“Father?” I ask, peering closer when he doesn’t answer. “Is someone there?”
I hear the chapel door open, then my brother’s footsteps. It can only be him. “Ivy,” he bellows when he doesn’t see me. “For fuck’s sake, where are you?”
I look from the closed door of the confessional to the mesh behind which the priest would sit and back as my brother roughly yanks the rickety door open, making it rattle on its hinges. He then grabs my arm.
“You’re hurting me!” I cry out.
“Why are you hiding? You think I’m so stupid I won’t find you?”
“I wasn’t hiding, you jerk!”
“Christ. You’re a fucking mess.” He wipes what I guess is mascara from under my eye, then takes a breath in. He pulls the veil down over my face and seems to collect himself.
It’s almost time.
12
Santiago
In The Society, weddings are typically a large affair. Members of the upper echelon are held to higher standards, and it is often a competitive sport between the women to see who can outdo each other at these events. They will commission ice sculptures and designer gowns and custom-cut diamonds because they have the wealth and power to do so.
There will be none of that fanfare at my wedding. The only men here to witness the event are those who are required by IVI as witnesses. If it were completely at my discretion, it would just be the two of us with the priest, but we must all abide by the rules, and this is one of them.
A strange undercurrent of tension runs through my veins as I study my reflection in the mirror. My leather oxfords are polished. The custom black Brioni tux is flawlessly pressed with a crisp white dress shirt underneath. Ink on my arm peeks out from beneath the cuff. But it’s the ink on my face that has my attention. Ivy is probably aware of my scars, but she hasn’t seen me with the half skull yet. I can only imagine her reaction as she reaches the end of the aisle. What will she do? Will she try to run? Will her brother have to drag her back up to the altar and force her to quiet her grievous sobs so she can choke out her vows to the likes of me?
The thought leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.
Once upon a time, women in The Society were falling at their feet to marry me. Now, I can’t be certain my bride won’t just impale herself with a candlestick rather than give herself to me.
How Ivy feels about it doesn’t matter. She is a means to an end. I won’t tolerate her disrespect, no matter how disgusted she may be. The same can be said for her brother. And it isn’t but a moment later that he appears in the doorway with my guard behind him.
“You called for me?” Abel asks.
With a nod, I gesture him into the room I’ve taken over in the rectory. The guests can wait. After what just happened, I have a pressing need to deal with Abel first.
His gaze moves over me in swift and cunning appraisal. He thinks he is quite clever. So certain he has me fooled with his respectful façade.
I take a sip of my smoked scotch and set the glass on the table before returning his gaze. “Did I fail to make you aware of how I felt about Ivy being touched by anyone other than myself?”
He shifts his weight as his face pales in the dim room. I can see his mind working, wondering how I could possibly know how he just grabbed Ivy in the chapel. I could tell him, but that would ruin the illusion that I have eyes everywhere, and I want him to feel it.
“I’m not sure I understand—”
I take two steps toward him, my face a mask of serenity. He isn’t anticipating it when I slam my fist into his gut, and he doubles over, coughing and sputtering like he’s never taken a punch in his life. His ignorance and weakness only serve to fuel my infuriation. I hit him twice more in the gut before he collapses to his knees and curls into a fetal position, choking out his repentance.
“I thought you wanted me to keep her in line.”
“It’s my job to keep her in line.” I ease my leather oxford against his throat, pressing until he’s clawing at me with wide, panicked eyes.
From the doorway, my best man and close friend Judge watches with a bored expression. There is nobody who would stop me from draining the life from Abel even at this very moment.
“Repeat after me.” I dig my heel into his throat so hard his eyes bulge from his face. “After you walk her down the aisle and give me what is mine, you will never touch Ivy again.”
“I won’t,” he croaks, digging his nails into the tops of my shoes, destroying a perfectly good pair of Italian leather.
For that offense, I release the pressure on his throat and force the tip of my shoe between his teeth so hard, I can hear them cracking as he gags and gasps for air. Once I am satisfied that he has tasted the dirt he is worthy of, I smear his bloody spit across his chin and leave him lying there as he stares up at me in disbelief.
“Fucking Moreno.” I spit the words out and retrieve my drink, choking it down in two more swallows. “Get out of my sight. Now.”
He drags himself upright, unable to look at me as he heads for the door with his fists clenched. Judge steps aside, and Abel disappears down the hall as I turn back to the mirror to adjust my clothing.
“I see you haven’t lost your touch.”
A familiar voice echoes from behind me, and when I turn to find my oldest friend, I am stunned by his presence. Angelo Augustine was a classmate back in our Catholic school days. He’s also a Sovereign Son of IVI, hailing from Seattle. We have kept in close contact over the years, but I have not seen him in the flesh for at least six. Letters and phone calls were our only method of contact, given that visiting him in prison was too risky for The Society.
“Should I expect a SWAT team to arrive as witnesses too?” I ask dryly.
He chuckles, but the expression fades to darkness soon after. “I have been released early.”
“How?” I tilt my head to study him. He hasn’t changed much since the last time we met. His features are much like my own. Dark hair. Arctic eyes. He could have passed for my brother and often did when we were younger. Before the explosion.
“Details for another time.” He steps inside the room. “Tonight is about you.”
“You’ll be staying then?” I inquire as I pour him a glass of scotch.
From my periphery, I see Judge nod to indicate he’s going to give us a minute before he disappears down the hall. I wasn’t expecting a visitor, but I’m not about to leave him here without understanding the reason for his return.
Angelo takes the glass and swirls it in his hand, inhaling the scent. It’s a natural inclination amongst the Sovereign Sons. You never know what might be poisoned. But I attribute his actions to memories of times past rather than distrust. If there is anyone in this world Angelo knows he can trust, it is me.
“I wish I could.” He takes a sip and closes his eyes, savoring it. “I can’t be seen by other members yet. The time is not right to reveal my freedom. But I couldn’t let the occasion pass without coming to see you.”
I nod at him. There is an understanding between us that doesn’t need words. Angelo knows betrayal as well as I do, and he is busy making his own plans. As much as it would please me to have him at the altar tonight, I won’t ask that of him if it interferes with his revenge. In some ways, I often think his betrayal was worse than mine. I have Ivy’s father to thank for the destruction in my life, but Angelo’s was his own flesh and blood. He’s spent the last six years of his life caged like an animal for a crime he didn’t commit, and he won’t suffer that slight gently.