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That is the thing that started this, and that will be the thing to end it.
Abel looks around the room, and I see a stubbornness in the set of his jaw. An arrogance. But when his eyes meet mine, I see fear. Not repentance. Not remorse. Fear.
He, too, has grown older in these months. His hair has grayed although it’s not gone completely white like our father’s. He’s thinner too as though his muscles have wasted away. Or maybe that is the sheath he’s been made to wear.
I look at Santiago. His eyes are locked on Abel. They’re hard.
Mercedes turns to put a hand on Santiago’s. She’s barely able to drag her gaze from my brother, but at that moment, I see how her eyes are bright, how her mouth is set in a tight line, and I see how her knuckles go white around Santiago’s hand. She has asked to be present at his execution. I am not sure what the decision was, though. I’m not sure Santiago will allow it, and even if he does, will The Tribunal?
The gavel comes down, and we all turn our attention to The Councilors who draw their hoods back from their heads. The act makes me shudder.
“Abel Moreno, you have been found guilty of the murders of…” They begin to read off names. I recognize three. Santiago’s father and brother and Dr. Chambers. But as the list grows, my mouth falls open, and I see quiet tears stream down my father’s face.
I lose track of the count and hug Santiago’s jacket closer around my shoulders. He keeps one hand on me at all times whether on my thigh or fingers intertwining with mine. I’m not sure whose are colder, mine or his.
They don’t ask Abel’s plea. That’s been and done. He pled not guilty, but the evidence stands to prove otherwise.
But this next part of the trial is the important part. The sentencing. Because there is more than one way for a man to die.
“Have you any final words before sentencing, Abel Moreno?”
All eyes turn to my brother. I see how his hand trembles, and the chain rattles when he brings the glass of water beside him to his lips and drinks a sip before setting it back down. He clears his throat as he turns his eyes up to the trio.
Santiago explained what comes next. What choice my brother has yet to make.
Tell the full story. Name the names. Die a peaceful death.
Don’t and we shall have the full story and the names and a long-drawn-out death the likes of which I am certain I don’t want to know the details of.
Abel begins to speak. His voice is hoarse as if he hasn’t spoken in a long time. He begins by naming names. And a part of me is relieved, audibly so in the form of a sigh.
Santiago squeezes my hand.
A peaceful death. That’s better than the alternative.
And after the names, he tells his story.
He tells how he fabricated the evidence that had many good families excommunicated from The Society after the bad ones were dealt with. He tells of the ousted men who were behind it, who backed the work with more money than I can comprehend. He talks of why. Things that send my head spinning. Drugs. Sex. Human trafficking. A contract with a Mexican cartel and an Italian mafia family and illegal, inhumane activity that some members of IVI participated in that eventually led to the moment of Abel’s personal revenge. The explosion that would kill so many of the Sovereign Sons who had a hand in ousting the members would be the culmination of Abel’s singular focus. His hate of Santiago De La Rosa. His hate of the man who would take his place as his father’s son. His hate of the man who, in his warped mind, stood in the way of him and greatness. Whose very life impeded Abel’s ability to climb within the ranks.
Santiago sits like a pillar of stone beside me as he listens. Takes it all in. Understands the mind of a monster whose hate and jealousy led to so much destruction.
By the time Abel is finished, I am exhausted.
The Councilors sit looking down on my brother with contempt. I can’t blame them. They lost family and friends, too.
Councilor Hildebrand clears his throat.
“For your role in the plotting and murders of so many of our fold, you are sentenced to death by hanging.”
I clasp my hand over my mouth, and there’s an audible gasp. It’s my father.
Hanging. I knew it, didn’t I? It would be something terrible. But what execution isn’t?
“The sentence will be carried out swiftly and with a compassion you do not deserve. May the Lord have mercy on your soul.” He slams his gavel down and stands, and somehow, we all get to our feet as the three walk out of the room, and I turn to watch as my brother, in a moment of panic as the guards take hold of his arms, turns his face up to us. To our father or to me, I can’t tell.
