"You're falling for her."
"Don't be ridiculous." I wave his suggestion away. "This isn't a joke."
"I'm not joking."
When I look at him, I can see that he's not. His face is as serious as ever, and it concerns me.
"You really think me that weak?"
"It's only a weakness if you believe it is." He arches a brow at me. "I think the only real conflict you're having is that you never intended to. But you are. And now you have to face the facts."
"You know I'm not capable of those emotions." I laugh grimly. "I can't believe you'd even suggest it."
"Alright." Leaning back, he crosses one leg over the other and takes a sip from the glass of whiskey in his hand. "Then let’s discuss your options.”
I don't think I'm going to like wherever he's going with this, but for reasons I can't quite understand, I allow him to go on.
"How do you plan to kill her?" he asks. "When all is said and done."
I shift in my seat, my eyes flicking to the clock on the wall. Anything to keep myself from thinking about what he's asking.
"I haven't decided yet."
"You want her father to suffer for his crimes," he points out. "So perhaps, slow torture. Strangulation. Mutilation. You could send her back to her family piece by piece."
Fucking Christ.
My jaw clamps shut as my eyes drift to the empty table beside me, wishing I had taken the housekeeper up on her offer of a drink.
"But first, you need to determine how many times you will breed her," he remarks. "Ideally, you should have at least two sons. There might be girls in between, so that could take time. Although she only needs to be healthy during the pregnancies, I suppose. There's still a possibility for torture in the downtime."
The music from the other part of the house seems to grow more frantic. Haunting. Punctuating the violent images of Judge's words with a soundtrack to match his casual horrific suggestions that I myself had indulged in not that long ago.
"Of course, you'll need to ensure your children hate her too,” he adds. “There would be no sense in fostering an attachment for a mother who won't be around to see them grow. That will surely bring her the suffering she deserves. Effective, but if you really want to break her, death might not be the only option."
My fists curl at my sides, my pulse throbbing in my neck.
"What do you mean?"
"Perhaps when you are done with her, you could send her to work at the Cat House. Offer her up as leftovers to any man who might use her for a few minutes of pleasure. That would surely be a dagger to her father's heart."
"Enough!" I stagger to my feet, pacing toward the fire as I fight to rein in my temper. "I know what you're doing."
"I'm doing what you always said you would," he replies calmly. "You said you wanted to torture her. You wanted every Moreno to pay."
"I know that's what I said," I snarl.
"So, what is the problem?" he presses. "Make your plans and be at peace with them. Unless there is a reason you can't or won't."
I turn to glare at him, and when I do, there is a small hint of amusement on his face. He gives me a moment to come back to myself, to regulate my breathing and calm this strange new beast living within me.
"It would not bother you if you didn't care," he observes. "You can only live in denial for so long. This was always going to be a possibility, whether you saw it yourself or not. Mercedes sees it too. There are rumblings through IVI how your wife has softened you. Changed you."
"No." I shake my head. "I don't accept that."
"At some point, you must. It's the only way to move forward. You can spend your time fighting it or implement a solution to both your problems. You're in it now. Find a way to satisfy your revenge and keep her, or you will lose it all."
"That isn't a solution," I scoff. "When I kill her father and brother, Ivy will never get over it. She isn't like me."
"So, don't tell her." Judge shrugs. "Keep it to yourself and let your wife be happy in her ignorance when she puts her grief behind her."
Doesn't he know I've already considered that? I've considered every option. But I can't. Already, I know I won't. There is no room for emotions in our marriage. We have too many secrets between us, and there is always the potential they would come out later and poison her against me. Why allow something to bloom only to have it snatched away when the truth inevitably comes to light?
"Ivy could never be satisfied without answers. She wouldn't stop until she had them."
"And you couldn't live with yourself if you kept them from her."
When I meet his gaze, I can finally see there is some truth in that. And at least to myself, I can admit that he's right. I couldn't keep that from Ivy. But it isn't because I have the potential to care for her. My father proved time and again that I wasn't capable of such a weakness. It was the only thing he ever praised me for. My coldness. He said it would serve me well in this life, and it has. I would be a fool to think for a second that things could be different. These feelings inside me are only temporary. They are new and unfamiliar but not permanent. They will go away, and I will return to the same man I've always been. The same unfaltering, empty, soulless shell.
The music in the other part of the house stops for a few moments, and when I glance in that
