As I study him, fingers locked around the switchblade, I'm still considering the consequences of stabbing him between the eyes when he offers one last nail in the coffin.

"She's been trying to cover her tracks. Ask her yourself if you don’t believe me. I'm only telling you what nobody else has the courage to say to your face. The thing they all whisper about when your back is turned. I think it's only fair someone finally tells you the truth."

19

Santiago

"Where is Mercedes?"

Antonia startles, nearly dropping the tray in her hands as I intercept her in the kitchen. She's staring at me like she's seeing a ghost, and I'm consciously aware of the fact that it's morning, and I'm in one of the few well-lit areas of The Manor. But vanity doesn't have a space in my thoughts right now.

"She hasn't come home yet," she answers quietly. "Would you like me to call for you when she arrives?"

"Yes."

She hesitates as if there is something else she wants to say but isn't quite sure how.

"What is it, Antonia?"

"Will you be awake?"

There's a kindness in her tone that makes me falter, and I can't comprehend it. How can this old woman stare down the vulgar beast in front of her and find even an ounce of softness in her heart?

"I don’t have intentions on resting anytime soon," I inform her. "But should I fall asleep, bring Marco with you to wake me. Just to be safe."

She nods, offering a small smile. "Can I get you something to eat?"

"Not right now, thank you." I shift uncomfortably. "Has Mrs. De La Rosa... has Ivy eaten her breakfast already?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Antonia. That is all."

I turn and take my leave, stalking down the corridor and up the stairs to Ivy's bedroom. When I open the door, a small gasp flies from her lips, and she wears the same startled expression to find me lurking about at this hour.

"Santiago?" Her voice is tinged with concern as she tries to uncover the meaning behind the stormy expression on my face.

"I need to know now." I shut the door behind me, securing me inside the room with her.

Her eyes dart to the walled-off escape and then over my body. She looks as if she's trying to determine her options but accepts there are none left.

"What do you need to know?" she asks carefully.

"I need the name of your accomplice," I growl, stepping toward her. "Who gave you the poison, Ivy?"

She sucks in a sharp breath and shakes her head. "I can't give you a name because I wasn't the woman who poisoned you."

The wording of her declaration confuses and infuriates me.