Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel

by Zavarelli, A.

  “Enemies inside my own home. Inside my own heart.”

  “Mercedes wouldn’t…” He starts to pull away, but I grab his face with both hands, getting up on my knees so we’re at eye level. “She loves you fiercely.”

  “She sent you knowingly to The Tribunal. She would have you bear the consequences. She would see you executed—” His voice cracks on that last word. “And you would defend her?”

  I swallow hard.

  He stands and turns away, running one hand through his hair while the other rests on his waist.

  “I don’t know your sister at all, apart from the fact she’s a bitch. But I know one thing. She would kill for you, Santiago.”

  He turns to me, face hard, that mask firmly in place. “Then where the fuck is she?”

  I just watch him, see the threads he’s tying in his head, putting things together, putting things in place. Maybe in the wrong places.

  “There’s an explanation. I’m sure. You can’t think based on just the clothes missing that she’s somehow responsible.”

  “I have cause,” he says vaguely.

  Just then, I hear the clicking of heels in the hallway. Santiago hears it too and turns to the door where Mercedes, her face red, steps inside.

  “What the hell did you do to my room?”

  I hurry out of the bed, ignoring my aching head when Santiago moves toward her, and Mercedes, seeing his face, jumps back.

  “Stop, Santiago! Think!” I yell.

  He pauses, drawing in a deep breath. “Ivy. I don’t want to hurt you again. Get away from me.”

  “No. I won’t.”

  Mercedes looks from me to Santiago. I realize her makeup is faded, eyeliner smeared. She looks like she’s had a very long night. “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “Where are the clothes I asked you to put in Ivy’s room? The clothes from the night of the gala.”

  There’s a shift in her stance. It’s a tiny change, a stiffening, and I wonder if Santiago catches it.

  “I threw them away,” she says.

  Santiago’s eyebrows rise high on his forehead. “You threw them away? When I told you to put them in Ivy’s room?”

  “I didn’t want a reminder of that night. Is that what this is about? Is that why you tore apart my bedroom? What the fuck, Santi?”

  I don’t know if it’s the nickname that has him softening or the fact that what she’s saying makes sense.

  “You almost died,” she says, her voice passionate as tears spring to her eyes. “Can you blame me for wanting to erase that night?”

  Santiago turns away, wraps his hand around the back of his neck, takes two steps, and then faces her again.

  “Get cleaned up. I want you in my office in twenty minutes,” he tells her, then walks out.

  “What about my room?” she calls after him.

  “We have about two dozen others. Pick one.” He doesn’t bother to turn around, and I wonder what is going on in his head. What I don’t know. Because there’s something.

  Mercedes turns to give me a nasty look. I want to tell her I just defended her, but I keep my mouth shut.

  “Don’t look so smug,” she tells me.

  She doesn’t even give me time for a comeback before she spins on her heel and disappears in the direction of her bedroom.

  22

  Santiago

  "Santi?" Mercedes lingers in the doorway, watching me carefully with her hands clasped together in front of her.

  She is the picture of contrition, confirmation enough that she was involved in this somehow. The problem is, I'm not certain I want to know the extent.

  "Come sit down," I tell her.

  She enters the office on wooden legs, forcing herself into the chair opposite my desk. Although she has done as I instructed and cleaned herself up, there is still something chaotic about her appearance. Her normally polished, smooth black hair is wild, falling around her face almost as a shield when she dips her head. The shadows beneath her eyes are evidence she did not sleep much last night either, and I can only speculate on the reasons.

  "I'm offering you one chance." My sharp tone slices through the heavy silence between us. "To clear your conscience and come clean. It will be the only chance you have, Mercedes. If you don’t take this opportunity now, I will never forgive you for whatever it is you’ve done."

  She peers up at me, eyes glassy, her lip trembling as she tries to hold it together. "Don't freeze me out, Santi. I can't bear it. Please."

  "Tell me." I glower. "Tell me what your involvement in this scheme is. The poison. The lipstick. Why did you do it?"

  Horror washes over her features as she shakes her head fiercely. "I didn't poison you, brother. I would never do that!"

  When I don't respond, she flings herself forward, reaching for my palms flattened against the desk. She grabs them desperately, clinging to me as the tears she's been trying to hold back splash against her cheeks.

  "Please believe me. I would never hurt you that way. You must know that. I'm your family. We are all each other has left right now."

  I pull my hands from her clutches and stare at her, empty. "How did Abel know you gave Ivy that lipstick?"

  She pales, her brows pinching together as she considers how to answer. "Abel?"

  "How did he know?" I lean forward, biting the words so forcefully Mercedes flinches back.

  "I... I don't know. That doesn't make any sense. I haven't spoken to him, and Ivy hasn't spoken with him since before. There's no way he could have—"

  She pauses abruptly, an odd expression taking over her face.

  "What?" I ask.

  "I can't." She stumbles to her feet, swaying slightly. "I don't have the answers you need right now, Santi. But I will. I can promise you that I will. All I'm asking is for you to give me some time. Trust me, please. Know that I would never hurt you."

  "Mercedes." I stagger to my feet, but she only offers me one last glance over her shoulder before she runs from the office, her heels clapping down the corridor as she goes.

  "Fuck."

  I stare at the empty doorway, considering my options. Considering that there is very possibly a traitor in my own home, and she's my own blood. I could go after her now. There are ways of getting the answers I want from her. I know them intimately and can still recall the sting of my father’s methods for situations such as these. But I don’t have the stomach to torture her myself, and I can’t bring this to anyone else within The Society without raising alarm and confirming her guilt. There is one alternative. Someone I trust, who could execute a harsh but fair punishment and draw the answers from her efficiently. Judge would do that for me. But before I go that far, I have to consider my sister’s desperation to prove whatever it is that occurred to her when she was speaking with me. And the fastest way to do that is also the easiest.

  "Marco." I press the intercom button, summoning him, and he appears within a few moments.

  "Yes, boss?"

  "I want you to follow Mercedes when she leaves this house. Wherever she goes, I want updates on her location. Don't let her know you're there. Stay hidden, but don't lose her."

  "Of course, sir."

  He takes his leave, and I call some of my other men, instructing them to scour the city for Chambers. Once that is arranged, I stir my computer back to life and resume the video from the night of the gala, playing it from the beginning, trying to catch any other glimpse of the woman who attended that night. The woman who kissed me.

  I think of my wife in her room. How many times she must have tried to tell me, and I would not hear it. How close she could have come to facing execution if it weren't for this revelation.

  I am not familiar with these churning emotions deep in my gut. They are feelings I don't recognize, but I think perhaps it is guilt.

  It appears that nothing is as simple as it seems, and if I was so wrong about this, it leaves me to question my resolve on other matters. The matter of Ivy's family. Her father was poisoned, but by who? A
t some point, I will need to go to the hospital.

  He's been asking to see me since he awoke. A fact not even Ivy or Abel is aware of. The moment the doctor informed me, I had him placed on restricted lockdown while he recovers. The only visitor he is allowed right now is me, and so far, it hasn't proven to be an issue, considering his own family hasn't been to see him in some time. As far as they know, he is still in the same unyielding condition. They are all oblivious to his progress, and he is painfully aware that they are not at his bedside while he fights to regain his strength.

  I am still determined to take his life and exact my revenge. It's the only logical conclusion to this scenario. The only way I can ever know peace. But there is no pleasure in snuffing out a sick, weak man. I need him at his best, whatever capacity that may be when he’s fully recovered. I need him to feel the immense deal of pain he will face and remember every agonizing detail.

  Except, I can't help considering how that might sour Ivy against me. Right now, she is... different. Instead of running away, she is leaning into me. Stealing opportunities to touch me. In place of her hatred, there is something... more. Something sweeter. Softer.

  I feel it. And I don't want to admit that I will be at a loss without it when she realizes what my plans are for her father. Once I carry them out.

  But what about her? Can I follow through on my threats to her?

  My eyes are bleary as I watch her on the screen. A goddess in black and gold silk. A butterfly with only one wing. How fitting it is.

  With painstaking clarity, a realization hits me without warning.

  I can't kill her.

  Because I don't want to.

  My eyes shutter closed, under the weight of exhaustion and delirium, and that's the last peaceful thought I have.

  No, I won’t kill her.

  I will keep her instead.

  * * *

  "Santiago."

  A strangled groan rumbles from my chest as her fingers stroke my hair back from my face.

  "Hmm?"

  My eyes are so heavy, it is difficult to open them. But I can feel her weight in my lap. Her scent surrounding me. The warmth of her body pressing against mine.

  "You need to sleep," she says softly.

  I half nod. Sleep sounds good.

  I'm not thinking clearly when I scoop her up into my arms and stagger to my feet. Ivy lets out a soft little laugh, and I freeze, opening my eyes to look at her.

  "You're delirious," she says, amused. "Put me down."

  "I've never heard you laugh." The words are strained when they leave my lips.

  Her face sombers, and she gives me a gentle nod. "I know."

  I force my rigid body forward, carrying her down the corridor and upstairs despite her protests. I'm not thinking clearly, but it only becomes evident when I enter my own bedroom and spread her across my bed before I collapse beside her.

  She works to free some of the bed covers, pulling them over us. I'm already falling asleep again when I reach out and grab her waist, tugging her against me like a caveman.

  Ivy lets out a little sigh, burrowing deeper into my body as I bury my face in her hair and inhale her. She smells so good, and I don’t want to let her go. I'm not thinking about the consequences of what I'm doing right now. Not until I start to drift off, and she touches my arm, and I jerk awake, startled.

  She blinks up at me, confused.

  "Did I hurt you?" I ask.

  She frowns. "What?"

  "This isn't a good idea," I mumble almost incoherently. "You shouldn't be in here. Not safe."

  "You won't hurt me," she whispers, curling into me and kissing my jaw. "I know you won't."

  There's an argument somewhere in my mind. Logic trying to alert me to its presence. But logic isn't winning when I close my eyes and breathe her in. One breath becomes two, and two becomes three, and soon I am drifting off into peaceful oblivion.

  23

  Santiago

  Fire.

  Fire in my lungs. Fire on my skin. Thick black smoke curls around me as I crawl, dragging my useless body. Searching. Screams pierce my ears, but I can't find them. They are all around me, reverberating like a nightmare.

  I call out for my brother. My father. The names of the other men who were just standing beside me only moments ago. It doesn't feel real. I can't believe it's real. But the melting, searing pain is too visceral to be false.

  "Santiago."

  The name echoes through my consciousness, and I roar in frustration, choking on thick plumes of smoke.

  "I can't find you."

  "I can't find you."

  "Santiago."

  Fingers dance over my jaw, dragging me back to another time. The present time. I explode upright, violent breaths stalling in my lungs as I scan the room with wild eyes. They latch onto the first thing they see. A bedpost. A blanket. My bedroom.

  I turn slowly and find Ivy staring back at me with concern etched into her features. We’re in my bed, together, still dressed in our clothes. We must have fallen asleep like this.

  "It's okay," she whispers, reaching out to stroke my arm. "It's okay."

  I’m still shaking, the fit seizing every fiber of my muscles as moisture clings to my forehead. My palms are clammy, and it takes me several moments to regain a normal breathing pattern before I can choke the words from my lips.

  "Did I hurt you?"

  "No," she reassures me. "I promise you didn't."

  I collapse back onto the pillow again, staring up at the ceiling as she curls closer, the warmth of her body pressing against mine. It calms me faster than anything else could. A strange revelation, only compounded by the fact that I don't want her to leave, even though I know she should.

  "You shouldn't ever try to wake me," I tell her gruffly. "For your own safety."

  "Okay." She acknowledges my declaration. "I just didn't... I didn't like to see you so lost to it. The nightmare. It was so intense, and I was worried for you."

  I turn my head to the side, studying her. I want to ask her why she cares. But it's already written on her face. Her emotions are changing. Evolving. She sees me as something she shouldn't. Not a saint, but not quite a monster anymore. I'm somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, I think. And that is a dangerous thing to believe.

  For both of us.

  "It must be terrible," she says softly. "To experience something like that over and over again."

  I avert my gaze. It's not something I care to discuss. She seems to understand, choosing not to press the matter.

  "Is everything okay with you and Mercedes?" she asks.

  I swallow, and it feels like broken glass gets caught in my throat. "It will be."

  I have to believe that. But the truth is, I don't know.

  Ivy continues to stroke my arm. It does something to my nerves I can't quite explain, but I'm on the verge of falling asleep again when her voice stirs me.

  "What will happen when the Tribunal finds out I'm not pregnant?"

  There's an undercurrent of fear in the question, and for once, it doesn't bring me pleasure to hear it.

  "As far as they are concerned, you are." I roll onto my side, reaching out to drag the pads of my fingers along her jaw. "That is what we will tell them if they ask. There can be no question. You must act as if it's true."

  She closes her eyes, shuddering softly against me. "So, we need to get pregnant as soon as we can."

  "Yes."

  She's quiet for a long moment, and when she opens her eyes again, something has changed in them.

  "If we bring a child into this world together, it should be out of love. Not duty."

  Love?

  Tension bleeds into my body as I shake my head, but Ivy is quick to stop me before I can speak.

  "I know. We have to do this to save my life and protect you from the Tribunal. I understand that. But I need some reassurances from you, Santiago. I need to know if I bring a child into this world with you, that child will be loved. I would rather face my own ex
ecution than agree to any other condition. I will not allow my own child to suffer."

  "The child will be cared for beyond measure," I force out. "Far beyond any other child."

  Ivy studies me, lost in her own thoughts for a few long moments before she gives voice to them. "And what about me? When you get what you want from me, you will kill me?"

  I don't want to look at her. I know if I do, my face will betray everything. So instead, I close my eyes, and I kiss her, conveying the truth my words can't.

  She whimpers against me, curling her fingers into my shirt. I pull her closer, squeezing her so tightly it must border on the point of pain. But she doesn't protest. She leans into it, giving herself over to me. The nightmare she can't wake up from.

  "A child needs a mother," I murmur against her lips.

  A confession. Not quite the truth. But I am not willing to admit that perhaps I need her too. Not yet.

  She pulls away, breathless, still clinging to my shirt. "A child needs a father too. Not just a disciplinarian. But someone to love and guide them."

  Her statement isn't a question, but it feels like one. Can I be that for someone? Am I even capable?

  My cell phone starts to vibrate in my pocket, but I ignore it, trapped by my wife's eyes. She needs an answer from me. Assurances. And I am aware I don't need to give them to her. Regardless of her feelings, she will carry my child. But perhaps she is right. Perhaps I want her to want this as much as I do.

  "I will do what is necessary," I tell her. "I will provide for you and the children. I will discipline, but I will also... do what fathers do."

  It's the closest I can come to saying love at this moment. Truthfully, I don't know what that bond feels like. I fear that I am lacking. I may never have the ability to love unconditionally or understand the true meaning of love at all. But I am not my father. I will not hand out only punishments and withhold the necessary softness for humanity. Though I know even when I fail, Ivy will care enough for both of us to compensate for my shortfalls. I see that in her. This desire in her to love her own children will not allow anything, even me, to stand in her way.