Sacred Trinity Cathedral is in the Garden District of New Orleans, less than a mile from the IVI compound. Though The Society has a chapel on their grounds, this church is one of many under our control. Weddings and baptisms are often held in this space because it is large enough to accommodate the local members of our faction. But this evening, there will be only fifteen of the upper-echelon members here to witness the ceremony, along with Ivy’s brother. As for my side, I will be the only De La Rosa present.
The cathedral is built in the early gothic architectural style, with a tower and spires looming over the street below. Inside, the space is filled with rich, polished wood, ornate tapestries, and stained glass. It is dark without natural lighting, and tonight, it is only illuminated by the flickering candles lining the entryway and the aisle.
While the church's designated members finish making their preparations for the ceremony, I find solitude in the small chapel attached to the choir on the eastern side of the cathedral. I have grown so accustomed to being alone with my thoughts that this last week has completely taken me out of my element.
I am in need of silence, and I locate it in the shadows of the confessional reserved for more private occasions. Finding sanctuary on the wooden bench inside, I shut the door and close my eyes. The space smells of wood polish and incense, a scent that often pervaded my childhood memories. It would be fair to say I was raised within the confines of Catholic institutions, with only my summers spent at home. At least until I reached an age when it was appropriate for my father to begin molding me into the man he wanted me to be. He was not pleased to discover that my real talent was in mathematics. It seemed like such a waste to him. Though the upper-echelon members of IVI all agreed it would be a useful skill that could be well-honed, I have never been able to forget the hollow disappointment in my father’s eyes.
From the beginning, his expectations for me were heavy. I did not act as children should. There was no mischievous innocence to be found in his firstborn son. I was always serious, always studious. I respected his wishes and followed them to his exacting standards. By all accounts, even my own mother’s, it should have pleased him. But he found fault in the strange emptiness within my eyes, even as he demanded the very same. I had heard him observe more than once how cold I was, and it was the only thing that seemed to bring even a hint of agreement to his hard features. If ever I did feel a flicker of emotion, a glimpse of my own humanity, I would swiftly dispose of it and forget the event had ever occurred.
In the end, even after all my study and efforts to prove my worth, they did nothing to sway my father’s opinion of me. Perhaps that was why it was so easy for me to succumb to Eli Moreno’s poisonous praise. While my father never ceased to be disappointed in me, Eli never stopped being in awe of the way my brain worked. He told me more than once he’d never seen anything else like it. We pored over numbers together for days, weeks, months. It was the commonality that forged a bond stronger than steel. And somewhere during that time, I allowed the icy exterior around me to thaw, so he could see parts of me I’d never allowed to exist anywhere else. There were moments I smiled with him. Even moments I laughed. Those events felt so foreign at the time, yet they came naturally with him.
I began to see him as a father figure, and that mistake cost me more than words can say. How foolish I felt when the seed of his betrayal planted itself in my mind. When I woke in the hospital, disfigured and deformed, I was the only surviving member of my family to walk away from that explosion. Eli had asked me to go in his place with my father and brother who were obligated to accompany me. How easily he swayed me with such a simple request.
I had heard countless times from The Society and my own father that trust was a fickle beast. We had an oath to protect and look after our brothers in the organization, but that didn’t mean there weren’t defectors or traitors among us. When it did happen, the consequences were often devastating, and the price was always high. I was taught to question the motives of others, and on every other occasion, I had. But Eli had blinded me with his false admiration. His approval was a balm to the weakness inside me, and I fell for it.
I failed my father, my brother, and everyone else who died that night. The opportunity to prove my worth to him is gone, but I can do one last thing. I can dole out the sentence for the man who sent him to the grave.
Eli may never wake again. But whether it is in life or death, he will know the suffering he has caused. He will feel the wrath of vengeance when his daughter pledges herself to me this evening, and for every day she remains in my clutches.
I am unfamiliar with true pleasure. The meaning behind it has always been lost to me. But I suspect it feels like this. The warmth that fills my icy heart when I consider all the ways Ivy will pay for her father’s sins. Under my rule, she will be banished to eternal darkness. She will be owned but never loved. And when she looks at herself in the mirror after tonight, she will understand true shame. I will settle for nothing less.
From the shadows of the confessional, I run my fingers over the rosary necklace that will soon collar my wife. The ceremony is set to begin in thirty minutes when Mercedes texts me to let me know she has returned home after her preparations with Ivy. She informs me that my bride’s face will be the perfect canvas for the blade of my knife. A strange sort of envy materializes in me as I realize how closely Mercedes was able to study my captive. Since I met her in her father’s office many years ago, I have only seen her close up once. The night I gave her the ring was dark and shadowed, and it did not afford me so much detail. And though I have studied the photographs in her file for countless hours, it is not the same as breathing the same air as she does.
I return my sister’s message with instructions to gather some things and stay at the compound tonight. After the phone is returned to my pocket, I lean my head back against the wooden partition and close my eyes, only to be interrupted by the bustling sound of someone entering the chapel.
“Just give me five minutes to myself. Please, Abel.”
I recognize the lilting melody of Ivy’s softness, followed by the growl of her brother.
“I’ll be watching,” he warns her. “Don’t think about doing anything stupid.”
There’s a rustling of fabric, and the soft slap of feet against the stone flooring. She isn’t wearing the heels I bought her. Silly, foolish girl.
For several minutes, I listen to her walk around the chapel. I can’t see her, but I can imagine her seeking out sanctuary for herself. Somewhere to hide and never come out.
When the door to the other side of the confessional opens, I suck in a breath and ease my body back into the darkness as Ivy steps inside. She lowers herself onto the kneeler, mere inches away from me, the thin mesh panel the only thing that separates us.
Her scent fills the space as she shifts and sighs, murmuring the Lord’s name in prayer. She smells clean and natural with a faint lingering hint of what I think is lotion or shampoo. It is a refreshing change from the cloying sweetness of expensive perfume I am often surrounded by in The Society.
Through the mesh, I can just make out glimpses of the dress I bought her. Black lace clings to her figure like it was made for her. My fingers itch to feel her flesh beneath that fabric. To grab and squeeze and claim her untouched beauty. The small taste of what my eyes can reach isn’t enough, and I catch myself leaning forward with a craving for more. Abruptly, I stop myself, coming back to my senses.
What a dangerous game she could be.
This menacing thirst coursing through my blood feels unfamiliar, and I try to justify it away. Four years is a long time to go without feeling the warmth of a woman’s body beneath me. It should only be natural that I want to taste what belongs to me. That would make sense, except I don’t just want to taste Ivy. I want to devour her completely. She can never know the power of this desire. I must keep it under control.
She doesn’t seem to be aware of my presence on the other side as she bows her head and makes a whispered plea. A request that her God, no matter how powerful, won’t be able to grant her. I can only imagine what she must think I am.
Has she considered what it will feel like when my fingers fall upon her skin? Is she haunted by visions of me spreading her thighs apart and laying claim to the sweetness of her flesh?
I think not. If she were smart, she would not even entertain the idea of what a monster like me might do to her. Her fate is best left to be experienced without the stain of whatever horrors her own imagination has conjured, as she is well aware worrying cannot save her now.
I believe she has already accepted the future that’s been written for her. She’s staring at the wood panel, blank. So still, so emotionless, it almost feels like I’m looking into a mirror. And then, without warning, she draws in a ragged breath and brings a trembling hand to her lips. Her shoulders shake under the weight of her sudden despair, but she refuses to shed a single tear. She is stronger than I gave her credit for. And I think I could find eternal fascination in her suffering. I make a silent vow to myself that before the night is through, she will cry for me.
Several minutes pass, and she uses them to steel her faith. I wonder if she will pray to her God when I lay hands on her tonight. She does not yet bear my mark, but there is nothing to stop me from sliding open the window between us and forcing my cock down her throat. A taste of things to come. My fingers dig into the edge of the wooden bench beneath me as I close my eyes to imagine it, and the wood groans under the weight of my frustrations.
When my gaze jolts back to the window, I find her wild, startled eyes peering back at me. Only a sliver of light pours in through the narrow gaps in the wood on my side, keeping me hidden within the shadows. I don’t believe she can actually see me, but she can sense me. The predator in the darkness.
She leans closer to the mesh divider, calling out for the priest she thinks I am, and my breath gets caught in my throat. But before she can open it, Abel’s shrill voice interrupts the silence. An angry fist rattles her side of the door, making her jump.
The moment is over too soon, and before Ivy can discover me, he yanks open the door and hauls her out.