It’s the exact same version of her history that he offered when I initially approached him about the arrangement to marry her, and the feeling of her being set up that I now share with Isla falters. I’m probably grasping at straws because I know there’s never going to be any way for me to atone for the sins I committed against her, and needlessly pissing off Ernesto certainly won’t do me any good.
“Okay,” I say simply.
“There was no foul play,” he underscores. “And I should remind you that you were gone prior to that situation, so you have no idea how terrible it was for her mother and I. It would behoove you to not bring it up again. You have already complicated this situation enough by not keeping your word to me and divorcing my daughter.” He gives a weighty pause. “And I’ll warn you now, niño. If anything happens to her because she is now here instead of there… I will consider you responsible.”
I huff and pull the phone slightly away from my face to mumble, “Yeah, well, so will I.”
“What was that?” he snaps.
“I am doing everything in my power to ensure that she’s still safe.” I pause as I approach the window to cast a long look at the drive in front of the palace where I last saw her. “Have there been any issues with the security team? Any suspicious activity that you’ve observed?”
There’s another pause. “No.”
I squint at the driveway, weighing a truly impulsive question, and then not stopping it in time. “Do you think you’ll ever forgive her for the trouble she caused years ago?”
He offers a flippant, “Ha,” before chuckling low. “No, Malachi. I will not. Forgiveness for something like that is inconsequential. I am her father, and I am fulfilling that duty despite the way she betrayed this family. And that is more important than forgiveness.”
Ernesto ends the call, and I pull the phone away from my ear to stare at the screen.
His last statement says as much about him as it does about Isla’s destiny amidst the life she has now. He says she’s depressed, and she has every reason to be. There’s nothing I can do about it aside from figuring out how to turn back the clock and saving her from that weekend before it ever had a chance to take place. Which is, of course, impossible.
It’s all impossible.
Among many, many things, simple happiness is effectively impossible. The one thing she and I had in spades long ago, and there is no getting that back, ever. And if anything makes me feel even remotely better about any of this, it’s the fact that divorcing her was the right decision.
By doing that, at the very least, I ensured that I could keep from adding to the unhappiness that she seems to be drowning in.
What a fucking fall from grace.
But it’s all I can do now. That, and make sure she’s safe for the rest of her life, even if I’m doing so from what might as well be a world away.
THE SOUND OF MY phone ringing pierces the dark atmosphere, rousing me from a too-light slumber. My hand flies to the nightstand on pure reflex, because the only people calling in the middle of the night are people in America, and one person in particular is the reason for my prolific nights of too-light sleeping.
But she’s not the one calling.
The screen is lit up with the name Vinnie Pasquino, and I exhale listlessly, briefly toying with the idea of not answering. Curiosity wins me over, and I answer.
“Mister Pasquino, it’s the middle of the n—”
“Your fee just doubled, Sterling.”
I blink at the darkened ceiling. “I beg your pardon.”
“I sent my two of my guys to a place I never should’ve, on your orders, and they got fuckin’ smoked.” He sucks in a breath and wheezes out a cough. “Two of my best fuckin’ guys, Sterling. I got your fuckin’ intel because they found that poor old broad, and now she’s fuckin’ dead, too. Those piece of shit mafiosos found out she spoke to them and offed all three of ‘em. I hope you’re satisfied.”
I shoot up in bed. “What?”
“You fuckin’ heard me. Check your fuckin’ email, send me my fuckin’ payment, and don’t fuckin’ contact me again.”
The line goes dead.
I bring the phone to my line of sight and open the email app. Sure enough, right there at the top, is a message from Vinnie with an audio attachment. Opening the attachment, I hear nothing but static and muffled activity at first, but then a voice starts speaking in Spanish, and I hold the speaker close to my ear so I don’t misunderstand any of it.
“It was a plan for many years to reclaim Ernesto’s wealth for the family.” The voice belongs to an elderly woman. And I know it’s the same woman who warned me about the hit on Isla’s life two years ago. And I know she’s dead now. And according to Vinnie, that is a direct result of our conversation two weeks ago, when I insisted that he send his people to find her and talk to her. His people, who are now also dead.
I feel a little sick.
But that doesn’t stop me from listening.
“How many years?” a male voice asks, also speaking in Spanish.
“I am not sure. Maybe fifteen.”
“And the target has always been the eldest daughter?”
“Yes. There were two previous attempts to use her as an incentive for Ernesto to return his inheritance. The first was thwarted by the Duke getting in the way. They went to Ernesto’s home after learning Isla was staying there while the family was traveling. They assumed she was alone, but the Duke was there, and he intervened.”
I pause the audio, and my hands are now shaking.
That night.
The night of the first miscarriage when I found those two pieces of shit slinking around the Reyes’ home.
My nerves are suddenly infused with electricity, and I throw the sheet off of me, leap out of bed, and begin pacing my room as I hit play.
“The second attempt was successful in taking her, but there were complications with it,” the graveled female voice continues.
A second male voice interjects, “What kind of complications?”
There’s a brief pause. “The plan had to change because it wasn’t working. Ernesto did not cooperate the way they anticipated.”
“What was the original plan?” the first male voice asks. “And how did he not cooperate?”
“How were they hoping he would—” the second male voice adds, but is cut off by unintelligible words from the first.
“Yes,” the woman begins. “I will try to remember. It was… the original plan was… they wanted to use Isla to ask for the money. The idea was that she would be the one to convince him to bring his inheritance back to the family because she had joined the family. They would condition her to become loyal to them, and she would convince him. They needed to groom her for loyalty. To do that, they had to kidnap her. Soldiers were placed at her university and they—”
I hit the pause button again, and my hands aren’t shaking anymore. My pacing has halted. I can’t even move, and my veins flush with ice.
“She was set up.” The muttered words grit out through my clenched teeth.
The feeling Isla has isn’t just a feeling. It’s probably her own goddamn intuition telling her that she never betrayed anyone, she never lost her morality, she never lost her mind, rather she’d become a pawn of the cartel.