Chapter 14
Chapter 14
"Just poison him."
Samara said casually while sitting beside me as we feasted on fresh mangoes and enjoyed the sunset.
The wedding date was creeping closer.
I looked over to Samara, laughing while seriously considering her suggestion. It would be easy enough, my mind racing through the catalog of herbs I knew would have the desired effect.
"I'm serious, Dove. Make him one of your potions, and knock him out on the wedding day. We make a run for it. Go anywhere."
Samara promised, trailing off softly. She hasn't come to terms with my impending marriage either.
It was impossible.
"We were supposed to go any and everywhere after graduation, remember?" She smiled bitterly.
I hadn't forgotten. It had always been our plan to travel before college.
Meroveo made it clear that he would follow me anywhere I would go, and I couldn't take anyone I cared about being hurt.
After what he did to Aristeo, I would never risk it again.
Samara sat beside me with her laptop, typing on her blog, The Good Samara Thread . She dedicated her time to revealing corruption and conspiracy theories in the Caribbean.
Samara had been researching the De Los Santos family, looking for any way to help me escape my marriage with Meroveo, researching every law she could find on marriages in Salamanca.
On my island, the legal age of consent was sixteen, and marriage was permitted with the permission of a legal guardian. The outdated laws were clear and still honored today. Salamanca had yet to catch up with the modern world.
Even if I went to the police and told them I was being forced into marrying him, they wouldn't listen. Meroveo held too much influence and power. The police were in his pockets, the politicians were corrupted, and no one would dare move against him.
I was just a girl from a small island. Who would listen to me? I was terrified to go against him in any way, knowing what he could and would do.
My thoughts went to Aristeo. The guilt of what happened to him weighed heavy on my mind.
"Look at this," she scoffed, showing me an article.
The piece praised the De Los Santos family's foundation for their philanthropic deeds towards the local communities, spearheading the industrious progress of the Caribbean.
"It's all an easy tax write-off and another to wash the money," Samara muttered, unimpressed.It highlighted the new state-of-the-art hospital built in the capital of Valencia, the first of its kind in the region. The piece praised the progressive hospital policies that ensured healthcare was accessible to everyone in Castillo.
"Unbelievable what money can do," Samara scoffed in disbelief.
Meroveo was photographed at the hospital's opening ceremony–striking. He stood out in a charcoal gray suit, exuding natural authority with his stone-faced brother Hector, who stood beside him.
I hadn't seen Meroveo since he picked me up from school. I left the ring in the bottom of one of my drawers, refusing to wear it.
Aristeo was found left on the field of the school, viciously beaten unconscious. He had gone missing that same night, never coming home after practice.
The entire island was buzzing with unanswered questions and theories about the horrific crime that nearly left him paralyzed.
Aristeo would never play competitively again. They were able to stop the internal bleeding, but the bones in his legs were crushed. His dreams, his future of being a professional football player, were violently taken away.
The police announced that they had no leads at the news conference, refusing to give details to the public. It was no secret that Prime Minister Destine gave the gag order. The only thing that has been confirmed was about the "ruthless thugs" who beat him into a coma, which he thankfully came out a week later.
For a terrifying moment, they didn't think he would make it.
I felt sick inside for Aristeo, responsible for his crushed dreams. My fellow classmates iced me out. Mami even got a visit from Yrene Destine, who told her she never wanted me near her son again.
I wanted to see Aristeo and apologize. But if I did, Meroveo would kill him. I prayed to Our Lady daily, lighting a candle, that he would recover.
Samara looked at Hector's stony picture uncomfortably. Seconds later, I caught the quick flicker of fear that disappeared from her eyes as she continued to scroll down.
"Who's she?" She asked, pointing to the woman photographed standing beside Meroveo, tall and statuesque, in a stylish, chic black dress. Her dark, rich hair was blow-dried to perfection, her lips painted red on glowing, tanned skin with a bright, approachable smile.
She was beautiful.
I read the small print that was written under the photograph.
Kaliisto Bellona. Castilian socialite, model, and philanthropist.
Samara pressed play on the video. The thirty-second clip showed them leaving the event together, her arm wrapped around his, hounded by the flashing of the cameras.
I didn't say anything, picking up the shading pencil, my strokes becoming absentmindedly harder.
I wasn't jealous. I was burning with anger.
If he had a mistress, that would have been better for me. What infuriated me the most was his audacity, the machismo that plagued most men. The hypocrisy of the deeply rooted beliefs that girls had to be sweet, docile virgins, while men were free to take a bite of anything they wanted, all the while demanding loyalty.
Samara looked at me with quiet understanding.
"I meant to show this to you the other day. Someone else saw through their philanthropic bullshit," she said, pulling up an older article dated nearly sixteen years ago. "I found this link buried in an old forum."
The alarming title read "Unveiling the Shadow Empire: Inside the Operations of the Murky Waters of the De Los Santos Empire."
It described the rumored dealings of drug trafficking, money laundering, and public corruption.The article said it was all speculation, and there was no evidence to implicate the De Los Santos family in actual crimes. The article scathingly described them as the first crime family of the Caribbean with a corrupt underground organization network hundreds of years old.
It spoke of the startling connections between the De Los Santos family and other influential dignitaries worldwide.
Witnesses who were too afraid to come forward in fear of their lives accused the family of having a "gross amount of power" that afforded them a significant amount of influence within Castilian politics.
The article alleged that their empire extended far beyond their illustrious business portfolio. It ended with shocking allegations and scrutiny of the associations between the De Los Santos family and notorious criminals and political leaders throughout the Caribbean and South America.
"It was published by The Star , a local paper on the island of Bennin. Coincidentally, it doesn't exist anymore," she said, looking up the name but finding nothing in its place.
"Who wrote the article? Can you contact them? Maybe they're willing to share more," I suggested, hungry to know more.
"Donny Kingston, Benin Journalist," she said aloud, typing the name into the search engine.
"He's dead," she whispered as we stared at his obituary on the screen.
"Donny Kingston, 42, left the world all too soon. His passion for truth and justice, love of storytelling, and commitment to serving his community will forever be his legacy. Donny was a devoted father, loving husband, doting son, and loyal brother.
His infectious laugh and love for life will be forever missed.
Donny, you will be in our hearts. Your dedication to the truth will forever inspire us."
"His body was found three days after the article was published," Samara added.
The details of the gruesome murder were somehow leaked to the press. According to police reports, Kingston disappeared for three days and was found dead outside his house by his pregnant wife.
His body was mutilated and chopped into several pieces, then stuffed into a body bag. The horrific murder was blamed on a robbery gone wrong and pinned on delinquents of local gangs. No one was ever charged, no witnesses came forward, and the investigation was closed.
Donny Kingston left behind his wife and three children.
The only evidence left behind was the fifteenth card of a tarot deck, The Devil.