She enters the room and sits in the chair that Angelo vacated earlier. Her hair is braided back, her face scrubbed clean of the usual makeup she wears. And when I see her this way, it is a stark reminder she is still young and naïve in many ways, despite what she’d like everyone else to believe.
"Tell me what's on your mind." I close the folder on my desk and secure it in my locked drawer before returning my attention to her.
Mercedes shrugs one shoulder, wrapping her cardigan tightly around herself like a cocoon even though it's not chilly in the room. "Too much to put into words."
"Don't play coy with me," I reply. "You came here for a reason, and you've been moping around The Manor since you’ve been home. I can't help you if I don't know what the issue is."
She bounces one leg, a nervous habit I haven't seen since she was a child, and our father sought to break her of it. A De La Rosa can never show vulnerability. That's what he told us. We all took it to heart, but I will never punish Mercedes for showing her true self to me.
"It’s just hard to stop thinking about everything that happened," she says quietly. "Do you believe The Tribunal will ever have concrete proof?"
"It doesn't matter if they have concrete proof," I tell her. "It is ultimately up to me since I am alive, and I am her husband. I could feed her to the wolves, or I can handle it myself. You already know my chosen course. We will go through the motions of the trial because Ivy deserves every ounce of fear it will instill in her. But I am her true judge, jury, and executioner."
My sister nods and swallows, dipping her head as she seems to consider something. “No mercy. That’s what Father always used to say. I suppose that is the De La Rosa motto.”
A chill moves over me when it occurs to me she’s comparing me to him, but I don’t acknowledge it. I can’t.
"So, you will... end her." Her voice wavers slightly, and she clears her throat. "When?"
Her sudden lack of enthusiasm on the subject is strange, considering how she salivated over the idea before. "Why do you care?"
She shifts in her seat, glancing at the flickering flame of the candle on the end of my desk. "I don't, of course. I was just wondering."
"You needn't worry." I meet her gaze. "I know you felt I was wavering in my regard before, but I can assure you, I hold no humanity in my heart for any Moreno. Particularly one who poisoned me. She will be dealt with accordingly."
Mercedes jerks her chin in agreement, but she doesn't appear to be placated by my assurances. It's unlike her to withhold her thoughts, and I don't know if I should be concerned about her welfare. Or perhaps Judge really did begin to tame her bratty ways.
She stands up and drifts toward the door, pausing to look over her shoulder.
"Santi?"
"Yes?"
"I..." Her voice fractures. "I just wanted you to know I love you. It’s so good to have you home."
* * *
Ivy startles awake when I slip my hand over her mouth to cover her scream. The room is pitch black, and the only sounds between us are her labored breaths as she bolts upright in the bed.
"Santiago?" She pants my name as if it’s a prayer for salvation.
"What did I say about you being naked?" I growl into her ear as I wrap my fingers around her throat.
"I am naked," she hisses. "You have all my clothes locked away. Do you expect me to sleep without any sheets?"
"I expect you to do whatever I ask," I answer, my breath fanning against her face.
I've had too much scotch and not enough food, and I don't exactly know what I'm doing here. One minute I was heading for my bedroom, and the next, I was stumbling into her room.
She trembles when I yank the sheet from her grasp and toss it onto the floor. She's already trying to curl into herself when I tangle my fingers in her hair and drag her from the bed and force her onto her knees.
"You don't deserve a bed," I spit. "You don't deserve anything."
"Santiago, please." She brings her hands up to my thighs, feeling her way up my body in the dark. "I need to talk to you about what happened. I need to make you understand."
I clamp my hand around her jaw, forcing her lips to shut. "The only time you should open your mouth is to please me."
She tries to murmur a protest as I tug down the zipper of my trousers and pull my cock free, rubbing it against her cheek. I reach for her hair again, arching her head back.
"Show me how sorry you are," I command.
I release her jaw, and she renews her protest. "Please just let me talk. We need to talk."
"You want to talk?" I tighten my grip on her to the point I can practically feel her wincing. "Let's talk. I have so much to say to you, dear wife. Let's start with a refresher course. I fucking own you, and you seem to have forgotten that."
"I haven't," she whimpers.
"I control everything in your life," I answer menacingly. "That hospital room your father is lying half dead in? I could have them pull the plug with a single phone call. The nuns at your sister's school? They can make her life sweet, or they can make it one of misery. That fate is mine to determine just like everything else. Every choice you make has
