He nods and takes my hand as we step in front of the door. The guard nods his greeting and opens it, and I see him. My father. And for as frail as he looks when the nurse turns his wheelchair around and as different from the tall, commanding man I remember before the coma, I am relieved.
“Daddy!”
Santiago releases me, and I run to my father, who looks surprised and then happy, so happy. He opens his arms, and I’m careful when I hug him, feeling his arms around me, having mine around him.
When I pull back, he takes both of my hands in his and looks me over, pausing at my stomach momentarily before smiling back up at me. I’m wearing a Henley and jeans, but I don’t think I'm showing in this. He glances over my shoulder then, and I follow his gaze to see Santiago standing by the door, one arm folded across his chest, the hand of the other closed over his chin, watching us.
“Thank you, son,” my father says, and when Santiago opens his mouth, he catches himself. “Santiago.”
Santiago nods and shifts his gaze to me, then opens the door without a word. He gestures to the nurse, who leaves and then follows her out.
He is trying.
And he’s right. I know Mercedes is just jealous. And I get it. I usurped her throne. It’s not even about me. I’m sure she’d hate anyone who took her place in Santiago’s life. It would be strange in a normal situation, but given what they’ve gone through, the loss of both brother and father on one terrible night, the death of their mother soon after that, then the near loss of Santiago, I can see how they’d become so central to each other. Although I don’t think it’s quite the same for Santiago. But then again, maybe if Mercedes found someone, maybe Judge, she would be different too.
I turn back to my father, who is studying me with a smile. “He married you.”
I nod.
“What about school?”
“That’s not really in the cards anymore.”
“Perhaps in time. Sit down, Ivy.” There’s a small couch along one wall, and I take a seat there. The room isn’t big, and my father rolls himself closer. “I’m sorry I don’t have anything to offer you.”
I smile a little awkwardly. It’s been so long since I’ve seen him and so much has changed. “It’s just really good to see you like this.”
“Well, I’ve been better.”
“You’ve also been worse. I’m glad you woke up from the coma.”
“That’s thanks to your husband.”
“Santiago?”
“I was poisoned, Ivy. I read the report. What he said is true. It wasn’t cardiac arrest or a sudden stroke or whatever they told you. What happened to me was brought on by poison.”
I’m not sure how I feel about this. Fear, I guess. Cardiac arrest or a stroke would have been better. Poisoned means someone tried to kill him, and my mind wanders to that lipstick I found. To Abel’s silence when I questioned him.
“Is he treating you all right?” he asks.
I nod. “And Eva’s at The Manor too. She’s actually really happy there. I think so at least.”
“I’m glad. Your mother?”
“I haven’t seen her.” Silence. “Dad, did you help Hazel run away?”
He is obviously surprised by my question. “Is she safe?”
“I think so. Santiago knows where she is. He said she has a little boy.”
“Michael. He’s a good kid.”
“You know?”
“I helped her, Ivy. You were too young to know anything about it.”
“You helped her run away?”
“And stay away. It’s very hard for a single mom out there. I’m sure you can imagine.”
“Why?”
“I wouldn’t force her to marry someone she didn’t love, and the fact that she was pregnant with another man’s child, well, that changed things. At least she came to her senses about that one, though.”
“But The Society…”
“Does not come before my family. I’ve made that mistake more than once.”
“Abel’s mom?”
He nods and tries to smile, but I see something is worrying him. “Among other things.”
“I need to ask you something, Dad.” I glance at the door, not sure how much time I’ll have.
“Go on.”
“What happened with Santiago? You were like a father to him. I remember that. I remember how much you loved him.”
“I love him still even if he is misguided.”
“What happened?”
“Do you know he paid me a visit last night?”
“Last night?”
My father nods. “It’s good he did. Good he told me about the poisoning. But also, about what Abel tried to do to your baby.” He quiets again, looking away from me momentarily, any pretense of a smile fading. “I did wrong by that boy. It’s not his fault.”
“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.”