⊰ 20.5 | 1 ⊱ Heart of Fear: Part 1

⊰ **Marcel** ⊱

I pace the length of the foyer, my heart pounding in my chest, my blood pulsating in my ears. Every second feels like an eternity, every moment stretching out into a lifetime of fear and uncertainty.

*Where the hell are they? What’s taking so long?*

I did the best I could to stay calm, but the second I saw the call come in from Mercy’s phone, I knew something was wrong. The thought of her out there, in danger, while I was stuck here, helpless…it’s maddening.

*This is why this needs to end. She can’t live like this. I can’t live like this.*

The sound of tires screeching outside snaps me out of my thoughts, and I’m moving before I even realize it, my feet carrying me towards the front door. I yank it open just as the familiar black SUV comes to a halt, my eyes scanning the vehicle for any sign of Mercy.

In the next second, the back door flies open, and there she is, her face pale and streaked with tears, her hands covered in blood. For a moment, my heart stops, a sickening fear gripping my chest. As she runs to me, her eyes meeting mine, I run to her, closing the distance between us in a few long strides.

“Mercy,” I breathe as though I’ve been holding my breath for the past half hour, pulling her into my arms. Tremors wrack her small frame as I hug her tightly, crushing her against my chest. “Are you hurt? Are you okay?”

She shakes her head against my chest, her voice muffled. “I’m fine. I’m not hurt.”

Relief washes over me, so strong it nearly brings me to my knees. I tighten my hold on her, breathing in the scent of her hair, my tense muscles relaxing against the familiar warmth of her body against mine.

*She’s alive. She’s safe.*

But the relief is short-lived as I look over her shoulder, seeing Pablo and Miguel helping a badly injured Ben out of the car. His jeans are soaked with blood, his face ashen and etched with pain.

“Get him inside,” I order, my voice hard. “The medical team is waiting in the first guest room, down the east wing.”

They nod, half-carrying, half-dragging Ben up the steps and into the house. I watch them go, a knot twisting in my gut. Ben may be CIA, but he’s also the reason Mercy is still alive. I owe him for that, whether I like it or not.

I turn my attention back to Mercy, cupping her face in my hands, my thumbs brushing away the tears that still fall from her eyes that I doubt she’s even aware of given the dazed look in them. “What happened out there?” I ask softly, searching her face for answers.

She takes a shuddering breath, her bottom lip trembling. “We were ambushed,” she whispers, her voice cracking. “They came out of nowhere, Marcel. They just started shooting.”

My jaw clenches, a burning rage building in my chest.

*Reyes. It had to be. But how the hell did he know where to find them?*

“And Frank?” I ask, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Mercy’s eyes fill with fresh tears, a profound sorrow and sympathy etching into her delicate features. She reaches out, placing a hand on my arm, her touch gentle and comforting.

“I’m so sorry, Marcel,” she whispers, her voice choked. “He… he didn’t make it.”

For a moment, my breath stalls in my lungs, and I can’t breathe, can’t think, can’t do anything but stand here, frozen in shock and disbelief. Frank, who’s been by my side for years, who’s been more than just an employee, more than just muscle. Frank, who I trusted with my life, with Mercy’s life.

*He died for her. He gave his life to keep her safe.*

I never forgot about the time he laid hands on her, and for that, he spent the better part of a year trying to make up for by being at her beckon call. I never asked for it. He never acknowledged it. But I noticed.

I close my eyes for a moment, trying to compose myself, to push down the grief that threatens to overwhelm me. I can’t afford to break down, not now. Not when there’s still so much to be done.

Mercy steps closer, wrapping her arms around my waist, holding me tight. And for a moment, I let myself lean on her, drawing strength from her warmth.

“I’m here,” she murmur, her voice soft and soothing. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

I nod, taking a deep breath, clinging onto her unwavering support as it seeps into my very bones.

*I don’t know what I would’ve done if I’d lost her.*

…

*You did good, Frank.*

Still, even as I hold her, even as I breathe in the scent of her hair, I feel a flicker of rage, of cold, implacable anger. Someone betrayed us, someone sold us out to Reyes. I won’t rest until I find out who, until I make them pay for what they’ve done.

Reluctantly, I pull back, cupping Mercy’s face in my hands, searching her eyes. “I need to take care of some things,” I say softly, hating the way her gaze darts away. “Will you be okay for a little while?”

She nods, forcing a brave smile. “I’ll be fine,” she assures me. “I think I just need to clean up, maybe lay down for a little bit.”

I lean in, planting a kiss on her forehead. “Okay. I’ll come check on you soon. I love you.”

“I love you too,” she whispers.

With a final squeeze of her hand, I guide her into the house, parting ways with her as she steadily makes her way up the stairs and I stride across the main entrance hall. I find Santiago just outside the parlor, a stern look on his face, his phone pressed to his ear.

He looks up as I approach him, holding a finger up in a silent request for a moment. I nod, running a hand over my face as I feel my muscles tensing beneath my skin.

Finally, he ends the call, slipping his phone into his pocket with a sigh. “That was my contact at the precinct,” he says, his voice low, tense. “They’re sending a team to the site, see what they can find. But Marcel…this isn’t looking good. Someone’s feeding information to Reyes.”

I nod, my jaw clenching, my blood boiling with barely restrained fury. “I need you to call in every favor you have,” I grit out, my voice like steel. “Every contact, every informant, every cop on your payroll. I want to know who betrayed us, and I want to know now.”

Santiago meets my gaze, a flicker of understanding passing between us. He knows what’s at stake. He knows the price of failure. With a curt nod, he pulls out his phone again, already dialing.

I turn away, my mind racing, trying to piece together the events of the day, to remember who *exactly* knew Mercy was going to be there. That’s why they were followed. That’s why they attacked. Luciano is after *my* family, and the decision of Mercy accompanying Pablo and Ben wasn’t made until this morning.

*It’s too damn close to be a fucking coincidence.*

…

*But who? Who would dare cross me, knowing the consequences?*

The sound of footsteps approaching from behind pulls me from my thoughts, and I turn back to see Guillermo moving across the foyer, his face lined with worry and tension.

“I’m heading to the airport to pick up your mother,” he says, his voice gruff, strained. “She decided to fly back when Alessandra called her with the news about the baby. I’m not taking any chances.”

I nod, a flicker of gratitude passing through me. My mother, Valentina…I hadn’t even thought about her since she left. With everything that’s going on, she could be in danger too.

*I’m not taking any chances either.*

“Take some of my men too,” I tell him, my voice rough. “Keep her safe, Dad.”

He meets my gaze, a moment of understanding passing between us. “Con mi vida,” he vows, his hand coming up to clasp my shoulder. “Pasaremos por esto, hijo. Siempre lo hacemos.” With that, he turns on his heels and heads out the door.

(“With my life. … We’ll get through this, son. We always do.”)

I swallow hard, past the knot at the edge of my throat as I watch him walk away. I know he’s right. We’ve been through hell before, faced down enemies and threats that would have broken lesser men. But for the first time, I’m afraid that we’ve bitten off more than we can chew. *I’m* afraid I got us into a mess I can’t get us out of.

*No. I won’t let anyone take away from us. Not Reyes, not the CIA, not anyone.*

…

*We’re Saldívars. We survive. And we make our enemies pay.*