Page 5 of Shot For Mercy

It’s freezing outside as I douse the Russians’ auction house in gasoline. My breaths come out in pants by the time I’m done, little puffs of white that remind me to get some fucking gloves next time. I can barely feel my fingertips. It’s December in New York, after all. I don’t even know how I was able to take off my sweatshirt a few days ago when Matteo was shot. I guess the adrenaline kept me from feeling cold.

Matteo is thankfully alright now, but it was a close call. Our doctor was able to patch him up enough to get him to a hospital, and now he’s still there with guards watching him around the clock. I haven’t been able to bring myself to go see him. After his fucking love confession, I don’t even know how to act around him. He said it in the heat of the moment—on the brink of death. Surely he didn’t mean it. At least that’s what I keep telling myself in order to survive because the alternative—breaking his heart—is too painful to even think about.

The only problem is that my heart belongs to Emiliano Colombo, no matter how many times I try to convince myself that it will never happen. That he will never see me the way I see him. But my mind is just as delusional as my heart, constantly whispering,what if?

What if it did happen?

What if he suddenly sees me for who I am?

For what I can offer him?

He’s not the kind of man who falls in love. Hasn’t been in love probably ever—or maybe since he was with Matteo’s piece of shit mother. Over the years, he’s had one night stands. That much I do know, considering he brought someone to the penthouse a couple of months ago. I was staying with Matteo, which isn’t out of the ordinary for us, and I went to the kitchen to get a drink. I heard them fucking, and that’s when I realized I’m in love with him. The rage I felt in my chest as I listened to the sounds he was making stunned me. I couldn’t believe he was making those sounds for anyone but me, even if that’s the most delusional thing I’ve ever thought. Gay marriage is no longer frowned upon in the mafia, yet I doubt Emiliano would ever want me. But he already has an heir, so why does it matter who he’s with? It doesn’t. Still, it doesn’t make a difference.

I’m completely fucked. Pining after a man who will never be mine. I don’t know if I’ll ever be brave enough to tell him how I feel, anyway. His rejection might kill me. He’s completely in the dark about my feelings since I’m all business as usual, never letting my guard down or losing my composure. The last thing I need is for him to figure it out and treat me differently. Or talk to me like I’m still a child. Even though he’s only fifteen years older than me, which isn’t that much in my opinion. He’s in his mid-thirties.

I light the match, throwing it on the ground on top of the gasoline, and take a step back as flames roar to life. It brings a grin to my face, but just as I turn around, there’s a man in a suit drawing his weapon at me. My nostrils flare in my attempt to keep my composure. But my hands begin to shake and sweat. No matter what, I can’t tell him why I’m trying to burn this place down—that much I know. I won’t die a traitor. That’s probably my fate in prison. The inmates will be chomping at the bit to get to me.

Fuck.

“Hands behind your head,” the man says softly, and suddenly, the guys in the house begin to scream. Probably from being burned alive. “Hurry the fuck up.”

I do as I’m told, placing my hands behind my head.

“Turn around.”

I do it too, turning slowly toward the house. At least if I go down, they go down too. It’s revenge for Matteo. “I need a phone call.”

“Oh, you know your rights?” I hear the smirk in his voice. “Who are you going to call, Cole?”

Wait, how the fuck does he know my name? I frown, my lips tipping down. “Can you just tell me my rights like you’re supposed to?”

“Gladly.”

The agent proceeds to tell me my rights, cuffing me and shoving me into his undercover vehicle. The firefighters and ambulance show up immediately, and I tense. Motherfucker probably called them as I was pouring the gasoline. Just how long did he watch me for? How long was I unaware?

The ride to the station is short, and after being processed and put in a cell, I spend some time contemplating my life choices. What the fuck have I done? Arson is probably a few years in prison, right? Fucking hell, I messed up. Well, that’s putting it lightly. If no one else kills me first, Emiliano sure will. But I can’t think about it. I did what had to be done.

“Time for that phone call,” a cop says, and I nod. “You have five minutes.”

I get up and follow him out of the holding cell, hurrying toward the phone. I dial Emiliano’s number—which I shouldn’t be doing—and he answers on the second ring. He knows something is wrong.

“Hey,” I say softly. “It’s me.” I pause at the silence on his side. “I’m booked.”

“Fuck no,” Emiliano growls. “What the fuck did you do?”

“Arson.”

“What the fuck were you thinking?” he snaps, and I flinch. “You’re going to prison, you know that right?”

“I did it for us,” I tell him through gritted teeth. “Take care of Matteo.”

“Cole—”

“Don’t Cole me,” I reply, taking a deep breath. “I did what had to be done.”

“You’re right,” he whispers. “I’ll get the best lawyer.”

“Thanks, Em.”

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