Wicked Mercy

The glass was cool against her forehead, but it did little to calm the storm inside her.

Isadora Langston stood at the towering window of her D.C. townhouse, her silhouette outlined by the bruised lavender of an approaching dusk. The city buzzed below-horns, sirens, camera flashes. But here, in her private prison above it all, everything was quiet. Too quiet.

She watched her reflection blend with the blurred skyline-half-girl, half-ghost.

"You should be packing." Her father's voice was flat behind her, as though he hadn't just signed away her life with a few whispered threats and classified reports.

She didn't turn. "You said I'd be safe here."

"Things have changed." His tone sharpened. "You were nearly killed last night. I will not have my daughter become a political casualty."

A bitter laugh caught in her throat. "Isn't that what I've always been?"

Senator Langston exhaled through his nose-controlled, irritated. The way he always got when she broke character. "You're not going to that charity gala next week. You're flying out tonight."

"Where?" She finally turned to face him, eyes sharp like shattered glass. "To another of your secret bunkers? Some Swiss villa with armed guards and no soul?"

His jaw tensed. "To Sicily."

Isadora blinked. "Excuse me?"

"You'll be under the protection of someone who owes me a favor."

"And who might that be? A crooked general? Another skeleton from your Cold War closet?"

The pause said everything.

"Luciano Moretti."

The name landed like a punch to the gut.

"You're sending me to a mafia heir?" Her voice cracked, outrage laced with disbelief. "Jesus Christ, Dad. He's a ghost story-mothers tell their children not to say his name out loud."

"He's the only one powerful enough to keep you alive. Don't be dramatic."

She crossed her arms, her body trembling-not with fear, but with fury. "Why now? Why him?"

He stepped closer, towering, still in his crisp suit, tie strangling his throat like his morals had years ago. "Because I'd rather have you in the lion's den with a lion I can control than buried six feet under with a bullet in your skull."

A beat of silence stretched between them, taut as piano wire.

"I'm not a pawn, Dad."

His eyes narrowed. "You've always been a piece on the board, Isadora. The only difference is, this time I'm trying to keep you alive."