Page 95 of Santiago's Conquest (Four Dark Horsemen 1)

All in all, this mansion should have been forbidden for how luxurious it is, yet oddly enough their house has peaceful energy around it, not imposing on you with its wealth. Rather, it invites you in, allowing you to slowly peel back the veil and peek into their life.

A privilege rarely anyone is granted, because the Cortez family hasn’t hosted any gatherings in twenty-four years, and no one steps on their land without special permission, or they might end up dead.

Frowning, I search my mind for certain information, and various newspaper spreads pop in my head, trying to show me something about the past that explains such a stance and how Dad, or rather Howard, once mentioned that Santiago must have a strong bloodline, because he withstood… something.

Could those two events be connected with the scars on his body? What happened in this mansion that shifted the way this family lived and interacted in public?

Jimena’s laugh tears me away from the disturbing discovery and pulls me back to the conversation at hand. She finishes her apple and drops the core into the nearby trashcan. “Dile eso a mamá.”

Santiago smiles smugly, although it doesn’t reach his eyes; in fact, their dead, stone-cold expression chills my blood a little as if he is a predator ready to face an attack at any moment, his body tensing the minute we stepped inside this house.

How weird. I would think those who grew up in love view their parents’ house as a safe harbor where nothing could hurt them. “I’m her favorite, so I think I’m safe.” Before Jimena sees it coming, he ruffles her hair, and she tries to avoid it, but he traps her in the crook of his arm, messing her hair even further before letting her go.

Jimena glares at him. “You’re such a jerk.” She sticks her tongue out and hooks her arm into mine, dragging me toward the common room, chattering on the way. “I’m so happy you are here. Finally, you guys can answer all their questions. They wouldn’t let me sleep.” She rolls her eyes and then drops her voice to a murmur. “I knew I should have stayed at my apartment, but to be honest, I couldn’t miss it.”

She’s one year younger than me, so she lives closer to her university in the center of Chicago while getting her degree after coming back from abroad, where she attended high school.

“Miss what?” I ask with confusion, and she opens her mouth to answer, but that’s when we enter the common room to find their parents sitting on a red velvet couch.

Rebecca waves the paper in her hand with a sketch on it while Lucian presses her closer to his side. “Are you serious right now? That’s all you have to say?”

Her husband chuckles, the wrinkles on his face deepening. “You wanted an honest opinion.”

She places her hand on her hip and narrows her eyes at her husband. “Yes, and an honest opinion doesn’t include you destroying my plans.”

“Mi amor, the greenhouse doesn’t need renovation.”

“It does.”

“No. It doesn’t.” He traps her chin between his fingers, pulls her face toward him, and kisses her lightly on the mouth. “You’re just angry. Pour your energy into something else,” he says gently, love shining brightly between them, and I almost spin around so I won’t intrude on the intimate moment.

I knew they loved each other. I just didn’t know their feelings stayed so intense all these years.

Which brings another question.

How is it possible such a loving marriage could produce a serial killer, cold to every emotional attachment, pretending only obsession and madness exists in his heart?

Shouldn’t he at least respect women, considering he loves his mother and sister?

“Of course I am.” She turns her attention to us, and I still. Her sapphire eyes flash in anger, yet I notice her purple hair falls in waves down her spine, so unusual but still fits with her artistic attire.

She gets up, her yellow summer maxi dress reaching the floor where her bare feet peek out, and she moves in our direction while I mentally prepare myself for her anger, hoping I’ll be able to withstand it…

Only to double blink when she pushes past me and points her finger at Santiago. “My baby had a wedding without me.”

“Ha, ha!” Jimena exclaims. “Who’s her favorite now?”

Their mother ignores the comment, continuing to address him as her finger digs into his chest, and he stays still, dutifully listening to her outburst. “A post on social media. That’s how I find out about my first born getting married.” Santiago opens his mouth, but her splayed palm stops what he wants to say. “Because apparently in this family, my thirty-one-year-old son thinks he doesn’t have to inform me about it. Who am I, after all? Just a mother.”

Lucian gets up from the couch, and tearing my gaze away from mother and son, I study up close the man who became my father-in-law.

And it’s like looking at Santiago, just thirty years older, same height and tan skin with the silky dark hair, only Lucian’s has several gray strands in it. His high cheekbones emphasize the perfect symmetry of his face, and his dark eyes stare at me, as if looking into the depths of my soul to find answers to all the questions he has.

Lucian sends a smile my way and throws his arm around Jimena, kissing her on the head as she rests her cheek on his chest, both of them watching Rebecca and Santiago.

Uneasiness rushes through me at how easily she trusts her dad, finding solace in his arms, something I’ve never known in this world.

Maybe because Howard’s touch always entailed abuse.

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