Requiem of the Soul: A Sovereign Sons Novel

by Zavarelli, A.

  I hug the sweater I’m still holding on to and try to focus on what matters. “I’m going to go see Dad. Then I’m coming back to school.”

  “No, you’re not. That pipe dream is over. It should never have been allowed in the first place. Your selfishness has caused a lot of problems, Ivy.”

  Sweat runs down the back of my neck. I hold Abel’s gaze as the room around him spins. “I won’t,” I mutter.

  “I’m head of this household now. I’ll say what you will and what you won’t. And I’ll tell you right now you will do as you’re told, and you won’t shame this family again.”

  Hazel. He means Hazel. He was so angry when she left, he wanted to go after her himself. Find her and drag her back, kicking and screaming.

  “Abel—”

  “Don’t you even want to know who it is?” I can’t tell if his smile is one of pride or spite.

  “I don’t care who. I won’t do it. I’m not—”

  “Yes, you will, sweet sister. If I have to drag you to the altar myself, you will.” He takes my arm and starts to lead me out of the bedroom and through the apartment. “Now, there’s a lot to do before the wedding and not much time. He’s certainly anxious to get his hands on you.”

  I pull back, trying to free myself. “Stop. I’m not going with you, and I’m not getting married to a stranger!” I catch hold of the back of the couch. It’s stupid, I know, but it’s all I can do. “Let me go!”

  Abel tugs, and my grip slips. “You’re acting like a fucking baby, Ivy.”

  “Our father wouldn’t allow this!”

  He stops, then releases me. He tilts his head to study me, and the look on his face is enough to have me scrambling backward as he advances on me.

  I put my arms up in defense, but he grabs my wrists to tug them out of the way. And when the back of his hand comes crashing across my face, and he simultaneously releases me, the impact sends me flying into the wall.

  I’m stunned, both by the violence and the pain of the blow. For a moment, the room goes dark. I slip to the floor, my hand on my cheek. It stings, feels hot, and the back of my head throbs.

  “Shit.” He reaches down and hauls me up by my arms. “See what you made me do?” he asks through gritted teeth.

  I feel a tear slide down my cheek as I try to focus my eyes. I don’t want to cry. I don’t want to be afraid. And I know this is it. I know he’s right. I’ll do what he says because I have to. I’ve always known it could come to this. But I’d thought my father had safeguarded me.

  My father.

  “I want to see Dad.”

  “I told you—”

  “First. Let me see him first.”

  He considers. “Now you’re being reasonable.”

  He lets me go, steps backward, and I can see from his face he’s of two minds about what just happened. Not sorry—that’s a stretch too far for my brother—but split. I wonder if it has to do with whoever chose me.

  Chosen.

  God. Does The Society realize we don’t live in the Dark Ages anymore?

  He checks his watch again. “We need to go.”

  “I just want to get a few things.”

  He grits his jaw, but then nods once. “Five minutes. I’ll be downstairs.”

  I nod too.

  “Don’t try to run, Ivy. I’ll send soldiers after you if you run.”

  “Where would I go, Abel?”

  He studies me, eyes narrowed in hate, then walks to the door.

  “Who?” I call out just as he gets there, my curiosity getting the better of me.

  He stops and turns back to face me.

  “Who is it?” I ask.

  He smirks like he’s won some strange secret victory. “Now you want to know who?”

  “Just tell me.”

  That smirk vanishes. In fact, all emotion but hate vanishes. “It’s fitting, actually.”

  I stare at him, not understanding. “What do you mean?”

  “I’ll let you see for yourself.”

  “Who, Abel?”

  “Santiago De La Rosa.”

  2

  Santiago

  I ease my body onto the marble pew in the De La Rosa family chapel as my gaze moves to the flickering candles up on the altar. The space remains unchanged since my father designed it. White marble columns, ornate gold embellishments, decadence in every fine point. This holy sanctuary is just one of many extravagances in this estate long established by my bloodline. For decades, the Da La Rosa lineage has flourished in this manor. There was never any question that I would possess it someday. I just hadn’t expected it to be so soon. Now, I am the chosen descendant doomed to haunt these halls where memories remain etched into every surface.

  My father used to bring me to this chapel as a boy when there was a lesson to be learned. Lorenzo De La Rosa was not a soft man. He was a direct heir to a founding father of Imperium Valens Invictum. A Sovereign Son. Our society is a well-established organization rooted in powerful dynasties around the world. Some call us thieves in the night. A criminal syndicate. Mafia. The truth is much more intricate than any of those simplistic terms.

  Our ancestors learned long ago there was power in secrecy. The legacy handed down to us was much more evolved than that of the criminals waging war on each other in the streets. We have money. We have power. And we are much more sophisticated than your average knee-breaking Italian mob boss.

  IVI holds its members in the highest regard. With that power comes expectation. Education. Professionalism. And above all, discretion. By day, we appear as any other well-bred member of society. They don’t and never will know the way our organization operates.

  From infancy, my father anointed me with this same great responsibility. He was a well-respected member of the upper echelon in our society, and he was determined that his children would be molded in his image, no matter the cost.

  The cost won me many hard lessons over the years. Kneeling on hard marble flooring for hours. The bite of a leather strap against my skin. The sting of a wooden paddle. The repetition of prayers and the smothering guilt of repentance for never being quite…enough.

  De La Rosas can’t afford to be soft. My father’s words still echo off the walls as my eyes drift over the photos of him and my brother Leandro hung on opposite sides of the altar. I have no doubt in my mind they would tell me the next steps are imminent and necessary. The only way to right the wrong of their deaths is to punish without mercy. Their blood is on Eli Moreno’s hands, and that motherfucker just had to go and get sick before I could squeeze every last wisp of his soul from his body.

  My head dips as the force of my rage rises within me and blackens my vision. For four years, I’ve been waiting for this. Four years of countless surgeries and physical therapy. Endless anguish and grief have been my only companions in the darkness while I searched for answers to the truth.

  Eli can’t take this away from me. His illness won’t be the easy way out. While he lays in that hospital bed, shriveling up and withering to nothing, I will destroy everything he ever loved. And if he should wake again, it will be to a horror even worse than death.

  Fate has decided for me. Time is a luxury I no longer have, so I must act now. That certainty is vibrating through my bones and rattling the rusted cage around my heart. Every last Moreno will pay in blood and misery so acute, they will know suffering more intimately than I ever could.

  The passage door at the side of the chapel crashes open, jarring me from my thoughts as my entire body reacts with a violent shudder. How fucking difficult is it to indulge my one simple request of complete silence in my own home?

  The new maid spills into the room, unaware of my presence as she switches on the light. The brightness stings my eyes, and I watch her in disbelief as she begins to dust the pews, humming as she works. She hasn’t noticed me yet because she’s wearing earbuds, and her senses are duller than a mouse heading straight for a trap.

  Slowly, I rise to my full height and pivot my head to look
at her. She catches the movement from the corner of her eye and glances up at me. In a fraction of a second, her face morphs to horror as she witnesses me without the benefit of dim lighting. The duster she was using clatters to the floor, and she brings a trembling hand to her mouth, but not before a scream erupts from her throat.

  Every fiber in my body knits together as I pierce her with an unrelenting gaze. I should be used to the revulsion by now. Yet on the rare occasion someone glimpses me in the light, I am reminded who I am. The monster lurking in the shadows. The scarred remains of the only De La Rosa male to crawl from the ashes of our destruction. This is what I have been reduced to. And this is why those responsible will pay in blood.

  “What did I tell you about the lights?” I roar.

  The maid shrinks into herself, bursting into a fit of hysterical tears as she shakes her head, scuttling away like I might devour her soul at any moment. In her hasty retreat, she manages to switch off the light and seal me back into the room, as if that would stop me should I decide to give chase. But she is not the prey my soul hungers for, and I doubt after tonight, I will ever see her again.

  * * *

  I watch the sales assistant in the full-length mirror as she wheels out a selection of dresses as requested. Her eyes are cast toward the floor, and she never looks at me once. At least she is capable of following directions. Or perhaps she is just terrified of me, as most women are.

  The luxury clothing store squatting in the shopping district on Canal Street is owned by IVI, so it isn’t a problem to wake someone in the middle of the night to meet me here. That’s the power of the De La Rosa name. As a Sovereign Son, nobody challenges my whims. And if they are smart, they follow my demands without question.

  This mousy little assistant has done so to my exact specifications. The shop is dimly lit, with only a few flickering candles casting a soft glow over the expensive fabrics hanging from the racks. There is no background noise, not even the gentle whirr of a fan. Silence and darkness. They are my two constant requirements in life.

  “I’ll return with a few more in just a moment, Mr. De La Rosa.”

  She exits to the back room with brisk footsteps, leaving me to study my reflection in the mirror. It isn’t often I indulge in such an act, considering I had all but two of the shiny surfaces removed from my home. The grotesque sight of the face staring back at me is almost unrecognizable. Although improved from the surgeries, and somewhat hidden beneath the permanent half Calavera mask tattooed on my face, the reflection still feels like a stranger to me. A face more suited to Dia de Los Muertos, with shading around the eyes and jaw, creating a lifelike representation of a skull. One foot in the grave, some might say.

  I added the markings to cover my scars, but they also serve as a reminder of all that was lost. A permanent memorial to my father, my brother, and the friends taken the day Eli Moreno betrayed me.

  I’m not even aware of the soft clicking of the door until Mercedes is upon me, making her presence known with a smirk as she comes to a standstill beside me. My sister is tall and beautiful like our mother. She lures men in with a sweet smile, but she’s as toxic as poison. Her hair is long, the same shade of black as mine, and she inherited my father’s dark eyes, while I inherited my mother’s hazel. She is the youngest, too intelligent for her own good, and too spoiled to do anything with it. When it came to our father, Mercedes did not escape his brutality, but she was often shielded by Leandro and myself. As much as we could, at least.

  “Santi.” She smooths her palms over my shoulders, examining the fabric of my blazer with a keen eye. “Is this new?”

  She’s referring to the bespoke Canali cream suit stitched around my frame with such mastery, I’d venture a guess there isn’t another in the world like it. It was made to please me alone, but Mercedes has always had a taste for the finer things in life. A side effect of the family disease we call wealth. Wealthy doesn’t even begin to touch on our lineage. We bleed gold.

  “What are you doing here?” I ask her. “You should be offering your services where they are needed.”

  “Did you think I wouldn’t come?” She pouts. “Oh, how you wound me, my dear brother. As soon as I received your message, I gave my notice and came straight back home.”

  “You should have stayed,” I answer flatly. “Your presence isn’t required.”

  Ignoring my sharp remark, she meets my gaze in the mirror. “Tell me the truth. Is it really happening now?”

  “Yes. I have no choice. Eli has fallen ill, forcing my hand.”

  Mercedes releases a breath, and a slow smile bleeds across her crimson lips. “Finally.”

  “You have other things to occupy your time,” I tell her. “Like finding some poor soul to marry you. This isn’t your concern.”

  She steps in front of me, grabbing me by the lapels as she glares up at me. “I’m not leaving. This isn’t just about you. You aren’t the only one who lost them, and you aren’t the only one who’s been waiting years for revenge.”

  For a moment, a frisson of guilt moves through me. I know I’m not the only one who lost them. Our entire family is dead, and Mercedes has been leaving an unchecked wake of devastation in her path ever since. But she can’t be levelheaded about this. If it were up to her, revenge would be bloody and swift, leaving a gaping hole of discontentment that could never be filled. She doesn’t have the patience or the foresight to see the possibilities of drawing it out. A swift death is only preferable to those who are on the receiving end of it.

  “You will have your revenge.” I pry her hands off my suit. “But it will be done my way.”

  “Of course it will.” She placates me with a soft tone. “All I’m asking for is a front row seat. I want to help. Whatever task you give me, no matter how small, I will savor it. Please, Santiago. Let me be a part of this.”

  “I will consider it.”

  The sales assistant returns with more dresses, hanging them up and asking if I require anything else at the moment before she disappears again. As I stalk toward them, Mercedes is right beside me, her eyes fixed on the side of my face.

  I ignore her and begin to examine the pieces carefully, one by one. They are all black, as I requested. Lace and pearls and silk are too beautiful for the likes of Ivy Moreno. Yet she will have one regardless. No wife of mine will marry me in tatters, but I will surely take pleasure in seeing the destruction of her beautiful dress once the ceremony is over.

  “You’re actually buying her a gown?” Mercedes scoffs. “Why?”

  “Because she will be my wife,” I growl. “And I will not have her tarnish the De La Rosa name by wearing anything I don’t approve of.”

  “She will be a De La Rosa in name only,” she snarls. “Who cares what she wears when her blood will stain the floors of The Manor? If it were up to me, I would do it at the ceremony in front of her family for all to see. She should have to walk naked over fiery coals to deserve your hand in marriage.”

  “That’s why it isn’t up to you.”

  “I still don’t understand why you have to marry her. Just torture her and be done with it.”

  “You don’t have to understand.” I dismiss her coldly.

  The room falls silent, and I can feel Mercedes watching me as I pick apart each dress. There is still much to be done, and her presence is only delaying my efforts. But sending her away now would only add to the salt in her wound.

  I reach for the finest dress in the selection and hang it on the end of the rack. After I call for the sales assistant and tell her to package it up, Mercedes mutters under her breath.

  “She doesn’t deserve to wear something so beautiful. Fucking Morenos.”

  “Perhaps not, but it’s not your decision to make.”

  She watches me carefully as I roam the store, seeking out a pair of heels to match. The jeweler will be here soon with a selection of rings. The rest I can send my staff to pick up. Flowers. Candles. Hairpieces. I pause in front of a lingerie display, swallowing the kno
t in my throat.

  “You must be kidding,” Mercedes hisses. “Don’t tell me you actually plan to bed that awful woman.”

  I finger the black lace and try to imagine what Ivy would look like in such a display. My enemy and my soon-to-be wife. The woman twelve years my junior. I have not seen her up close in years. Not since the explosion. But I have watched her. I know her curves, her softness, her impossibly girlish dreams of escaping this life. She will be mine to do with as I please. Mine to take. Touch. Torment.

  And horrify.

  As if I’ve been burned, I yank my hand away and reach for the pen in my pocket. Too late, I realize Mercedes continues to watch me like a relentless hawk, devouring my every move and silent thought for her own motives she will undoubtedly remind me of later.

  “What is that?” Her eyes flick over the pen curiously.

  I return it to my pocket and ignore her. A potentially dangerous move when it comes to my sister. She has a habit of unearthing information, and my reaction will only serve to intensify her curiosity. I know her well enough to understand this one universal truth about her. The woman is nothing if not determined.

  She only discovered my suspicions about Eli’s betrayal because she went rifling through my office herself when I wouldn’t give her the answers she wanted. After she uncovered my files on the Moreno family, she was like a python chasing a rodent. Unstoppable. Even now, she’s practically frothing at the mouth, and I know I will have to be vigilant about the rules when it comes to Ivy.

  Mercedes might want her vengeance, but she also understands her place. I am the head of the De La Rosa household. It is me who controls her life. Her destiny. And she knows better than to even blink without my approval first. It will be the same with Ivy.

  Sweet, poisonous Ivy.

  “When will you kill her?” Mercedes asks, her voice tinged with the need for reassurance.