hate to see someone with so much potential destroyed by a war she should’ve never been a part of.”

As angry and defensive as I feel, I can’t deny the truth behind what they’re trying to say. I took a good girl, a pure soul, and I dragged her into the filth and darkness of this world. I tainted her, corrupted her. And for what? For power? For control? For the empire my father built on blood and violence?

*None of it is worth it if it means losing her.*

I drain the rest of my scotch, welcoming the burn, the numbing warmth that spreads through my veins. “My father’s gone,” I say abruptly, my voice flat, emotionless. “And with him, any desire I had to keep this empire running.”

Ben and Pablo exchange a glance, surprise flickering in their eyes. But they remain silent, letting me gather my thoughts.

“This legacy…” I gesture around at the opulence of the room, at the trappings of wealth and power. “It was never my choice. It was Guillermo’s making, his legacy. But now, with Mercy…I know it’s only a matter of time before we end up like my parents if I don't walk away.”

Understanding dawns on their faces, a flicker of something like respect in their eyes. Pablo leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“So, once this is all over,” he says slowly, his gaze intense. “You’re walking away? You’re leaving it all behind? Just like that?”

I nod, a grim determination settling over me. “I have to. Because like you said, Mercy isn’t cut out for this life. And without her…none of this is worth anything.”

I notice a thoughtful, almost bitter look flashes on Ben’s face, but he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he takes a sip of his scotch and averts his gaze elsewhere.

*Just how long have you had it for my wife?*

“Well, the good news is, once the job is done, everything we have on you will be inadmissible,” Pablo points out, pulling me away from my suspicious thoughts. “You can go on to live your life, start fresh.”

*Everything you have on me, huh?*

I lean forward, my brow furrowing. “About that,” I say, choosing my words carefully. “My lawyer has a copy of the contract I signed after you voided Mercy’s. But it only lists the charges, not the actual evidence. What *exactly* do you have on me?”

Another loaded glance passes between them, and finally, with a sigh, Ben meets my gaze head-on. “Mercy has a copy,” he admits quietly. “Everything we have, all the evidence…it’s in her possession. It was given to her before she signed the first deal.”

For a moment, I’m stunned, the air rushing from my lungs as if I’ve been punched in the gut.

Mercy has the file.

She’s seen it all.

Every dirty secret, every violent act, every sin I’ve ever committed.

*And she never told me.*

Anger, betrayal, and a sickening sense of guilt war inside me. But how can I be upset with her for keeping this from me after the way I reacted when she came clean about the deal she made? After all the secrets I’ve kept from her, keeping her at arm’s distance, can I blame her?

I suspect that Ben and Pablo notice the shift in my demeanor, a tension settling over the room. They rise to their feet, setting their glasses down on the coffee table.

“We should get going,” Pablo says, his voice carefully neutral. “We’ll keep you updated on any leads we find.”

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. They take their leave, the sound of the door sliding shut behind them echoing in the sudden stillness.

For a long moment, I sit there, staring into the depth of my empty glass, my mind racing. Mercy has the file. She knows everything. And yet, somehow, she’s still here.

*What does that say about her? What does that say about me?*

With a heavy sigh, I stand, making my way over to the bar. I pour myself another drink, the amber liquid sloshing against the sides of the glass.

As I raise it to my lips, I catch a sight of myself in the mirror behind the bar. I hardly recognize the man staring back at me, the haunted look in his eyes, the weariness etched into every line of his face.

*Is this what she sees when she looks at me? A broken man, a shell of the person she fell in love with?*

The thought is like a knife to the heart, a painful reminder of how far I’ve fallen, how much I’ve lost.

*How did I let it get this bad between us?*