Page 1 of Sin and Seduction

1

Dante

She staresat the wall with black, empty eyes.

Her bed is unmade, and she lays atop the comforter. She’s been in this exact position, with the exact expression, for almost two weeks. Ever since we got off that plane. Ever since she held her bloodied, lifeless mother’s body in her small hands.

I have to admit, I have tried everything to coax her out of the room. I’ve had Javier make her favorite meals. I’ve had Ricky visit every hour on the dot. I’ve even had his mother facetime her, but she remains unresponsive. After a few days, she decided to eat, but it’s still not enough. I’ve had to lift her from the bed and carry her to the bath and bathe her myself. It’s a routine now at this point.

She doesn’t say anything while I do this. She lets me lift and wash her, her eyes still black and lifeless. I often wonder what exactly she’s looking at when she stares off into the distance.

Does she see her mother, alive and before her still? Does she see a ghost of her bloody form? Does she see anything, or does she just get lost staring into a black void of nothingness?

I don’t care to admit that this is the most helpless I’ve felt in my forty years of living. My birthday was a quiet celebration. When I usually have lavish parties with nameless people, this week was a lonesome dinner at the dining hall. She didn’t leave her room at all that day.

Some nights, I’ll crawl into bed with her and watch her sleep. For the first week, I figured since she was still pissed at me, and suffering through her newest round of trauma, that I should give her some space. But my room was deathly silent, and I missed her warmth. I started to go insane without her.

I’ll touch her hair, which is only soft because I’ve been the one brushing it. I’ll cover her up because no matter the number of blankets she has on her, she’s still cold. At first, when I would try to hold her, she would shy away from my touch. However, after some time, she would eventually give in.

The first few nights in her bed, she would cling to me and sob. The kind of weeping that rips your own soul to shreds. Loud, bellowing howls that the world could hear. But after those few nights, she became this shell. This empty, hollow form that she’s crawled into, refusing to come out for anything or anyone.

She still wears her wedding ring, though, which surprised me. I’m not sure if it’s because she hasn’t thought to take it off or if it’s because she actually likes it there. Regardless, I don’t ask. Because I know there would be no response.

We’ve had to notify her school of her mother’s passing. They’ve granted her a month-long leave since she’s always been at the top of her class, finishing all of her work before it was ever even due. I’m thankful for that. This is the one thing that’s brought her joy. The dream and prospect of owning her own restaurant one day. I’ll do anything in my power to make that dream come true for her. To make all of her dreams come true.

What I’m not thankful for is the fact that my sister is still missing as well as the man who helped contribute to my wife’s depression. Although Juan Carlos is dead, his legacy lives on through the hands of his assistant.

James Rowen is an all-American cowboy born and raised. He grew up in a small, rural town in Wyoming. Raised by Martha and Marcus Rowen, who thought their only son would be the heir of their growing farm, but were later disappointed when they were both murdered by their own child and his new boss, Juan Carlos. James ended up selling the farm and receiving a handsome amount of money for it, quite enough to hire a well-known lawyer that made another family member appear to be the real killer of the late Rowen couple. Nobody has seen or heard from James Rowen since. At least, until he held me at gunpoint while his late boss tackled and tried to kill my wife, ending up slaying her mother instead.

Gabriela is definitely with him; I feel it in my bones. We’ve been tracking every business, every trail that Juan Carlos has any affiliation with, yet we still are coming up short. I’ve lost so much sleep over these two women. I’ve not bothered to shave; my beard is now long enough to brush. The bags under my eyes are so dark that I resemble a Latin skeleton. I am the day of the dead.

It’s Sunday morning, two weeks exactly from when my wife and I returned from Vegas. I’m sitting in the courtyard, sipping my espresso, when Sergio walks out to sit next to me. He is silent as we both stare into the sunrise, the birds singing everything for us.

“We may have a new lead on your sister. Apparently, James didn’t sell every bit of his land back in Wyoming. There’s still a small plot with a cabin. I’ll be leaving personally tomorrow to scope it out.”

I knew there was a reason I kept this man after my father’s death. He’s a shark on land.

“Don’t.” I say, setting my now empty cup of espresso down. It’s my second one, and I still feel like death.

“I’ll come with you. Leave Benjamin here for Emmie. Ricky is still in town as well as Oscar and his men, so she’ll be safe and comfortable.”

As comfortable as she can be.

“Are you sure, boss?” he asks.

He’s not asking because he doesn’t want my company; he’s asking because I look like the second coming of Christ after he rose from the grave.

“Yes. I will need to talk to my wife first.”

Though I can tell there won’t be much of a conversation. There hasn’t been for two weeks. God, how I miss the sweet rasp of her voice. I wish she would just say something, anything. Yell at me, for fuck’s sake. Anything but this silence. We haven’t even given her mother a proper burial.

When it comes to bodies, my team and I are experts at disposing of them. We’re also experts at creating believable stories regarding their disappearances as well. Though, I will admit, when it came to Emmie’s mom, it was a difficult task, especially with the gunshot wound to her head. I will say, thanks to Juan Carlos and his terrible aim, the gunshot to the side of her head made it look like the perfect suicide attempt.

It was hard for me, surprisingly, but we planted her body in her old home, Juan Carlos’s gun in her hand. We had to gather as much of her blood as possible, placing it around her to make it convincing enough. We even left a note addressed to her daughter.

Emmie received a few phone calls from the police and corner days later, confirming her mother's suicide. It ripped my heart to shreds to see her relive that trauma, but it needed to be done. Her ashes are waiting for her in a black urn whenever she is ready to grab them. I wish to hold a proper ceremony for her mother, but I’m not sure if that will ever happen. Those ashes will sit there for weeks to come. I am legally her husband now, and no one suspects who I really am due to the fact that I’ve been great at hiding in the shadows. Dante Moreno is nothing but a successful business owner. No leads whatsoever to El Oscuro himself.

Sergio nods silently at me as I get up and make my way inside. I walk up the stairs and stop outside Emmie’s door, listening for any sounds of life or movement. After a few deep sighs, I enter and close the door quietly behind me.

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