Page 30 of Always
She tries to cross her arms but she can’t, staying silent.
“He said you asked for me to be able to graduate with my degree in music before-”
“It was the only thing you were good at. It made me look good and after several meetings, raising your price tag, I made sure you at least had one thing that was yours if you were going to be trapped with Chase or Stephen.”
I nod, agreeing with her. Celloisthe only thing I’m good at. Which is why her words are making my insecurities riseagain, that my husbands will tire of me when they realize that. She’s hitting very close to home but I can’t let her words settle too deep within me. Not now, I remind myself. “Why make the agreement? Why sign it? Why sell me?”
“It’s a tale as old as time,mija. It was money.” She holds the Y in contempt and rubs her thumb to the tips of her fingers in that universal money motion. “Business. You were an asset to my Johnny.”
“I was a child!”
She rolls her eyes.
“You had enough money. You hadAbuelo’smoney.”
She scoffs. “You grandfather cut me off the second I married your stupid father after having his fucking kid. If I wouldn’t have married him- I would still be getting my allowances. Your abuelo hated your father more than me.”
And there it is. But I know theotherside to this story. It’s one I’ve heard from my grandfather- where he and my grandmother (may she rest in peace) had begged her to let them raise me so she could continue to rise in her acting and modeling career. They told her my father wasmacho- traditional in every sense of the word and he would require her to stay home and raise me. Not leave it to a nanny. And she would come to resent not just him, but the child as well. Was my father a drunk? Yes. But he was a functioning alcoholic, not that it made anything better.‘A tale as old as time.’So it was.They were doomed from the start. And I know my father loved me.It was the resentment he had towards her that drove him to drink.
“He loved me.”
“Loved you?”Her impeccable brows scrunch up and her features morph into those of disgust. “Hespoiledyou. Took you to do poor people's things. Always at the park, taking you to food trucks, the cinema, he fed you that crap-” she points to the food slathered against the wall- “and made you the way you are.Soft.Inside and out. He didn’t care about you. He wanted youweak. I tried to make you strong. I made sure you wereflawlesseven though you were so fat. So flawless in fact, that when Stephen began his negotiationsIwas the one that was able to garner more even though they knew you weren’t going to be much of a housewife. Just a mare for them to breed. Lucky me that’s all they needed you for.”
If only she knew how‘soft’I really am. “How much?”
“One hundred and twenty-five million. My half.”
My soul. My body. My life, mymind… for a quarter of a billion dollars. “Do you know the Syndicate’s motto is‘Pro Familia Sanguinem?’” I let my eyes roam over her as her features harden even further. “For family, we bleed…” I translate even though I don’t need to. “And I did bleed. For you. For Axel…” I take in a deep breath. “Axel said you were the one who called the cops and had them search for me.”
Another scoff leaves her perfect lips. “Don’t take that as anything more than it is. I needed you alive… and then, once again… you disappointed me.” She taps on her temple with a perfectly manicured finger, signaling my broken mind. “Mi muñequita… rota.”
My broken… little… doll.
With that, I realize I’m done here. I’m sure Damon has everything he needs from her to give me some type of diagnosis. Narcissism, for sure. I make a signal and one of the guards brings in the manilla folder and a pen.
She eyes it. “What’s that?”
Again, I let the words form over my tongue before I speak them aloud. I’ll ask Ada Howell later why my tongue can form words in Spanish easier than English. For now… “Thisis the deed to the Monroe Mansion. I was awarded twenty-seven percent of Monroe Tech Industries when your husband diedbut… I want fifty-onepercent. So… you… are going to sign these and give them over to me.”
She laughs so hard and loud it rings throughout the interrogation room and makes my brain vibrate. “¡Estás loca?!” She laughs again maliciously, head back, a maniacal laughter that comes heartily, like it’s the first time she’s laughed in ages.
I know that feeling.
She stops laughing as abruptly as she started, wiping at her eyes as her cold glare settles back on mine. “Why would I do that?”
I inhale sharply, glance down at the documents, then snap my gaze back to her. “Because…” I point to the corner of the room. “That… camera is functional and it has recorded everything you said. Everything, Mama. And if you don’t… Iwillpush it out. On every social media platform.”
The horror that crawls across her face is pure euphoric bliss, causing my mind to hear such a gorgeous symphony slowly beginning again… the staccato of cello… a violin coming in low but so, so sweet. The beat of a drum… it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop even when she curses me and begins to cry and beg for forgiveness. It doesn’t stop when she changes tactics and begins to tell me she’s my mother, how could I do that to her? Ruin her, ruin her,ruin her…
The melody doesn’t stop even when she signs begrudgingly and throws the papers at me.
It doesn’t stop when the guards come in, put a black sack over her head, drag her out to drive her off to drop her where they picked her up from.
And I know…
It’s not over yet.
Because nobody breaks me and gets away with it.
