Reparation of Sin (The Society Trilogy 2)

"I'm sorry I couldn't visit you in the hospital," he says. "I couldn't get in without being seen. They had it locked down."

"I wouldn't have made for very good company anyway," I remark dryly.

"I don't suppose so."

I tug an unopened bottle of scotch free from the case and offer it to him, but he declines. I shrug and take another drink for myself from the one on my desk.

"Any progress on the investigation into the poisoning?" he asks, skirting around the mention of Ivy.

It's become common knowledge throughout The Society that my own wife tried to poison and kill me. I don't doubt many of the member's wives are silently in agreement with her, pitying her for being wed to the likes of myself. But they know better than to speak those thoughts aloud, and as far as they are concerned, Ivy has already been shunned from their inner circle. This is the way things work. Loyalty will always lie with the Sovereign Sons.

"No news, but I didn't expect any surprise developments on the matter. I have all the information I need."

Angelo nods, a dark expression tightening his features. "So, what will you do with her?"

"What will you do with the traitor in your own life?" I arch a brow at him in return.

He understands the question perfectly well, and it doesn’t require a response. I have no desire to go into the details with him or anyone else for that matter. Everyone will be watching me now. They are all desperate to know how I will handle the situation. By all rights, I could string up my traitorous wife by the neck in the middle of the compound and leave her to die and not a single soul would dare utter a protest to save her. But my agenda has always been a long game. I need heirs to the De La Rosa name. Ivy is a means to an end, and I will never make the mistake of allowing her to think otherwise.

"I believe you had something you wanted me to look into last we spoke?" I change the subject.

He drags a hand through his hair and sighs. "I do, but only if it isn't a burden."

"Believe me, anything to distract me right now is a gift."

With my assurances, Angelo reaches down to retrieve a folder from his briefcase and slides it across the desk to me. "Any information you can get on these accounts would be helpful. I'd like to know who exactly is funneling the money, but even a breadcrumb will do."

I open the folder to examine the accounts, flipping through various pages as my lips pull together in a grim line. I suspect this has something to do with his own pursuit of vengeance and his determination to confirm who betrayed him and sent him to prison. If our past conversations are any indication, he already knows, but his situation is more complex. He needs undeniable proof before he destroys his own blood.

"I will see what I can dig up. It might take some time."

Angelo rises to his feet and checks his watch. "I'll check in with you periodically to see what your progress is. I wish I could stay and visit longer, but—"

"You don't want anyone to see you." I nod. "I get it. Go, enjoy your freedom. I'll see you another time."

He disappears down the hall just as quietly as he arrived, and I spend the next few hours poring over the folder of information he gave me. It gives me something to focus on even though I'm behind on my own work as it is. It's a distraction, but not enough to keep my thoughts from wandering to my wife.

I have not been to see her in two days. Not since I locked her up in her room and barricaded any incoming light, leaving her with the solace of only a couple of candles. Antonia has been instructed to keep her closet locked, and she is to remain naked and broken for me. But I suspect when I see her again, there will undoubtedly be defiance from her as always. And I am already thinking of new ways to punish her for those future sins.

A knock on the door startles me from my thoughts, and when I glance up, Mercedes is there. Her face is drawn, and she's usually in bed by this late hour, but it seems she is still not any less rattled by the events that transpired at the gala.

"Can I come in?" she asks.

"Since when do you require permission?" I smirk, but she does not seem to notice my sarcasm.

Something is bothering her, but I haven't been able to determine what it is. She's been quiet and closed off. We sit at the dinner table together in the evenings, me drinking, and her going through the motions of eating, but it’s obvious she's not really here. Her thoughts seem to be plagued by something else, and I am not quite certain how to deal with such a situation.