Lawson Montgomery leans over the financial portfolio on my desk, studying it with the hawk-like eyes he is known for. He was the best man at my wedding, but Lawson is also an old friend and the one person within the New Orleans faction who I trust without question.
He is best known as Judge to those around him, given his elected position within the Louisiana court system. He is a valuable asset to IVI for obvious reasons, but he is also one of the rare few people I can speak freely with.
"Everything looks good." He shuts the folder and returns his laser focus to me. "How is newly wedded bliss treating you so far?"
The corner of my lip tilts up at his sarcasm. Judge surely has a dry sense of humor. "As well as can be expected."
"I trust your brand of justice will be swift and harsh."
When I don't respond, he arches an eyebrow at me. I pour us both a glass of scotch, allowing my gaze to drift to the ever-changing numbers on the monitors behind him for a moment.
"Is this your way of telling me you have not marked her yet?"
"She has been marked, as you well know." I swirl the glass beneath my nose, absorbing the smoky aroma of the drink.
"But not scarred," he finishes for me.
His observation unnerves me. I'm not in the habit of laying out my plans to others, but Judge is one of the harshest men I know. He has a reputation for being severe, both on the bench and within The Society. At least when the situation warrants it. He is a firm believer of the old adage of an eye for an eye. And when I was drunk one night and confessed my plans with Ivy to him, he was the who made the obvious suggestion.
What punishment could be worse for the family responsible for disfiguring me and murdering my blood? Scars, he said simply. Leave them with scars if you choose to leave them alive at all.
At the time, it seemed so simple and obvious. Of course, Ivy should have scars. Something to match my own. A permanent, unavoidable reminder of her father's sins every time she looks in the mirror.
For months, I had fantasized about all the ways I would do it. Burn her. Cut her. Etch my name into her throat. Perhaps even ink a skull onto the right side of her face to match my own. An image that would undoubtedly haunt her.
But now she is here, in my house, and I have not followed through with those plans. I am not any closer to finalizing the details, and I am not willing to admit that I hesitate to do so for reasons I don’t quite understand.
"She has a pretty face." Judge swirls the drink in his glass and takes a sip. "I suppose it would be a shame to ruin it."
Something in his tone and the quirk of his brow makes me think he is amused by my admitted weakness when it comes to her.
"It is only because she is beautiful that I have hesitated."
My words aren't convincing, even to me. But I am certain with time, I will be able to fulfill this silent promise to myself. When the moment is right, I will execute the plan as intended.
"Regardless of whether she is scarred yet, I can assure you, she will suffer."
"I'm sure she is already," he muses. "Of that, I have no doubt."
His words settle over us, and we finish off our drinks in silence. I need to ask something of him, which is a part of the purpose of our meeting this afternoon. Ideally, I should have asked him before the wedding, but I was busy dealing with Abel.
"Any news on her father?" he asks.
"No. Nothing new anyway. My men are still investigating, but there has been no new information. I have a meeting with the Tribunal to discuss the progress on the investigation at the beginning of the month."
Judge is quiet and thoughtful before he glances at me with an intensity that makes him a formidable opponent to weaker men than me. "And have you considered that there may never be more information? What then?"
"I have considered it." I shrug. "But I won't accept it."
"Well, that may be the case. But it is about as useful as a man telling Mother Nature he will not accept her storm."
Ignoring his obvious point is the only option I have at this stage. I can't accept that I may never truly have one hundred percent certainty or evidence of Eli's guilt. It is something I have considered from every angle. And I only know the obvious, what I feel deep in my gut. He is responsible, and I refuse to believe otherwise until there is undeniable proof.
"There is another reason I asked you here," I tell Judge. "Apart from the philosophical musings of my revenge."
"I suspected as much." He chuckles.
"I have a request to make." I clear my throat and feel oddly out of place. "I would like to invoke the sacred pact. For my wife, I would like to grant you the customary rite should anything happen to me."
"I trust that nothing will happen to you," Judge answers quietly, "but I accept your grant of the rite to me."
Some of the tension dissolves from my shoulders, and I retrieve an additional portfolio from my drawer, sliding it over to him. "My wishes are all documented there. Every last detail of what should happen to Ivy and her family in my absence."
He nods, eyes drifting to the portrait of my sister on the wall. "I am becoming quite the collector of responsibilities. First Mercedes, and now your wife."
There's a flicker of something in his gaze I don't recognize as he studies the image of Mercedes.
"For your trouble, I believe I should also leave you the bulk of my finances for agreeing to take on Mercedes in my absence," I jest.
"That won't be necessary." Judge smirks. "It would be a pleasure to tame such a wild mare."
My eyebrow arches at his insinuation, and I find it strange that he should mention Mercedes in such a way. He has always been cold to her. Respectful, but cold.
"You would have your work cut out for you," I assure him. "She is difficult, even in the best of times. I'm afraid she has become set in her spoiled ways, and now I'm not certain it can be undone."
"Anything can be undone, given a firm enough hand," Judge remarks dryly. "Should you require assistance, I am available to discipline. As you know, it is a specialty of mine, and in cases like these, it’s not uncommon to have a third party intervene. As her brother, you have a weakness for her that I don't possess. There would be no familial affection to taint my black heart."
I consider his suggestion and find it a valid argument. Mercedes is on a path of destruction and has been for some time. With Ivy in my care and my job within The Society, I have little time to devote to keeping my sister in check. It is something I can keep in mind, should she continue to cause problems.
"How is the little hellion, anyway?" Judge asks. "Still pining for Van der Smit?"
"Van der Smit?" I laugh. "I did not realize you were so informed on the matters of Mercedes's heart."
"It is widely spread gossip." He waves his hand dismissively. "Everyone in IVI has heard how he passed over the great Mercedes De La Rosa in favor of another woman. The rumor is she was quite spurned by the events."
"Yes, I suppose she was." I frown. "But Mercedes does not seem to form attachments too deeply to anyone. I think it was merely her pride that was wounded."
Judge nods as if this perspective satisfies him. "I take it she is back at the manor then?"
"For now," I concede. "She has been tasked with mentoring Ivy in her role as an upper-echelon wife. I suppose that should keep her busy for some time at least."
"Well, that's something," Judge agrees. "Idle hands are the devil's work."
"That's what they say."
There's a tap at the door, and it opens, surprising us both when it’s Mercedes herself. She moves to enter the office but pauses mid-step when she sees Judge sitting across from me.
"I didn't realize you had company." She folds her arms across her chest and glances at him curiously. "Judge, it's always a pleasure to see you."
"So you say." He dips his head in her direction, and I don't miss the way his eyes linger on her for a moment longer than what would be considered appropriate.
"How is the thrilling life of the judicial system treating you?" she asks. "Sentence any poor souls to their death over lunch today?"
"Only the ones who deserve it," he answers. "How is the life of a spoiled princess treating you? Have you left any vanity in the department stores for the other socialites?"
Storm clouds roll into her eyes, and her red lips part, speechless, for the first time in perhaps forever. She smooths a dark strand of hair from her face, attempting to gather her wits when I decide to save her from this strange interaction between them.
"What do you want, Mercedes?"
"I have returned your wife," she spits the words out venomously. "Not a hair on her head displaced, of course. And I am here to give you a full report."
Judge smiles at her obvious irritation and rises to his feet, collecting his folder from the desk. "Then I suppose I better be on my way."
After my sister’s full report, she takes her leave from my study with instructions to find something productive to do with her time. I can't help noticing that she seemed flustered and irritated throughout her rendition of the day’s events, and I'm not certain if it's because of Ivy or Judge's biting but accurate assessment of her.
Regardless, I push those thoughts aside and finish my work for the day before I go in search of Antonia. I find her dusting the shelves in the library and nearly startle the life from her once again when she turns to see me standing there.
"Oh!" She gasps. "I didn't hear you, Mas... I mean, Santiago. Sir."
She seems out of sorts today and a little tired. I often wonder how long I will be able to keep her on staff. Though she has been given many opportunities to leave, should she like, the woman seems determined to remain at the manor until her dying breath. I am too proud to admit that I am grateful for that because the house wouldn't be the same without her.
"Can I get you anything?" she asks.
I hesitate, uncertain how I might phrase my proposition. She waits patiently, her eyes kindly remaining on my face without any sign of revulsion.
"How is Mrs. De La Rosa this afternoon?" I ask.
"Fine." She answers with a hint of confusion. "Last I saw, she was reading. I did suggest a nap since she seemed a little tired. But other than that—"
"I would like you to inform her that she is to have dinner with me this evening.”
A small hint of a smile brightens her face. "Oh, yes of course. Would you like something special? I can change the menu if you'd like."
"What you have on the menu is fine," I answer stiffly. "Thank you, Antonia. Please tell my wife she is to join me in the dining room at seven thirty."
"It would be my pleasure." She bows her head.
With that matter settled, I take my leave of the estate. I'm not in the habit of venturing out before total darkness, but another situation warrants my attention and should have been handled days ago.
My magnetic silver Aston Martin DB11 AMR Coupe handles the crowded streets with ease as I navigate to the Lakewood neighborhood. Traffic can be a nightmare this time of day, which is why Marco offered to drive me, but I find something about driving myself calms me. He is in the passenger seat beside me, silent for the duration of the ride until I pull up in front of the colonial mansion on Garden Lane.
"I will accompany you, sir." He's already unbuckling his seat belt, unwilling to accept no for an answer.
Marco is my personal guard, and he treats his position as if it is his sole purpose in life. He was assigned by IVI, as all Sovereign Sons require a guard, but his loyalty and dedication are unwavering. He's been with me since my teenage years and has offered his regrets more than once that he was not inside the meeting with me the night of the explosion. I had told him to wait outside, and he did. He was the one who ran into the building and dragged my half-dead body out as I attempted to crawl from the wreckage. Had he not, I doubt I would be here today.
"Thank you, Marco." I open my door and make my exit, walking briskly up to the front veranda.
Marco holds back behind me, checking the street and every other invisible threat he may see. I ring the bell and wait.
A moment later, Dr. Chamber's housekeeper greets me with a startled gasp.
"Oh, hello." She barely manages to get the words out before she forces her gaze downward. "Please do come in. I will call for Dr. Chambers."
We follow her inside, and she leaves us in the sitting room, scurrying off as quickly as she can. It takes several minutes, but eventually, Chambers appears with a wary expression on his face.
"Santiago." He nods at me. "I wasn't expecting you."
"Funny, considering you've been avoiding my calls." I tilt my head to examine him.
"I haven't." He dismisses the suggestion as ridiculous. "I've been very busy. In fact, I only just got back to the city from a conference. There has been little time to go through my messages, I’m afraid."
"No time like the present." I stare at him incredulously.
He shifts his weight, glancing at Marco behind me, and then forces his gaze back to me. "Can I offer you a drink?"
"No."
He takes a seat across from me, obviously uncomfortable in my presence. "What can I help you with?"
"You can help me with an explanation of the events that transpired while my wife was in your office."
A bead of sweat hovers on his forehead before trickling down over his brow. "The purity test?"
"Unless there is any other occasion I should be informed of," I answer blandly.
"I was under the impression that you requested it," he states.
"And you thought it reasonable to perform such a request without speaking to me directly?"
"It's not uncommon for a groom to make such a request," he defends. "As I’m sure you are aware, it is a standard practice within The Society. Men who are to be married often want assurances. It is also requested frequently by the bride themselves, a subtle way to alleviate any doubts, should they arise."
"Perhaps other men accept this explanation, but I do not. So, let me make my position clear, Dr. Chambers. You never should have touched my wife without my explicit consent. I don't think this is something that requires a great deal of thought. In fact, I should think it would be obvious what my feelings on the matter might be. It leaves me to wonder about your motivations for such a treasonous act."
"It was not done with ill intent." He tugs at his collar, the sheen of sweat now dripping down his neck. "I can assure you of that. If you are questioning the ethics of my practice—"
"I am questioning your very loyalty." I narrow my eyes at him. "You are aware it is within my power to have your medical license revoked. With a single declaration from my lips, you could be banished or have the lifeblood drained from your very body. So, why would you risk it?"
"I don't know what you think happened in that exam, but—”
"That's precisely what I would like to know. How did my wife end up with bruises on her body? Was it you or someone else?"
His eyes dart to the phone as if there might be someone he could call who would save him from this conversation. But he knows very well there is not. In the hierarchy of The Society, he is barely worth mentioning. He is not a Sovereign Son, and he never will be.
"Forgive me, Santiago," he answers gruffly. "If your wife feels she was hurt in any way, please allow me to offer my deepest apologies. It was not my intention to do so. I was simply doing my job. That is all."
Something about his nervous, beady eyes makes me believe otherwise. But he has always been this way around me, so it is difficult to know for certain. Without Ivy telling me the explicit details herself, there is not much else within the realm of reason I can do at the present.
"There is nothing more I should know then? Nothing more you wish to tell me?"
He wipes his palms on his trousers and shakes his head vehemently. "No. Not that I can think of."
"Very well." I rise from the chair, glancing down at him like the scum he is. "As for my wife, you don't exist to her anymore. I don't want you to look at her. Speak to her. Or even so much as mutter her name again in passing. Do you understand?"
"Yes, of course." He bobs his head. "Whatever you wish."
I head for the door, and one last thought occurs to me. "I want the notes from her chart. Send them to me. Now."