I turn away from her and drag a hand over my face. I hate it when she calls me that. Antonia has known me since I was a boy, and truly, it does not please me to see the old woman cry. She showed me kindness when so many others did not. She cleaned my wounds and kept me fed and never once treated me to a repulsive glance, even at my worst.

In my gut, I know this was not her doing. She is not capable of such betrayal. And for a moment, I wish I could express that sentiment to her. But the dynamic has changed so much since I returned from the hospital. My unpredictable moods and harsh demands have left the staff scurrying around the mansion like church mice, trying their best to remain unseen and unheard. They do not know what to make of the cold, reclusive man who walked out of the flames that night. And I am certain they only see me as the monster I am now.

"Tell me why my wife was only fed once today." I turn back to her slowly, watching Antonia dab her eyes with the sheet.

She takes a shuddering breath and collects herself with a nod. "Mercedes came to me with the instructions this morning," she says softly. "She told me they were your orders. I was only doing as I was told, sir."

Mercedes.

Darkness creeps into the edges of my vision as I give her a stiff nod. "Let me be clear, Antonia. My wife's health is a priority until I say otherwise. That means any orders pertaining to her will only come directly from me. She will eat when she is hungry, and should she have any other needs, I trust you will meet them accordingly."

Relief makes her shoulders sag. "Yes, master."

I grimace at her and shake my head. "And from now on, call me Santiago, for God's sakes. You have known me since I was in diapers."

Her eyebrows shoot up in surprise. "But, sir, what if the other staff hears me address you as such? It would not be proper."

"To hell with that custom." I wave my hand flippantly. "I am not my father, and you can inform them you have my permission if you must. I don't want to hear another word on the subject."

"Yes, sir." A small, kind smile crosses her lips. "If I may?"

I tilt my head to examine her. "Yes?"

"Mrs. De La Rosa is very beautiful. You have done well for yourself."

I feel my lips tilting at the corners before I dip my head curtly. "Thank you, Antonia. Now, please, attend to her."

Despite Mercedes’s assurance of finding useful employment for her mind this evening, I find her on the computer in the library, stretching the limits of her credit card with luxury clothing.