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“What?” I find myself covering my mouth with one hand and my stomach with the other.
“She was stripped naked, legs spread wide. Staged that way after her death as if the killer had meant for him to find her in that degrading position.”
I lean my weight against the wall. “Oh, God.”
“Her father had killed her the night he found out…” he pauses, shakes his head. “Santos was hours too late and blamed himself. And then he took his revenge.”
“He killed her father.”
Caius nods. “Then you know something.”
“Only that.”
“That one act caused his life to change forever—hell, all of our lives to change forever—because the Commander intervened.”
“What happened?”
“Those next five years are too ugly for your ears, I’m afraid. If you open the door, I’ll go.”
“Why did you tell me this?” I ask, blocking his exit.
“Open the door, Madelena.”
“Why?”
He sighs. “Because he’s not going to. He wants to protect his innocent little bride. But you should know how damaged he is. That, what I just told you, is the tip of the iceberg. And he didn’t deserve any of it. Not one little bit. He used to be good. I should have done more to protect him from the Commander. I was his older brother, after all. But I didn’t. Like Santos himself, I, too, failed. But I won’t fail again. So, I guess the reason I’m telling you is so you know where he’s coming from, the damage that’s made him what he is.”
“Like I said, I wouldn’t hurt him.”
“Good. Because if you do, I’ll hurt you.”
8
SANTOS
After confirming Caius is on his way to Augustine’s, Val and I head there. I find Mom standing in the middle of what was once an uncluttered living room looking at various swatches of fabric for new curtains she’s apparently having made.
“What was wrong with the old ones—which, by the way, were brand new?”
“Nothing. Just not my style. You want me to be comfortable, don’t you? Since you’re moving me out of my own home.”
“Of course I do,” I force myself to say. I am running out of patience with this poor me routine. “Where’s Caius?”
“I’m not his keeper, in case you haven’t noticed. He’s a grown man.”
“He was supposed to be here.”
“And he’s not, but I am. I’m happy to see you, by the way. Aren’t you happy to see me?”
With a sigh, I walk into the kitchen and help myself to a can of seltzer from the refrigerator.
“You’re in a mood,” she says. She turns to the designer, who is making notes into her laptop. “Go get the fabrics in the bedroom situated, will you?” she asks the woman.
“Yes, Mrs. Augustine,” the designer says, taking the hint.
Once she’s gone, Mom walks toward the counter that divides the kitchen from the living and dining rooms. “How was your visit to the Averys?”
Before I answer, the door opens, and my brother walks in. He pauses on the threshold, and I’m not sure if he’s surprised to see me here or if it’s the state of the place that halts him.
