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.