Requiem of the Soul: A Sovereign Sons Novel

by Zavarelli, A.

  He has always been too smug for my liking. Too eager for approval. I don’t like the way he carries himself, and I am even less pleased with how readily he agreed to offer his sister to me. He might not have a choice in the matter, but his lack of regard for his own blood does nothing to win my approval.

  I expected a fight, and admittedly, I am disappointed that I did not get one. I’ve been watching his family for four years now, and I have found a weakness for all but him. Eli and his wife crave the power that comes with The Society. Ivy craves to escape through naïve dreams of school and a life she’ll never have. Much like her older sister, who did escape, I wouldn’t be surprised if she tried. The youngest Moreno, Evangeline, isn’t old enough to have an opinion either way. But Abel does not seem to be cursed with affection for any of his family members, and if he loves anything other than himself, I have not yet discovered it.

  Marrying Ivy off to me should have been torturous to all of them. But not once since I declared my intentions has anyone come to beg me to spare her. Not even her own mother. I’m beginning to think the only Moreno who might care is the one who’s lying helpless in a coma, too cowardly to face the injustices he deserves himself.

  “I wanted to offer you an assurance.” Abel’s eyes flick to the empty chair opposite my desk. He’s waiting for me to tell him to sit down and make himself comfortable. I don’t.

  “What assurance?” My eyes narrow in on the folded paper in his hands.

  “That your bride is pure. There can be no doubt now.”

  I consider his words carefully. Surely, he cannot mean what I think he does. But as I examine the tilt of his lips and an expression that can only indicate he is rather pleased with himself, my temples begin to throb violently.

  I reach out and snatch the paper from his hands, unfolding it near the soft glow of the flickering candle on my desk. My eyes move rapidly over the report, collecting the details as my knuckles grow rigid at the confirmation of his statement. An image of Ivy comes to mind, filling in the gaps between my imagination and Abel’s stupidity. It isn’t difficult to envision her lying there on her back, legs spread as a stranger dares to touch what should only ever belong to me. How could Abel ever believe this would be a smart move?

  When I return my hollow gaze to his, the gratified expression on his face falls away. I stalk around the desk, whipping my fingers out to latch onto his jaw, wrenching it upward in the deadly grip of my whitened knuckles.

  “Who the fuck gave you the authority?”

  My fingers bite into his skin with a force he’s not accustomed to, and he squirms in my grasp as red blooms across his face. His barely concealed disdain is simmering inside him, close to blowing the lid off his feigned civility. I’d like to see him try to test me right now. It would give me great pleasure to cave his skull in and paint my walls with his blood.

  “I thought you would want it,” he grits out.

  Darkness swirls in the pits of his beady eyes, an undercurrent of rage thrumming beneath his pinched features. He wants to put me in my place. He wants more than anything to believe he is even a fraction of my equal.

  “Let me be perfectly clear,” I clip out succinctly. “She belongs to me. Nobody will ever touch her again without my permission, including you. If I find one goddamn hair out of place on her head, it will be you who pays the price. Do you understand?”

  “Yes.” He jerks his chin back, clearly revulsed by my face so close to his.

  He wants me to know what he thinks of me, whether he can say it plainly or not. It’s tempting to beat him within an inch of his life right now. I could, and nobody would ever question me for it. But I have to remind myself that he will pay for his father’s sins in time. And there will be more satisfaction in watching him slowly stripped of his pride and superiority. When I’m through with him, he will wish his face was only half as damaged as mine. Abel Moreno will come to understand intimately what it means to be truly ugly.

  “Well, what do we have here?” Mercedes startles me as she speaks from the doorway to my study, peering in at the scene before her curiously. But when her eyes shoot to mine, her unspoken message is clear.

  Not yet. I shake my head in silent answer.

  I promised I’d let her toy with at least one Moreno before they die, and she’s had her eyes set on Abel since I uttered the words. Between the two of us, I’m not sure which is worse. Mercedes is just as bloodthirsty but only half as patient. In her mind, she’s probably already devised a scheme of torture more wicked than I even want to know. There will be no pity for him from me.

  I release him with a sneer and retreat to my desk, sitting in my chair while Abel dares to let his greedy eyes roam the length of my sister’s body. She sees his want and encourages his ignorance by offering him a feline smile. He isn’t even remotely aware of how much she wants to destroy him.

  “Let it be known,” I speak, forcing his attention back to me. “Any decisions about my bride are to go through me. I want an update every hour from now until the wedding. Where she is. Who she’s with. What she’s doing. Is that simplistic enough for your comprehension?”

  “Of course.” He nods with narrowed eyes.

  “And I will be at the Moreno’s house to help her get ready tomorrow,” Mercedes interjects.

  I shoot her an irritated glance. She knows better than to suggest such an idea without speaking to me first. But given that I can’t trust Abel, and I know Mercedes will follow through with my commands, I agree.

  Abel bows his head toward her and then smirks. “Nothing would please me more than to see you again, Miss De La Rosa.”

  * * *

  Another long, sleepless night passes as I roam the halls of The Manor. The mansion is vast and often drafty with so much space to heat. When my father was alive, he would instruct the staff to heat the rooms we occupied and nothing more during the colder months. I haven’t changed his directives in that regard since I’ve taken over as head of the household.

  The Manor is a Victorian gothic behemoth in the Lakewood District of New Orleans. Nestled into the trees just past the cemeteries, the rare, sprawling eight acres of gardens affords more privacy than most estates in the city. The property has belonged to my family for generations, and though there have been many generous offers over the years, it will never belong to anyone who does not bear the De La Rosa name.

  It is up to me to carry on our family's lineage now, and that is where Ivy will prove her worth. The mere thought of impregnating her both sickens and fascinates me. She is my enemy’s daughter, and therefore, she can only ever repulse me, just as I will certainly repulse her. It is not the ideal situation, but given the circumstances, if anyone must bear my sons, I should think it would be torturous for her to do so. And God as my witness, she will.

  The only remaining question is how long will she survive under my rule? How long can she bear the punishments of her father’s sins before it becomes too much? And will she decide to put herself out of her misery, or will it be me?

  Tomorrow, she will be mine to touch. Mine to take. Mine to do with as I please. She will know what it feels like to be well and truly owned. My brand on her skin. Her virgin blood on my cock. The first of a thousand tears she will shed drying on her cheeks by the time I’m through with her.

  When I close my eyes, I can imagine it so vividly. But the vision wavers between rough and soft against my will. I have not been with a woman since before the explosion. Though many would do my bidding should I request it, I have not desired to expose them to the horrors of my scarred flesh. Ivy will have no choice but to subject herself to me, should I want her to. She will bear it every time she looks at me. I want her to feel what I feel inside. The Moreno blood running through her veins has destroyed me, and it should destroy her too.

  Perhaps one day, I will let her see the landscape of terror her father left behind on my body. For now, I should use her only as a vessel. Her affection is not required to do what’s necessary. To open her body to min
e and accept my cock until her belly is round and swollen with my child.

  My fingers move over the ornate gothic mask on my desk. It is not difficult to imagine her kneeling before me, naked with my fresh mark etched into her skin. The mask blinding her vision as she sucks in a breath, waiting for me to draw near. What a beautiful, terrifying sight it will be.

  The clock on the mantel ticks down the seconds, the hours dwindling away and sealing her fate. Tonight, at the stroke of midnight, Ivy Moreno will be my wife.

  9

  Ivy

  I’m in my room sitting on my bed, and no matter how many blankets I wrap around my body, I can’t seem to get warm.

  Seeing my father yesterday was harder than I expected. He’d lost a lot of weight, and he didn’t look good. He looked small and weak, cheeks hollowed out and so pale like he was fighting for every breath.

  Or he would be if he weren’t on a machine that was doing the breathing for him.

  I talked to one of the doctors who said he’d gone into cardiac arrest. And he didn’t have to tell me the outcome didn’t look good. I could see that. So I sat beside him and held his hand and tried not to sob.

  My dad and I, we’re as close as you can get when you’re a daughter of a Society family. The females are considered second-class citizens, and daughters are marriage material to, ideally, better your standing within the organization or birth the sons of the next generation. Sons hold more value. Although not Abel because he was a product of a marriage not sanctified by The Society.

  But when we were alone, Dad was different. He was never unkind. My mother was the one always ready to smack you with the back of her hand or burn you with the tip of a cigarette she swore she didn’t smoke. My dad was gentle. And at times, affectionate even.

  No. He is gentle. He’s still here. And as long as he’s still here, there’s still a chance.

  He let me go away to college. That doesn’t happen to most girls within The Society. Girls live at home. They study but only under the watchful eyes of their parents.

  I think back to Dr. Chambers, shuddering at the thought of what it must have been like having him for a father. It actually makes me understand Maria a little more.

  My dad is different. And I want to believe that some part of him hoped I would somehow get away from the clutches of The Society. At least on some subconscious level.

  I try to remember those things as I sit here now. Not how small he looked in that hospital bed. Not the ongoing sounds of the machines he was hooked up to.

  I stare at the garment bag hanging on my closet door. It’s clear. I can see through it to my wedding dress. It’s beautiful. Black. It fits my mood. And it fits for a Society wedding to a stranger.

  There must be yards of lace and too many satin buttons to count. The veil is in its own bag, and it’s even longer than the dress. The shoes, though, as gorgeous as they are, will be staying in their box. Maybe he can return them and get his money back. Because if I wear those, I will surely break my neck.

  I glance at the clock. A little after nine o’clock. Three hours to go.

  Evangeline and my mother are gone. I haven’t seen either of them since my visit with Dad. I wonder if my mother picked up Evangeline from school and is keeping her away on Abel’s orders. Or Santiago’s. The only other person in the house with me is James. I guess Abel isn’t taking a chance that I’ll make a run for it.

  Twenty more minutes pass like this with me sitting on the bed numb and wondering how I’m going to do it. How I’m going to get up and get dressed and go to the church and get married.

  Married

  To a stranger.

  Abel was smart to use Evangeline to trap me. His words before I got out of the Rolls replay in my mind of what he’ll do once he has guardianship of Evangeline. Which he will get because our mother will give that to him as per the rules of The Society. The head of household must be male, and if Dad dies, he’s it.

  I’m thinking.

  Santiago De La Rosa will be my husband in a matter of hours.

  Santiago is a powerful man. Can he do something? Would he? Would he help me if I asked him to?

  He can’t be worse than Abel. I just can’t believe anyone could be more hateful than Abel.

  Pushing the blankets off, I get out of bed. I change into an old swimsuit and pull on a robe, then walk out of my room. I head down the stairs and, still barefoot, out the back door. James is on my heels, but I don’t bother with him.

  It’s misty, the grass wet and cold beneath my bare feet as I make my way to the pool at the back of the dark garden. My mother keeps it heated throughout the winter to swim her laps. She wanted an indoor pool, and I remember the fight she’d had with my father when he’d outright told her we couldn’t afford that. So outdoor it is.

  James stands back and watches as I drop my robe. Shuddering in the cool night, I make my way to the stairs that lead down into the pool. The water is cold. Colder than I expect for a heated pool. Wasn’t she heating it anymore? Although the house isn’t maintained like it used to be. I don’t stop. I keep going until I’m in as deep as my chest, then submerge myself entirely and swim.

  I swim short laps back and forth and back and forth. It’s not a very big pool. I don’t know how long I keep going only opening my eyes when I come up for air. I just swim, staying under as long as possible, the sound and weight of the water drowning out my thoughts. Drowning out the world.

  Maybe something good will come out of this marriage.

  Maybe I can save my little sister.

  Even if I have to sleep with a monster to do it.

  I’m so wrapped up in the swimming that I don’t even register the two people beside James. I swim another lap, then another before I hear a woman laugh, and then Abel hissing my name.

  I stop when I get to the deep end of the pool only because Abel reaches down to grab my hand and keep me there.

  Abel claims not to like swimming. I’m pretty sure he can’t do it. If you ask me, he’s afraid of the water. But he’d never admit to either of those things because both would be considered weaknesses. So instead of pulling away, I grip his hand just as hard, my eyes locked on his.

  If I pulled him in, would he drown?

  Would I save him? Or would I hold him under, maybe? It’s an entertaining thought.

  I tug.

  “Let go, Ivy,” he hisses and glances at the woman.

  I follow his gaze and see why he’s trying to be the big man here. She’s beautiful. I’ve never seen her before and have no idea who she is, but she is striking. And about a thousand times out of Abel’s league.

  “Mercedes De La Rosa has come to prepare you for her brother.”

  The woman walks over and stops at the edge of the pool even while I’m still processing the way Abel just said that.

  I let go of Abel, and he straightens, wiping water off his suit and apologizing to her. Looking ridiculous as he kisses her ass.

  He wants her. It’s so obvious.

  It’s also obvious she wouldn’t let him lick the bottom of her snakeskin Jimmy Choos.

  She only has eyes for me anyway. She’s staring so intently all I can do is hold her gaze. “Hello, Ivy,” she says, her tone haughty, her smile the opposite of warm.

  I know instantly she and I will not be friends.

  10

  Santiago

  Sacred Trinity Cathedral is in the Garden District of New Orleans, less than a mile from the IVI compound. Though The Society has a chapel on their grounds, this church is one of many under our control. Weddings and baptisms are often held in this space because it is large enough to accommodate the local members of our faction. But this evening, there will be only fifteen of the upper-echelon members here to witness the ceremony, along with Ivy’s brother. As for my side, I will be the only De La Rosa present.

  The cathedral is built in the early gothic architectural style, with a tower and spires looming over the street below. Inside, the space is filled with rich, polished
wood, ornate tapestries, and stained glass. It is dark without natural lighting, and tonight, it is only illuminated by the flickering candles lining the entryway and the aisle.

  While the church's designated members finish making their preparations for the ceremony, I find solitude in the small chapel attached to the choir on the eastern side of the cathedral. I have grown so accustomed to being alone with my thoughts that this last week has completely taken me out of my element.

  I am in need of silence, and I locate it in the shadows of the confessional reserved for more private occasions. Finding sanctuary on the wooden bench inside, I shut the door and close my eyes. The space smells of wood polish and incense, a scent that often pervaded my childhood memories. It would be fair to say I was raised within the confines of Catholic institutions, with only my summers spent at home. At least until I reached an age when it was appropriate for my father to begin molding me into the man he wanted me to be. He was not pleased to discover that my real talent was in mathematics. It seemed like such a waste to him. Though the upper-echelon members of IVI all agreed it would be a useful skill that could be well-honed, I have never been able to forget the hollow disappointment in my father’s eyes.

  From the beginning, his expectations for me were heavy. I did not act as children should. There was no mischievous innocence to be found in his firstborn son. I was always serious, always studious. I respected his wishes and followed them to his exacting standards. By all accounts, even my own mother’s, it should have pleased him. But he found fault in the strange emptiness within my eyes, even as he demanded the very same. I had heard him observe more than once how cold I was, and it was the only thing that seemed to bring even a hint of agreement to his hard features. If ever I did feel a flicker of emotion, a glimpse of my own humanity, I would swiftly dispose of it and forget the event had ever occurred.