I meet his gaze and take another long pull from the bottle. He doesn't need to explain what he means. Ivy didn't just poison me. She drove a goddamned stake through my reputation. As a Sovereign Son, there is an expectation that my wife will have unwavering loyalty and respect for me. I knew going into this marriage the best I could expect was to have her fear and submission. She would never love me, and I could never love her. There is no loyalty or respect between us. But for her to so blatantly broadcast it to The Society is a slight that cannot be tolerated. The upper echelon must know I have this situation under control. That I am capable of doling out the harsh punishment that will satisfy them and restore the natural hierarchy of order.
"Short of killing her now, I see only one solution." My fingertips move over the scars on my face, covered in ink. A permanent reminder of the damage the Moreno family has inflicted upon the De La Rosa dynasty. Ivy too, will require something permanent. Something horrific. Something that will maim her for life and serve as a reminder of what she has done and who she really is.
"It seems to me you have already decided," Judge remarks. "But if there is one piece of advice I can give you, Santiago, it's this. If you go down this path, there is no coming back from it. When you dole out this type of justice, there must be no question of guilt because you can't take it back once it's done. As you are well aware, those scars do not fade away in time."
He rises to his feet and sets a tote bag onto my desk. Something he must have carried in with him, but I didn't notice it until now.
"What is that?" I ask.
"Her things from the cellar. I thought perhaps you might want them back."
Fire licks across my flesh, smoke burning my eyes as I crawl through the rubble, dragging my half limp body deeper into the burning remnants. Searing pain is the only solace I have as the screams of men burning alive around me fade into the roar of the inferno.
"Leandro," I try again to call out for him, but my voice is too weak, choked by the suffocating blackness.
He was right beside me. My father and my brother were both right there. My body collapses onto the floor as I gasp for breath, stretching out my mangled arm. In the flicker of flames and shadows, I see a shiny black shoe. Italian leather. Laces perfectly knotted. A rose emblem on the sole. It could only be my father or Leandro.
Using the last of my strength, I drag myself forward again, grabbing onto the leather to pull me closer. But instead of leverage in the weight of his body, I find nothing but give. It takes me a few sputtering breaths to realize I'm holding his severed leg in my hand.
His blood drips down my arm, mixing with my own before it splatters onto the concrete. At last, darkness takes me.
"Santiago."
Something shatters around me, and I hurl myself back, crashing into what feels like a brick wall. I'm swinging without a thought, punching the air, fighting off invisible demons when Mercedes's voice drags me from my delirium.
"Jesus, Santi! Wake up! Open your eyes."
I freeze, forcing my eyes open, blinking several times as my chest heaves with ragged breaths, and I take in my surroundings. I'm slumped back into my office chair, paint dust from the wall behind me covering my shirt. There’s a bottle of scotch broken on the floor, and my knuckles are bloodied from hitting something. The wall. The bottle. I can't even be sure at this point.
Mercedes is standing in the doorway, surveying the scene with undisguised frustration. "What the hell is wrong with you?" she snaps.
Her lip is trembling, emotion choking her voice, and for one terrible moment, I find myself questioning if I actually hurt her.
"You didn't come near me," I say hoarsely.
"Of course, I didn't," she hisses. "I'm not an idiot. I know what you're like. But this is getting out of hand, Santi. You haven't had nightmares this bad in months."
I scrub a hand over my face, trying to shake off the memories. "I haven't been sleeping enough. That's all."
"No, you haven't," she barks. "Because you're a goddamned mess. You're drinking night and day. Slumped over this desk every waking moment. Storming around The Manor like a zombie. You need to snap out of it."
"Watch how you speak to me," I warn her.
"No." She crosses her arms defiantly. "I'm not going to pacify this behavior because I love you too much to let you backslide. I know things suck right now. Okay, they really fucking suck. But you have to get it together. For all of us. I can't go through this again with you, Santi. I can't. I won't survive it."
Tears stream down her face, and it paralyzes me. I've never seen my sister so emotional or so fragile. And I'm horrified because I don't know how to fix this. I don't know how to comfort her. I've never learned. Neither of us has ever known comfort. We've known rules, and order, and expectations. Emotions don't have a place in a De La Rosa heart. My father ensured it when he beat them out of us at every opportunity. But Mercedes is shattering before me, and I don't know how to fix it.
"I..." Words fail me as I stand and look over the mess that is my office. "Don't cry. Please."
She blinks up at me, wiping away her tears when she hears the uncharacteristic strain in my voice.
"Santi." She hurls herself at me, her entire body quaking as she wraps her arms around my stiff frame and hugs me tightly. "Please don't do this anymore. I can't stand to watch you break."
"I'll never break," I assure her, patting her back awkwardly in an effort at consolation.
"Stop drinking so much," she pleads. “This isn’t like you, and it scares me to see you going back to that darkness.”
"I won’t go back."
"Do you promise?" She glances up at me, and I force a nod even though I'm not in the habit of complying with terrorists. Right now, my sister is an emotional terrorist, deploying the one weapon she knows I'm unequipped for. Her tears.
She squeezes me tighter and pulls herself together while I stand there, arms dangling at my sides. After a few more uncomfortable moments, she releases me, schooling her features and drawing in a deep breath. I feel another speech coming, and I'm not wrong.
"I need to speak with you about Ivy," she says.
I walk around my desk and kneel to pick up the shattered bottle, disposing of the pieces in the trash. "What about her?"
"She's got bruises all over her," she whispers.
I pause to look up at her, puzzled by the torment in her tone. I haven't seen Ivy's most recent bruises, but I am not surprised by this revelation, considering her condition.
"Is that from Judge?" she chokes out. "Or you?"
"Why do you care?" I ask.
She doesn't answer right away. She's chewing her lip, considering her words carefully. "I just... I was just wondering."
"She has a vestibular disorder," I tell her, though I'm not sure why. It's not her business. "She does most of it to herself."
I'm not excusing myself as a monster. If I were truly responsible, I would take the credit, but my sister doesn't look either relieved or gratified by this revelation.
"Don't you think you should do something about it?" she asks.