Chapter 2 - THE SCARS BENEATH THE LACEDiego had seen scars before.
His own body carried enough of them.
A knife wound beneath his ribs from a fight when he was nineteen.
A bullet mark high on his shoulder.
A jagged white line across his left palm from broken glass during the warehouse attack that killed two of his men.
Scars belonged to his world.
But Navy’s were different.
Not because they were worse.
Because of what they meant.
Those marks had not come from a street war.
They had not come from an enemy ambush.
They were deliberate.
Private.
Hidden beneath expensive dresses while society pages called Navy Martin sheltered, spoiled, and delicate.
Diego stared at her reflection.
“When?”
Navy pulled the loosened dress against herself.
“That question needs to be more specific.”
His jaw tightened.
“How long did your father hurt you?”
Her expression did not change.
“My childhood was long.”
Diego felt something cold move through him.
He had imagined Victor Martin protecting his daughter behind walls while other families buried sons.
He had imagined Navy enjoying vacations, private schools, jewelry, charity galas.
He had hated her without knowing her.
Worse, he had deliberately asked for her because he believed hurting Navy would hurt Victor.
Now the logic of his revenge felt obscene.
“Why?”
Navy laughed once.
It was not a pleasant sound.
“You want motivation?”
“Yes.”
“Control.”
She moved toward a chair.
“Sometimes I embarrassed him.”
“How?”
“I spoke.”
Diego said nothing.
Navy continued.
“Sometimes I was blamed for my mother.”
“What did your mother do?”
“Left him.”
Diego knew Evelyn Martin had died when Navy was thirteen.
At least that was the official version.
“She didn’t leave.”
“She tried.”
Navy looked at him.
“That was enough.”
Diego’s stomach tightened.
“What happened to her?”
“Officially?”
Navy smiled faintly.
“Medication interaction.”
“And unofficially?”
“I was thirteen, Diego.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
He looked again at the marks crossing her back.
Navy noticed.
“Stop.”
“What?”
“Looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve discovered an injured animal.”
Anger returned to her voice.
That, strangely, reassured him.
“I don’t pity you.”
“Yes, you do.”
“No.”
“Then what?”
Diego considered lying.
He did not.
“Rage.”
Navy’s face tightened.
“You don’t get to be angry for me.”
“I’m angry for myself.”
That surprised her.
He stepped closer.
“I spent three years believing Victor Martin’s daughter represented everything he valued.”
Navy looked away.
“He values obedience.”
“I demanded you because I thought taking you would injure him.”
“You probably made him proud.”
Diego stopped.
“What?”
“He married his daughter into the family of his enemy and ended a war he was losing.”
Navy’s eyes turned colder.
“He didn’t lose me.”
“He deployed me.”
The sentence landed harder than Diego expected.
He began replaying every detail of the wedding negotiations.
Victor had been incapacitated after his stroke, but Thomas handled the talks.
Thomas repeatedly insisted Navy was precious to the family.
He said Victor would view Diego’s demand as unforgivable humiliation.
Diego had believed him.
Now he wondered whether Thomas had manipulated his hatred.
“Did Thomas know?”
Navy was silent too long.
“About the scars?”
“Yes.”
“Some.”
Diego’s voice lowered.
“And he still handed you over.”
Navy’s jaw tightened.
“Thomas does whatever keeps Thomas alive.”
Diego crossed to the fireplace.
For years, revenge had been clean in his imagination.
Victor killed Mateo.
Diego destroyed Victor’s empire.
Victor cherished Navy.
Diego took Navy.
Simple.
Symmetrical.
Just.
Except revenge rarely survived contact with truth.
Behind him, fabric rustled.
Navy was trying to loosen the corset.
Her breath caught.
Diego turned.
She glared.
“Don’t.”
“You’re hurting yourself.”
“I’ve managed clothing without your help for years.”
“Apparently badly.”
Her eyes flashed.
“Go to hell.”
For the first time that day, Diego almost smiled.
He moved behind her.
“Let me.”
“No.”
“Navy.”
“Don’t use that voice.”
“What voice?”
“The one men use when they expect women to obey.”
“That is generally my voice.”
“Then improve it.”
Diego stared.
Nobody spoke to him like this.
Luca had worked beside him twelve years and still chose arguments carefully.
Yet this woman, physically trapped in a wedding dress he could rip apart with both hands, looked ready to stab him with a hairpin.
“Please,” Diego said.
Navy blinked.
He nearly rolled his eyes at himself.
“That better?”
“A little.”
She turned.
Diego loosened the corset without touching more skin than necessary.
As the pressure eased, Navy inhaled deeply.
The sound was so subtle another person might have missed it.
Diego did not.
“You were in pain during the ceremony.”
“I was fine.”
“You were in pain.”
“I said I was fine.”
He stopped working.
“Navy.”
She turned her head slightly.
“If you say something is hurting you in this house, it stops.”
She laughed.
“You expect me to believe that?”
“Yes.”
“I met you this morning.”
“Then believe actions later.”
He finished loosening the corset.
Navy pulled a robe around herself.
When she turned again, her face was guarded.
“You still hate my family.”
“Yes.”
“You still plan to destroy them.”
“Yes.”
“And me?”
Diego did not answer immediately.
Navy’s mouth tightened.
“Exactly.”
“No.”
She looked at him.
“You are not your father.”
“That realization came quickly.”
“I adapt.”
“You assassinate.”
“When necessary.”
“Reassuring.”
Diego walked toward the door.
“I’ll sleep elsewhere.”
Navy’s expression shifted.
Their marriage had been negotiated partly because Victor’s side expected an heir eventually. It was old-world logic wrapped around modern organized crime.
She had prepared herself for what marriage meant.
Prepared to endure.
Diego saw the knowledge in her face and felt sick.
“You thought I would force you?”
Navy said nothing.
That silence answered.
Diego gripped the door handle.
“I may be many things, Navy.”
His voice became quiet.
“But that will never be one of them.”
For the first time, something vulnerable passed through her expression.
Not trust.
Not yet.
Perhaps surprise.
Diego left.
He found Luca waiting in the corridor.
“Well?”
Diego stopped.
Luca frowned.
“What?”
“Get me everything on Victor Martin’s household.”
“We already have—”
“Not business.”
Diego stepped closer.
“Private doctors. Staff turnover. Security footage. School records. Hospital visits involving Navy. Everything.”
Luca’s expression changed.
“What happened?”
Diego looked toward the closed bedroom door.
“Victor Martin lied to us.”
“That narrows nothing.”
“He didn’t protect his daughter.”
Luca waited.
Diego did not describe the scars.
Something about repeating them felt like exposing Navy again.
Instead he said, “Find out what happened inside that house.”
By sunrise, Luca had results.
Diego sat inside his office while rain tapped against the windows.
A folder landed on his desk.
“Most medical records are sealed,” Luca said. “But Navy visited private clinics eleven times between ages fourteen and twenty-one.”
“For what?”
“Falls.”
Diego looked up.
Luca continued.
“Horse accident. Staircase fall. Glass accident. Kitchen burn.”
“Eleven accidents.”
“Yes.”
“Same physician?”
“Usually.”
“Name.”
“Dr. Samuel Kerr.”
Diego recognized it.
Kerr had served Victor Martin for decades.
“Still alive?”
“Yes.”
“Bring him.”
Luca hesitated.
“There’s something else.”
He placed a photograph on the desk.
A younger Navy stood outside a private hospital.
Seventeen years old.
Long sleeves despite August heat.
Her mother was supposed to have been dead four years by then.
But in the background of the photograph stood a woman entering a car.
Diego leaned closer.
The woman’s face was partially visible.
Luca slid another photograph beside it.
Official society portrait.
Evelyn Martin.
Navy’s mother.
Diego stared.
“That photograph was taken when?”
“Nine years ago.”
“Evelyn died thirteen years ago.”
“According to Victor.”
Diego looked again.
Same profile.
Same distinctive birthmark near the jaw.
Same face.
“Navy thinks her mother is dead.”
“So did everyone.”
Diego stood.
“Find the car.”
“Already did.”
Luca placed a registration record on the desk.
The vehicle belonged to Saint Catherine’s Behavioral Institute, a private psychiatric facility two hours north of the city.
Diego felt the pieces begin moving.
Victor had told the world his wife died.
Navy had lived with that belief since childhood.
Yet four years after the supposed death, Evelyn Martin appeared outside a hospital.
“Is she alive?”
Luca’s expression was grim.
“We don’t know.”
Diego looked toward the hallway.
Navy had spent the night sleeping beneath his roof believing she had already revealed the darkest secret in her life.
She had no idea another one was waiting.
May you like
And for the first time, Diego understood that destroying Victor Martin might no longer be revenge.
It might be the only way to discover what Victor had done to every woman who ever tried to escape him.
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