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"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 anything, 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?
Coldness seeps into my chest, icing over the warring emotions I don't know how to deal with. There is one option left. The one option I didn't want to consider. It would make me a truly weak man to walk into Eli Moreno's room and beg him for his help.
But what choice do I have?
I close my eyes briefly, prioritizing my thoughts. Revenge has always been of the foremost importance in my life. Six months ago, I wanted every Moreno to suffer. I wanted Eli and Abel and even Ivy dead. But Judge was right. Somewhere along the line, things have changed.
I'll never let her go, even if she condemns me to her hatred for an eternity. I understand that now. Because the loss of her for even these few hours has strained me beyond comprehension. I can't think. I can't eat. I can't even breathe without the pain reminding me of one simple truth.
She should be here beside me.
"Take me back to the hospital."
Marco glances at me. "The hospital?"
"Yes," I grit out. "I'm going to see Eli."
39
Santiago
Eli glances up at me from his wheelchair, his eyes widening in surprise and then narrowing slightly. He looks different than I remember. More like a frail old man and less like the capable figure who mentored me. The man I spent countless hours with. He offered me guidance, praise, things I was not accustomed to. He told me he was in awe of my mind, and I allowed myself to believe him. Now, I can hardly stand to look at him.
