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.