“When? When did he do this?”
“A few months after I got here.” Damian could feel the pieces of the puzzle moving around in her head. He wished he could get inside her mind and rearrange every single piece so they weren’t wasting this time, this precious time discussing Warren Fucking Sedgewick.
“So you sold your Sedgewick Hotels stock short and sent his shares plummeting. You must have lost a lot of money. Why shoot yourself in the leg? Why not just take over?”
“I don’t react well to threats, Skye. And that company was built on dirty money. Cartel money. I would have given anything to see the look on Warren’s face when it all came tumbling down.”
“Well, that’s never going to happen now. He’s gone, Damian. My father died a few days ago. You got your revenge. It took a while for everything to crumble, for him to lose everything, piece by piece. The stress was too much for him. Foreclosures and debt collectors. Everywhere he turned. He had a stroke last year, and then another one a few months later. He didn’t survive the third one. So congratulations. You finally did it. You avenged MaMaLu.”
“Good.” Damian sat back and folded his arms. He should have felt a small measure of victory, of justice, but it did nothing to fill the Skye-less hole that was gnawing away pieces of his soul. “I can’t say he didn’t deserve it.”
“Don’t, Damian. It’s time to let it go. My father meant to get you and MaMaLu out of there. He was going to get you new lives, new identities. He came looking for you after MaMaLu died, but you were nowhere to be found. He couldn’t undo what he did, but he never meant you or MaMaLu any harm.”
A sick, slow heaviness curdled in Damian’s veins, the initial burst of happiness at seeing Skye dissipating like cool ether. She wasn’t here for him. She was here for her father.
“So that’s it?” he asked. “That’s why you showed up? A year later? To berate me for something he started? I walked away, Skye. For you. But he couldn’t leave it alone, could he? He just had to try to strong-arm me into keeping my distance. As if I could ever bring myself to contact you. You deserve better. I knew that. He knew that, but he had to prove that he still held the cards.”
“That’s not why he did it!”
“Then why, Skye? Why? I lost MaMaLu. I lost you. I lost eight years of my life. Why the fuck couldn’t he just leave me alone?”
“Because!”
“Because what?” Damian slammed his palms down on the table. “I hated that fucking bastard and I’m glad he’s gone. What did you expect, Skye? Did you expect an apology? You want me to say I’m sorry?”
“Stop it, Damian.” Skye could see the guard making his way towards them. “I thought it would be different. I thought you would be different. But you’re still filled with so much rage.”
“And you’re still defending him.” Damian got up and let the guard cuff him. His outburst was going to cost him. He wished Skye had never come. He wished he’d never known her or Warren Sedgewick. He wished he could stop the pain that was shooting through him. “I guess blood will always be thicker than water.”
Skye’s face changed at his parting remark. She looked both heart-broken and enraged. The last thing Damian saw as they led him away was her back, shoulders hunched over the table.
That was the only time Skye came to see Damian in prison. He didn’t see her again for the rest of his incarceration, not once over the next seven years.
DAMIAN STOOD AT THE ENTRANCE of Casa Paloma, by the tall wrought iron gates that had once barred his way. The first thing he’d done when he got out of prison was to put in an offer, and he stood now as master, where his mother had been the help. The few prospective buyers with the means to afford the property had turned away from the daunting task of restoring it. Years of neglect had left it in disarray. Vine-smothered walls and balconies obscured Casa Paloma’s graceful lines. Overgrown trees encroached like dark shadows around the edges. The garden had transformed into a jaundiced mess of dry, tangled weeds, trash bags, and empty beer bottles.
Damian removed the chains and pushed the gates open. They squeaked from worn, rusty joints. The main house stood before him, its boarded-up windows staring at him with pale, blank eyes. Damian walked past it, ignoring the flurry of grasshoppers that clamored out of his way, to the small, modest building in the back that had once housed the staff. It was a single row of dormitory style rooms with a communal bathroom and kitchen. He stood outside the third door, overcome with nostalgia and a strange, tight knot in his throat. MaMaLu’s broom was still leaning against the wall, mummified in layers of dust and cobwebs. Damian shuffled his feet at the entrance.