⊰ 17.5 ⊱ Playing With Fire

⊰ **Marcel** ⊱

I sit at the head of the conference table, my gaze sweeping over the faces gathered before me. Levi, Santiago, and Guillermo flank me on either side, their expressions carefully neutral. Across from us, Ben and Pablo, the two CIA agents who have infiltrated my organization, the men who used my wife as a pawn in their game.

It’s been a week since Mercy’s breakdown, a week of watching her struggle through therapy sessions, of holding her as she cries herself to sleep. A week of barely contained rage simmering beneath my skin.

But I keep it in check, my face a mask of calm control. I need to play this smart, need to turn the tables on these bastards who think they hold all the cards.

*It’s time to settle the score.*

“So,” I begin, leaning back in my chair, my tone deceptively casual. “Where are we with the nano-drones?”

Pablo clears his throat, meeting my gaze with a confidence that sets my teeth on edge. “We’re almost done,” he says, a hint of pride in his voice. “Just a few more tweaks and we should be good to go. We were hoping to run a couple of things by Mercy, get her input on the final touches.”

At the mention of my wife’s name, I feel a flicker of anger spark in my chest. Levi tenses beside me, his hands clenching into fists beneath the table. I shoot him a warning glance, a silent reminder to keep his cool.

“Speaking of Mercy,” Ben says, his voice tinged with concern that makes my skin crawl. “How is she feeling? Last we heard, she was…in some sort of trouble.”

I almost laugh at the irony, the fact that these men, these *supposed* allies, are the very reason for my wife’s suffering. But I keep my expression neutral, my voice even as I reply.

“She’s fine. But I’m afraid she won’t be available for the foreseeable future.”

Ben’s brows furrow, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “I’m sorry to hear that. Is she alright?”

Something about his tone, the forced casualness of his words, makes my hackles rise. I lean forward, my gaze boring into his.

“Why the sudden interest in my wife’s well-being?” I ask, my voice low and dangerous. “Last I checked, your job was to work on the devices we request, not pry into Mercy’s personal life.”

Ben blinks, flustered. He glances at Pablo, who shifts uncomfortably in his seat.

“We didn’t mean any offense,” Pablo says quickly, holding up his hands in a placating gesture. “Mercy’s just been such an asset to the project, and we’ve been worried about her. That’s all.”

*Oh? That’s all?*

A flash of anger ignites my chest, my jaw clenching. “Worried about her? I find that hard to believe, considering the position you’ve put her in.”

The room goes still, a palpable tension descending like a heavy fog. I can see the moment realization dawns on Ben and Pablo, the way their shoulders stiffen, their gazes sharpening.

“I’m not sure what you’re implying, Marcel,” Ben says carefully, his tone measured. “Mercy’s well-being is important to us. She’s been an invaluable asset to the project.”

*They know. They know I know.*

I chuckle, my tone devoid of humor. “An asset. Is that what you call it when you manipulate a vulnerable woman into betraying her family? Her own husband?” I pause for a moment, a wave of satisfaction washing over me at the terror rising in their faces. “You’re done running things by my wife.”

They exchange a loaded look, a silent communication passing between them. In a heartbeat, they’re on their feet, moving towards the door. But before they can take more than a single step, Rick and Frank are there, blocking their path, guns drawn and ready.

“Sit down,” I order, my voice like steel.

For a moment, Ben and Pablo hesitate, their gazes darting between each other and the armed men blocking their escape. They know that they have no choice, and slowly, reluctantly, they lower themselves back into their seats.

I lean back in my chair, my fingers steepled in front of me, my eyes boring into theirs. “Now, let’s talk about the deal you made with my wife,” I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. “I think it’s time we revisit the terms.”

Pablo shakes his head, a defiant gleam in his eyes. “That’s not up to us,” he says, his voice tight.

I arch a brow, a humorless smile tugging at my lips. “Then *make* it up to you,” I say, my words dripping with venom. “Mercy gets full immunity, regardless of what happens with Reyes.”

Ben’s eyes narrow, a look of frustration on his face. “You know we can’t do that. The deal was contingent on Luciano’s demise. We’re not even supposed to know that you know about it. The whole thing could be off the table now.”

Beside me, Santiago scoffs, his eyes flashing with anger. “Bullshit,” he spits. “You’re desperate to get rid of him, or you would’ve never offered Mercy a damn thing in the first place. You need us, more than we need you.”

Pablo’s gaze snaps to Santiago, a sneer curling his lips. “That’s rich coming from you,” he spits, his words laced with contempt. “A traitor who turned his back on the badge to work for the very people he swore to bring to justice.”

I see Santiago stiffen, his jaw clenching. But before he can respond, before this can devolve into a full-blown argument, I cut in, my voice hard and unyielding.

“Enough,” I snap, my gaze sweeping over the room. “You absolve Mercy of whatever you have on her now, or there is no deal.”

Ben shakes his head, a humorless laugh escaping his lips. “You’re in no position to make demands. We have enough evidence to bury you and your entire family. One word from us, and you’ll be rotting in a cell for the rest of your miserable lives.”

A slow smile spreads across my face, a predatory gleam in my eye. “Is that so?” I muse, my tone mocking.

I nod to Rick, and without a word, he steps forward, tossing a thick folder onto the table. It lands with a heavy thud, the papers inside spilling out.

Pablo reaches for it, flipping it open with a frown. As his eyes scan the contents, I see the color drain from his face, shock and anger warring in his features.

“What the hell is this?” he demands, his voice shaking with barely contained rage.

“Evidence,” I say simply, watching as he flips through the pages. “Of the CIA’s involvement in the bombings of Luciano’s warehouses and properties. On U.S. soil, no less.”

I let that sink in for a moment, watching as understanding dawns on their faces, as the gravity of their situation becomes clear. I’d contemplated threatening their families, but something told me *this* would be much more effective.

*I can play this game too, motherfuckers.*

“You take us in,” I continue, my voice low and dangerous, “and the world will know what you did in the name of your precious agency.”

Beside me, Levi reaches into his pocket, pulling out a small recording device. With a click, the damning conversation from weeks ago fills the room, Pablo’s own voice sealing their fate.

“Planted the bombs while the drivers were waiting for the ‘all clear’ from customs. They went off 50 miles north of the crossing.”

The silence that follows is deafening, the tension in the room thick enough to cut with a knife. I can see the fury in Pablo’s eyes, the realization that we have them by the balls, that their own actions have come back to haunt them.

Finally, Ben breaks the stillness, his voice tight with barely restrained anger. “Mercy gets immunity,” he grits out, his jaw clenched. “The rest of you—”

“When the job is done,” Guillermo cuts him off, his tone brooking for no argument. “As it should have been from the start.” He pauses, a sneer curling his lips. “You should’ve known better than to send a woman to do a man’s job.”

I glance at my father, surprise flickering through me. Just a week ago, he was cursing Mercy’s name, ready to disown her for the deal she made. But I suppose I shouldn’t be shocked. I know my father—his shoot first, ask questions later mentality. He may not like her, may not approve of her, but he’ll be damned if he lets an outsider disrespect the family.

Ben and Pablo exchange another long look, a silent conversation passing between them. Finally, Pablo sighs, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Fine,” he grits out, his jaw clenched. “Mercy gets immunity. But we still need her to finish the project. Without those drones, you won’t have a chance against Reyes.”

I feel a surge of anger at the mention of Mercy’s involvement, the idea of her being pulled back into this world that has already taken so much from her. But as much as I hate to admit it, I know that he’s right. We’re running out of time. Without those drones, we may never find Luciano.

“One week,” I finally say, my voice hard. “You have her for *one* more week. And if either of you so much as breathes a word to her about anything outside the project, I don’t give a damn if you’re CIA. You’ll answer to me. Understood?”

They nod, a grudging acceptance in their eyes. They know they have no choice. They’re in too deep to back down now.

I stand, buttoning my suit jacket with deliberate movements. “Welcome to the family, boys,” I say, my voice dripping with false sincerity. “You’re in this now, whether you like it or not.”

As I stride out of the room, Levi, Santiago, and Guillermo falling into step behind me, I feel a sense of grim satisfaction wash over me. We may be playing with fire, dancing with the devil in the form of the CIA, but we’re doing it on our terms now.

*They’re done messing with her.*

One thing remains crystal clear. Mercy is *mine*—my wife, my love, my everything. And I’ll be damned if I let anyone take her from me.