Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83408 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
But even that notion doesn't seem to satisfy me as much as it should.
I drag a hand through my hair, smoothing it back into place. The silence has stretched on for too long, and the tension thickens in the space between us. She's glancing at me like she doesn't know what to expect from me anymore.
"Sit down." I point at the same chair she vacated earlier.
She does as I request, the rosary dangling from her neck like a beautiful collar. It is heavy, and I know she feels it. I want her to think of me every time she moves. I want her to feel the weight of my ownership pulling her down.
I step behind her and smooth her hair back over her shoulders. She shivers but does not try to look at me, keeping her gaze forward. How quickly she is proving capable of abiding by my orders.
The first-aid kit is still on the table, so I reach for it and open a packet of alcohol. Gently, I press my fingers against her chin, tilting her head back until I have access to the cut on her forehead. She watches me with a curious expression as I dab the dried blood off around the edges, but when I feel her gaze burning into the scars beneath my ink, I pause to look down at her.
"Close your eyes."
She hesitates with a sigh but then does as I ask. I continue to clean her wound and then apply some salve and a bandage.
"Why do you care if it gets infected?" she asks.
"Because it would be too easy to lose you to something so simple."
Her eyes flutter open, meeting mine again. "I don't think you are as cruel as you would like everyone to believe."
"Then you are delusional." I release her with an irritated scowl and return the items to the first-aid kit.
"If you hate me so much, then why am I here?" she demands.
The wrappers crumple in my hands before I toss them into the garbage. "You know exactly why."
She glances at me as if she's trying to decipher the hidden meaning of my message, and at the same time, I'm trying to decipher her skills of deception.
Truthfully, I am uncertain if she is aware of the events that transpired. I have questioned it so many times over the years. How much does the rest of her family know about Eli and the explosion? Ivy is close to her father, so there is certainly some level of trust there. But it is difficult to say whether she knows the truth, or she really is as naïve as she pretends. Regardless, until I know for sure, I will assume that the traitorous Moreno blood running through her veins knows perfectly well why she is here.
"If I knew the reasons, then why would I bother to ask?" she challenges.
"Because you are a Moreno," I sneer. "And that makes you a traitor by default."
"And you are a De La Rosa. So, I suppose that makes you an asshole by default."
My palm slides around to the front of her throat, fingertips digging into her pulse as I force her head back until she can't bend any farther. Her fingers come up to mine, prying at my hand as she struggles to free herself from my grasp.
"You're insane," she hisses. "Do you realize that? Just let me go. Let me leave here and you will never have to see me again!"
"Let you leave?" I laugh darkly, leaning down to let my words fan against her lips. "The only way you're getting out of this marriage is through death."
Her shoulders stiffen, and she stares up at me with unadulterated hate. "So, what then? You will see me dead? Is that truly what you wish?"
I force her head to the side, dragging my nose along her temple and into her hair, inhaling her drugging scent before I confess the truth.
"Nothing would give me greater pleasure."
* * *
Three days pass. Ivy remains locked in her room, and I do not visit her. Instead, I ask Antonia for reports, a detail she finds rather curious. She provides me updates as I request, informing me of Ivy's eating and sleeping habits. She tells me that my wife has requested access to the pool, and I return my order to deny her.
I know she will have to come out soon. Certain things will be expected of her. She is to attend events with me. There will be meetings with other wives regarding their endeavors and contributions within The Society. They take turns planning events, luncheons, dinners, and ensuring the businesses run smoothly by keeping them adequately staffed. Ivy will be expected to participate at some level, although not as much as the others. She married a Sovereign Son, so many expectations are cast upon her. The way she dresses, speaks, and carries herself will all be scrutinized. But because she bears my mark, nobody will ever dare whisper their judgments in a space where she or I might hear them. It is her duty to sew herself into the fabric of our organization and truly become one of the upper echelon.