I pull up onto the street in one of my guard's cars, something inconspicuous with a fake plate. The second I shift the car into park, my phone chimes with another message from Marco with instructions on where to enter.
I follow his directions to the back of the building, where he's waiting for me at an exit door that's riddled with bullet holes and large dents from previous break-ins. So far, the gloomy state of this place isn't inspiring any faith that I'm going to like what I find inside.
Marco gestures for me to follow him silently, opening the door and leading me down the hall. When we reach the apartment door, he glances over his shoulders, checking for prying eyes before we enter.
His large frame blocks my view at first, but almost immediately, my shoes are stepping over the debris of broken furniture and glass. And then Marco steps aside, unveiling a scene from a horror movie. That's the only way to describe it.
Lying in a gory heap on the floor is a woman I don't recognize, but even if I knew her, I doubt I could recognize her. Her hair is matted with blood, clothing torn, and pieces of what I think are a lamp shattered around her.
"Is she—"
"She's dead," Marco answers quietly. "I already checked."
Glass crunches under the weight of someone's shoes in the hall, and a second later, Mercedes appears. Her hair is a tangled mess, blood spattered across her face, a large gash down her cheek. She's visibly shaking, wobbling in her heels as if she's on the verge of collapse, and when her eyes collide with mine, a mournful sob bursts from her lips.
"I didn't mean to, Santi." Tears splash against her cheeks as she shakes her head violently. "I was going to bring her to you so you could do it."
Fragments of sentences eject between her ragged breaths. "She wouldn't listen to me! She just kept fighting me. I had no choice. She was going to kill me. She tried to kill you."
On this last sentence, she breaks down entirely, dropping to her knees and hiding beneath her hair as she dips her head. "Oh God, what have I done? What have I done?"
For a few long moments, I can't even speak. I can't bring myself to move or think. I'm paralyzed by her confession. This is the woman who tried to kill me. Somehow, Mercedes knows that, and right now, I don't know if I want to strangle her or comfort her.
"We need to handle this, boss." Marco gives me a gentle nudge in the right direction. "Perhaps you should take your sister home, and I can call for a body removal."
"Yes." My voice cracks as I nod. "We should probably do that."
27 Santiago
It's late morning when Mercedes emerges from the bathroom in one of the lodging rooms at the IVI compound. She's wearing a pair of cheap sweats from the only store that was open on our way here. Her hair is clean, face completely free of makeup, and the gash on her cheek is starting to scab over as a bruise forms around it.
She looks like someone I don't recognize anymore.
"Santi?" She lingers there hesitantly. "Why are we here?"
I can't bring myself to answer that question. But I don't need to. Mercedes is aware the conversation we are about to have will determine her fate, one way or the other.
"Tell me everything," I order gruffly.
She pads farther into the room and sits down on the bed, squeezing her hands together in her lap. "I will. But I need you to promise you won’t hate me. No matter what. I need to hear that from you."
"I can't promise you anything." I glower at her, angry she’s put us in this position. We shouldn’t even be having this conversation. None of this should have ever happened.
She chokes up again, and I give her a moment to collect herself, but only a moment.
"Now, Mercedes. If you don't tell me now, you will decide for both of us. You will never hear from me again."
She peers up at me as gut-wrenching agony twists her features. "No. You can't do that."
"You aren't in a position to argue anymore." I walk to the window and pull back the curtain just slightly, glancing down into the courtyard. The compound is mostly empty right now, apart from the few other guests utilizing similar lodgings on this level. These rooms are reserved for out-of-town members or those who imbibed too much at the club. It isn't somewhere I would have ever considered bringing my sister. But now, I can't imagine taking her home.
"It wasn't supposed to happen this way," she blurts out. "I never meant for any of this to happen. I was just so irritated with you, Santi. To see the way you looked at that Moreno girl. You were falling for her right before my eyes. I could see it, and it felt like such a betrayal."
I release the curtain and turn to look at her. There is no mistaking the misdirected anger in her features. She's envious of Ivy. A confirmation that she’s too dangerous to have around my wife.
"She was going to take you away from me," she says. "I had to do something. I just wanted to make her hate you. So, I hired that courtesan who used to work for IVI to lure you away at the gala and seduce you. All that was supposed to happen was that Ivy would come out of the bathroom and see you together. That was it. Nobody was ever supposed to get hurt."
I pace a few steps across the room, and Mercedes rushes to cry out the rest of her confession.
"I know it was a stupid idea. I was naïve to think I could trust that woman. I didn't
