Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel

by Zavarelli, A.

  Coldness seeps into my chest, icing over the warring emotions I don't know how to deal with. There is one option left. The one option I didn't want to consider. It would make me a truly weak man to walk into Eli Moreno's room and beg him for his help.

  But what choice do I have?

  I close my eyes briefly, prioritizing my thoughts. Revenge has always been of the foremost importance in my life. Six months ago, I wanted every Moreno to suffer. I wanted Eli and Abel and even Ivy dead. But Judge was right. Somewhere along the line, things have changed.

  I'll never let her go, even if she condemns me to her hatred for an eternity. I understand that now. Because the loss of her for even these few hours has strained me beyond comprehension. I can't think. I can't eat. I can't even breathe without the pain reminding me of one simple truth.

  She should be here beside me.

  "Take me back to the hospital."

  Marco glances at me. "The hospital?"

  "Yes," I grit out. "I'm going to see Eli."

  39

  Santiago

  Eli glances up at me from his wheelchair, his eyes widening in surprise and then narrowing slightly. He looks different than I remember. More like a frail old man and less like the capable figure who mentored me. The man I spent countless hours with. He offered me guidance, praise, things I was not accustomed to. He told me he was in awe of my mind, and I allowed myself to believe him. Now, I can hardly stand to look at him.

  "Santiago," he rasps.

  The nurse holds up a cup of water for him, giving him a drink from the straw. I watch him struggle with the basic task, and it makes me uncomfortable in a way I did not expect. They told me he was recovering, regaining his strength every day. But if this is progress, I can't imagine how far he still has to go.

  It would be so easy to kill him now. It would require little effort at all to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze while I demand the answers I seek. It would undoubtedly do the job, but it would bring me no pleasure. Not right now.

  "Leave us," I tell the nurse.

  She nods and leaves the room, shutting the door and sealing Eli into the room with his worst enemy.

  "They tell me you control everything regarding my care." He sputters the words out through broken gasps. "That is why my family has not been to see me."

  "Your family doesn't care," I answer him coldly.

  He stares at me, blank. His face that of someone who is on their death bed, and I suppose in many ways, he still is.

  "It hurts me to see you this way, son," he says. "Your heart has become so dark."

  "I am not your son," I snarl. "I am a De La Rosa, and you aren't even worth the oxygen in this room."

  A pained expression flashes in his eyes, or at least, that's what he'd like me to believe. I can't deny that Eli knows my weaknesses because he exploited them at every turn, pretending to be a friend. A father figure. But I won't be fooled again.

  "The nurses tell me you married my daughter," he says quietly. "Is she... safe?"

  I choke down the response I've waited years to give him. The plans I had made to destroy him. I had intended to tell him in detail of Ivy's suffering. Now I can't even consider it.

  "She's the reason I'm here." I pace along the wall, trying to keep my calm. "I need to know where Abel would take her to hide her."

  Eli doesn't reply, and when I glance at him, he appears confused. "If he took her into hiding, I'm sure he had his reasons."

  "I'm not here to entertain your noble father act," I bite out. "It's too late for that now. You have failed your own family miserably. That much is obvious. But you have a chance to protect your daughter now. Tell me what I want to know so I can retrieve her before any real harm comes to her."

  His eyes shine with emotion as he shakes his head. "I don't know where Abel would take her."

  "I could choke the life out of you right now, and nobody would stop me." I stare through him. "Is that what you want?"

  "Would that bring you peace?" he asks, catching me off guard.

  My eyes move over his hunched frame as I shake my head in disgust.

  "Tell. Me. Where. She. Is."

  "I don't know, Santiago." His voice breaks. "I honestly don't know. Take me with you. We can find her together."

  I slam my fist into the wall in frustration, howling like a madman. And then slowly, I pull myself together, turning back to face the man I despise more than anything.

  "I'll drag Hazel out of hiding. I'll bring her before The Tribunal to pay for her desertion. What have you to say now?"

  "You won't." His eyes are soft and too calm when they meet mine. "I know you won't, Santiago. Because you are better than that."

  "You know nothing about me. You never did."

  "I know what I can see before me," he replies. "A broken man whose anger has controlled his life for far too long. You have so much anger inside you, it's poisoning you."

  “That anger was a gift," I remind him. "From you to me. And someday soon, I will repay the favor."

  He frowns, and I turn for the door, his voice following me out and down the hall.

  "I know who you really are, Santiago. You won't hurt my daughters."

  * * *

  The small, gray house in Oakdale blends in amongst all the others. It is not the first time I have visited, but it will be the first time I have stood on the doorstep.

  I know every detail of her schedule. When she leaves each day. Where she goes. What groceries she buys, how often she fuels her car. There isn't a single thing I don't know. And as I count the time passing on my watch, I know in fifteen seconds, she will open the door, rushing out to her car to take her son to school.

  I stand and wait. Moments later, there is a commotion on the other side of the door. Something clatters to the floor, and she curses. She yells for her son, telling him they have to go. The knob turns, and when the door opens, she spills out in a rush, nearly colliding with me.

  A small gasp flies from her lips, and horror washes over her face as she scrambles back inside, trying to shut the door to seal the monster out. My palm slams against it, and a dark smile bleeds across my face.

  "Hello, Hazel. It’s been a while."

  40

  Ivy

  I wake up to sunshine. Glorious sunshine. I smile, open my eyes, and take in the soft yellow light filtered by old-fashioned lace curtains.

  And I remember where I am.

  Sitting up with renewed anxiety, I fumble for the phone on the bed beside me. I check the time, surprised when I see it’s ten o’clock. I didn’t wake up once in this foreign bed, this foreign house knowing my husband is hunting me.

  I’m tempted to call Abel but remember what he said and slip the phone into my pocket. I push the blankets off, slide my feet into my shoes, and go to the window. The lace is torn in places, and the windowsill has a layer of dust. I push the curtain open just a little. Outside all is quiet. My car is still where I left it. The army I’d expected Santiago to come with not there.

  I make my way into the bathroom, where I splash water on my face and rinse my mouth before heading downstairs to the kitchen. In one of the cupboards, I find a tin of coffee and filters for the machine, but then I remember the baby. Caffeine isn’t good for a baby, right? I don’t really know much about pregnancy. I put the coffee back into the cabinet and look for tea but don’t find any, so instead, I pour water from one of the bottles into a mug and set it into the microwave. At least it’ll be warm.

  While sipping that, I look through the frozen meals and find a breakfast burrito. I pop it into the microwave, and it makes my mouth water when I take it out. I carry it into the living room to eat, glancing out the window through the curtains, which are heavier downstairs, before taking a seat on the couch. I bite into the burrito, the eggs and cheese tasting great. I sit back and just eat for a few minutes. I’m so hungry, and I can’t remember the last time I ate something like this. Santiago would lose his mind, I’m sure. The food at home… no, I catch mys
elf. The food at his house is healthy. Delicious even but never anything like this, so I savor the fat of the sausage, licking it away when it drips down my chin.

  I wonder what Santiago is thinking now. He must be furious with me. Probably hurling curses at me for having stolen his baby. His. Not ours. It makes me angry to remember it. How dare he? This is my body, and it’s our baby. He can’t just use me as some host to grow a human being then take the child away from me. I don’t know what world he thinks we live in, but even The Society cannot have that kind of power.

  I put the dish down and wipe my hands on a napkin I find on the coffee table. It’s clean. There’s a stack of them and beside them packets of ketchup from a fast-food place. I pick up my mug of now warm water and finish it, then look at the newspapers around me. I read the date on the first one, and it surprises me, so I look at another. It’s a different paper but the same date. The day after the gala. There are several gossip magazines underneath the pile of papers, about a week’s worth. Again, the week following the gala.

  It’s nothing, I tell myself as I stand to carry my dish and mug back to the kitchen. Just a coincidence. In the kitchen, I wash my things and set them on the drying rack before returning to the living room.

  Was Abel here that week? Why? He called this a safe house. What would he have needed to be safe from?

  But no, Abel doesn’t read gossip magazines. He does devour the papers, though. I check my phone to make sure I haven’t missed his call. I haven’t, but he’d better call me soon. The battery is running low, and I don’t have a charger. Although I could charge it in the car if I need to. The one I keep plugged into the power outlet would fit.

  I make my way into the study. It’s still not as bright as the rest of the house, but with the light coming in from the open door and my flashlight, it’ll do. I sit back down in the big chair, switch on the flashlight and start to go through the folders one by one, seeing if I recognize any names. Abel’s voice telling me not to touch anything echoes in my mind, but I ignore it.

  When I’m about halfway through the files, I finally come across one I recognize. One that makes me shudder.

  Judge.

  It’s in italics beside what I guess to be his real name. Lawson Montgomery. I flip through the pages of the file and, like the others, see a date of birth, parents’ names—some seem to have a whole family tree, but this one doesn’t. He does have a brother, but according to this, they’re estranged. I see his address and wonder if that’s where the cellar is. It would match up to the length of time it took us to drive to IVI.

  I close the file and set it aside. I don’t want to read about him. I don’t want to think about that time.

  I don't recognize the next set of names, but then I come to another one I do. Van Der Smit. Jackson’s last name. The file is about another man, though. Marcus Van Der Smit. From the date of Marcus’s birth, I’d say he’s maybe an uncle? Are these all members of IVI? And why does my brother have detailed files on all of them? Is it my brother or my father, though, who’s kept these?

  Opening another one of the drawers, I find more of the same stacks. I don’t have the energy to go through them, though, and there’s nothing about my father or Hazel in here, so I get up and go back to the kitchen to try the back door. I can at least walk around in the backyard to get some exercise and fresh air.

  The door has the same keypad on it as at the front, and I dig out the sheet of paper from my pocket to unlock it, not sure how it works to get out once I’m in, but when I punch in the code, I hear the same sounds and see the green light. Just in case, though, I drag a chair over to keep the door open. The day is cool, and I don’t have a jacket, but it’s nice to be outside, so I hug my arms around myself and walk around the yard. I can hear cars drive by. A baby cries somewhere not too far away. And I think about my own baby and then about Santiago. How it could have been different for us. How I’d felt like it was getting there, at least a little.

  I still remember his face the night I burned the bloody sheet. I’d never seen him look like that before, and I’d thought I’d seen Santiago at his worst. But I understand, too. The fire must have triggered an old memory. I wonder about his memories of the night of the explosion. He never talks about it. Does he remember? And did seeing that fire, seeing the photos of his father and brother just beyond the flames, did I stir something up in him that made him so angry? Did it remind him of the night they died?

  God. Did he watch them die?

  I shake my head. There are moments I think how ridiculous this is. How if he’d just let me talk, if he’d listen, he’d know I don’t mean him harm. But as long as he doesn’t tell me his secrets, doesn’t tell me what it is that happened that made him hate my family and me so much, it won’t matter anyway.

  My phone rings then, startling me even though I’ve been expecting Abel’s call. I fumble to drag it out of my pocket and answer.

  “Abel?”

  “Yes,” he says, sounding on edge. “You’re still at the house?”

  “Yeah. My phone’s almost dead. I think it hooks up to the cord I have in the car, though. If we get disconnected, I’ll—”

  “No, it’s fine. I’ll just be a minute. You won’t need it. Stay inside the house, Ivy. Don’t fuck this up.”

  “Okay. It’s not a big deal.”

  “Good. I’ve got some friends coming to get you later tonight.”

  “Friends? Why don’t you come?”

  “I can’t. Your husband has eyes on me.”

  “Oh. Have you seen him?” I ask, hearing that little upward turn of my words, wondering how he’ll read it.

  “You want an update on the man who put you in the hospital?”

  “He didn’t…No. I just…never mind.”

  “Good. You’ll need to be ready to go when they get there between eleven and midnight.”

  “Where are they going to take me?”

  “I’m working that out now.”

  “Who are they? Do I know them?”

  “They’re just some people I work with. Listen, they’re doing me a favor. You just be ready and don’t give them any trouble, understand?”

  “I wouldn’t give them trouble.”

  “Good. I have to go.”

  “Can I talk to Eva? I called her, but she isn’t picking up.”

  “She forgot her phone, and she’s not here. I’ll let her know you called.”

  “Why isn’t she there? Is she okay?”

  “She’s at school, Ivy. It’s a school day, and believe it or not, life goes on. Has been even without you in it. Now, I really have to go.”

  I don’t know why his words hurt me. “Abel?”

  “Yes?” he asks, tone frustrated.

  “Do you use this house?”

  “I told you, it’s Dad’s.”

  “I just saw papers from the week of the gala, and since Dad’s been in the hospital, I just wondered if it was you.”

  “Are you playing detective?”

  “No, I just...I didn’t know.”

  “Well, remember, don’t touch anything.”

  “Is something going on? I mean, why do you need a safe house?”

  “Jesus Christ, Ivy. I’m saving your ass at a great risk to my own, I might add, and you’re giving me the third degree?”

  “No, it’s not like that. I just was curious.”

  “Curiosity killed the cat.”

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Be ready to go when they come.”

  “Can I know their names at least?” I hurry to ask before he disconnects.

  “Just be ready.” He hangs up.

  41

  Ivy

  I sit in the living room, flashlight in hand, waiting for the men Abel is sending to get here. I feel on edge since our conversation, but I keep telling myself it’s just how Abel is. He’s under pressure too. I’m sure Santiago has men watching him. I wonder if he’s interrogated him already.

  My phone is long out of charge, but I keep
it beside me anyway. I pick up another one of the magazines to pass the time and flip through some pages before setting it aside. I get up and pace the room, anxious to leave now, to get to the next phase of this, but it’s barely nine o’clock.

  I have decided one thing. I need to talk to Santiago. It wasn’t ever really an option to just disappear out of his life—even if he somehow didn’t catch up with me. I can’t leave Evangeline or the rest of my family behind. I can’t take a chance that he’ll hurt them. I just need a few more days to think before I make contact.

  To pass the time, I start to fold up the newspapers and stack them. I wipe off the coffee table, then enter the study to pick up the whiskey glass sitting on the desk and carry it into the kitchen to wash. I set it on the drying rack, then empty the moldy food containers from the fridge. The trash can hadn’t been emptied since before I came, so I pull the bag out of the bin and carry it into the study. There, I take out the empty bottle of whiskey and set it aside, then pick up the bin and turn it over into the bag but only manage to get half the contents in. The other half spills out onto the carpet.

  “Crap.” I tie the bag off and set it down, then get on the floor to pick up the things that fell out, pieces of crumpled paper, a paper cup of what was once coffee. I reach my arm under the desk to grab whatever it is that rolled there. When my fingers close around it, I pull my arm out, and I’m surprised to find lipstick.

  I look at it. It’s a smooth matte-black tube, simple, like any hundreds of this particular brand that I recognize. And I can’t help but pull the lid off and twist it so I can see the lipstick itself.

  Leaving everything, I get up and go into the living room where I have a little more light to study it. To double-check.

  It’s just a red lipstick. But I turn it over and read the name of this particular shade. Russian Red.