The doctor watches but stays where he is.
“There was a complication.”
“Something the doctor missed. I heard your practiced words the first time around. Tell me how! Tell me the truth, you fucking liar!”
There’s that tic in his jaw. I wonder if he’s counting to ten before he speaks. He’s not used to rebellion. Not used to people speaking up.
“I know you’re upset. It’s natural you’re upset. But I’m here for you, Ivy.”
At that, I laugh outright. “You’re here for me? Did you just really say that?”
I walk farther away as he begins to close the space between us. Marco comes around the corner, and without taking his eyes off me, Santiago signals to Marco to stand back.
“Were you the complication the doctors didn’t see coming, Santiago?”
He smiles a strange smile, but it’s gone in an instant. “I can see how you’d think that,” he says through clenched teeth. “But no, Ivy, I did not murder the old man.”
“But it was your right. Isn’t that what you told me?” I take more steps away, aware of how close Marco is. “Did you use your knife? It would be symbolic to drive the De La Rosa blade into his heart. It would make your father proud.”
“That’s enough.” His voice is harder. “Give me the knife.”
“Is this why you forgave me so easily a few days ago? You knew even then what you’d do. You thought you could use that against me? Force me to forgive you? To somehow maybe accept and forgive the fact that you murdered my father?”
He speaks, maybe asking for the knife again, but the fact of what he told me washes over me, and I can’t process his words. My father is gone. He’s dead.
“Tell me something. Tell me one thing,” I say.
“Anything.”
“Did he see it coming? Was he scared?” I feel tears stream down my face.
Something shifts in his expression, like a thing cracking, splintering. Just a little. “No. There was nothing to see coming. His heart gave out. It was all just too much for him. Now give me the knife.”
I look beyond Santiago to the doctor. They’re all closer. And in his hand, the doctor is holding a syringe.
They’ve come prepared.
“Please give me the knife,” Santiago pleads, and I turn to him again. He’s only a few feet away now. He’s fast. I know that. He will lunge for the knife any second now. The only reason he’s not is he’s afraid I’ll hurt myself. He’s not afraid for himself. Not afraid I’ll hurt him. I know that.
But he’s wrong.
And before any of them can get to me, I fly at him, arm raised, my scream a proclamation of my hate for him. For this man I thought I loved. For this man who has only ever lied to me. Only ever manipulated me. Used me. And who has now taken my father from me.
It’s that last thing that saves him. That final thought. Because I know he’d stand there and take it otherwise. And when I bring the knife down, it’s half-hearted because I am already defeated.
He grabs it by the sharp, serrated edge. It breaks skin, but he doesn’t cry out. He barely flinches. I am not as strong as him nor am I as capable of violence. Not even against him. Not even now. And moments later, he’s holding me as I sob, trapping my arms at my sides as he hugs me tight, my face pressed into the crook of his neck, the blood from his hand warm against my cheek as he cups my face, the needle barely noticeable when the doctor pricks my arm, a whispered apology on his lips as Santiago lifts me up when my knees give out, and I look up at him as my head lolls to the side.
“I hate you,” I tell him, my arm not doing what my brain is telling it, my fingers not curling into claws, my hand only slapping weakly at his chest. “I hate you,” I manage, my words slurring together as darkness creeps in, dulling the corners of my vision. “And I will never forgive you. Never.”
26 Santiago
"Boss?"
Something pokes me in the arm, stirring me. When I lift my bleary eyes, I realize I must have fallen asleep in the hall outside the bedroom door.
"What is it, Marco?" I force my aching muscles to cooperate as I rise to my feet.
"Have you been sleeping out here all night?" he asks.
I give him a stiff nod. It's not like him to ask such personal questions.
"I have some updates," he tells me. "Do you want to talk here or in your office?"
"Let's go downstairs." I pause to look at the door one more time, hesitant to leave, but aware Ivy doesn't want me anywhere near her right now either.
Marco has been aware of my struggle. The entire manor has. The past few days have been interspersed with silence and Ivy's rage whenever I try to speak with her. And I'd be lying if I said I haven’t second-guessed my decision every step of the way.
I don't want to hurt her. I don't want to hurt any of Eli's daughters anymore, but right now, they are all suffering over the choice I made. And I can't even be sure it was necessary or worthwhile, since there have been no signs of Abel yet.
"You're doing the right thing." Marco reaches out, settling his hand on my shoulder. "I know it doesn't feel like it now, but this was the only way. He won’t come out until he’s dead sure this is real."
I wish I could be as certain as he sounds.
"Come." He jerks his chin in the direction of the stairs. "I think you will feel better when you hear what I have to say."
This news captures my interest, and without any alternative, I follow him down to my study. We step inside and
