35. Final Confession
35
FINAL CONFESSION
Dahlia
The Past
Barcelona, Spain
T he days bleed into each other.
Diego and Lettie do their best.
Christmas is a blur of lights and wrapping paper and the days between Christmas and New Year’s Eve are a dark blue stain on the tapestry of my mind. I spend hours weaving memories into thread, reliving every moment in search of the one where it all went wrong. My fingers bleed from all the times the needle pricks my skin but I keep sewing, keep weaving, keep searching. I’m bleeding out by the time I finally realize there was no one moment where it all fell apart. It was a collection of them, one after the other, for nearly five years.
When Brent asked Karina on a date my freshman year and I let it happen. When Karina told me she thought she loved him and I didn’t stop her. All the times I had my doubts but kept them to myself because Karina’s happiness mattered more to me than her dating a guy I disliked in college. It was my knowing something wasn’t right between Brent and Yulissa but I exchanged my silence for the ring on Karina’s finger.
My sacrifice was supposed to mean something. Brent was insufferable to me but he loved my cousin and he made her happy. But what will have been the point in all this if even that wasn’t true?
I stare out the living room window for hours. For the most part, everyone gives me my space. Do?a Ana brings me plates of fruit that go untouched and Lettie sits across from me to read her magazine in silence. After a while, she leaves too and then it’s Diego who attempts light conversation but can’t get more than a nod or a headshake out of me.
I glance at the clock across the room. The sun set hours ago, but Beni passed by a little while ago and turned on one of the lamps.
Three hours till midnight.
My first New Year’s without Karina since I was a teenager.
A year ago we were at her wedding and the years before that we were together, drunk and laughing, watching fireworks and making memories. The urge to cry makes my throat tighten but I don’t think I have any tears left in me. I sobbed the whole night through after it happened, cried on the plane ride home, and heaved until I was sick all Christmas Eve.
I’m accustomed to Karina choosing Brent over me—in fact, I’m very familiar with being people’s second choice, it’s nothing new. However, more than her rejection and her affirmed commitment to Brent, I’m wounded by her betrayal.
How could she not believe me? I’m her blood, her cousin, her sister . We’ve known each other our entire lives and she called me a liar in a room full of people who all knew I was telling the truth. Why was it so easy to be believed by them but not the one person who’s known me since the day I was born?
Why is it so hard for people to love me? What’s so wrong with me that I cannot be loved in the same way that I love others?
One way or another everyone always ends up leaving. I’m tired of being left, abandoned, and unwanted. I can’t help but wonder how long the life I have now will last because if the one person whom I always trusted to love and want me couldn’t, who’s to say the people here will? My own family never cared enough about me to stay. Maybe I’m a stop along the way to a greater destination. Something Regina told me months ago floats to the surface of my mind.
Maybe I’m living someone else’s life.
And if that’s the case then where do I belong? If I belong anywhere.
My thoughts delve into a deeper, darker place and I know my time sitting alone has come to an end. Exhaustion and heartbreak are making me unreasonable. As soon as I find Alejandro and recenter myself it’ll be okay. We’ll watch a movie together until midnight hits and then we’ll race to eat twelve grapes. One of us will probably end up choking and Diego and Lettie will make fun of us. I’ll laugh and for a little while, I’ll forget.
I leave the living room and search the house. Alejandro isn’t in his usual spots—kitchen, study, bedroom—and I eventually find him in the main foyer with Mauricio and Dimitrio. He’s wearing his coat and a pair of gloves, the three of them whispering intently.
“Are you going somewhere?” I ask as I descend the main stairs.
Alejandro casts me a distracted glance. “No, no, I just got here.”
He returns to his conversation.
They exchange rushed, whispered words before Mauricio gestures upstairs and the rest of them nod. Alejandro removes his gloves and shoves them in his coat pocket as he follows the men up to the apartment. Mauricio and Dimitrio give me curt, albeit respectful bows of the head to acknowledge my presence but Alejandro whizzes right past me. I have to grab his arm to get him to stop.
“Alex?”
He stops but not fully. He still has one foot on the step ahead of him, ready to take off. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine, I just?—”
“So long as you’re fine.” He caresses my cheek but the touch is mechanical. “Diego, Lettie, and Do?a Ana are leaving for Abuelo’s in a bit. Why don’t you get dressed, and I’ll meet you there later.”
“Alex, I really don’t want to be around other people right now.”
“Está bien, mi amor. Como tú quieras.”
“I was thinking we could?—”
Either he doesn’t hear me or he doesn’t care. He takes the stairs two at a time as if our conversation has ended and I haven’t been left here with words in my mouth. They rot my teeth and turn my tongue to cotton. Voices scream in the back of my mind to fight back. Call for him, cry for him, demand his presence, beg for his attention.
Love me.
Want me.
See me.
Am I even here?
I must not be enough for anyone.
I descend the last few steps. The movements are automatic and devoid of feeling. We’re trapped in a cycle of promises and changed behavior that only last long enough for the dust to settle. It’s endless. It’s soul crushing.
My keys are on the diadem table in the main foyer where I leave them in case one of the men needs to move my car or take it out of the garage. I grab them without thinking. I’m not dressed to go outside—my cashmere lounge set will do little to keep me warm if the temperature drops any further and the matching slippers will fall apart on the sidewalk. But it should be fine if I don’t leave the car.
I’ll be fine.
I leave without my coat, wallet, or phone. The traffic isn’t as bad as I thought it would be. I drive in silence. I count the streetlights. I drive and drive and drive…
I keep driving.
Alejandro
B eni is already upstairs waiting for us, seated on one of the wing backed chairs and typing furiously on his laptop. “I’m taking the others to Vallvidrera in a bit but didn’t want to leave before you guys came back. The warehouse is taken care of. Everything should be ready to go by tomorrow.”
I nod and close the study doors behind me. “Good. What’s going on with Sandro?”
Dimitrio sits across from Beni who hands over his laptop and Mauricio pauses halfway across the room to check the messages on his phone.
“Law enforcement raided his offices three days ago but they haven’t found anything significant yet,” Mauricio answers. “He’s since ceased operations and has a handful of his men tasked with finding Montserrat, led by Regina, obviously. Ferrer’s taken care of everything on that front.”
“And Monse?”
“Still in the villa. Fine, but worried for her sister.”
“What else?”
Dimitrio speaks this time. “The Lopezes want to call a meeting between the apostles but according to Ferrer, Sandro is holding off. He doesn’t want to risk the fall out of a possible intervention.”
“He’s stretched a mile thin,” Mauricio adds. “He’s down in numbers, morale is low, and whoever’s left has been turning on him. He has men looking for his cousin, Montserrat, a few men guarding his warehouses, and security in his territory is so scarce they don’t even have men to spare to surveille their homes.”
The doors to my study burst open and Oscar storms inside, followed by Pedro who’s quick to swing them closed behind them.
“You would not believe what I just found out,” Oscar announces.
“Better be good.” I glance at the watch on my wrist. “I’m meeting Regina in a half hour.”
Five voices overlap at once.
“You’re meeting Regina?”
“Why?”
“Since when?”
“For what?”
“And where?”
“She called and asked for a meeting.” I give a light shrug. “Technically, I owe her one and for what I have planned, it’d be easier if we had her help.”
“She’s going to kill you,” Beni states matter-of-factly. “You kidnapped her sister.”
“And she ruined our wedding. She’ll get over it.” I lean against the desk and motion for Oscar to fully enter the room. “Hurry up, we don’t have all night.”
“Regina has a child.”
“A child ?” I practically choke on the word. “Since when?”
“And where,” Mauricio says.
“Is the child hidden?” Dimitrio asks.
“And how did you even find that out?” I add.
“Hello!” Pedro interrupts. “Can you let him explain before you bombard him with questions?”
“I’d also like to know how this is relevant,” Dimitrio scolds. “We’re in the middle of?—”
“Four years ago.” Oscar catches his breath. “In Corsica. That’s why no one knew.”
I lose my grip on the edge of my desk and one of the paperweights falls over.
Dimitrio sits up. “Four years ago when?”
Oscar turns his head. “When?”
“Yes, when, like what month?”
“I think sometime in?—”
“ May .” I finish.
Nine months after our wedding.
Everyone turns to look at me.
Dimitrio takes control of the conversation. “Was it a boy or a girl? And where are they?”
“We have no idea,” Pedro says. “We found out by accident. One of Sandro’s last capos was caught surveilling the area around the lounge. When we grabbed him, he offered information in exchange for his freedom. Apparently it’s gotten around that we’ve made a habit of making his capos disappear.”
“Where is he now?”
“Probably at the bottom of the Mediterranean.”
Oscar elbows his husband in the ribs. “ Not the time for you to be a smartass.”
Nausea hits me in waves. I keep trying to draw air into my lungs but my chest tightens and my vision starts swimming. If I’d eaten anything today, I probably would’ve vomited until my intestines crawled up my throat.
“Alex?” Beni extends a steadying hand. “Are you all right?”
I open my mouth to speak but nothing comes out. Suddenly all the muscles in my hands cramp and ache and the rest of me goes numb. I wonder what would happen if I tried to move—if my legs would be able to support my weight. Voices come at me from every direction but I need it all to stop.
I need the noise to stop.
Grabbing my coat, I decide to find the one person who can give me all the answers I need.
R egina stands at the altar in a long white coat with leather gloves and her hair is pinned back in the vintage style she used to love when we were in university. From this distance, if I squint hard enough, a trick of the light might be able to deceive anyone into thinking she was a bride in a modest gown waiting to be married.
She has her fingers pressed against her lips, freehand propped on her hip as she worries away. As soon as she hears my approach, her head snaps around and she descends from the altar.
“When I offered my help that didn’t include giving you permission to kidnap my sister, you son of a bitch.” She stomps up the aisle toward me. “She’s been gone over two weeks and you haven’t bothered to make contact with me or allowed her to do so herself. Sandro’s suspicious because he expected me to raise all hell when Montserrat disappeared—which I did. Until I realized she was with you and this whole thing was just another part of your ridiculous fucking plan!”
I stop halfway. I want to see how far she goes.
Regina keeps walking, eating up the space between us.
“Have you gone mute?” she snaps. “Where is she? At the villa? Alejo, I swear to God?—”
“Was it a boy or a girl?”
She flinches and stops in her tracks. Her eyes narrow as she takes in my appearance. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“The child you had four years ago in Corsica…was it a boy or a girl?”
The color drains from her face.
I watch as she contemplates her next move—a denial, an explanation, a half-truth—but my surprise assault has left her scrambling to put up defenses. Eventually, she accepts she has no way out and arrives at her fate, terrified and breathless, eyes cloudy with unshed tears.
“Who told you?”
I’m torn between the urge to strangle her to death, collapse, or beg for answers. I find myself at an uncomfortable crossroads between the three.
“Does it matter?”
“Alejandro—”
She extends her hands but I step just out of reach.
“Do not touch me.”
“Please, let me explain.”
“How could you keep a secret like this from me? How could you keep our child away from?—”
She launches forward and frantically presses a gloved hand against my mouth. “Alejo, please! Anyone could walk in.”
I grab hold of her wrist and pin her arm behind her back, holding her in place.
“Let go. You’re hurting me!”
“Hurt? It hurts ?” My grip on her wrist tightens and twists. “You haven’t even begun to feel real hurt.”
Regina manages to maneuver her way out of my grasp and the second she does, the back of her hand strikes my cheek. The skin there heats from the contact because the rest of me is cold, tingling, and numb.
I seize her by the shoulders and toss her into one of the pews where she lets out a strangled cry. Burying her face in both hands, she does her best to stifle a sob.
“ Speak ,” I command. “Now.”
Regina sucks in short, greedy breaths in an attempt to stave off what I assume is a looming panic attack. After a prolonged pause she finally lifts her head from her palms.
“Alejandro…” she whispers my name. “I…I think you should sit down for this.”
“Why?”
“Because,” she struggles to swallow the lump forming in her throat, “you don’t have any other choice.”
It doesn’t seem worth trusting her again. I could always kill her but then that leaves the issue of our child and I wouldn’t be able to live with the murder of their mother on my conscience. Moreover, I don’t even know where they are or how to find them. Knowing Regina, they’re likely well-hidden and impossible to locate without help.
So I take the seat she offers and listen.
“I’ll tell you about the baby later, toward the end. But this is about so much more…about Sandro and me and how this all started.” She lifts her chin and a single tear runs steadily down her cheek. “Do you remember how my mother met Gregorio?”
“Vaguely. Our fathers had already fallen out by the time he married Delphine.”
“Monse and I were seven. Sandro had just turned eleven. I remember being so excited to have a brother, especially an older one. I was always taking care of Monse and our mother didn’t pay us as much attention as she should’ve. Marrying into a new family with a brother and a father felt like a dream come true. Gregorio adopted us right away,” she drags the back of her hand across her damp cheeks. “He was a good father to us. I never felt the difference in his love; he treated us the way he treated Sandro. And Sandro, well…he was very different in the beginning.
“He enjoyed having little sisters. For years he was very doting and attentive with us but I always felt I was his favorite. He did love us the same but the love was different.”
Regina takes a steadying breath before continuing.
“His love… changed …as we got older. I must’ve been fourteen the first time it happened.” She drops her gaze to her palms and digs her nails into her skin. “He came into my room while I was changing. I was so upset; he had a habit of barging in without knocking and did it to everyone. We were going to dinner with our grandparents that evening so I’d changed into a nice dress but the zipper wouldn’t go up. I asked him to help me.
“It was so innocent. I never thought—I hadn’t imagined—” She shakes her head. “I felt his eyes on me in a way I never had. He kissed me on the mouth before he left and I was stunned. I kept telling myself it was normal. All brothers kissed their sisters. Time proved me wrong. The older I got, the more attention he gave me. The more he touched me, the more he visited my room, the more he imposed himself upon me. But it wasn’t until the summer before university when I realized just how far his obsession with me had gone.”
“Enough,” I say quietly. “Don’t say anymore.”
“We were alone in the house because Monse was with her friends and our parents were out. I…I was in a bathing suit…alone by the pool.” Her voice quakes and tremors as she struggles to keep her breathing steady. She lifts her head and when our gazes meet, I know the truth before she speaks it into existence. “él me miraba, Alejandro, pero no como a su hermana. Me miraba como a una mujer. Con deseo .”
A sob breaks free from her lips.
“I was his sister—his little sister —whom he’d watched grow up and he desired me. He lusted after me. He told me as much; right then and there in our parents’ house where anyone could’ve seen or heard. He put his hands on me, tried kissing me?—”
“Regina, please,” I urge quietly.
Rage tints my vision red and in another moment, I won’t be responsible for myself or my actions. Sick isn’t a strong enough word for what I feel. Repulsed, appalled, horrified. Another word out of her mouth and I think the nausea might knock me unconscious.
“I begged my parents to let me go abroad for school and my father accepted. He thought I’d be safer overseas, at least so long as the conflict between our families continued. I left to New York and then I met you.” She lifts a trembling hand to my cheek. “Loving you was how I escaped him. I thought that if I could make it past our wedding day then everything would be all right.”
“But we didn’t.”
Her hand drops to her side. “No. We didn’t. Montserrat told Sandro about the wedding and you know what happened after.”
“When did you find out you were pregnant?”
“About six weeks after.”
“Did you tell anyone?”
“No, but, Alejandro,” she presses her lips together before continuing. “The baby—our son…he was stillborn.”
“S-stillborn?” My voice catches. “It was…he…we had a son .”
Regina drags her hand across her tired eyes. I spring to my feet, unable to remain in a stagnant position any longer, and pace the short length of the pew.
“Alejandro…there’s more.”
“More? More than a secret son you never told me about and Sandro being a perverted, incestuous degenerate?” I seethe. “What I had planned before isn’t enough. Death isn’t enough for him.”
“Listen to me first because there’s still more.” She expels a short breath. “It wasn’t Sandro who put the hit on you last summer.”
I stop dead in my tracks.
“It was Monse.”
“ Monse ?” Disbelief colors my tone. “Why?”
Regina doesn’t answer at first. It takes her a while to muster up the courage. “Because fate has a sick sense of humor.”
“I don’t understand.”
“What Sandro was never able to take from me, he already had in Montserrat. Willingly.” She cries freely and openly. Too many tears roll down her pale cheeks to be stopped. “I used to think she was jealous because she wanted more love and attention. On our wedding day, after I’d realized she’d betrayed me to our brother, it all just…it made sense. It was horrifying to witness; the lengths my sister would go to in order to please him. She maintains that Sandro never reciprocated her feelings or treated her as anything more than a little sister but…”
She gives a weak shrug and shake of the head. “Who knows. I thought she was a victim of his abuse. Manipulated and groomed by him. But no. She’s just obsessed. Sandro’s never looked at her the way he looks at me, I know he hasn’t. My entire life he’s used Monse as a way of beating me into submission. I’d have disappeared years ago but I can’t leave Montserrat behind. She’s still my sister and we depend on him. At least financially. He uses his financial control and his influence over Monse to keep me exactly where he wants me.”
Head swimming with a million questions, I can’t sort through them fast enough. Dead son, traitor sister, incestuous brother. All of it hits me at once and I collapse onto the pew, my legs giving out under my own weight.
This is too much for one person to carry. This is too much for me.
“Alejandro.” She places a tentative hand on my shoulder. “About the baby?—”
I flinch away from her. “No. I can’t. I can’t .”
“I’m sorry.”
I drag my hands down the length of my face and massage my temples. Any minute now my skull is going to split in two.
“I need to focus. Please.”
She nods quickly. “Okay.”
“Just…I need to think.”
I need to shut everything out and focus .
“Why did Monse put the hit on me last summer?”
Regina chews on the inside of her lips. “Sandro and I have no idea. When we found out what she did, we were furious and tried to undo it but we were too late. I think Sandro suspects that Monse…how she feels about him…” She leaves the sentence unfinished. “She did it in a desperate attempt to please him, and it blew up in our faces.”
A thought occurs to me. Last year in Italy during my interrogation of Ibanez and Montenegro they told me they’d only spoken to a woman. One who promised to protect them if they stayed hidden for a few weeks.
Montserrat .
It was her all along. No wonder the attempt was so disorganized and scattered. Montserrat had no idea what she was doing and was giving blind orders to kill me without understanding there’d be consequences later on. Like when her siblings eventually found out and when after my inevitable survival, I’d bring the issue before the apostles.
This is a fucking disaster.
“What’s Sandro’s plan right now?”
“He doesn’t have a plan. He’s falling apart,” she says. “Alejandro, he can’t take any more of this for much longer, and neither can I. Please give Monse back to me. When this is over you can have whatever you want. Our territory, our businesses?—”
“I don’t want any of it.” After a beat, I ask, “What do you want?”
Regina doesn’t hesitate in her answer. “I want him dead.”
Considering what she’s been through, I can’t imagine there being any alternative.
“Then we’ll do it together,” I promise. “Now here’s what I need you to do…”