Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel

by Zavarelli, A.

  I open it and drink half, then remember the candy bars Eva shoved into my pocket and take one out. I rip the wrapper and take a bite as I open the freezer, curious to see if there’s anything inside. I’m surprised to find stacks of frozen dinners and a half-full bottle of vodka.

  No one lives here, but someone does use this place. This safe house. I am curious who.

  I finish the candy bar and take out one of the dinners, a lasagna dish. Before heating it, I grab the phone out of my pocket and dial Abel. He answers on the first ring.

  “Yes?”

  “I’m here.”

  He exhales. “Good. Okay. Stay put while I figure out what to do with you.”

  “Did Evangeline make it out?”

  “Of course, she did.” He sounds almost proud.

  “Can I talk to her?”

  “No, you need to hang up. I’m sure your husband has a search party out by now.”

  “I promised I’d call her.”

  “I’ll let her know you made it.”

  “Whose house is this?” I ask.

  He goes quiet for a moment, then snorts. “Dad’s. Don’t touch anything.”

  “Dad’s? What?”

  “Don’t touch anything, understand? You just go up to bed. Wait for me to call you.”

  “But I don’t understand. What do you mean it’s Dad’s?”

  I hear the doorbell ring on his end. “I have to go,” Abel says.

  “Is it him? Santiago?”

  “I can’t see through closed doors, can I? Don’t call me, I’ll call you. You just stay put. Do not go anywhere.”

  “I won’t.”

  He disconnects the call, and I busy myself opening the frozen dinner. I pop it into the microwave and look out the window onto the big, empty lot of the fenced-in backyard with its brown grass while it cooks. The clouds have darkened, the first drops of rain falling, and my gaze shifts from the garden to my own reflection.

  My sister was right. I look bad.

  I touch a hand to my stomach, turn sideways even though I know it’ll still be flat. I’m having a baby. Santiago’s baby.

  And some part of me knows no matter what he won’t just let me walk away. He will hunt me down. He would do it even if I wasn’t pregnant.

  So why is Abel helping me? Why risk it? Why when he must know Santiago will win. He always does.

  I blink away from my reflection as the microwave dings. I’m not hungry anymore but I take the lasagna out and force myself to eat it, burning my tongue on the too-hot sauce.

  I just need some time to think. To figure this out. Make a plan.

  Because I have no doubt Santiago will come for me and I have to be ready for him when he does.

  37

  Ivy

  I think about what Abel said, that it’s Dad’s house. Dad doesn’t have a house apart from the one we lived in.

  Although I remember the picture in his wallet from when I was little. The beautiful woman. The one I didn’t know.

  Was my dad having an affair and keeping this house for that affair?

  In addition to the living and dining rooms and the kitchen on the first floor is a small office. There’s no light in there, though, and the windows are boarded up, so I leave it alone.

  Upstairs are three small, sparse bedrooms. Only one has a proper bed in it. I guess it’d be the master. There’s one bathroom with a tiny shower. On the shelf is a worn-down bar of soap, and under the sink is a package of men’s razors and shaving cream.

  The two bedrooms are empty except for two twin-size mattresses laid on the floor of each. But if they’ve been used, it’s very gently. In the small linen closet in the hallway, I find folded sheets in pinks and yellows and a couple of towels. Nothing fancy. More leftover things picked up here and there, but everything smells clean at least.

  I carry the sheets into the master to make the bed, but I keep thinking about Dad. I sit down on the edge of it and look across to the chest of drawers. Leaving the sheets on the bed, I get up and go to it, opening the first drawer. I find it empty, as I expect. Same with the second.

  The third one is jammed, and when I manage to tug it out, I almost fall backward from the force and hear something clatter to the back of the drawer. I’m more careful when I pull it farther, and for a moment, I’m not sure if what I’m seeing is right.

  My heart races as a chill covers my skin with goose bumps.

  I reach in and take out the bracelet. It’s a small gold chain with a name written in cursive across a narrow gold bar. I know this bracelet. I have one just like it. It’s at home. Eva has one too. I don’t know if she wears hers, though. I don’t wear mine. I stopped the day Hazel left.

  I brush my thumb over the name inscribed on the bar.

  Hazel.

  And beside it the symbol that I hate. IVI.

  A gift for the daughters of The Society. Like we’re all some big, creepy family. They give them to the parents with each female birth. My parents kept extending the chain as we grew, proud that we were Society’s daughters.

  This is Hazel’s. She never took hers off. Never.

  Was she here?

  I slip the bracelet around my wrist and close the clasp.

  Was Hazel here? And did Dad know?

  Suddenly no longer tired, I go downstairs. There was a flashlight in one of the drawers in the kitchen. I get it and switch it on. It’s a good one. Strong. I walk to the small study and open the door. I shine the light over the interior, see the messy desk that’s too big for this tiny house, too grand. I see the worn Chesterfield against the far wall. The empty bottle of whiskey in the trashcan, the one that’s only a third full on the desk beside a tumbler with whiskey residue inside it.

  I roll the chair back behind the desk and sit down, shining the light over the top of the desk, opening folders and peering at the papers inside. But they don’t mean anything to me, and honestly, I’m not sure what I’m looking for. Well, I guess I am. I want to see if there’s more evidence of Hazel having been here. I want to know if this is truly Dad’s house.

  But I don’t find anything in here useful. Nothing in the drawers but more folders containing names I don’t know.

  The sound of a police siren demands my attention, and I gasp, my heart racing as I fumble to switch off the flashlight. I sit in the pitch-black, trying to remember if I’d left any lights on. The kitchen.

  Shit.

  But then the sound fades, and I realize how paranoid I’m being. Santiago can’t find me here. Not yet. I have some time. And I’m dead on my feet.

  I’ll have a look around in the morning when I’m fresh. So I switch off the kitchen light, double-check that the doors are locked, and make my way to the bedroom where I make the bed and lie down, wondering if Hazel had slept on this very bed years ago. If this was a safe house for her, too. And if that was Dad’s doing. If he’d helped her run away.

  38

  Santiago

  "Boss, I need a word with you." Marco pokes his head into Ivy's room, and I grunt a response.

  "Give me a hand with these, will you?" I shift the window cover, setting one piece aside.

  Marco doesn't move. "I think you should come down here so we can talk."

  I glance at him over my shoulder and frown at the strained expression on his face. My fucking nerves are already shot, and this isn't helping. The moment I left Judge's house, I sent ten of my best guards to the hospital to collect my wife early while I came home to prepare for her arrival. That was an hour ago. They should have given me a status update by now.

  My gut sours, and I know Marco came to deliver bad news. What else could it be?

  I turn back to the window, tugging at the piece that won't seem to budge. Much like me, it's stubborn. Unyielding.

  "Fucking piece of shit." I growl, slamming against it in frustration. "I need your help, Marco."

  "Boss, I really think you should come down here." He's quieter now. Uncertain how to handle me like this. I can't say I blame him.
/>
  I don't want to hear whatever it is he came to say. Maybe that's why I'm still prying at the window cover as if I can alter it. Avoid it.

  "I have to get this out," I snarl. "Her room has to be ready when she gets home."

  Silence. He doesn't bother to respond this time, and a cold chill moves over me when I release the cover and finally turn to him. I look down at him from the sill, a lead weight settling over my chest.

  Marco shifts from one foot to the other. He clears his throat then stuffs his hands into his pockets. And finally, he delivers the news he doesn’t want to tell me.

  "Sir, your wife slipped the guard and escaped the hospital. I've had my men out scouring the city for her from the moment I became aware, but she hasn't turned up anywhere. I waited to tell you because I had hoped we might find her."

  My hands fall open at my sides. My breathing slows. And I stare at him, blank.

  Several minutes pass. Maybe more. Marco stares back, his face growing more uncomfortable the longer I stand there, silent.

  I turn back to the window cover and yank again, grunting out in frustration when it refuses to budge. Marco doesn't say anything else as I continue to grapple with the piece. Or if he does, I don't hear it.

  "I need to get this out," I bark at him. "She'll be home soon. Her room should be ready. It should have been ready..."

  My voice falters, and a hand settles onto my arm, gently guiding me away from the window. Marco helps me down from the sill, meeting my gaze with sorrowful eyes.

  "She's gone, sir. I'm so sorry."

  A tremor moves through me. I can't accept it. She wouldn't leave me. Ivy hates me, but she wouldn't leave me.

  "You're wrong." I brush past him, determined to prove it myself.

  Marco follows me all the way down the stairs and to the car still parked in the driveway. When I try and fail to open the door, he unlocks it with the keys in his hand and gently guides me around to the passenger seat.

  "I'll drive you, sir."

  The ride is quiet. I can't accept that this is anything other than a mistake. Ivy wouldn't do this. She wouldn't take away my light.

  Marco pulls up to the curb of The Society hospital and follows me inside. We take the elevator up to the fifth floor, passing the army of guards that has now multiplied under Marco's command. They are scouring the halls, some checking each room and peeking into laundry carts while others interview hospital staff.

  I can't focus on any of it. I can only focus on each step. Each breath.

  When I enter her room, I come to a halt just past the doorway. Her bed is empty, and a glance inside the bathroom confirms that is too. And for a minute, I don't know what else to do.

  Marco lingers beside me, waiting patiently for my sanity to return. But it never does.

  I move robotically, a phantom in search of the beating heart that's been ripped from his chest. There's nothing left inside that gaping space. Nothing but agony.

  "I was going to make things right," I murmur as my hand settles onto the pillow where she lay this morning. "She would have seen it. The windows. Her new clothes. The lock removed from her bedroom door. I removed the rosary and the mask… I was going to make things right."

  Marco has grace enough not to interrupt my fragmented thoughts as I bring the pillow to my face and inhale her scent. I breathe it in, and then it slips from my hands, falling to the floor as my gaze drifts out the window. At the vast city beyond. She is out there somewhere. My wife and our child.

  I turn to Marco, a familiar anger steeling me against these unrecognizable weaknesses stirring up inside me.

  "Where is Abel?"

  "We haven't been able to locate him, sir," he answers apologetically. "But the nurse mentioned that Ivy's youngest sister came by to visit. We haven't spoken with her yet."

  "Take me to her."

  He nods, and thirty minutes later, I'm standing on the doorstep of the pathetic structure the Moreno's call home. I've been to this house many times. Sat in the office with Eli and said hello to his family in passing. I remember it vividly. Back then, it looked very much like a family home. Now, it looks like it should be burned to the ground.

  The door opens, and Mrs. Moreno squeaks when she sees the grim reaper standing on the threshold to greet her. She never could look directly at me. Not even when my face wasn’t a skull.

  "Where is Evangeline?" I demand.

  "Eva?" she repeats, her voice too high.

  "Bring her to me. Now."

  She steps back, nodding fast as her hands begin to tremble. "Of course, Mr. De La Rosa. I'll bring her to you."

  She leads us into the sitting room, offering us a drink, to which I don't reply. After a moment, she scurries away in search of her daughter.

  "Search the house," I tell Marco.

  He nods and disappears while I stand in the middle of the sitting room, scanning the space for any signs of my wife. After a few more moments, the smallest Moreno girl enters the room, eyes cast down, cheeks red.

  "Mr. De La Rosa," she grits out. "My mother said you'd like to speak to me."

  The mother she speaks of sent her into the room alone, courageous as she is. She's too afraid to face me herself but does not hesitate to send her young child to speak with me. That tells me everything I need to know about the coward of a woman.

  "Evangeline." I glance down at her, the little girl much like a younger version of Ivy. This miniature human reminds me of that girl, the one who stumbled into her father's office in tears so many years ago. The one who gifted me a pen and didn't hesitate to look me directly in the eye, unlike most of the people in my life.

  Evangeline tips her chin up, squaring her shoulders. "What do you want?"

  My lip tilts at the corner, despite the gravity of the situation. She is very much like Ivy, indeed.

  "Where is your brother?"

  "I don't know." She shrugs. "He hasn't been home since I got here."

  "Tell me about the hospital. You went to visit your sister. What happened when you were there?"

  She swallows and shakes her head. "Nothing. It was just a visit."

  She's lying, and I know she's lying. It only makes sense that Abel sent her. Nobody would think twice about the young, innocent girl coming to see her sister. The hospital staff already knew Abel was not allowed visitation rights. This was his way in. And I am a fool for not considering that he would use anyone, even a child, even at the risk of her own severe punishment. He fed her to the wolves, completely disregarding the consequences for her. It does not inspire confidence that he will have any mercy for my wife.

  I study Evangeline for a long moment, considering how to handle this. I don't often deal with children. I know almost nothing about them, except for what I learned from looking after Mercedes. But that was different.

  I lower myself to one knee, meeting Evangeline's gaze directly. She sucks in a sharp breath, her eyes moving rapidly over the ink on my face. She does not seem scared but fascinated, and it surprises me.

  "I need you to tell me where your sister is. It's for her own safety."

  "She isn't safe with you." She glares at me. "I saw her. She was a wreck."

  Shame washes over me as I dip my head in acknowledgment. "I know. And I regret that."

  Evangeline watches me curiously, her brows pinching together.

  "But she isn't safe with Abel either. I know he's your brother, but he has plans for Ivy that you aren’t aware of. He will harm her if you don't tell me where she is."

  "He wouldn't." Her lip wavers as she denies it, but I can see the questions in her eyes.

  "He would. And I think you already know he's capable of it."

  She's quiet for a pause, and when she blinks again, tears splash against her cheeks. "I couldn't tell you even if I wanted to. I don't know where she is."

  Marco returns, capturing my attention from the landing. Mrs. Moreno is beside him, watching him with annoyance after he rifled through her belongings.

  "I didn’t find anyth
ing, boss."

  I stand and direct my sharp gaze at Mrs. Moreno. "Anything else you'd like to tell me?"

  "I don't know where Abel is," she huffs. "Or Ivy for that matter. Whatever plan they concocted is between them. I am terribly ashamed of them right now, truth be told. If this gets out to The Society, it will ruin us. They think of nobody but themselves."

  "Very well." I turn to Marco, gesturing to the little girl. "Take her for collateral. We'll bring her back if my wife is returned alive."

  Evangeline looks at her mother, eyes pleading. Mrs. Moreno does not utter so much as a protest.

  * * *

  Dusk slips to darkness as we drive around the city, searching every place Abel has ever been known to frequent. Using the power of IVI’s connections, we have also traced his phone, only to learn that it’s been turned off. With no other leads, we resort to dispersing my men to every hotel, alleyway, and street corner with Ivy's photo, asking for witnesses and offering a reward.

  Still, the results yield nothing.

  As the light of morning settles over us, my frustrations grow. She isn't safe, and I can't get to her. I can't protect her.

  My wife.

  My sweet, infuriating, intoxicating wife.

  Doesn't she understand what she's doing to me? I can't be without her. Not now. Not after everything. It's something that's only become painfully clear in her absence. Even when she was just down the hall, stowed away in her room, out of my sight, I knew she was always there. And now that she isn't, the blood in my veins has slowed to a crawl. The thumping beat of my heart is dimming, fading.

  I need her.

  "Antonia says the girl is awake," Marco glances at his phone briefly to read the information from his texts. "She's still not talking."

  I stare out the passenger window, watching the buildings as we pass. The gloomy fog around us is as heavy as my mood. Where the fuck could she be?

  I've tried not to think about the haunting words Mercedes left me with. Abel's intentions for the baby inside Ivy. But the images come back, again and again, violent and excruciating. Is it too late? Has he destroyed the only good thing we have left?