“I wish I could.” He takes a sip and closes his eyes, savoring it. “I can’t be seen by other members yet. The time is not right to reveal my freedom. But I couldn’t let the occasion pass without coming to see you.”
I nod at him. There is an understanding between us that doesn’t need words. Angelo knows betrayal as well as I do, and he is busy making his own plans. As much as it would please me to have him at the altar tonight, I won’t ask that of him if it interferes with his revenge. In some ways, I often think his betrayal was worse than mine. I have Ivy’s father to thank for the destruction in my life, but Angelo’s was his own flesh and blood. He’s spent the last six years of his life caged like an animal for a crime he didn’t commit, and he won’t suffer that slight gently.
He finishes his glass and pours another as he examines me. Angelo is aware of everything that transpired, but he never saw the damage firsthand. I can appreciate that he did not wince when he laid eyes upon me, as it has become a natural reaction from most.
“Nice ink,” he remarks. “It suits you.”
“It serves a purpose.” I reach for a tissue and use it to wipe Abel’s blood off my shoe.
“So, you are really going through with this.” His tone is neutral, but he can’t hide the wariness in his eyes. Angelo knows everything regarding my plans for the Moreno family. While I was recovering, we spent many hours going over the details in code over the phone.
I suspect my friend is concerned for me, but he should know me better by now.
“I am,” I answer his question.
He opens the small wooden box resting on the table beside me, inspecting the rings. “It has all been decided.”
“Yes.”
“And what if it doesn’t go to plan?” His gaze drifts back to me.
I toss away the tissue and wipe my hands. “What do you mean?”
“Forever is a long time to exact your revenge. I should think you’d want an end in sight.”
I turn to study him. “Forever is only as long as it requires to give me sons.”
He plucks out Ivy’s ring and studies it. “So, you will bed her for as long as it takes to produce your heirs. Watch her bear those heirs. Care for them as only a mother can. And then either torment her for eternity or bleed the life from her body?”
His tone is uncertain, and it irritates me. “Do you doubt my intentions?”
“Your intentions, no.” He replaces the ring and shuts the box. “The outcome, perhaps.”
“What little faith you have in me,” I mutter.
“Actually, I envy you.”
The emptiness in Angelo’s voice catches me off guard, but his words make me grimace.
“Why would you envy me?”
“Everything has always been so certain to you. I’ve never met anyone who calculates every decision and executes it without a second thought or regret. I can’t imagine what it’s like to live without the weight of indecision or emotions weighing you down.”
I blink at him, frowning. He makes it sound like I’m a robot, although, I suppose it shouldn’t surprise me. That’s what most people think of me. The members in IVI call me the human computer. My talent lies in calculations, projections, and complex problems. They can all be easily solved by working it out on paper. But human psychology and the complexity of the emotional spectrum are not in my realm of understanding. There are too many variables, and there is no hard and fast answer.
However, it’s not as if I don’t have emotions. I just choose not to feel or express them.
Angelo chuckles softly as something seems to occur to him. “Remember how Sister Margaret would accuse you of being a sociopath?”
“Yes, well…” I shrug. “Perhaps she was correct.”
Angelo leans against the table and dips his head. “That would be the easiest thing to believe, but I know it isn’t true. I worry that you don’t fully understand what you’re getting yourself into here.”
“Will you question your own intentions when the time comes to exact your revenge?” I pin him with my gaze.
“No.” He stands up and stuffs his hands into his pockets.
I think we are finally finished with this topic, but Angelo proves otherwise.
“I know you’ve fucked women, Santiago, but it isn’t the same as living with one. Facing her presence every day is an inescapable situation. So, please, heed my advice. If you are determined to do this, never forget who she is. Don’t underestimate the power of proximity. Even if she’s sleeping in your bed every night, she is still the enemy.”
I smooth my hands over the lapels of my suit and nod in concession. “There is no need to worry. She will never sleep in my bed.”
13
Santiago
After Angelo’s quiet exit, Judge takes his place beside me to the right of the altar. Before us, the rest of the witnesses are already seated in the church pews. The building is dimly lit with only a soft glow, and though I’d still prefer not to be standing here in front of everyone, it is made easier by the fact that they can only see faint glimpses of me.
Within a few moments, the organist begins to play the music chosen for the ceremony. Ivy appears in the doorway with Abel at her side. I glance at him long enough to see the stone set of his jaw as he meets my gaze, but already, my eyes are drifting to my bride. A silhouette of black lace and roses. She is a haunting thing of beauty, and I almost expect her to disappear like an apparition, never to be seen again.
Abel guides her down the aisle, not exactly dragging her but urging her forward with a firm grip on her arm that continues to provoke my last nerve. His mouth is clearly swollen, and dark bruises are starting to form beneath the tight muscles in his throat. And still, he chooses to deliver his sister to me so willingly.
My heart beats in time to the music, and I don’t draw in a single breath until Ivy stands before me. Abel releases her, and she sways a little on her feet. Annoyance festers inside me as I consider the reason. Is it nerves, or has she been drinking?
When she has settled into her place, she tilts her chin up to look at me, and it’s impossible to miss the startled gasp that falls from her lips. The glow of the candles dances over us, highlighting my features in distorted shapes. Almost immediately, her eyes are drawn to the half-skull, and the roses slip from her hands to scatter around our feet. She looks startled, slightly embarrassed, and morbidly fascinated as she continues to study me.
I regret not allowing her to see me until now because more than anything, I wish we were alone for this moment. In my mind, I had played out this scenario so many times. I imagined all the ways it might unfold. Fear. Anger. Terror. I could easily see her running from me. Throwing herself in front of a car on the street rather than go through with this. I never imagined she might look at me the way she is right now. That she would want to study me. That she would find me so… intriguing.
I’m not certain how long we stand there like that. I don’t even realize I’ve reached for her wrist, anchoring her to me, until my thumb grazes over the warm pulse beating wildly there. Perhaps that is why she hasn’t moved. Her eyes drift to the large fingers wrapped around her, examining them as if they are a weapon. It’s tempting to release her, to see if she might still consider running, but I find that I don’t want to.
Regardless, there isn’t time to consider it. The music draws to an end, and we are both forced to focus on the priest. He instructs us to sit in the designated chairs on the platform, and so begins the traditional ceremony.
We open with a hymn, followed by readings from the Old Testament and the New. The priest speaks at length about marriage, gospel, and reflection, but I hear very little of it. When Ivy and I are united in front of the altar and asked to join hands, she offers them to me stiffly.
My fingers wrap around hers, noting she has grown cold and pale as if her reality is finally settling over her. She swallows and looks up at me from beneath her lashes, and I catch a glimpse of her oddly shaped pupil. Something she often tries
to hide with her hair. That pupil was the source of much torment when she was a child, and the humiliation from her school days still lingers with her. When she is my wife, she will come to understand that I will not permit her to hide it from me or anyone else.
The priest begins the vow ceremony as I requested, opting to skip the formalities about coming into this marriage free of coercion and promising to love each other until we turn to dust. I don’t miss the uncomfortable glance he casts in my direction, but I choose to focus on my bride instead of whatever opinions he may have on the subject.
Ivy and I start by declaring our intent, and then I repeat the sacred words that include the only promise I can keep. I will take her as my wife. I will be faithful to her in good times and bad, in sickness and in health, until death do us part. The intensity in my declaration burns my voice and heats my gaze, seeming to unnerve my bride as she casts her eyes to the floor several times before returning them to me.
Her voice is a mere whisper when she repeats the same vows, yet she promises herself to me with a resignation I find equally frustrating and fascinating.
The priest acknowledges our consent and proceeds to bless us before we move onto the ring ceremony. Ivy receives my ring with my repeated promise of fidelity in the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost. When I slide the matching band to her salt and pepper diamond ring onto her trembling finger, I feel a sick sense of satisfaction. That feeling only amplifies when she does the same to me.
Following my requests, the priest does not direct me to kiss her before he pronounces her as mine. That is something to be saved for the privacy of another time, where her disgust cannot be so visible to all my brethren.
We are united in prayer and then greet the witnesses to exchange a sign of peace, followed by communion. After our last nuptial blessing, we are dismissed with the intentions of meeting our guests back at the compound.
When I reach for Ivy’s arm, wrapping my cold fingers around her skin again, she shivers. She keeps her gaze forward, but it is impossible not to notice how slight she feels in my grasp. As we walk down the aisle and out to the street where a driver is waiting with a car for us, I can feel the unsteadiness in her gait once more. It is only when she climbs into the car that I see she is still barefoot.
Marco shuts the door after I’m securely seated next to my bride. The privacy divider is already up, sealing us into a tomb-like silence.
Ivy wrings her hands together in her lap as the car lurches forward. She appears nervous, as she should be, but her fear does not satisfy me quite as much as I’d hoped.
“Where are the shoes I bought you?” My voice booms through the space between us.
She peeks up at me from beneath her lashes and begins to study the artwork on my face again. I watch her carefully for signs of her true feelings, but I only see her curiosity. It perplexes me beyond measure, and it irritates me more than I could have anticipated. She is supposed to be disgusted by me. She is supposed to hate me. This is the natural order of things.
“It was you, wasn’t it?” she asks quietly. “In the confessional. Your cologne—”
The muscles in my spine turn rigid at her observation. I did not expect her to be so… perceptive. She should know better than to ask me such a question.
“Do you mean when you begged God not to let you marry a monster?” I sneer.
“That isn’t what I meant—” She sucks in a breath and shakes her head. “You’re twisting my words around.”
I turn my gaze toward the window, stewing in my aggravation. What a disobedient little surprise she has turned out to be. Challenging me already. Refusing to wear the shoes I bought her. Questioning me as if she has a right to do so. As if a Moreno could ever possess the authority equal to a Sovereign Son. In her mind, she is probably glad for the match. This is, after all, what her family wants. Elevation. Money. Power. Attaching herself to me will give her all those things. And at her core, I have no doubt Ivy is just the same as her mother. She may have toyed with the notion of a different life, but she chose to marry me just the same. It would be foolish of me not to believe she has her own motivations, and whatever they may be, she will never have my trust.
I am relieved for her reminder of our respective roles. It is up to me to let her know this behavior will not be tolerated, and there is no reason it should wait. Ivy may have readily attached herself to me, but she will come to understand the only wedded bliss she is to receive are the punishments I dole out.
The ride is over after a few brief moments, and when Marco turns off the ignition, I tap on the glass and instruct him to leave us. He does.
The street is dark outside, only the lamplight filtering into the car. But it does little to hide the tremor in my bride’s body as I turn to her and reach for her face. I’m determined to put her in her place at once, but when she tries to hide her strange eye from me, my intentions are momentarily displaced.
“Don’t,” I warn her as she tries to adjust her hair. “I want to see it.”
She freezes, and our gazes collide. And for the first time, I realize that perhaps Angelo was right. It is difficult to hold onto my anger in the face of her beauty. As my fingers drift down to the beating pulse in her throat, I can’t decide if I want to kiss her or strangle her.
“Never hide your defects from me,” I tell her. “They are mine to enjoy now.”
“But… I hate it.” Her voice wavers.
A hollow laugh echoes from my chest. “Perhaps I quite like it.”
She seems taken aback by my strange response, as am I. My grip tightens, and then I release her. I don’t understand what she’s doing to me.
“Please,” she begs, her hand hovering near her hair.
“You seem to be under the impression that you can do as you like,” I answer coldly. “Do I need to remind you of the basic rules of The Society? The rules you swore an oath to?”
She sucks in a sharp breath and unconsciously curls into herself. She understands the meaning of my words quite clearly.
“I don’t need a reminder,” she answers softly.
“Yet, you will receive one regardless.”
Outside, I can hear the footsteps of members passing into the courtyard. The marking ceremony is set to begin momentarily. But I have a promise to keep, so it will have to wait. I open the door and gesture for Ivy.
She steps out of the car and lets out a small shriek when I hoist her up over my shoulder, her bare feet dangling beneath the fabric of her dress. We receive a few curious glances as I enter the courtyard and veer away from the chair and table waiting for her in the center. My footsteps are swift and certain as they echo down the corridor to the small, private chapel for members only.
The door creaks shut as I step inside and stalk toward the altar, where I deposit my disobedient wife onto her feet. A warm red glow from the glass votives illuminates her face as she dares a glance up at me. Frustration breeds my dark desires, blood coursing violently toward my cock and hardening it to the point of pain.
I have thought about punishing her since the temptation of marrying her sowed itself in my mind. Patience has been the only virtue I’ve possessed since the explosion. The notion that someday, every Moreno would suffer as I have. So it is difficult for me to reconcile that more than anything, right now, I want to feel her.
Once will not be enough to satiate my needs tonight. Her scent intoxicates me. The warmth of her flesh beckons me in the strangest way. I need… something from her, but I can’t even be sure what it is.
The intensity of her gaze feels like a violation, so I spin her in my arms, making her gasp. One arm hooks around her waist and bends her over the wooden altar while the other comes to rest on the delicate lace covering her back. The veil is obscuring all that I want to see, so I rip it off and discard it onto the floor. She falls into complete stillness as I trace over the black satin buttons adorning the curve of her spine, pausing to appreciate the beauty of her form cinched up so elegantly in this dress.
“You should know if I give you something, I expect you to wear it,” I tell her roughly.
“I couldn’t,” she whispers.
My hand falls away from her back, and I gather up handfuls of the fabric skimming over the wooden floor. When I tug it up to reveal her bare thighs, her body goes rigid beneath me.
“What are you doing?” She peeks over her shoulder, daring a glance at my face.
“Punishing you.”
The moment the words leave my lips, she tries to jerk away, but I press her down firmly with my palm in the center of her back. Her face is mere inches from the heat of the candles, her chest heaving as she glances around for an invisible savior. There are none to be found for her here.
I shove the fabric up around her waist, revealing the perfect curves of her hips and ass on display in a tiny scrap of black lace. My eyes roam over the untouched landscape of her body, and I stifle the agony building in my throat, forcing myself to remember why we are here.
I reach for a candle, and Ivy’s breathing escalates as she tries to crane her head back.
“Santiago.”
The plea in her voice rips through me with surprising efficacy. My fingers are wrapped around the candle, frozen. I blink at her, stunned by my reaction, and then shake it away.
Dragging the glass across the wood, I savor the way her body trembles beneath my palm. When I am satisfied that I have sufficiently drawn out the anticipation, I slip my fingers beneath the delicate band of her panties and tear it into two pieces. Repeating the process on the other side, I let the scrap of fabric fall to the floor until she is bare for me.
My palm curves over her ass, and I silently shudder as my fingers knead into the warmth of her flesh. I could take her now, but it wouldn’t be enough. I need so much time for the things I want to do with her.
I dip my palms down to her inner thighs and force them farther apart until I have a beautiful view of her pink pussy glistening in the candlelight. The sight of her undeniable arousal makes my breath hiss between my teeth. I know it must be a fear response, but I’m aching to touch her there, to see it for myself, and I almost do. But first, I have a promise to keep.
Requiem of the Soul: A Sovereign Sons Novel Page 8
