“Abel’s a grown man.”
“If I’d given him half the attention I gave Santiago, if I’d put my family first, then things would be different now.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’ve been thinking about this all night. Trying to piece the puzzle together. I should have known better than to trust him blindly, although it’s what he needed. His father’s trust. But when those names came up, when ties to the Grigori mafia family were mentioned. The De La Cruz Cartel—”
“What? Mafia? Cartel?”
He looks at me, and I get the feeling he’s considering how much he’s already said.
“What are you talking about, Dad?”
“They’re not associated with IVI. Not the Cartel and not Grigori. IVI, as it stood, would never have accepted the likes of them into the fold.” He stops, shakes his head. “I should have looked into it myself first and verified things. I would have known if I had, and many lives would have been saved, including Santiago’s father and brother.”
“I’m sorry, you lost me.”
He focuses his attention on me and tries for a smile again. “To answer your question, Ivy, Santiago thinks I, along with your brother, sent him and his family not to mention other countless Sovereign Sons, to their death.”
“What?”
“The explosion, it wasn’t a simple gas leak. I think it was revenge, and I set it in motion. Abel handed me the evidence of wrongdoing, and I took it to The Tribunal, unknowingly starting it all. Because those families that were excommunicated, that lost everything, they had their revenge that night or at least that is how it appeared. I need to talk to Abel. To hear it from him. Hear what he did. How many lives he was willing to forfeit.”
“Dad, I don’t understand.”
The door opens then, and Santiago stands in the entry. He locks eyes with my father, and I watch his throat work as he swallows.
“You heard, I’m sure,” my father says calmly.
“What?” I ask, standing, looking between them.
“If you’re saving your neck—”
“By hanging my own son?”
Santiago doesn’t reply.
“I won’t have more blood on my hands. I won’t have my grandchild’s blood on my hands. Not even your blood, Santiago.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask.
“I think I know how Abel was funded,” my dad says. “I need my computer, some files I kept, but I think I know.”
“Ivy,” Santiago says, not looking at me. “Marco will take you home.” As if on cue, Marco appears behind Santiago.
“I’m not going anywhere until I know what’s happened.”
My father reaches out to take my hand. “You want to know why he hates me. Why he hates us. He thinks I set him up. He thinks I orchestrated the explosion that killed his family.”
16 Santiago
Ivy is waiting for me on the stairs when I walk in the front door, bundled up in my bathrobe, which seems to drown her small frame.
"What are you doing sitting here in the dark?" I ask.
"We need to talk, Santiago. I'm not going to bed without having this conversation."
I sigh, already dreading the inevitable fight as I join her at her side and help her up. "Come. Let's get you upstairs."
She doesn't protest as I lead her to our bedroom, but I know it can't be that easy. And I am proven right when I shut the door behind us and toss my jacket aside.
"I'm worried about my father," she says, emotion choking her voice.
That suffocating anguish in her tone lances through me, and I don't like it. I find that I am compelled to fix it for her, even though I know I can't. Not without sacrificing my own promises to my dead father and brother.
"Your father is well cared for," I answer stiffly. "He has the best medical treatment money can buy. He's in a secure facility—"
"You mean a prison," she interjects. "You have him locked up in that room like a common prisoner, dictating who comes or goes."
"It's a kindness he does not deserve," I mutter, turning away to unbutton my shirt and discard that too.
"I should be helping him." Ivy sniffs. "He shouldn't be there alone, recovering without any of his family. He should be here with us where I know he's safe. Where the guards can protect him too. Now that I know someone poisoned him, I won't be able to relax thinking that it could happen again."
"It won't," I assure her, leaving out the part that his death will not be so kind.
"Please." Her voice wavers. "I want you to promise me you won't hurt him. I need that from you."
I turn back to her, rigid and frustrated. I can't give her that. Doesn't she understand? I can give her anything else in this world she might desire, but not that.
"I can't make you a promise I have no intention of keeping."
Her face falls, and she staggers back, using the bed for support as she stares at me with watery eyes.
"But he told you he would help you. He told you it was Abel or those other members. Not him."
"He told me what he thought I wanted to hear," I say. "Any man in his position would do the same."
"You'll never accept it, will you?" She swipes at the tears that are starting to spill down her cheeks. "You won't accept that you could be wrong about him because it means you would have to admit you've been wrong about me too. Then you'd have to open yourself up and learn how to love someone other than yourself, but you can't because you're so blinded by your own hatred."
“You think I’m in love with myself?” A bitter laugh escapes me. “Oh, sweet, naïve Ivy. You have no idea what I feel.”
She dips her head, a flush creeping over her cheeks. “You can be so… infuriating!”
"I'm going to take a shower," I growl. "Go
