Reparation of Sin: A Sovereign Sons Novel Zavarelli, A. (online e book reading txt) 📖

them. "And what about me? When you get what you want from me, you will kill me?"

I don't want to look at her. I know if I do, my face will betray everything. So instead, I close my eyes, and I kiss her, conveying the truth my words can't.

She whimpers against me, curling her fingers into my shirt. I pull her closer, squeezing her so tightly it must border on the point of pain. But she doesn't protest. She leans into it, giving herself over to me. The nightmare she can't wake up from.

"A child needs a mother," I murmur against her lips.

A confession. Not quite the truth. But I am not willing to admit that perhaps I need her too. Not yet.

She pulls away, breathless, still clinging to my shirt. "A child needs a father too. Not just a disciplinarian. But someone to love and guide them."

Her statement isn't a question, but it feels like one. Can I be that for someone? Am I even capable?

My cell phone starts to vibrate in my pocket, but I ignore it, trapped by my wife's eyes. She needs an answer from me. Assurances. And I am aware I don't need to give them to her. Regardless of her feelings, she will carry my child. But perhaps she is right. Perhaps I want her to want this as much as I do.

"I will do what is necessary," I tell her. "I will provide for you and the children. I will discipline, but I will also... do what fathers do."

It's the closest I can come to saying love at this moment. Truthfully, I don't know what that bond feels like. I fear that I am lacking. I may never have the ability to love unconditionally or understand the true meaning of love at all. But I am not my father. I will not hand out only punishments and withhold the necessary softness for humanity. Though I know even when I fail, Ivy will care enough for both of us to compensate for my shortfalls. I see that in her. This desire in her to love her own children will not allow anything, even me, to stand in her way.

My phone vibrates again, and I sigh, releasing my wife to drag it from my pocket. When I see Marco's name, a cold chill moves over me.

"Yes?" I answer.

"Did you get my texts?"

Texts?

"Hold on."

I pull the phone back and click on my messages. There must be at least a dozen updates on the screen regarding my sister’s whereabouts. She's been to the club at the compound. Abel's house. A long list of different hotels around the city. And then finally, there’s a message alerting me that she’s been driving around aimlessly, scanning the streets in areas of high prostitution. At that point, Marco asked me what I wanted him to do, but I was asleep.

"Where is she now?" I ask.

"She’s still driving around. Seems to be looking for someone.”

“Keep following her,” I tell him. “Until further notice, that is your full-time job. Wherever Mercedes goes, you go.”

24 Ivy

If we bring a child into this world together, it should be out of love. Not duty.

My own words haunt me for days.

Love. What am I thinking? So much has happened between us. But none of it has anything to do with love.

I put my hand to the back of my neck to touch the place I know his mark is and I’m more confused than ever.

“Here you are, dear,” Antonia says, drawing me out of my reverie. She comes around the corner carrying a beautiful cream-colored lightweight coat and helps me put it on.

“Thank you,” I say, feeling the luxuriously soft fabric. I’m dressed in cream from head to toe, my hair in a pretty twist, the knee-length dress shapeless on purpose. Not that they’d expect me to show yet. I’m grateful I don’t have to wear the dress I was made to wear the last time. The sheath of the accused. I shudder at the memory.

Santiago comes around the corner looking striking in a charcoal suit stretched tight over broad shoulders and muscular arms. His head is down, eyes locked on whatever it is he’s looking at on his phone. He’s been distracted since the other night. Since Mercedes. He hasn’t said what’s going on, but I’ve hardly seen her since he tore her room apart. All I know is that tensions are still high and I’m not sure brother and sister have seen each other since.

A man I don’t recognize opens the front door. “Your car is ready, sir,” he says.

Santiago finishes typing something out and drags his gaze up to me before replying to him. “We’ll be right there,” he says, walking toward me.

“Where’s Marco?” I ask.

“Occupied elsewhere.”

He puts a hand at my back and looks me over. I’m about to ask if he’s occupied with Mercedes but he pulls me to him and kisses my mouth. It’s a deep kiss, sensual and erotic and full of promise and desire.

“You’re beautiful,” he says, and I’m flustered. I look up at him, see him smile and I falter. His kisses affect me physically. It’s the strangest thing. The attraction between us has always been powerful, raw and violent even, but it’s even more so now. “Let’s get this over with.”

I nod, but anxiety has my stomach in knots. I don’t want to go but I have no choice. The Tribunal will dismiss the charge against me but the thought of being in there again, in that awful building, seeing that scaffold out in the courtyard, it terrifies me.

“Don’t be afraid,” Santiago says, squeezing my hand. “I’m with you. I will not leave your side.”

I look up at him, squeeze back, my hands clammy. I nod.

He pulls me to him and kisses my forehead, holding his lips there for a long moment as his fingers brush the tattoo at the nape of my neck. It’s exposed today at his request. I’m his. He wants The