deception

09||an alliance

                            -⎯ ୨୧ ⎯-

Emotion was the key to vulnerability.

The sunlight sliced through the curtains, an unwelcome intrusion that pulled me from the depths of restless sleep. My head throbbed, the remnants of tequila and chaos still lingering like a bad hangover. I lay there, staring at the ceiling, replaying last night's confrontation with Lorenzo over and over again. His words echoed in my mind, each syllable a reminder of the tension that crackled between us.

"Your father sent you here with no intention for you to return home."

I tossed and turned, grappling with the implications of what he had said. How could my papà, the man who had raised me in this world of violence and betrayal, be so callous? The thought made bile rise in my throat. I had always known there were dark corners in our family's dealings, but this? This was a new level of depravity.

After hours of wrestling with my thoughts, I finally pushed myself out of bed, the chill of the floor sending a jolt through my body. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a tight black shirt, the fabric swallowing me whole as I made my way downstairs. My heart raced as I approached Lorenzo's office, an inexplicable urge driving me forward. I needed answers, and I needed them now.

As I reached the doorway, I paused, the muffled sound of his voice carrying through the closed door. He was on the phone, and I strained to catch snippets of his conversation, my heart pounding in my chest. I took a deep breath, trying to steady myself before I pushed the door open.

"Yeah, I'll take care of it," I heard him say, his tone commanding and authoritative. "No, I won't let her out of my sight. We're too close to the deal."

The words sent a chill down my spine. "We're too close to the deal." What deal?

I swallowed hard, pushing the door open a crack. Lorenzo sat behind his desk, his back to me, the phone pressed to his ear. I hesitated, my resolve wavering, but I couldn't back down now.

"Verelli," I called out, my voice cutting through the tension in the room. He turned, surprise flickering across his features before settling into a mask of irritation.

"Medicì," he replied, a hint of annoyance in his tone as he raised a finger, gesturing for me to wait. He finished his conversation, his gaze shifting back to me, and I felt the weight of his scrutiny. "What do you want?"

"I want to know what you meant last night," I said, crossing my arms defiantly. "About my father sending me here."

His expression hardened, and for a moment, I thought he might evade the question. But then he leaned back in his chair, a calculated look in his eyes. "You really don't know, do you?"

"No, I don't," I shot back, my frustration bubbling to the surface. "Enlighten me."

He sighed, as if my ignorance was an inconvenience. "Your father didn't send you here to protect you, Mercedes. You're a pawn in a much larger game. An alliance between the American mafia and the Italian mafia. You're meant to be a bargaining chip, a means to an end."

But I was meant to be here to deceive him?

My heart raced, and I felt the room spin slightly. "What are you talking about?" I demanded, as I laughed a little. "What does that even mean?"

"It means once I have what I need from you—a child—your father doesn't care what happens next," he said, his voice cold and unyielding. "He'll have his alliance, and I'll be free to dispose of you as I see fit."

I stood there, frozen. The realization hit me like a punch to the gut. My papa, the man I had trusted, had sent me to this hell on purpose. I felt a mix of disbelief and rage boiling within me, a tempest of emotions that threatened to consume me whole.