I reach out and snatch the paper from his hands, unfolding it near the soft glow of the flickering candle on my desk. My eyes move rapidly over the report, collecting the details as my knuckles grow rigid at the confirmation of his statement. An image of Ivy comes to mind, filling in the gaps between my imagination and Abel’s stupidity. It isn’t difficult to envision her lying there on her back, legs spread as a stranger dares to touch what should only ever belong to me. How could Abel ever believe this would be a smart move?

When I return my hollow gaze to his, the gratified expression on his face falls away. I stalk around the desk, whipping my fingers out to latch onto his jaw, wrenching it upward in the deadly grip of my whitened knuckles.

“Who the fuck gave you the authority?”

My fingers bite into his skin with a force he’s not accustomed to, and he squirms in my grasp as red blooms across his face. His barely concealed disdain is simmering inside him, close to blowing the lid off his feigned civility. I’d like to see him try to test me right now. It would give me great pleasure to cave his skull in and paint my walls with his blood.

“I thought you would want it,” he grits out.

Darkness swirls in the pits of his beady eyes, an undercurrent of rage thrumming beneath his pinched features. He wants to put me in my place. He wants more than anything to believe he is even a fraction of my equal.

“Let me be perfectly clear,” I clip out succinctly. “She belongs to me. Nobody will ever touch her again without my permission, including you. If I find one goddamn hair out of place on her head, it will be you who pays the price. Do you understand?”

“Yes.” He jerks his chin back, clearly revulsed by my face so close to his.

He wants me to know what he thinks of me, whether he can say it plainly or not. It’s tempting to beat him within an inch of his life right now. I could, and nobody would ever question me for it. But I have to remind myself that he will pay for his father’s sins in time. And there will be more satisfaction in watching him slowly stripped of his pride and superiority. When I’m through with him, he will wish his face was only half as damaged as mine. Abel Moreno will come to understand intimately what it means to be truly ugly.

“Well, what do we have here?” Mercedes startles me as she speaks from the doorway to my study, peering in at the scene before her curiously. But when her eyes shoot to mine, her unspoken message is clear.

Not yet. I shake my head in silent answer.