Page 59 of Bad Blood

“Look, I’m sorry. That was disrespectful. All the stuff I said about guilt and the Carreras? Well, it’s not like I have the moral ground to be throwing stones…” Her voice trails off again, and she lets out a sigh. “Can we call a temporary truce and go back to hating each other tomorrow?”

I give her a curt nod in response.

“I’m sorry about your Aston Martin, too.” She steps into the carriage beside me, looking even more like a doll without her shoes on. “Though mymamáalways told me that big, expensive cars were an overcompensation for something.”

I catch a small smile twitching at the corners of her mouth.

“I hear you father has quite the collection.”

That same smile disappears, and I’m suddenly angry at myself for mentioning him.

“Still,” she says, her tone stilted once again. “It’s a good thing he hit the side of the car rather than the side of your head.”

I arch an eyebrow. “I’m surprised to hear you say that,mi amada. You’ve already stated your preference for a black veil over white lace. I assumed being given the opportunity to wear it would’ve been the perfect ending to your day.”

She drops her eyes to the floor. “Not if I’m fifty thousand dollars short.”

Because it’s all about the money, right?

And revenge… Let’s not forget that beautiful, toxic cherry.

My phone beeps. Glancing down, I find more missed calls from my father than I can count and a short message from Monroe.

The bill passed.

I type out a quick reply.

Excellent. Meeting at Legado 10 a.m. tomorrow

It seems Rick Sanders can check off another box on his corrupt political scorecard—a prepaid victory. Not only has he already bought his constituents’ votes, but he’s now purchased the rights to his fellow senators’ opinions. A couple more insignificant steps and the bright lights of Vegas will shine on the Big Apple once more.

New York is reopened for business.

And mine for the taking.

* * *

When we reach the top floor, I hang back to allow Thalia to exit first. She turns in mild surprise when I don’t follow her out.

“Business,” I murmur, sliding my hands into my pockets and reaching for the button again.

As they close, I swear I see a flicker of frustration on her face.

Dropping one floor to Lola’s apartment, I’m relieved to find my sister fast asleep.

Even under sedation, she’s a creature of habit. Ever since she was a little girl, she’s slept in the fetal position.Autodefensa mental, my father calls it. Defense mechanism. He claims it’s from residual trauma still floating around in her subconscious from almost dying in utero, thanks to another of Santiago’s bullets.

He got real philosophical after my mother’s accident. There was a lot of talk about fate and scars and destiny. He started to believe that all sins committed were reenacted over and over on a continual loop, in a realm between dreams and reality—like reincarnation—only no one ever learns. No one repents. All that’s waiting there is a never-ending punishment.

The sins of the father are to be laid upon the children.

Like a war that stains a new generation, and the next, and the next…

For the second time, I brush the hair away from my sister’s face.

“Autodefensa mental…”he would say.“Even in sleep, the soul remembers.”

Hopefully, she won’t remember being drugged by her own brother. I’m guessing I have another four or five hours left before the narcotics wear off and she comes looking for answers.