The Mafia's Mercy

⊰ 5 ⊱ Old Bonds, New Problems

The familiar sound of the incessant beeping from the vital signs monitor prompts an audible groan from the back of my throat, pulling me into consciousness. My eyelids feel heavy, and I struggle to lift them as the bright light that beams from between the opened window blinds pierces my hazy eyes. My eyebrows furrow, my lungs drawing a deep breath as the discomfort from my shoulder slowly settles.

It isn't until my vision clears that I begin to recall the events from the night prior, coming to me like flashbacks in bits and pieces.

Marcel.

"Mercy?"

My eyes widen at the familiar voice, my head snapping to the side to find Levi standing from the chair positioned at my bedside. He straightens on his feet, swiftly moving to stand beside me. "Hey..." the tenderness in his voice is comforting until I remember that I haven't seen him for the better part of 6 years and the man who put me in this hospital bed is the same man that's been looking for him.

"Levi..?" My voice quavers, the rippling fear of what Marcel might do to him if he finds him here thrashing into me like the bullet he put through my left shoulder. I stammer as I attempt to sit up on the bed, "W-What are you doing here?! Y-You shouldn't be here! Marcel...he'll —"

"Hey, it's okay," he says softly. His hand finds mine, his eyes yielding caution as he helps me sit up. "If he wanted me dead, I would be," he tells me as though it's supposed to be reassuring. Carefully, he lowers himself to my side, sitting over the white bedsheets.

His hazel green eyes search mine, his hand moving to cup the side of my face. His thumb caresses my cheek, and for a moment, it's as though time never passed. It's as though we're back in our childhood home, sitting on the old beat up couch.

Despite all that he's been through, at the young age of 27, he looks good. His silky light brown hair is neatly combed to compliment the nice fade of what I assume is a fresh haircut, and what I remember once being an awkward patchy beard is now perfectly full and connected to his trimmed mustache. His lean and muscular build reminds me of the old wedding photos of our parents that they kept in a shoe box on a shelf in their closet, and the tattoos that cover his arms and neck oddly suit him just right.

He looks like a real criminal now...

"I'm so sorry that you got dragged back into this life..." his voice trails off. "I never wanted you to get caught up in any of this."

With furrowed eyebrows, I search his saddened eyes, shaking my head ever so slightly as I press, "Then why would you leave that kind of money in my apartment, Levi? I don't hear from you in five and a half years and you decide to drop a bag full of cash that belongs to that...fucking psycho? What the hell were you thinking?!"

A soft sigh parts his lips, and his hand falls away from my face as he says, "I didn't take his money, Mercy. I swear it on dad's grave. I stayed away all that time to avoid getting you into trouble. I wouldn't do that to you." He pauses for a moment, a hopeless look lingering on his soft features. This time, when he speaks, his voice is lower, and his tone hardens, "I think someone is trying to frame me."

I believe it.

If there's anything he's ever cared about, it's me, and if it's true that he's being targeted, the best way to make sure that he suffers is to get to me.

At the thought of someone trying to hurt him, my heart sinks to the pit of my stomach. "So what happens now?" I ask as calmly as I can muster, desperately trying to contain my anxiety. "Can't you just explain that to him? He has his money back, so why can't he just l—"

"It doesn't work that way," he cuts me off, shaking his head as his gaze breaks away from my own. "My best chance at walking out of this is finding undeniable proof that I delivered that money and someone else stole it."