"Antonia said you wanted to see me as soon as I got home."
I blink up at my sister in the doorway of my study, eyes bleary. I'm not even sure what time it is, but it seems late.
"Where have you been?" I demand.
She crosses her arms and shrugs. "Shopping."
I suspect she's not telling me the full truth, and it's something I'll have to follow up on with her driver and guard later. But for now, I have other things to worry about.
"I need you to make sure Ivy bathes tonight. By force, if need be. Take two of the maids and Marco with you. He will remain in the bedroom if you need assistance."
Mercedes stares at me with a vacant expression. I was expecting a fight, but her protest is minimal.
"Why can't Antonia do it?"
"Because Antonia is getting too close with her. She feels sorry for her, and I will not tolerate anyone's sympathy toward her right now. This is why it is the perfect job for you."
"I see." She offers a stiff nod. "Call in the emotionless robot when you need her."
"You've always been so proud of it." I arch a brow at her. "Why change your tune now?"
"There is no changing anything," she answers somberly. "I am who I am, Santi."
She turns to leave, and I stand and walk around my desk, calling her back.
"Should I be worried about you?"
"No." Her response is flat. Toneless. And before I can say anything else, she is gone.
I spend the next hour going over the file for Angelo while I wait for my meeting with Judge. He arrives on time, punctual as always.
"Don't you ever get sick of sitting in this office?" He takes a seat across from me and notes the disarray of the space. I haven't allowed Antonia in here to clean in days.
"I have a lot of work to catch up on."
"That must be the reason for the exhaustion on your face," he muses.
I lean back in my chair, eyeing the bottle of scotch I've been sipping from all day. It is unlike me to be so indulgent, but it seems to be the only thing keeping my mind from going to the darkest spaces.
"The final meeting with the Tribunal is this week," I tell him.
He nods in understanding. "And they will want to know your recommended sentence for your wife's crime. Or else they will impose one themselves."
I twist the cap off the bottle and take a long pull as Judge studies me.
"You’re not in an easy position," he says. "Have you decided what you will tell them?"
"What is there to say?" I close my eyes and savor the burn in my throat. "She is guilty. I have nothing to offer in the way of her defense."
"That may be. But her guilt isn't the issue. The issue is what her punishment will be, and if it will be enough to satisfy them."
I tilt my head back, staring up at the shadows dancing across the ceiling. "You're the Judge. You tell me. What would you do if you were in my position?"
"She will already bear the shame of her crime every time she enters the public," he observes. "She will be shunned, whispered about, and despised. But the question is what punishment could be equal to the shame she has cast on you?"
I meet his gaze and take another long pull from the bottle. He doesn't need to explain what he means. Ivy didn't just poison me. She drove a goddamned stake through my reputation. As a Sovereign Son, there is an expectation that my wife will have unwavering loyalty and respect for me. I knew going into this marriage the best I could expect was to have her fear and submission. She would never love me, and I could never love her. There is no loyalty or respect between us. But for her to so blatantly broadcast it to The Society is a slight that cannot be tolerated. The upper echelon must know I have this situation under control. That I am capable of doling out the harsh punishment that will satisfy them and restore the natural hierarchy of order.
"Short of killing her now, I see only one solution." My fingertips move over the scars on my face, covered in ink. A permanent reminder of the damage the Moreno family has inflicted upon the De La Rosa dynasty. Ivy too, will require something permanent. Something horrific. Something that will maim her for life and serve as a reminder of what she has done and who she really is.
"It seems to me you have already decided," Judge remarks. "But if there is one piece of advice I can give you, Santiago, it's this. If you go down this path, there is no coming back from it. When you dole out this type of justice, there must be no question of guilt because you can't take it back once it's done. As you are well aware, those scars do not fade away in time."
He rises to his feet and sets a tote bag onto my desk. Something he must have carried in with him, but I didn't notice it until now.
"What is that?" I ask.
"Her things from the cellar. I thought perhaps you might want them back."
Fire licks across my flesh, smoke burning my eyes as I crawl through the rubble, dragging my half limp body deeper into the burning remnants. Searing pain is the only solace I have as the screams of men burning alive around me fade into the roar of the inferno.
"Leandro," I try again to call out for him, but my voice is too weak, choked by the suffocating blackness.
He was right beside me. My father and my brother were both right there. My body collapses onto the floor as I gasp for breath, stretching out my mangled arm. In the flicker of flames and shadows, I see a shiny black shoe. Italian leather. Laces perfectly knotted. A rose emblem on the sole. It could only be my father or Leandro.
Using the last of my strength, I drag myself forward again, grabbing onto the leather to pull me closer. But instead of leverage in the weight of his body, I find nothing but give. It takes me a few sputtering breaths to realize I'm holding his severed leg in my hand.
His blood drips down my arm, mixing with my own before it splatters onto the concrete. At last, darkness takes me.
"Santiago."
Something shatters around me, and I hurl myself back, crashing into what feels like a brick wall. I'm swinging without a thought, punching the air, fighting off invisible demons when Mercedes's voice drags me from my delirium.
"Jesus, Santi! Wake up! Open your eyes."
I freeze, forcing my eyes open, blinking several times as my chest heaves with ragged breaths, and I take in my surroundings. I'm slumped back into my office chair, paint dust from the wall behind me covering my shirt. There’s a bottle of scotch broken on the floor, and my knuckles are bloodied from hitting something. The wall. The bottle. I can't even be sure at this point.
Mercedes is standing in the doorway, surveying the scene with undisguised frustration. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snaps.
Her lip is trembling, emotion choking her voice, and for one terrible moment, I find myself questioning if I actually hurt her.
"You didn't come near me," I say hoarsely.
"Of course, I didn't," she hisses. "I'm not an idiot. I know what you're like. But this is getting out of hand, Santi. You haven't had nightmares this bad in months."
I scrub a hand over my face, trying to shake off the memories. "I haven't been sleeping enough. That's all."
"No, you haven't," she barks. "Because you're a goddamned mess. You're drinking night and day. Slumped over this desk every waking moment. Storming around The Manor like a zombie. You need to snap out of it."
"Watch how you speak to me," I warn her.
"No." She crosses her arms defiantly. "I'm not going to pacify this behavior because I love you too much to let you backslide. I know things suck right now. Okay, they really fucking suck. But you have to get it together. For all of us. I can't go through this again with you, Santi. I can't. I won't survive it."
Tears stream down her face, and it paralyzes me. I've never seen my sister so emotional or so fragile. And I'm horrified because I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to comfort her. I've never learned. Neither of us has ever known comfort. We've known rules, and order, and expectations. Emotions don't have a place in a De La Rosa heart. My father ensured it when he beat them out of us at every opportunity. But Mercedes is shattering before me, and I don't know how to fix it.
"I..." Words fail me as I stand and look over the mess that is my office. "Don't cry. Please."
She blinks up at me, wiping away her tears when she hears the uncharacteristic strain in my voice.
"Santi." She hurls herself at me, her entire body quaking as she wraps her arms around my stiff frame and hugs me tightly. "Please don't do this anymore. I can't stand to watch you break."
"I'll never break," I assure her, patting her back awkwardly in an effort at consolation.
"Stop drinking so much," she pleads. “This isn’t like you, and it scares me to see you going back to that darkness.”
"I won’t go back."
"Do you promise?" She glances up at me, and I force a nod even though I'm not in the habit of complying with terrorists. Right now, my sister is an emotional terrorist, deploying the one weapon she knows I'm unequipped for. Her tears.
She squeezes me tighter and pulls herself together while I stand there, arms dangling at my sides. After a few more uncomfortable moments, she releases me, schooling her features and drawing in a deep breath. I feel another speech coming, and I'm not wrong.
"I need to speak with you about Ivy," she says.
I walk around my desk and kneel to pick up the shattered bottle, disposing of the pieces in the trash. "What about her?"
"She's got bruises all over her," she whispers.
I pause to look up at her, puzzled by the torment in her tone. I haven't seen Ivy's most recent bruises, but I am not surprised by this revelation, considering her condition.
"Is that from Judge?" she chokes out. "Or you?"
"Why do you care?" I ask.
She doesn't answer right away. She's chewing her lip, considering her words carefully. "I just... I was just wondering."
"She has a vestibular disorder," I tell her, though I'm not sure why. It's not her business. "She does most of it to herself."
I'm not excusing myself as a monster. If I were truly responsible, I would take the credit, but my sister doesn't look either relieved or gratified by this revelation.
"Don't you think you should do something about it?" she asks.
I slice my thumb on a piece of glass and blood drips onto the floor as I cock my head, studying her.
"Again, I have to ask why you care."
"I don't," she clips out. "Just... this whole thing is stupid, and I'm tired of it. Either kill her and be done with it, or just admit that you aren't going to. There's no point in torturing her and dragging it out."
"You really must not be feeling well." I toss the remainder of the glass away and stand. "That's the only justifiable explanation I can think of for this sudden change of heart."
"I haven't had a change of heart," she declares. "God, you can be so infuriating."
"Tell me something I don't know."
"I'm going to bed," she says.
"Wait."
I grab the tote bag from my desk. I already examined the contents inside after Judge left. There's nothing much of interest in there. A pair of shoes, the remnants of her dress. A purse. The lipstick was already taken for testing, which came back clean. But that does not surprise me. The Tribunal suspects she applied the poison directly to the coat of lipstick she was wearing and disposed of any evidence, and I am inclined to agree.
"Give these to Antonia so she can return them to Ivy's closet." I hand the tote to Mercedes, and she glances inside. A strange expression comes over her face as she examines the contents.
"Are these from that night?" she asks, her voice strained.
"Yes. Why?"
She shakes her head. "Nothing. It just... it gives me bad memories. That's all."
"Get some rest," I tell her. "You'll be more like yourself in the morning."
She nods, turning away. "Good night, brother."