Chapter 2 - THE SCARS BENEATH THE SILK
The zipper caught halfway down.
Navy reached farther, and a sharp pain traveled beneath her right shoulder blade. She made a small sound before she could stop herself.
Diego noticed.
"Having trouble?"
"No."
He set his glass down. "Turn around."
She did.
His expression remained impatient until the fabric slipped from her shoulders.
Then his face changed.
Across Navy's back ran a network of pale, raised scars. Some were thin and straight. Others crossed at angles, overlapping like roads on a map drawn by someone who hated the country. One particularly severe scar began beneath her left shoulder blade and disappeared below the corset.
Near her ribs were older burns.
Diego stared.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Then he asked, "Who did that?"
Navy looked at him.
"Does it matter?"
His jaw tightened. "I asked you a question."
"And I heard it."
He moved closer.
She stepped back immediately.
The movement stopped him.
He looked from her face to the scars and back again.
"Your father?"
Navy said nothing.
Diego's expression hardened.
"Arthur Martin did this?"
She smiled without humor.
"Congratulations. You've solved the mystery."
He stared at her.
"How old were you?"
"The first time?"
The question struck him.
Navy bent to retrieve the dress.
Diego reached for it, but she pulled away.
"Don't."
He withdrew his hand.
She watched him carefully.
The most feared man in Brooklyn had spent the entire day promising to break her.
Now he looked as though he had discovered someone else had beaten him to the task.
"Why didn't anyone know?" he asked.
"Because Arthur Martin was very good at buying silence."
Diego looked at the floor.
"And Thomas?"
Navy laughed.
"Thomas was even better at accepting it."
She moved toward the bathroom.
Diego stepped aside.
At the doorway, she stopped.
"One more thing, Mr. Ramos."
He looked up.
"You told me you were going to destroy my father's legacy."
"Yes."
She held his gaze.
"Then we finally have something in common."
And she closed the bathroom door.
Diego stood alone in the bedroom.
The expensive whiskey sat untouched.
He remembered Arthur Martin's photograph on the wall of the old family mansion.
A smiling businessman.
A philanthropist.
A man who had supposedly died peacefully in his sleep.
Diego had spent nine years believing Arthur was responsible for his uncle's murder.
He had married Navy to punish the Martin family.
But the scars on her back had revealed something he had never considered.
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Arthur Martin's most carefully concealed victim had been his own daughter.
And Diego had just threatened to finish the job.
