Blood Ties by Lana Sky
Chapter Six
“Have you ever been in love?” Pia asked me once. The question came from nowhere, uttered in her typical crisp, confident tone. But I could sense something lurking beneath her seemingly calm veneer.
We were in my room at St. Margarita’s, pretending to pore over study materials for math class. In reality, we were gazing from the window at the small sliver of lawn belonging to St. Benedict’s, the boys’ boarding school next door. That time of day, the lacrosse team would practice, and Pia and I would rate the players by their fuzzy silhouettes.
“Have you?” she prodded, sitting cross-legged on my bed.
I was on the floor, my math textbook opened in front of me. Using the pretense of reading it, I tried to disguise how I blushed.
Love was such a mystical, foreign concept back then. Something we both fantasized about with starry eyes and grandiose delusions of our future lovers.
“I hate it,” Pia declared, and I looked up to find her twisting a silver ring around her finger, her gaze on the window. “We’re told that it’s supposed to feel wonderful, like magic. But it just makes you feel crazy. Like everything you thought made sense doesn’t matter anymore. The entire world revolves around this one person. And they can decide to make it stop spinning whenever they want to. However, they want to. It’s like they own you.”
“That sounds cryptic,” I joked, utilizing one of our English vocabulary words. So badly did I want to ask her more, but I’d remembered how she’d brushed off my earlier attempts to pry about her mystery man and backed down.
All I did was clear my throat and whisper, “What if it’s not really love?”
“What?” Pia inclined her head, her beautiful lips pursed thoughtfully. “You’ll never understand, Ada. You just don’t know what it’s like.”
She gathered up her books then and left, calling over her shoulder as she entered the hall, “I’m going to hang with Alexi.”
And I spent the rest of the night crying into my pillow, seething with jealousy.
But now…
I have to wonder just what she meant. Was she referring to my father then? Or someone else?
Who knows. Damn Domino for dredging up these old memories.
I never think of her this often. Certainly not twice in a handful of days. I’ve spent years smothering her ghost beneath a heap of repressed thoughts and subsequent trauma.
I will never admit it out loud, but her betrayal hurt me the worst, before Domino’s, anyway. Such a beautiful, rare gem of a girl she was. So strong, so confident. She could empower a stone to come to life and speak with one of her smiles. She could have had any boy in a ten-mile radius with merely a wink and a nod.
Pia Inglecias could have had anyone she wanted.
She didn’t need my father. She didn’t have to prance around in outfits that—while modest—showcased her body’s subtle curves and her tiny waist. She didn’t have to be so damn beautiful, with eyes a mossy green and curling dark hair that framed a delicate face. She didn’t have to carry herself with a maturity well beyond her fifteen years.
She didn’t have to want him.
But she did. She used me to get to my father, and it was child’s play for her. She thought she could manipulate the great and powerful Roy Pavalos.
And her plan worked—as long as my father was amused by her. Pia couldn’t see it then, but she was only ever a toy to him. A playful distraction. A sick conquest.
Eventually, he grew tired of everyone. My mother. His two prior wives. Any piece of ass he took on the side.
They never held his interest for longer than a handful of minutes at a time. Why? Because Roy Pavalos only ever truly loved one person.
Himself.
If my father did kill Pia, then her diary alone wouldn’t hold the answer—he would. Her final resting place would be a clever twist, a way for him to prove that he was always in control. His sick, twisted version of declaring the ultimate checkmate.
I could never think like him. I never understood his plots or his ploys. I only knew enough to play my role.
When it came to Pia, I was to lure her away and steal her diary.
But what if I was just seeing what he wanted me to see? A small piece in a much bigger plan…
Frustrated, I finally open my eyes, forsaking the past for the grim reality of my present circumstances. I can’t tell how long I’ve been sitting here without a view of the sky, though my body is protesting in enough various aches and pains that I suspect at least an hour has passed.
Groaning with the effort, I disentangle myself from between the shelves and set my sights on the numerous items of hanging clothing. Alexi’s familiarity with the wardrobe makes me suspect that, once again, Domino lied to me. He’s had her here before, fucked her here, perhaps on that very bed he’s regulated me to.
The thought sickens me, though I don’t know why. I’m not jealous. I can’t be. Domino Valenciaga, as I knew him is dead, and the monster holding me captive is a creature I want nothing to do with.
Though, for once, I’m willing to take a page out of my father’s book. I can use him.
When I grab a dress, I put no thought into it, just picking the nearest item. I pull it on over my head without bothering to find any underwear to put on beneath.
My head held high, I finally leave the closet, only to realize that Alexi is gone. The room is drenched in darkness, proving my suspicion correct—it’s already past nightfall. If I had to guess where Alexi might be, it’s in Domino’s bed right now, doing the very thing I told her to.
I shrug off the thought and make my way into the hall, moving blindly. I try to push everything else from my brain but the need to survive. Endure.
Domino dangled a sliver of freedom above my head, and I’d be a fool not to take it—though I don’t trust him one damn bit. He’ll screw me over in the end, I know that.
But not if I can screw him first.
As I near the door to his room, some of my resolve wavers. It’s closed, and I can’t help but wonder if the fact is a warning not to enter. Because he’s busy fucking his toy. By breaching this boundary on my own, I’ll only be asking to have that rubbed in my face.
So be it. I don’t care about either of them enough to be offended. I’ll be the daughter my father always wanted and refuse to give a damn about anyone but myself.
And, when it comes to survival, I’ll do whatever it takes.
No matter how many times I feed myself that mantra, my fingers still shake as I grip the doorknob and twist, pushing the door open to a darkened room. My nostrils flare with Domino’s scent, but to my surprise, I don’t smell sweat or the fresh traces of sex.
Neither do I smell Alexi.
Straining my eyes, I blink through the shadows, and realize that the bed is empty. I feel along the wall for a light switch, revealing that, at a glance, the room itself seems deserted.
But no. His scent grows stronger the further I travel. Eventually, I venture far enough to see that the door to the balcony is open, letting in a wave of warm night air.
I don’t check to see if he’s there. Instead, I enter the closet, searching with a single-minded focus until I find what I’m after—Pia’s diary.
I flip it open to a specific page and read while leaning against the cabinet full of watches, hearing them tick ominously in the background. The noise can’t disguise the sound of his approach, however.
He’s slow, lingering in the doorway with only the rasp of his breathing to give him away.
“Did I give you permission to go through that?”
I flinch but don’t look up. In reality, I haven’t been able to read a damn thing. At the sight of Pia’s neat, deliberate handwriting, my vision blurred with the unmistakable burn of fresh tears.
I’ve missed her; how pathetic is that? All this time, I’ve held out hope that one day she would come out of the woodwork and explain where she’d been the last decade. Somewhere glamorous, of course. She would have amassed her own wealth somehow, and jet back into the city in a flashy sports car, her smile as charming as ever. Always bold, she’d seek me out without giving a damn about the rift between us.
Then she’d cajole her way back into my life, and things would go on as they used to be. When I felt like I had an ally outside of the carefully constructed world of Roy Pavalos.
But our friendship, much like everything else in my life, was nothing more than a well-crafted lie.
“Did you hear me?” He advances a step that has me sucking in a breath and jumping back before I can help it.
“D-Do you want my help or not?” I demand.
But then I make the mistake of looking up.
He hasn’t been fucking Alexi—or if he has, their session was light enough that his hair has maintained the same shape our impromptu shower left it in—gently tousled around his shoulders.
He’s left his chest bare, opting to wear only a pair of black slacks that don’t look as though they’ve been hastily rebuttoned.
Not that I take comfort in the realization. Whether he’s fucking Alexi or not is neither here nor there. All that matters is getting the leverage required to make him act on his word.
“Help,” he echoes, his eyes flashing. For a second, I fear that I’ve misunderstood him all this time. Or that he’s already grown bored of pretending to see me as anything more than a toy. “I don’t remember asking for your help, Ada-Maria. I asked for answers.”
A subtle warning that he won’t accept anything but a concrete location when it comes to finding Pia’s body.
Luckily for me, I think I may have an idea.
With his presence serving as a reminder of the threat looming over my head, I return my attention to the diary pages, this time seeing them clearly.
I’m on the right month, but the wrong day. Absently I flip toward the back of the diary, only to find that the week abruptly ends.
But not where it should.
I keep searching, scanning the remaining pages over and over until I notice a faint strip of ragged edges lining the binding.
“Some of the pages are missing,” I blurt, raising my head to find Domino staring.
Rather than smug, or defensive, he looks… Confused. “If this is your way of trying to manipulate the situation, I would warn you to rethink that plan.”
“I’m not. Look—” I shove the open book across the cabinet’s glass surface.
Warily, he approaches, inspecting the journal himself. He frowns.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, recalling his vague answer the first time I asked this very question.
“Let’s just say I found it,” he says, still tracing the ragged edges of the pages. I know just from his clouded expression that he didn’t realize they were missing at all. Which means they were torn out before he received it.
“Did you take it from my father?” I prod.
It’s the most likely choice. After all, I personally gave him this diary, and I can attest that those remaining pages were there, though I barely remember what exactly they said.
I just know how angry they made me. How furious—enough so that I gave the journal to my father with no guilt.
At least, not then.
“Did you?” I ask when Domino doesn’t reply.
His frown has deepened, his expression more guarded than ever. Finally, he sighs. “I got that book years before I even started working for Don Roy.”
Some of my excitement deflates, replaced by even more confusion. “I… I don’t understand.”
“It’s the truth,” he counters. “But don’t expect me to go on a wild goose chase, either.” He takes a step in my direction, reinforcing the dangerous boundary between us. Captor and captive. “You’ve already read it, haven’t you? So what the hell are you looking for?”
I ignore the question to phrase one of my own. “Did you read it?”
But he already confessed that he has.
“Then you know damn well that I wasn’t lying. She was sleeping with my father.”
And he knew that all along. It’s why he started this vendetta against my family in the first place. Revenge.
But, again, his expression doesn’t match. Instead of smug, he just looks cold. Impassive. Stone.
“I knew she was fucking someone,” he says. “But nowhere in that journal does she write the name Roy. You know whose name she does write? Over and over, and over again? Yours—” He palms the counter with both hands, leaning across it so that his face is mere inches from mine. “Ada-Maria Pavalos. She wrote about how sneaky you were. How conniving. How much time the two of you spent together, and that you followed her around like a lost puppy—”
“Because she was using me,” I rasp. “Duplicity and deception must run in the family.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Respect for her is the only reason why I haven’t slapped the taste out of your mouth,” he warns in a tone so harsh I’m left reeling. He pushes back from the cabinet, turning for the main room. “I’m thinking I might rescind my offer—”
“I might know where to look,” I rasp.
He stops over the threshold, his back to me. “If you think this is a game, I’m warning you. You don’t want to play with me.”
“I’m serious,” I say. But hell, for all I know, this guess could be a wild shot in the dark. It’s all I have. I’m not putting myself in Pia’s shoes, though.
I’m thinking like my father. If I were a man like him with a secret to hide, where would I bury it?
It’s obvious. Perhaps, too obvious. The consequences of being wrong are too dangerous to fathom, so I push all thought of failure from my mind and meet his piercing stare without flinching.
“I’m sensing you have the balls to tack a ‘but’ onto that statement,” he murmurs.
“Y-Yes,” I croak. His gaze is too intense; I have to tear my gaze away to the wall instead. Eyeing it, I find the strength to make a demand of my own. “But, I want something.”
“And what is that?”
“I want proof that my father is dead.”
He’s silent for so long I risk a glance in his direction just to make sure he’s still there.
He is, watching me with an unreadable expression. Finally, he inclines his head, running his hand along his jaw. “His smoking body cooking over an open spit wasn’t proof enough for you?”
“I want a news article,” I say, cringing. It’s been hard enough trying to get those images from my mind. “The coverage must be wall to wall. Let me see it for myself, and that’s all I’m asking for. Then, anything that I may know is yours.”
As the seconds tick by—audibly, given his watch collection—I’m sure he’ll refuse outright. Instead, he turns on his heel and reenters the room without a word.
I’m forced to follow him, catching him on the balcony, leaning casually against the railing as if he’s enjoying the view.
“And?” I demand, my voice shrill.
“Give me a day.” His tone is flat, betraying no hint of inflection. It’s reminiscent of the chilling monotone he utilized as my father’s trusted soldier doing God knows what for him day in and day out. Still, his acquiescence in this matter is something.
I’ll take it.
“Thank you,” I whisper, preparing to bolt back into that white room, regardless of if Alexi is there or not.
Before I can take a step, he turns, leveling me with the full weight of his icy stare. “You would thank the man who has your life in his hands? Don’t be so eager, Ada. Your good girl act won’t work here. I never promised I still won’t sell you, did I?”
The dread I feel is like being drenched in ice water—a million different variations of shame and betrayal washing over me, one after the other.
Then I remember that I haven’t told him anything. Either he stupidly revealed his whole plan to be a lie, or he’s merely trying to rile me.
“I’m not eager,” I counter, remaining within his orbit for a second longer despite every cell in my body urging me to run. “I’m earnest. Unlike you or my father, I am not a heartless, cruel excuse for a person, and I refuse to let you make me that way.”
Rather than seem insulted, he laughs.
“So says the woman who fucks men with the same discernment most use when picking a public bathroom stall to use. You have no integrity. No shame. No honor.”
“I have more honor than you do,” I whisper harshly. “You act so high and mighty when you fucked Alexi. You’ve killed. You lied to me. You dragged me here, and you’ve hurt me. More than my father has, mind you. So don’t you dare stare down your nose at me, Domino. You? You’re evil—”
“You shut your fucking mouth about things you don’t understand,” he warns, pulling back from the railing to return to his full height.
“Or what?” I counter. My voice shakes so badly the words lack any confidence, but that’s beside the point. I’m still here, standing as he advances with slow, heavy footsteps that radiate malice.
“Or…” He runs his fingers through my hair and cups the back of my skull in the same brutal motion. Swiftly, he yanks me toward him, nearly taking me off my feet. With our faces inches apart, he meets my gaze and holds it. “I’ll teach you what evil truly is, Ada-Maria. Your father came as close to fitting the definition of that word as anyone I’ve ever met—but even he would shy from the things I’ve imagined doing to you.”
I tremble at the pure, vicious intent in his voice. He means every word, and the gleam in his eyes seconds that. Whoever this man is now, he’s not my father’s trusty lackey or Pia Inglecias’ long-lost brother.
He is a monster…
And I am at his mercy.
