The Darkness Appeal: (Omegaverse)

(The Sins of Darkness Duet Book 2) 1st

Edition A.J. Moran
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The Darkness Appeal
THE SINS OF DARKNESS

A.J. MORAN
Copyright © 2024 by A.J. Moran
Edited by Jenni Gauntt

This version is made for Amazon.

All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written
permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
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 Contents
Note to Readers
Prologue - Sin
1. Gabriella
2. Sin
3. Levi
4. Gabriella
5. Gabriella
6. Elijah
7. Gabriella
8. Sin
9. Levi
10. Elijah
11. Gabriella
12. Levi
13. Gabriella
14. Elijah
15. Sin
16. Levi
17. Gabriella
18. Sin
19. Elijah
20. Gabriella
21. Gabriella
22. Gabriella
23. Levi
24. Sin
25. Gabriella
26. Sin
27. Gabby
28. Elijah
29. Gabriella
30. Levi
31. Gabriella
32. Gabriella
33. Levi
34. Gabriella
35. Levi
36. Sin
37. Elijah
38. Gabriella
39. Sin
40. Gabriella
41. Levi
42. Gabriella
43. Gabriella
44. Elijah
45. Sin
46. Gabriella
47. Levi
48. Sin
49. Gabriella
50. Levi
51. Sin
52. Gabriella
53. Gabriella
54. Levi
55. Gabriella
56. Sin
57. Gabriella
58. Levi
59. Sin
60. Gabriella
61. Sin
62. Gabriella
63. Sin
Epilogue - Gabriella
Also by A.J. Moran
Afterword
Acknowledgments
 Note to Readers

The Darkness Appeal is an Omegaverse reverse harem romance the second in a duet, but the story is a standalone. Each book
will have their own Happily ever after, and can be read alone. Recommended for readers 18+ for adult content and language.
This is a Contemporary Omegaverse has non-shifting alphas, betas, omegas, and sigmas. Alphas have knots and ruts,
omegas go through heats, but do not shift into any kind of animal.
This story includes borderline non-con, dub-con, somnophillia, very dark elements (ie on page: torture, crime, un-living of
people, attempt of strong sexual abuse by non harem member). If any of this is not your thing, put the book down. Metal health
matters.
It also contains the following tropes: Mafia romance, ex-step relationship, heats, trauma healing, a/b/o, mention of mpeg,
and REAL physical relationships between the men… everyone loves everyone.
 Prologue - Sin

THE CROWD of the fight ring is loud and growing louder as they wait for the man they probably all came to see fight,
Saint, one of my sister's alphas. The chain link fence at my back is cool as I watch them. I hate having alphas at my back, and
there are a lot of them here.
The only thing I’m grateful for is that despite being an omega, I blend in with the men. With my auburn hair, trimmed beard,
and normal build, no one even looks at me twice. To them, I’m just another guy watching the fight.
Beside me, my sister sinks deeper into Felix's arms as he and Austin talk to some guy about an omega sanctuary. At least
my sister found good guys. That is all I could hope for.
I cast my gaze around the crowd again, landing on Levi Carmichael. It always hits me when I see people that knew my
family before it all went to shit. He had come with his stepfather once, but he made it clear he wasn't there to make friends.
I nod in his direction. “Do you remember him? From when we were teens?”
Audrey turns her attention to where I indicated and shrugs. But something flashes behind her mask, in her eyes that tells me
that there is something she is holding back. Maybe she knew him from the parties she’s been to lately.
“He was a jerk,” I add unapologetically.
She glances at me and shifts slightly in Felix's arms. I can tell she is going to say something I don't want to hear. “Well, that
jerk is the one that stole Austin’s painting. He’s having a party next weekend; you need to go and see if you can find it.
Carmichael would know who I am from a mile away.”
Keeping my face neutral, I glance over at him again. “I hate parties.”
“You party every night, coming home smelling like booze," she scoffs, her nose scrunching like she could smell it on me
now.
If she even knew the half of it, she'd keep me home every night. Fighting off alphas after what we experienced isn't
something she would fully be okay with.
“That’s different.”
“Is it?” She eyes me as if she can read my secrets.
I roll my eyes, redirecting the conversation to something I know will distract her. "Who's the omega?"
The omega standing with him has long blonde hair that catches the light and is left loose, tumbling across her shoulders.
She's wearing a dress that is slinky enough to make your imagination run, but not revealing in a way that some omegas do for
attention. A mask covers her round face, but it can't hide her curves. And she has plenty of them.
Her hips flare wide on top of her long legs, and her waist looks like she wouldn’t be more than skin and bones, leading to a
chest most women would die for. But I've been around enough strippers to know that the ladies with the larger chests always
want smaller and those with smaller ones always want bigger. Either way, they are perfect beneath her dress.
What I can see of her face shows her lips are full and something Levi says makes her cheeks flush just beneath the feathers
on her mask.
"That's his step-sister, he keeps her close."
My sister pulls me out of my admiration with her words, making me hum in thought. Sounds like she might be a prisoner.
Maybe I can help her while I'm at the party. Helping omegas in bad situations is what I do. Everyday hero; not all heroes wear
capes, and helping omegas who are being controlled by alphas is a favorite pastime.
"So, will you do it?" Audrey asks.
I give a noncommittal sound in reply. I throw in a shrug, but my mind is whirling a million miles a minute as I think of all
the ways I could save the girl if I did go.
“You aren’t going to do it, are you?” she presses, then she waves her hand, not a trace of irritation on her face. “That’s
okay, forget about it. It really doesn’t matter anymore.”
 I open my mouth to tell her I’ll do it, but she turns her full attention back to the ring as her alpha, Saint, enters. But I'm still
stuck on the group across the space as they watch the fight.
A platinum blond approaches the group with a ring in his septum and earrings dangling from both ears. He looks like he's
fighting tonight, and it peaks my interest. The stranger is attractive for an alpha. At least I assume he is an alpha; he looks like
one with the stunning looks that he tries to hide with his bleached hair. It only makes him more appealing. The way Levi's sister
watches him, I know she sees it too.
"I'll make this quick," Saint says, as he approaches us, his eyes only for my sister. It would be cute if it didn't make me want
to gag. The sexual tension between them is thick in the air, and I try not to inhale my sister's perfume too deeply.
"Not too quick. I have money on three rounds," Austin grumbles. Because of course, he does. He bets on Saint every time
we come here.
"Kiss for luck?" Saint asks, leaning toward her.
I roll my eyes as Audrey sways forward into the chains to give him a kiss.
"You know he doesn't need luck out there, right?" I ask my sister as I twist around to face Saint in the ring. "He is really
good."
"Then you have a good teacher, and you can win next week." She links her fingers into the cage as he heads to the center of
the ring.
The announcer recites the rules he does for every match and then steps out of the way as the bell sounds. Saint dodges a
right hook, before landing a firm fist into the alpha's ribcage. The first two rounds end quickly. And I can't entirely keep my
attention on the fight as my attention keeps drifting to Carmichael and the two that are with him.
After the second round is done, Saint leans against the fence and looks over at me. "You see how he drops his elbow?
When he does that he is opening up his opposite side. Overcompensating. Whoever you fight next week will have the same kind
of tells. If you pay attention, you can catch them."
I nod, and he heads back to the center. He really is the best teacher. I put my full focus on the next round, watching as Saint
works his magic. The guy falls slack to the mat, and the crowd cheers like it is the best thing in the world.
“Sin, I’ll be back, in, uh a little, stick with Felix,” Audrey says, with a wink, like I need protection from the room full of
alphas.
I snort, but she is long gone, dancing through the crowd to hopefully get rid of some of that sexual tension. Still, I turn to
Felix and quirk my eyebrow. He shrugs with a grin and messes with his lip ring; he obviously knows what is going on too. The
next match starts pretty quickly so I thankfully don't have to talk about my sister's sex life. I shiver at the thought. Thank God for
small miracles.
"Do you know anything about them?" I ask Felix, nodding in Carmichael’s direction as we get a break from the fights. The
last one was bloody, and they are mopping up the floor before the next one starts.
He fingers his eyebrow ring as he looks across the space. "Carmichael?"
"Yeah and the other two."
"You heard your sister, that is Gabby, Carmichael's step-sister. He is pretty protective of her if you're an alpha. And Elijah
Gray is Levi's second as far as I can tell. He doesn't do many parties and prefers the fight ring over polite society. He's pretty
good too. I'd bet on him if he wasn't fighting Saint."
"Is she a prisoner?"
He laughs, throwing his head back in amusement. "If she is, I think she enjoys her cage."
"Why do you say that?"
"I've had conversations with her. She loves to make Carmichael jealous and press his buttons."
I narrow my eyes on the three of them, trying to see what Felix sees. It’s there, but barely. "She looks stiff."
"Yeah, but watch her, you'll see how she looks at her step-brother when he isn't looking. They have something going on; it
might still all be in the closet, but if an outsider can see it...then it is ready to explode."
"Is Elijah fighting tonight?"
Felix grins knowingly. "He is. You should watch him. He's a work of art with how he moves. Don't let Saint know I said
that."
I snort, tossing him an amused look. "I'll keep your secret."
As I continue to watch the group, I find I must agree. Elijah is a work of art. From his platinum blond hair to those striking
eyes that could probably pierce your soul. And those muscles that scream restrained strength. He’s a temptation I’m not sure I
can resist.
"What secret?" Austin says, leaning over Felix’s shoulder, finally joining our conversation.
Felix bumps him softly. "No secrets here," he says.
Austin flips him around and cups the back of his neck, dragging him against his chest. "Keep it that way,” he murmurs
against his lips.
I look away as they kiss. They are like brothers to me now, and I don't want to watch them make out any more than I want to
watch my sister do it. Again, my attention shifts to the trio. I want to learn more, and it has nothing to do with the painting.
Can I do both? Maybe. I watch like a stalker as Elijah leans close to Levi and whispers something to him before he heads
toward the dressing rooms. Gabby watches him leave, longing painted on her face in a way that tells me that it is a one-way
street for her. She wants him, but I didn't see the same in return from him.
Levi says something, and her face becomes the mask again as she turns to her step-brother. She presses her lips into a thin
line and shakes her head. Her hand going to her hip.
"I'll be right back," I say to Felix and Austin. Then I thread through the crowd, creeping closer to the pair that hold my
attention.
"You can't tell me what to do, Levi," she says, propping a hand to her hip in defiance.
"I can, and I will," he growls out the response.
Even not directed at me, his growl sends a shiver of awareness down my spine. Fuck, I don’t react to alphas. But the
tightening of my jeans behind my zipper says differently.
"Can you just drop it? I'm here, aren't I? You got your way, again." She crosses her arms as she glares at him. I can't see his
face from this angle, but I can only imagine he is glaring right back.
The energy crackles in the air between them, even if they don't realize they are drawing the attention of every ear near them.
And it is tense with sexual tension that is ready to explode.
Levi lowers his voice as if he senses what I do. "Not here, Gabriella."
Wise move.
For a kingpin to reveal his weaknesses any place he can be overheard is dangerous. My father taught me small things, and
eventually, I will take my place as the head of the De Luca mafia. Right now I'm just laying the groundwork, but that is the first
rule. Don't air family business outside of the house.
After watching them for a few more silent minutes, I don't think I'll learn anything else here. I'll just do my research later.
Heading back to my sister's pack, I see Saint and Audrey have joined them, both looking satisfied.
Suddenly, I can't do any more of the whole loving pack tonight. I care about them all, and I love that my sister is happy, but I
need air. It feels as if their love is suffocating me.
"Sin, we are going to head to the diner by home, you want to come?" Saint says, gesturing toward the exit.
"Nah, I am gonna stay and watch the next few fights, see if I can pick up on any weaknesses. I'll catch up with you in a little
bit."
He nods, and all of us say our goodbyes. I inhale deeply as they disappear. A sort of sadness for what I will never have
filters through, but I shove it away. My sister being happy is all that really matters.
 CHAPTER 1
Gabriella

ANOTHER PARTY.
More pretend.
Not for the first time I curse presenting as an omega. I was poised to take the whole Carmichael empire as my own.
Gabriella Frey Carmichael, mafia princess turned queen. Instead, my step-brother Levi, my personal pain in the ass and jailer,
took my spot.
Now, I am the perfect mafia princess, trapped in a gilded cage.
The only good thing about any of it is that Levi keeps other alphas at bay. If another looks my way, including his friends, he
gets possessive like he owns me. Not even Elijah is ever left alone with me, and he’s his best friend and pack mate.
The last alpha that slipped past is probably wearing a pair of cement shoes at the bottom of the East River.
As soon as Levi is caught in a conversation with the slimy chief of police, I edge toward the side of the room. Sweet
escape only a few feet away. I throw a look over my shoulder at my step-brother. He glowers over at me, and with a grin, I flip
him off before disappearing into the blissful darkness of the study—one of the only off-limits rooms to guests at this party.
It smells like a mixture of gunpowder and old books as I sink into a leather armchair with a soft exhale. I kick off the heels
that are killing my feet and eye the liquor cabinet. I’m a lightweight, but getting drunk might make the party more interesting.
Decision made, I pad across the dark wooden floor and pop the topper out of the rum. Lifting the crystal decanter, I sniff,
inhaling deeply, drawing the scent into my lungs. It is one I wish I could drown in.
Levi.
He is all I smell as I pour a splash of the rum into a tumbler. All I need is a lime and it would feel as if he was in the room
with me. My stomach rolls. I hate the way my body feels when I think of him, but I let my imagination conjure him to the
forefront of my mind anyway.
It is hard not to think of him, if I’m honest. His dark, unruly hair creates sinful images of tugging my fingers through it. His
almost golden brown eyes, more times than not, are full of annoyance for me. And the way his fingers run over the back of his
neck when I press his buttons or the little tendon that jumps along his finely dusted jaw as he clenches his teeth sets my blood
on fire.
The mere sight of him is enough to make slickness gather between my legs, add his musk into the equation, and I’m lucky he
doesn’t smell what he does to me. Or what he is to me. Because that bastard would use it against me. He already knows too
well how attractive omegas find him, not that he brings any of them home. He smells like them sometimes, though, and it takes
everything in me not to react. As if I have some sort of claim. I don't, not one I can shove in his face anyway.
If it weren’t for my constant supply of scent blocking lotion, and sometimes pills, he would have known years ago when I
first presented. Between him and his best friend, Elijah, I would have been screwed.
Elijah is a walking, living, breathing bad boy. The violence flowing off of him is a darkness I’d love to get lost in. He’d
probably fuck like he fights, with single-minded determination and barely contained violence. And I want it with every fiber of
my being, but I can’t ever let him know.
His bleached hair and icy blue eyes have been the star of many of my omega fantasies of him slipping away from my step-
brother to have his way with me. If I said I didn’t touch myself while thinking about him, at least a couple times a week, I’d be
lying. But he has never looked twice in my direction, loyal to a fault to Levi.
With a sigh, I shake out of thoughts of Levi and Elijah. If I want a real future, I can’t entertain a single one for either of
them. Levi’s mom sat me down when I realized and told me the hard truth, scent matching to them was a bad thing, not good.
And hiding it is my only way out.
Taking my drink back to the armchair, I curl my feet beneath me and pick up the book I had left out earlier. Then I switch on
the lamp on the table next to me. Sipping on the liquor, I fall into the romance about an omega who breaks free of the hold
society has on her and finds her matches in the process.
Some things only happen in fairy tales; in real life, sometimes your matches aren’t meant for you, but that is okay because
my books are my escape.

I DON ’ T KNOW how long it’s been, but I feel cozy and warm from my drink. And completely lost in the story when the door
opens quickly, and a figure steps inside. Almost immediately I’m hit with the bitter scent of old spice.
“This room is off limits,” I say, dropping my feet to the floor and standing.
“You’re in here,” the police chief replies, shutting the door behind him.
Revulsion for the slimy man crawls over my skin like a million tiny spiders, and I shiver.
“This is my home, Chief.” Simple, direct. Nothing that would piss Levi off since he wants to get on the good side of the
police force so he can get his arms deals past them.
He steps further into the room, ignoring my words with his actions. “Peter, you can call me Peter. I wanted to speak with
you. Your brother doesn’t let suitors close.”
I almost gag. Suitor? Never him. He is large and beefy like he spends his free time in gyms. And I’ve never been a fan of
the muscled alphas, as if they didn’t have enough power just being an alpha.
“He is protective of me. It was my father’s dying wish that he watch out for me.”
Although, Levi takes it way too far. I’m an omega, not porcelain. I’m not going to break when the first alpha gives me
attention. And I will probably reject any who try, not that he knows that.
Peter steps closer, and I circle around the armchair, putting it between us. Resting my hands lightly on the back of the chair,
I straighten my shoulders.
“You should go before he finds you in here.”
“We have an understanding. He’s made some promises I intend to collect on.”
My stomach dips. He wouldn’t have done what the chief is insinuating. There is no way he would sell me out to this man.
Sure, Levi is ruthless and will do whatever it takes to get what he wants, but he enjoys tormenting me, and this is the opposite
of what he promised my father.
“I’m sure you are mistaken,” I say as my fingers dig into the leather beneath them.
“No mistake, pretty omega. I’m going to enjoy sinking into your lush curves.”
I gag then. So much for being nice and not making waves. If Levi actually did sell me out, there is no way I am going
willingly. Releasing the old leather, I slip my hand into the pocket of my dress and curl my fingers around my switchblade. I
never go anywhere without it. My dad had told me it was my mom's.
“You’ll enjoy it, too,” he says. His musk is overwhelming, and I sneeze. The old spice coats the back of my throat, and I
want to claw it out as bile attempts to escape the confines of my stomach.
He gets closer, and I fall back. When he follows, I step backward until I hit the bookshelves. He grins like he’s won, but
I’m just moving him into position.
He boxes me in and runs his meaty palm along the side of my face. Caressing me in a way that makes me feel like a
thousand fire ants are scurrying over my flesh and burning me alive. I slowly pull my blade out and click the button, the soft
snick telling me it is open.
His thumb presses into my chin, and he forces my eyes up to his. “I’ll make you happy.”
“Is this the kind of behavior the force expects of their police chief? Accosting omegas alone in dark rooms?”
“I am collecting what is due to me,” he says as his eyes narrow. “Your brother thinks he can ask for my cooperation and
offer something as worthless as money when he has you to give away?”
My stomach somersaults at his words. Levi hadn’t sold me to the highest bidder. But it’s clear the chief offered.
“Step-brother,” I correct him on instinct.
Levi had come into my life way past the point of being only a brother to me. And I had fallen head-over-heels, love-at-first-
sight with him the second my pre-teen self had been introduced. That was before he opened his mouth and ruined it.
“And he doesn’t own me. I suggest you step back and release me.”
“I’m not going to do that, you smell amazing.” He sniffs my neck, and I am surprised he can smell anything past my scent
blocker.
“Your nose is broken, and I think you’ve forgotten who you are talking to,” I say as I press my blade between his legs and
against his balls. “Step back or I will cut off your dick and feed it to you before I cut you open and let you bleed out all over
my study. I’m sure the cleaners can get the stain out. And my step-brother would be more than happy to work with your
replacement.”
In reality, the chief’s replacement might not be as slimy as him, and if that is the case, Levi would be pissed. But he’d get
over it.
 “No need for violence, my pretty omega.”
Apparently, he needs encouragement. I flick my hand up and slice through his slacks, nicking a ball in the process if his
reaction means anything. He curses and shoves away from me, knocking a few books free of the bookcase in the process.
“You really should have listened to me,” I say as I watch him double over and hold his nut sack.
“Omega bitch, you’ll pay for that.”
“I don’t think she will,” a voice replies from the shadow right next to the door. It is husky and gravely, full of menace that
makes my blood sing. “From my view, it looks as if the chief of police is forcing himself onto an omega, and that is against the
law. Right?”
“Who the fuck are you?” the chief snarls, twisting around to face the stranger.
“Sinclair De Luca, your worst nightmare if you touch her one more time.”
I inhale. Sinclair ‘Sin’ De Luca, one of the De Luca twins that had been rumored dead. A hit had taken out his entire family,
and everyone thought they had been murdered too. But this man is very much alive and brimming with anger.
He steps into the light from my lamp, his mismatched eyes glimmering with hatred as he stares down the chief of police.
His burnt auburn beard is trim and neat, contrasting to his hair that looks windblown and never fixed. Tall and lean, his stylish
black suit and combat boots fit his demeanor perfectly.
But as attractive as he is, what hits me square in the chest is his scent. It has the acidic hit of anger, but beneath it is the
sweet smell of apple pie and vanilla ice cream. Pure omega. Yet, I can’t pull my gaze away. He is mesmerizing in a dangerous
way.
I definitely have a type.
 CHAPTER 2
Sin

I HAVE one purpose at this party. Recon. Audrey and her pack are looking for a painting. Really, I think it is just my sister,
but what does it matter? I will do anything for her. And I had.
I push that thought away. It is the road to darkness, and I need a clear head tonight. Later, when I can drown it out with a
joint, I’ll indulge in what I’ve lost. But for now, I’ll focus on helping Audrey find this elusive painting.
The room is full of men I recognize from when my father was alive. Men that came to our home and made deals with the De
Luca mafia. Some alphas, some betas, but I am not here for them. I scan the walls looking for the picture Audrey described so I
can get out of here.
It isn’t in the first three rooms I enter. The fourth room is a large-looking ballroom that reminds me of those historical
romances my sister loves to watch. And the men and women in it are dressed as if they stepped right out of that time with suits
and fancy dresses.
The omega, Levi Carmichael’s sister, is standing alone on the edge of the space, and she catches my attention. She glows.
Her blonde hair lays in curls along her back, catching the light just right to make her appear like she wears a halo atop her
head. Her face is round with pink cheeks, long eyelashes that frame light eyes that I can’t see the color of from this distance,
and perfectly bow-shaped lips. In the darkness of the fight club, I didn’t pick up on all of her features, but here in the bright
light and the absence of the mask, she is beautiful. Or more beautiful than I first thought.
Her curves are hugged by a shimmering baby-pink dress that makes her look innocent in a way none of the other partygoers
appear. I want to get closer to catch her scent, completely distracted by her beauty.
Before I can close the distance, she is slipping away. She pauses at a large oak door and looks over her shoulder at
someone before grinning wickedly and flipping them off. An answering grin pulls at my lips as I follow her line of sight to see
Levi Carmichael glowering at her. Their dynamic is curious, and I want to learn more about it.
Back when he came to my home, he’d acted like he was too good to associate with us, so Audrey and I ignored him, even
though we were around the same age.
The fact his step-sister definitely has ties to the Carmichael mafia should be reason enough to shelve any interest I might
have in her. But I’ve never followed rules or done what I should. So I watch the door for her return. Ages pass, and she still
doesn’t reappear. I almost give up when the chief of police approaches the door and glances around to see if anyone is paying
attention before slipping inside.
Is she—Is he—Disappointment spears me. Of course. A secret meeting between lovers. If she felt trapped in her life then it
would be all she could have, wouldn’t it?
Even so, because it is still a sort of torture for me and I know I love that, I move across the room. I pause next to the door
and wait. The sound of a woman’s voice, just the ever so slightest hitch raising it lifts my hackles. Every instinct to protect
omegas screams at me. I don’t even attempt to talk myself out of it. Slipping silently into the room, I take in the scene unfolding
in front of me.
The omega is backed against the bookshelf, barely visible past the police chief.
“Your nose is broken, and I think you’ve forgotten who you are talking to,” she says, and there is a threat in her tone that
makes me pause again. “Step back or I will cut off your dick and feed it to you before I cut you open and let you bleed out all
over my study. I’m sure the cleaners can get the stain out. And my step-brother would be more than happy to work with your
replacement.”
“No need for violence, my pretty omega,” he replies, his voice condescending as if he didn’t take her seriously. But I know
that tone. I’ve used it.
He doubles over with a shriek of pain that makes me smile, and she says, “You should have listened to me."
A switchblade in her grip catches the lamp's light, shining silver and the red blood of the chief's pride and joy.
 "Omega bitch, you’ll pay for that," the police chief growls as he straightens.
He looks like he doubles in size as he looms over her, and every protective bit in me protests. I know it's remnants of the
torture I endured with my sister while doing everything I could to protect her.
“I don’t think she will,” I say. My voice comes out tight, full of the contained anger inside me. “From my view, it looks as if
the chief of police is forcing himself onto an omega, and that is against the law. Right?”
“Who the fuck are you?” The chief whips in my direction, and I sneer at him. Asshole alphas like him don't scare me. No
alpha does. They already took everything they could, what more is there?
“Sinclair De Luca, your worst nightmare if you touch her one more time," I promise.
The omega’s eyes widen, but I ignore her shock at my name and step forward ready to defend her.
"This is no business of yours," he barks, his voice full of pure alpha command. "Leave."
I huff out a laugh. "Have you ever tried to command a broken omega before?" I examine my fingertips before curling them
in and making a fist. A quick glance up at him tells me he isn't taking me seriously and that pisses me off more.
"Learn some respect before I teach it to you." He steps toward me, anger vibrating his whole body.
I smirk. "I think you're the one about to learn a lesson."
"He is," Gabriella agrees, her blade pressing against the side of his throat. "I may be an omega, but my father taught me
how to take out the garbage."
Before I can move a muscle, she slices his neck open in a move my sister would admire and makes me want to learn more
about her.
Blood arches from his throat, and he clutches it attempting to stop the flow. It bubbles between his fingers, and he gurgles a
helpless sound as he collapses.
He gasps for air around the flow of blood as we watch him die.
"Impressive," I murmur, because fuck, it is hot. Another omega unafraid to protect themselves. I was starting to think I was
the only one.
"Necessary. And I was fine, I didn't need your help."
I hold up my hands in surrender. "Clearly." Chuckling, I nudge his body with my foot.
She sighs and wipes her blade on her dress, smearing his blood on the pale pink fabric, then clicks it shut and slips it into a
pocket. "Are you going to help me get rid of him or stand there and watch some more?"
I swipe my tongue over my lower lip tasting a hint of butterscotch in the air. Inhaling deeply, I catch it again mixed with the
iron of his blood and the gunpowder scent that clings to the room.
It's her, and my body reacts in a way, before tonight, I was sure it never would again. The tightening of my slacks as I
harden against my leg has me shifting on my heels so she doesn't catch it. But I can't hide the blooming scent of freshly baked
apple pie that surrounds me.
She bends at the waist not paying me or my untimely perfume any mind as she tugs at the rug to roll the dead police chief
up. Shaking out of the haze of lust that caught me off guard, I kneel down and lift the armchair off of the corner she's attempting
to move. Then together we roll him up.
A slight wetness stains the wooden floor beneath the rug, and she curses. "Levi is going to kill me."
"I don't think you need to fear him," I say with a laugh.
She lifts her jade-green eyes to me, and my breath catches. "You obviously have never met him."
I had. But I press my lips together and hold back that information. It isn't as if we were childhood friends.
"And I don't fear him," she adds as an afterthought. “Come on, help me get this piece of shit over to that door. It leads to a
hallway that we can reach the garage from.”
I do as she says and huff a laugh as we pick him up, each of us grunting under his hefty weight. We half carry, half drag the
rug to the door, knocking the lamp to the floor and cutting off our only real light. She twists the knob and pushes open the door,
and we continue down the much brighter hallway.
Adrenaline seeps into my bones the further we go into the house.
“What’s the plan once we have him in the garage?” I huff out. The dead weight of the chief is heavier than expected.
“Obviously we put him in the trunk of my car, and then we get rid of him,” she huffs out an exhalation of air and drops her
end, straightening as she catches her breath.
I chuckle as I drop him too. “Get rid of him?” I add quotation marks with my fingers as I repeat her words back at her. “Is
this a recurrent situation for you?”
“Do alphas accost me in dark studies and try to rape me? No. Levi usually keeps them all away.”
“He did a shit job tonight.”
“Yeah, and he is going to be pissed. I have to get rid of this body before he knows what I did.”
I shake my head with amusement as she lifts her end back up and starts moving down the hall again.
We push into the garage, both grabbing the same end to pull the dead weight into the space. Surveying the four cars, I nod at
them. “Which one is yours?”
 “None of them are hers,” a voice replies before she can, and I twist toward the unexpected alpha.
He leans against a motorbike, a black helmet in his grip, and legs crossed at the ankles giving the impression he had been
watching us since we entered the garage. His platinum hair is spiking in every direction, and he is dressed from head to toe in
leather. Flexing his free hand, he runs it over his leg. The fighter from the fight ring, Elijah. Somehow, he looks more attractive
under the bright light of the garage.
“Fuck! Elijah, you scared me.” She drops the rug and steps next to me. The butterscotch perfume flares, and she shifts
uncomfortably as she crosses her arms.
“Whatcha got there, Gabriella?” He arches a well-defined eyebrow when she presses her lips together, and the corner of
his mouth kicks up, but he doesn’t come closer. “You didn’t answer my question.”
She blocks his view, and I move to help her. “Nothing that concerns you.”
He chuckles, slowly uncrossing his ankles as he sets his helmet on the bike and strolls over to us as if he is stalking prey.
And I guess being an alpha and both of us being omegas, he might look at us like that.
“Oh, Gabby, Gabby, Gabby.” He shakes his head as his grin grows. “Everything you do concerns me.”
She sucks in a breath, and I unconsciously inhale too. He smells like a campfire with hints of spiced hot cocoa. Reminding
me of childhood family trips into the wilderness. The only time my father was just my dad instead of the kingpin. Between the
sweet butterscotch of Gabriella and Elijah’s musk, it feels as if I’ve gone to heaven.
It lasts two seconds before I have it tamped down. There is no heaven, only hell.
Elijah’s gaze swings to me, and he tilts his head to the side as he studies me. “Who’s your friend?”
“Sin De Luca,” Gabby says, raising her chin in defiance. Elijah’s eyes widen the same way hers did earlier, and I shift,
uncomfortable with the alpha knowing my name.
“Sin? Huh?” He licks his lips. “I have a feeling you helped my Gabriella get into this mess.”
“You should ask the last alpha who said something similar what happened to him,” I say as I drop my gaze to the now
leaking rug. Blood runs in a thin line toward a drain hole beneath a bright red Porsche.
He brushes between us and kneels down, tossing one corner away from the police chief. I don’t have to be watching him to
hear the sharp inhale when he sees who it is.
“Oh shit. Fuck, Gabby. Levi is going to murder you.”
 CHAPTER 3
Levi

GABBY DISAPPEARED AN HOUR AGO. Glancing at my watch again, I take in the time, no, make that
an hour and a half. Annoyance spikes as I glance at the study door. Still, I’m caught in a pointless conversation when all I want
to do is go and drag her back out to the party.
She hates them.
But it is the best time for someone to come after the family if I’m distracted and having her within view calms me, which
explains why agitation is coursing through me and urging me to do something I’ll regret later.
I sigh and drag my attention back to the conversation. "A little birdy told me you obtained a painting recently," Melody Lynn
says, her husky voice low as she glances around. "You need to keep it someplace safe."
How does she know about the painting? It isn’t like I can deny it, she clearly has information. Maybe from the same
informant we had that sent the letter in the first place.
"It's safe," I say, confirming what she already knows.
She always knows things. No one really knows much about Melody Lynn, only that she has a shit ton of money and
influence that seems to come from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
I'm not sure, I stopped digging into her past once I found out her family was ghosts and her pack had died. She has no one,
of course she would amuse herself playing in the lives of others, it is what I would do. The gossip probably sustains her.
"Where is your lovely sister tonight?" She glances around as if she will be able to spot Gabriella.
I grind my back teeth together before unclenching them to say, "Around here somewhere."
Why does it bother me when people call Gabby my sister and not my step-sister? Because having a continuous hard on for
your sister is full of lines I'd never cross. I need both of us to know there is no blood relation between us, because I will
fantasize about her, even if I'd never act on it, every fucking night.
Melody Lynn tinkles out a laugh, covering her brightly painted lips. "You should take care of that one, keep her close,
before someone swoops in and claims her first."
"I'm not claiming Gabriella, I'm protecting her."
She laughs again, as if I amuse her. Before she can reply, my phone pings with a text, and I pull it out, ignoring her as I read
it.
Elijah: Garage. Now.
Levi: Busy with the party.
He probably wants to go for a joy ride. Winter is coming, and soon our bikes will be in the garage until Spring.
Elijah: You’re going to want to come to the garage. The princess has created a mess.
Fuck. The princess is what we call Gabby in text. Without excusing myself, I leave Melody Lynn mid sentence and stride
across the room, almost tearing the door off its hinges as I stalk into the study and take in the mess. The rug is missing, a dark
spot in its place, and the lamp shattered all over the floor.
My blood runs cold, and I break into a run. Dark streaks paint the hall in various spots, and I swear. What the fuck
happened? Panic spreads into my chest, stalling my breath. I come to a halt in the doorway to the garage.
Gabby stands defiantly next to the Porsche. Her arms crossed and blood on her fucking dress. A man I don’t recognize is
next to her.
Too close.
A growl rumbles through me, filling the space. All he does is straighten his shoulders and step slightly in front of her. A
sweet scent of baked apple pie mixed with an even sweeter undertone of butterscotch that is slightly familiar grows between
us.
Omega.
 It doesn’t matter.
“Step away from my sister.”
“Step-sister,” Gabby corrects me.
Of course, she’s right, she doesn’t feel like a sister to me. Not with the way she makes me feel. Like I’m on the verge of
losing control and fucking her until she listens. It is only growing worse as the time goes by. This need is insatiable, one I can’t
quench in the arms of the girls I seek out.
“Can we worry about the elephant in the room for one fucking second?” Elijah asks, tugging his fingers through his hair.
I shift my gaze to my best friend, and he nods at the rug I haven’t noticed. A river of blood trails from it, and I know I’m not
going to like what I find. Kneeling down, I flip up the corner of the rug to see the fucking police chief's lifeless face.
“Christ,” I swear, rubbing my hand over my face.
Tossing it back over him, I stand and look at the two omegas staring at me. My gaze traces over Gabby’s curves, looking for
an injury. Besides the blood smeared on her pink dress and her feet, she looks fine.
“Do you know how much this fucks up?” I ask, my voice not betraying any of my emotions. I drag my fingers through my
hair, then undo the buttons on my blazer. With a sigh, I pull industrial plastic wrap down from a shelf. “Elijah, help me wrap
him.”
The guy standing next to Gabby shifts on his feet drawing my attention. “Do you even care that he was going to force
himself on your sister?”
“Step,” both Gabby and I correct him, and he snorts.
“Big difference.” He rolls his eyes with a laugh.
Ignoring his sarcastic quip, I say to Gabby, “It looks like he learned his lesson.” Then I turn my attention back to the
stranger and demand, “What the fuck do you have to do with it?”
“He helped me,” Gabby says. He snorts again. “You did.” She turns to him and touches his arm, and we both freeze. His
attention snaps to where she is touching him, and I can’t pull my fucking eyes away.
A subtle sense of possessiveness washes over me, not solely toward her, but toward both of them. And I know it has
something to do with his sweet apple pie perfume.
Ignoring it, I kneel down to help a silent Elijah wrap the chief. I grunt under the weight as he shifts him, and we pull the
plastic tight.
“Right, well, it looks like you alphas have this handled. I’m going to head out.” He steps away from her, breaking the
connection and whatever spell they held over me. I’m pretty sure imagining my step-sister and him naked together doing
everything I tell them to do is a new level of fucked up, but I can’t deny how hard it makes me.
As he backs away, I toss a look at Elijah who looks the same as I feel, like a train has run him over, but he wants more.
“See you around, De Luca,” Elijah says with a nod.
The guy disappears back into the house as the name hits me square in the chest. “De Luca?” I say slowly as I push the chief
over, working the plastic wrap around him as it hits me. Sinclair De Luca. I thought he was dead.
“Yeah.” The whole word is weighted.
“Sinclair?”
I look up when Elijah doesn’t answer, and he nods, his lips going flat with a suppressed smile.
“I thought they took him out with his family.”
“Well, he felt real enough, so I’m pretty sure he wasn’t a ghost,” Gabby replies with all the sass she contains in her curvy
drive-a-man-to-madness body.
“Keep your hands to yourself,” I order.
“He’s not an alpha,” she says with a saucy grin.
“No, but I have a contract between his father and ours that says he belongs to me, and I intend to collect my omega.”
 CHAPTER 4
Gabriella

MY EMOTIONS ARE raw after tonight. Of course Levi would have a pre-arranged omega, anything to make the
Carmichael Mafia stronger. I close myself into my nest, the darkness welcoming me, the only light in the room from a three-foot
lava lamp in the corner.
He’d dismissed me shortly after declaring Sin as his. If that was true, why do I feel drawn to Sinclair De Luca? An omega.
It’s crazy, but there is something about him that makes me want to pull him into my nest and share it with him.
Share.
My nest.
That is unheard of. But now, in my pile of pillows and blankets, I can’t stop thinking about him. He’s joined the rotating
naughty thoughts of Elijah and Levi, if I’m honest. My curiosity for him burns through my veins.
I pull out my phone and search for Sinclair De Luca. Nothing. Not even a single result for him, but there are a slew of hits
for De Luca. I fall down a rabbit hole as I read a news article that details the state of his parents and the family dog. They’d
been killed execution style, hands behind their backs, and shot in the back of the head. The dog was shot multiple times. Fuck,
even the poor dog. That is the lowest of the lows.
My stomach turns. Did the killers force him to watch? Is his sister still alive? No wonder he thought he was broken.
Levi claiming him isn’t going to go over well with Sin. I can feel it. A selfish part of me whispers, but then he will be
here, with you. I push the thoughts away. No one wants to be in this cage. Sure, there are pretty trappings and things to distract
but no real happiness.
Images of Sin De Luca tease me as I drift asleep, my dreams full of erotic fantasies of the broken man with multi-colored
eyes that leaves me slick with need when I wake.
With a groan, I kick off my covers and breathe in the heavy scent of my perfume. My scent blocking lotion had started to
wear off last night with the stress of everything that had happened. But now, it’s completely gone. My whole nest smells like
desperate need and unfulfilled lust.
At least I have an ensuite bathroom and don’t need to share it with Levi. This large house has its benefits. One, it is away
from the stink of New York City streets. Two, the land that surrounds us feels like our own personal oasis. Last but not least,
the flower maze with the fountain in the middle is perfect for lazy morning reading. At least when it is warm.
A quick shower and another heavy slather of the scent-blocking lotion, and I’m ready to face the world. And if not the
world then at least my step-brother and his best friend.
The cook Levi let me pick out, Mary, is already gone when I enter the kitchen, but she’s left out a fruit platter and some
pastries. I fill a plate with strawberries, blueberries, and watermelon before picking up a cinnamon roll and taking a bite of the
gooey mess.
I moan my pleasure to the empty room and cross to the small table in the little nook attached to the kitchen. I like it better
than the big dining room.
Remembering some milk to wash it down, I head back over to the fridge and pull open the door while taking another
blissful bite of the cinnamon roll still in my hand. Humming, I shut the door with my hip, the jar of fresh milk in my other hand.
Only to come face to face with Elijah.
A shirtless Elijah.
I gasp, sucking in a lung full of his heady musk. Suddenly, I want hot cocoa.
Holy mother of God. He looks like a fucking avenging angel, and the milk almost slips from my fingers, but his reflexes are
fast as he reaches out for it. A zip of awareness hits me as our fingers touch briefly. I’m lost in his pale blue eyes as he runs
them over my face and down my body.
“What are you doing here?” I blurt. Although it isn’t entirely unusual for him to stay the night, he’s here a lot really, he just
startled me.
He chuckles, the sound like a caress over my body. “We took care of the chief. I needed to get cleaned up.”
I nod. Right. That makes sense. My gaze shifts behind him looking for Levi.
“Where’s Levi?” I swallow.
“Why, princess? Are you afraid of me?” His voice dips low and his eyes darken, making my stomach feel funny.
My lips part. Yes. Completely afraid of what you make me feel. “No, don’t be silly.”
He takes the milk fully from me, breaking the contact of our fingers, and sets it on the counter next to us. Then he captures
my chin between his fingers, not hard enough to hurt but enough to grab my attention and hold it, his eyes flashing with some
kind of emotion deep within. “Maybe you should be.”
I suck in another lung full of his essence as slick gathers between my thighs. Blinking, I pull away, and he lets me. He
glances at the forgotten cinnamon roll I’ve crushed between my fingers, and I sigh as I follow his gaze.
Dang. It was the only one.
I turn away from him and drop it into the trash bin. My fingers coated with the sugary icing, I move to the sink. Turning the
water on, I test it with my other hand waiting for it to get warm.
Elijah follows, leaning way too close against the counter, watching my every move. And I mentally thank the creator of the
de-scenting lotion for saving me from the embarrassment his nearness would have caused without it.
Before I can wash the icing off, he snags my hand in his and draws my fingers up to his mouth. He hesitates only a moment
before the tip of his tongue brushes my finger. An electric current ripples through me as I stare at him, my lips parting with a
shocked breath as he sucks my index finger into his mouth, licking the sugar from my skin. Butterflies batter against my chest as
he repeats the motion, one finger at a time, encouraging my stomach to tumble and drop.
I swear I’m panting by the time he reaches my thumb, my other hand curling around the basin of the sink. My nipples pebble
beneath my thin shirt, and my stomach plummets again, sending shockwave after shockwave to my pulsing clit.
His mouth pops around my thumb as he releases it, his eyes glittering wickedly, and he guides my hand beneath the steaming
water.
“Wouldn’t want to waste the icing, it’s the best part,” he murmurs. Then he steps away as if nothing has happened just as
Levi strolls into the room, drying his hair with a towel.
“Did Mary leave anything to eat?” Levi asks, his voice muffled beneath the towel.
I shoot a look at Elijah, and he holds a finger to his lips.
“She left some tasty pastries out. They are really good. The ones with the icing are the best,” Elijah says as he taps the
plate, gesturing to another one that has the icing coating it. “Gabriella particularly enjoys the cinnamon rolls, but she ate the last
one.”
Levi’s perceptive golden gaze flows between us, but he doesn’t say anything. Opting to pick up the one with icing.
He takes a bite and chews. “You weren’t wrong, the icing is amazing. Mary has outdone herself with these ones. Maybe we
should give her a raise.”
I swallow, unable to find my voice.
“Yeah, it is finger-licking good.” Elijah grins over at me, and I retreat to the table. My cheeks are burning, and I allow my
hair to curtain my face hiding from them both. He's knocked me off my game, and I'm sure he knows it.
I’m lost in a daze of residual lust for an alpha I can never have as they carry on a conversation between them. I mindlessly
chew the sweet fruit that I had left on my plate, and each time my fingers touch my lips, I remember the feel of his tongue
curving around my fingertip, or his sinful mouth sucking on them.
Their conversation pulls me out of the haze as soon as my brother mentions Sin.
“Sinclair won’t have a choice. I have it in writing. It’s binding, by blood.” Levi leans back in his chair and pops a
blueberry into his mouth.
“Omegas aren’t property,” I say, finally finding my absent voice.
Levi laughs. “Not normally. But this contract is a merger of sorts, a way to make us stronger. I’m doing him a favor, his
family business has blown up, and we can help him rebuild. I’m not going to force my mark on him. But we will be pack with
or without the claiming mark.”
“What if he says no?” I tilt my head to the side, true curiosity at what they would do making me ask.
“My sweet, sweet Gabriella, you ensured he wouldn’t have a choice when you roped him into helping you get rid of a dead
body.”
I press my lips together. Of course. Blackmail. The love language of Levi.
“Do you even know where he lives?” Maybe I could warn him.
Elijah huffs out a laugh. “No, but I know where he fights.”
“The ring.” I know I’m right. Because Elijah likes to go in the rings, and Levi goes to watch, bringing me along each time.
My pulse races. I haven’t seen Sin in the ring before.
“Yeah. A little birdy told me Sinclair De Luca has signed up for next weekend, and I’ll be in the ring with him.”
Shit.
 CHAPTER 5
Gabriella

MY FINGERS absently drum along my leg. I insisted on wearing jeans and a cream cashmere sweater. It's soft and
comforting, both things I need right now. Levi, for once, didn’t argue as he tied my mask onto my face. A dress is typical for the
fight ring, at least for omega females—the slinkier the better. As if we were nothing but arm candy to show off. But not tonight.
Tonight, I'm on edge for a completely different reason.
The lights blur outside the car windows, the city streets alive with people this late at night. The feel of eyes on me has me
pulling my gaze from the passing scenery to Elijah who decided to ride with us instead of his bike. He watches me silently with
the same heat that's been in the depths of his eyes since the morning after the party. I try not to squirm underneath his attention,
but every part of me wants to.
It unnerves me that Elijah no longer seems unaffected by me, almost as if something shifted between us. It sends a buzzing
through my veins every time our eyes meet and lock. If Levi notices, he ignores it, which gives me a little thrill of its own.
I'm not one to back down, so I casually stretch my legs out, asserting my fake dominance in the back of our car with not one
but two alphas. Levi, feeling my confident energy, arches an eyebrow and lets his gaze drift down to my legs, settling on my
feet. On the boots I wasn't supposed to wear. Smirking, I give my boot-clad feet a playful little wiggle. He scowls and taps my
foot with his own.
“Be good tonight,” he says, giving me a pointed stare.
Elijah grins. “Cheer for me, princess, not the omega.”
I leisurely let my gaze roam from the tips of his shoes, traveling all the way up to the unruly mop of platinum hair on his
head. With a mischievous grin, I taunt him, "You win, and maybe, just maybe, you'll hear my cheers. But remember, I don't
waste my cheers on losers."
“You think he is going to lose against an omega?”
I give a nonchalant shrug. I’m not counting Sin out. He didn't sign up for this fight because he's weak; there's a fire within
him, a reason he's getting in the ring, ready to prove himself. And if he is broken like he says, he has nothing to lose and
everything to gain by winning against one of the best fighters.
“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt him too badly.”
I snort a laugh but don’t say anything else.

THE LARGE WAREHOUSE looks abandoned from the outside as we arrive. If it wasn’t for all the expensive cars no one would
blink an eye. Levi slides out of the car before offering his hand to me like he actually cares. I eye his hand like it’s a snake and
climb out without touching him.
He glowers at me as Elijah comes around the car to join us. Both of them wait until I start walking toward the entrance
before falling in behind me like two bodyguards. I startle as Levi’s hand lands on my lower back, and he leans close to
whisper into my ear. His warm breath sends shivers down my spine as it brushes against my ear.
A playful smirk on his lips, he taunts, "Stay close, Gabriella. We wouldn't want you to accidentally alert the omega, now
would we?"
My blood runs cold as his words sink in, reminding me that he's always one step ahead. He knows my plan, my intention to
slip away and tip off Sin.
Elijah strides up, closing in on my other side. His fingers confidently coil around my upper arm, and together, they lead me
toward the backroom. It's a dizzying sensation, being sandwiched between them, their touches igniting a whirlwind in my mind.
Another random document with
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funciones, el patriota extendía la mano como para palpar el aire y
decía; «Ya principia a tomar calor la habitación... Va aumentando... Un
poquito más, y tendremos bastante. Yo no necesito más termómetro
que la yema del dedo meñique».
Más de una vez dijo, repitiendo una idea antigua.
—Desde el tiempo de mi Refugio no había visto yo un brasero tan
bueno. Por la mañana levantábase muy temprano y barría toda la
casa, canturreando entre dientes. No habían pasado tres meses desde
el primer día de su encierro, cuando parecía haber adquirido
conformidad casi perfecta con su pacífica existencia. Sus ratos de ma
humor eran muy escasos, y por lo general las turbonadas cerebrales
estallaban mientras Solita estaba fuera, disipándose desde que volvía
Para el espíritu del pobre anciano la huérfana era como un sol que lo
vivificaba. Verla y sentir efectos semejantes a los de la aparición de
una luz en sitio antes oscuro, era para él una misma cosa.
«Parece que no —decía para sí—, y le estoy tomando cariño a esa
muchachuela... Quién lo había de decir, siendo, como éramos
enemigos irreconciliables... ¡Ah, Patricio, Patricio!, si ahora te abrieran
la puerta de la casa y te echaran fuera, ¿abandonarías sin pena a esta
pobre huérfana que te mira como miraría la hija más cariñosa al padre
más desgraciado?».
Un día, allá por febrero o marzo del 24, Sarmiento observó que Sola
estaba más triste que de ordinario. Atribuyolo a no haber recibido las
cartas que una vez al mes causábanla tanto gozo. El siguiente día lo
pasó la huérfana llorando de la mañana a la noche, lo que afligió
extremadamente al patriota. Por más que agotó Sarmiento todo e
repertorio, no muy grande, por cierto, de sus trasnochados chistes, no
pudo sacarla de aquel estado, ni menos obligarla a revelar la causa de
su tristeza. Durante la cena, que casi fue de pura fórmula, Sarmiento
dijo:
—Pues si usted no se pone contenta, yo me volveré patriota como
antes, ea... Así estaremos los dos iguales... Me marcharé, sí, señora
estoy decidido a marcharme..., y lo siento, porque le he tomado a
usted mucho cariño, tanto cariño que...
Se echó a llorar, y tuvo que correr a ocultar sus lágrimas en la
alcoba inmediata.
Tres días después Sola salió muy de mañana, y volvió asaz
contenta, disipada la aflicción y con frescos colores en la cara, que
eran como la irradiación de su alegría, demasiado grande para
contenerse en los límites del alma. Tampoco entonces pudo e
preceptor saber la causa de tan rápido cambio; pero contentose con
ver los efectos, y se puso a bailar en medio de la sala, diciendo:
—¡Viva mi señora doña Solita, que ya está contenta, y yo también
No más lágrimas, no más suspiros. Señora, si usted me lo permite, me
voy a tomar la libertad de darle un abrazo.
Soledad aceptó con júbilo la idea, y el anciano la estrechó en sus
brazos con fuerza.
—¿Sabe usted —dijo limpiándose una lágrima— que hoy se quedó
la llave en casa, y que habría podido escaparme si hubiera querido?
—¿Y por qué no saliste, viejecillo bobo?
—Porque no me ha dado la gana, vamos a ver..., porque estoy aqu
muy re-que-te-bien.
—¡Cosa más rara! —observó Soledad jovialmente—. Ya no quieres
salir...
—No, señora, no. Vea usted lo que son los gustos. Ya no quiero
salir, y no saldré sino cuando usted me arroje. Así, de bóbilis bóbilis
me he ido acostumbrando a esta vida tonta, y... No es que yo renuncie
al cumplimiento de mi destino; pero ya vendrá la ocasión, ¿no es
verdad, niña mía? Hay más días que longanizas, y tiempo hay, tiempo
hay.
Don Patricio hacía con su mano derecha movimientos semejantes
al fluctuar de las olas, queriendo expresar de este modo el lento roda
del tiempo.
—Ahora, hija mía..., y no se me enfade usted si le doy este nombre
que me sale del corazón..., sí, señor, porque usted se ha portado
conmigo como una hija, y es justo que yo sea un buen padre para
usted... Pues decía, hija querida, que si usted no lo tiene a mal..., me
estorba en la boca el tratamiento de usted..., si no te llamo de tú
reviento... Pues decía, hija de mi alma, que ya es hora de que me des
de comer.
Un momento después comían los dos, departiendo alegremente
que no hay cosa que tan bien acompañe a un buen apetito como la
conversación amistosa y grata. Por la tarde, Soledad preparaba a su
viejo una bonita sorpresa.
—Como te vas portando bien —dijo—, y vas curándote de esas
ideas ridículas, voy a darte una golosina.
 —¿Qué, hija de mi alma? —preguntó don Patricio con la curiosidad
de los niños, cuando se les anuncia algún regalo.
—Una golosina..., ya la verás.
—¿Pero qué es? Estoy rabiando. ¿Café? Si lo tomo todos los días..
¿Un periódico?
—Ahora no hay periódicos.
—¡No hay periódicos!... ¡Oh, vil absolutismo! ¿Conque no hay
prensa periódica?
Con un simple gesto apagó Soledad aquel chispazo de la hoguera
que parecía sofocada.
—¿Pues cuál es la golosina? Dímelo, angelito de mi corazón.
—La golosina es un paseo... Esta tarde te llevaré a dar un paseíto
Está hermosa la tarde.
—¡Bien, bravísimo, archibravísimo! —exclamó el vagabundo
arrojando su sombrero al aire—. Estrenaré esa magnífica capa que me
has arreglado. Vamos pronto... Mira, hija, que puede llover...
—Si no hay nubes...
—Puede ocurrir cualquier cosa.
—Nada puede ocurrir. Aguardaremos.
—¡Qué hermoso día! Haces bien en sacarme a pasear. Mira que
tengo ganitas de saber lo que es el aire libre.
Salieron a las calles, y de las calles al campo con vivo contento de
patriota, que experimentó grandísimo gozo por tal expansión, y luego
se volvieron a casa haciendo planes para nuevos paseos en los días
sucesivos. Así corría mansamente la vejez del buen maestro, que se
asombraba de encontrarse feliz sin saberlo, es decir, que miraba aque
maravilloso cambio de sus sentimientos y de sus gustos sin acertar a
darse cuenta de él, como observa el vulgo los grandes fenómenos de
la naturaleza sin explicárselos. Él pensaba a ratos en estas cosas
tratando de examinar de cerca la metamorfosis de su alma, y decía:
—Es que yo soy todo corazón... Esta joven me ha recogido, me ha
dado de comer y de vestir, me trata como a un padre. ¿Cómo no
adorarla? Patricio no es, no puede ser ingrato, y su corazón está
dispuesto a encenderse, a arder, a derretirse con los sentimientos más
vivos, así como con los más delicados... No es que en mí se hayan
enfriado los sublimes afectos de la patria, no, de ningún modo... (Ponía
mucho empeño en convencerse a sí mismo de esta verdad). Soy lo
mismo que era, el mismo gran patriota, y persisto en mi noble idea de
sacrificarme por la libertad, ofreciendo mi sangre preciosísima... Esto
no puede faltar, porque está escrito en el sacrosanto libro del destino..
Es que Dios no quiere que sea tan pronto como yo esperaba. Vendrá
el sacrificio, el cruento martirio, los lauros, la inmortalidad; pero
vendrán en oportuna sazón y cuando suene la hora. A cada sublime
momento de la historia le llega su hora, y entonces, consummatum
est... He aquí que Dios me depara un medio de corresponder a las
bondades de ese mi ángel tutelar. (Al decir esto se frotaba las manos
en señal de gozo). Es evidente que yo no tengo ningún bien mundano
que dejarle, pues carezco de fincas y de dinero, como no sea el que
ella misma me da. ¿Quiere decir esto que no pueda legarle algo?
No..., le dejaré un tesoro que vale más que todas las fincas y
caudales, un tesoro que es para beneficio del espíritu, no del cuerpo
le dejo, pues, mi gloria, y así, cuando la vean dirán: «Esa es la
compañera del gran Sarmiento, esa es su hija adoptiva, la que le
socorrió en sus últimos días. ¡Loor eterno a la muchacha!».
Como se ve, el patriota no estaba curado; poro su enfermedad
ofrecía menos peligro, por haber entrado en un período que podremos
llamar médicamente de revulsión. El cariño que Sarmiento había
tomado a su favorecedora era síntoma muy favorable, que sin duda
anunciaba, si no la extirpación del fanatismo, una nueva dirección de
él. No mentía el infeliz al decir que era todo corazón. Capaz era este
de los sentimientos más delicados, así como de los más ardientes
bastaba que las misteriosas corrientes de la vida consumasen su obra
llevando, como las del cielo, la tempestad a otra región y zona distinta
pero el pensamiento no podía obedecer a este cambio, porque había
en la máquina del cerebro sarmentil una clavija rota de difícil o quizás
imposible arreglo.
También Sola había tomado mucho cariño al desvalido anciano. Le
recogió por caridad; propúsose realizar sin ayuda de nadie uno de
esos admirables actos de la voluntad, tanto más meritorios cuanto más
oscuros, y sofocando resentimientos antiguos, indignos de la grandeza
de su alma, consumó valerosamente su obra bendita, digna de figura
en el Flos Sanctorum. Con el tiempo encendiose en su alma un vivo
afecto hacia el mendigo abandonado, y esto, unido a los dulces
placeres que trae consigo el amar, fue el más digno premio de su
noble acción. Llegó a acostumbrarse de tal modo a la compañía de
patriota vagabundo, que la habría echado muy de menos si en
cualquiera ocasión le faltara.
Un día Sarmiento le dijo:
—Querida Sola, hoy voy a pedirte un favor que creo no has de
negarme... Es un caprichillo de anciano mimoso, un antojillo de
abuelo... Si me lo niegas por cualquier pretexto, no me enfadaré, pero
me pondré muy triste.
—¿Qué es?
—Que me permitas darte un beso, hija mía. Hace muchos días que
estoy bregando con esta idea en la imaginación. Ya no puedo espera
más.
Soledad corrió hacia él, y don Patricio la tuvo largo rato sobre sus
rodillas prodigándole tiernas caricias.
—Por vida de la grandísima chilindraina, niña de mi corazón —
exclamó hecho un mar de lágrimas—, si ahora me separaran de ti, juro
que me moriría de pena. ¡Bendita seas tú mil veces!... Bendita seas
amparo mío, angelito mío, consuelo de mi vejez y heredera de m
gloria... ¡Toda, toda ella será para ti!
 VIII

Parece inexcusable decir algo de la singular vida de esta solitaria

joven, e inquirir su conducta para deducir de su conducta sus
proyectos. Sin duda aquel espíritu valeroso, contrariado por lo que
hemos convenido en llamar suerte, no llevaba una existencia pasiva
entregándose a la arbitraria fluctuación de los acontecimientos, sino
que vivía en actividad grande, aunque escondida, trabajando en obra
misteriosa o luchando con obstáculos tan oscuros como sus esfuerzos
Para afirmar esto nos fundamos en conjeturas y en el conocimiento de
su carácter; mas nada positivo afirmamos aún.
Nos consta, sí, que recibía cartas de cuyo contenido no enteraba a
nadie; que a veces pasaba largas horas fuera de su casa; que escribía
de noche algún pliego y lo rompía después para volverlo a escribir
repitiendo este trabajo cuatro o cinco veces hasta queda
medianamente satisfecha; que su semblante expresaba con fidelidad
pasmosa cambios muy bruscos en su espíritu, presentándola ya
sombríamente melancólica, ya festiva y dichosa; que no cesaba un
punto en su actividad, y cuando los asuntos de la casa le daban
reposo, discurría sobre mil temas concernientes a la faena del día
venidero.
No le conocemos otras relaciones de amistad que las que tenía con
la familia de Cordero, la cual, a consecuencia de las calamidades de la
época, había ido a vivir en la misma casa, descendiendo algunos
grados en la escala social.
Ya es conocido de nuestros lectores el gran don Benigno Cordero,[1
comerciante de la subida a Santa Cruz, hombre que se preciaba de
ocupar dignamente su lugar en todas las ocasiones, y que sabía se
bondadoso padre de familia, honrado tendero, puntual amigo y
también héroe glorioso, según lo que exigían las circunstancias
Siendo tímido por naturaleza, mandole un día su deber que fuese
héroe y lo fue. Desgraciadamente no hay ninguna calle, n
monumento, ni lápida, ni escultura que recuerden a la posteridad su
nombre, símbolo de la inocencia; pero los veteranos del 7 de julio
saben que hubo en Boteros un Leónidas de nariz picuda y roja como
guindilla, de gafas de oro y cuerpo más propio para sobresalir de la
tabla de un mostrador que para erguirse sobre el pedestal de gloria a
quien llaman campo de batalla.
[1] Véase Siete de julio.

La espantosa reacción absolutista, como furibunda riada que todo lo

arrastra, arrastró también al digno patricio, que en su tienda de
encajes había adquirido la idea de que los pueblos no se han hecho
para los reyes. Esta idea se pagaba entonces con la cabeza, con la
ruina o con el destierro. Muchos perdieron la primera; infinito número
buscó refugio en suelo extranjero. No era, en verdad, de los más
delincuentes el buen don Benigno, porque no había ejercido cargo
público del Estado durante los tres llamados años. Su crimen había
sido pertenecer a la Milicia y vestir su honroso uniforme sin tacha, con
la circunstancia agravante de haber cargado charreteras como
representante de las más altas jerarquías. Su sobrino, don Primitivo
Cordero, que se había significado altamente como correveidile político
(el grado inmediatamente inferior al de personaje), fue condenado a
muerte, y tuvo que huir al extranjero disfrazado de pastor
abandonando su comercio de hierro a la autoridad que lo embargara
mas con don Benigno fueron más humanos, condenándole tan solo a
hacer una visita a Melilla, o a otra de las cortes del África, en lo que
recibió más disgusto que si le destinaran a la horca.
Él, no obstante, se dio su maña, y con ella, un poco de paciencia y
un puñado de onzas de oro (que entonces corrían de lo lindo para
estos arreglos), logró de la generosidad absolutista que se le
comprendiera en el decreto de proscripción de Jerez, el cual mandaba
que todos los que se habían significado durante el malhadado imperio
del régimen famoso, sin llegar al grado de culpabilidad necesario para
incurrir en otras penas mayores, no pudieran hallarse a cinco leguas
en contorno de los puntos que recorría el rey en su viaje
cerrándoseles además la corte y Sitios reales dentro del radio de
quince leguas. Cien mil individuos fueron por este ridículo decreto
privados de la contemplación de la corte y Reales Sitios.
Abandonando tienda y familia, partió Cordero a Zaragoza, donde
fue molestado y reducido a prisión por la feroz policía de aquella
ciudad, viéndose precisado a buscar en su bolsa nuevos argumentos
contra la famélica justicia de aquel bendito tiempo. Entre tanto, la
familia vivía en Madrid en la mayor aflicción, esperando todos los días
nuevas tristes de Zaragoza, atendiendo al comercio de encajes con e
mayor celo, y economizando todo lo posible para ver de reparar los
estragos hechos por la política en el erario corderil. Esta última razón
fue la que les impulsó a mudar de domicilio, pues una habitación
arreglada cuadraba admirablemente a su presupuesto, más estirado
ya que cuerda de ballesta. Desde noviembre se instalaron en e
principal de la casa que ya conocemos en la calle de la Emancipación
Social, según don Patricio, y de Coloreros según el municipio. La
tienda continuaba en el mismo sitio, a mano derecha como vamos a la
plazuela de Santa Cruz y a la cárcel de Villa.
Componían tan hidalga familia la señora de Cordero y tres hijos
hembra la mayor y ya mujer, varones y pequeñuelos los otros dos
Acontecía en aquel matrimonio un contraste que no deja de se
frecuente en este extravagantísimo mundo, a saber, que si el esposo
era diminuto y ligero, corpulenta y pesada era la esposa. Doña
Robustiana podía coger a su marido debajo del brazo como un
falderillo y aun jugar con él a la pelota si hubiera tenido tal antojo. Era
avilesa y natural de Arenas de San Pedro, de una familia nombrada
Toros de Guisando, sin duda porque en la antigüedad adquirió fama de
dar hombres y mujeres de gran corpulencia. Alta estatura, blancas y
apretadas carnes, admirables contornos y blanduras que estirando la
tela pugnaban por mostrarse; arrogante cabeza con ojos negros y
cejas de terciopelo, manos gruesas, semblante más correcto que
agraciado, con cierto ceño no muy simpático y algo de avinagrado
mohín, boca demasiado pequeña con blancos dientes, carrillos con
demasiada carne, nariz castellana, escasísima agilidad en los
movimientos y mucha fuerza en los puños, componían la persona de
doña Robustiana Toros de Guisando de Cordero.
De la incongrua pareja que formaba esta mujer con el benemérito
hombrecillo del arco de Boteros (pareja admirablemente acordada en
el orden moral) había nacido el día mismo de la batalla de Trafalga
(21 de octubre de 1805) Elena Cordero, en cuya persona se verificó
una preciosa amalgama del ser físico del padre y del de la madre. No
salió a ella ni a él, sino a los dos, realizando en sí uno de esos
maravillosos términos medios que solo resultan bien en los divinos
talleres de la naturaleza. No era Elena grande ni chica, ni gorda n
flaca, sino admirablemente proporcionada en talle, color y estatura. Su
cabeza era de las más hermosas que pueden imaginarse, de tal modo
que viéndola se comprendía que el valor sereno de don Benigno no
era el único parentesco de aquella familia con la raza helénica. Su
cara era la más bella que se ha visto durante muchos años en toda la
zona del comercio matritense desde Majaderitos a la calle de
Milaneses.
Quizás faltaba a su rostro aquella movilidad de la fisonomía
española, que es como el temblor de la luz jugando sobre la superficie
del agua agitada; quizás le faltaba esa facultad de hablar en silencio
lenguaje admirable del cual son signos las pestañas, el iris negro que
alumbra como una luz, la sombra de la cara, el modo de mover e
cuello, la olvidada guedeja sobre la sien, el rumorcillo del pendiente
que se mueve ensartado en la oreja. Quizás Elena era demasiado
selecta y tenía demasiada corrección en su persona; mas no por esto
dejaba de ser acabado tipo de hermosura. Sus apasionados alegaban
para defenderla que era más bella su timidez inocente y aquella
perfección muñequil tan esmerada en sus limpios perfiles que la
desenvoltura y graciosa viveza de otras. Algunos la ponían
resueltamente en el orden de los juguetes finos; otros en el de las
imágenes de iglesia. Pero, no obstante tal diversidad de opiniones, era
generalmente admirada, contribuyendo además la fama de su virtud a
aumentar la aureola de respeto y consideración que circundaba como
nimbo luminoso a toda la familia de Cordero.
De los dos varones poco puede decirse; eran pequeñuelos
traviesos y muy devotos hermanos de la Hermandad del Novillo. En
aquel tiempo las familias discurrían el modo de congraciarse con e
bando dominante, y uno de los sistemas más eficaces durante e
trienio había sido vestir a los niños de milicianos nacionales
Cambiadas radicalmente las cosas, doña Robustiana, que quería esta
en paz con la situación, siguió la general moda, vistiendo a los
borregos de frailes. Los domingos, Primitivo y Segundito salían a la
calle hechos unos padres priores que daban gozo.
 La familia, que antes de la catástrofe de la Constitución era feliz y
vivía tranquila en su paz laboriosa, había caído en gran desaliento y
tristeza desde la proscripción del padre. Temían nuevas desgracias, y
como no veían en torno de sí más que cuadros de luto, ignominia
venganzas horribles, asesinatos jurídicos, delaciones infames, horcas
y traición, no respiraban. Resuelta doña Robustiana a no ser en
manera alguna sospechosa a los ojos de la reacción, se esmeraba en
variar los vestidos domingueros de los niños, dándoles la forma y colo
de todas las órdenes religiosas imaginables.
Compartían el tiempo hija y madre entre la tienda y la casa. En la
primera tenían un mancebo jovenzuelo que era muy despierto y les
prestaba no poca ayuda. En la casa vivían recogidamente, sin cultiva
amistades que podrían resultar peligrosas; huyendo de tratar mucha y
diversa gente; consagrando bastantes horas a rezar por la vuelta de
padre, y a imaginar medios pacíficos y legales para hacer su situación
menos aflictiva. La amistad más íntima y cariñosa que cultivaban era la
de Sola, que bajaba todos los días un par de horas lo menos, cuando
no subía Elena a hacerle compañía y ayudarla en sus quehaceres. La
amistad de la huérfana databa de 1822 en vida de su padre, que era
paisano de Cordero; pero se había aumentado y encendido más e
afecto con la común desgracia. Había sentido Elena desde luego hacia
ella una de esas vivas inclinaciones de la primera juventud, que
establecen lazos duraderos para toda la vida, y a la cual daban
aliciente la belleza moral de Sola y aquel peculiar atractivo indefinible
que sometía los corazones. La de Cordero reconocía en ella una gran
superioridad espiritual, que le infundía respeto no inferior a su cariño, y
subyugada por el misterioso, invencible despotismo que ejerce a la
callada la aristocracia moral, se sometía a los pensamientos y al senti
de Sola, con la docilidad de la niñez ante la edad madura. Siendo Sola
poco menos joven que ella, se le representaba, por la seriedad de sus
consejos y su precoz experiencia, como de edad mucho más alta
Hermana mayor antes que amiga, la huérfana fue erigida en confesor
en consejero, y en depositaria de los secretos del corazón de Elenita
porque el corazón de la muñeca perfilada, tan metódica y acabadita
tenía secretos.
También tenían amistad los Cordero con la familia de los Romos, y
particularmente con Francisco Romo, jefe a la sazón del comercio
conocido con este nombre en la plazuela de Herradores. Las
excelentes relaciones mercantiles entre ambos tenderos anudaron las
de la amistad, y durante la emigración de don Benigno, Romo colmó
de atenciones y finezas a la familia, sirviéndoles al mismo tiempo de
amparo contra la reacción, por ser voluntario realista de los más
significados. Doña Robustiana fiaba mucho en la amistad de aque
joven de tanto poder entre las turbas realistas, y por nada del mundo la
diera en cambio de la de un príncipe. Creía tener en él fortísimo
escudo contra las brutalidades de la época, y fiaba en que po
mediación suya sería restituido prontamente Cordero a la dulzura de
su hogar.
—Hay que tener un poquito de paciencia —les decía Romo—. Se
hace todo lo que se puede para que el señor don Benigno vuelva a su
casa; pero no se podrá mucho, hasta que los liberales no estén
sometidos. Figúrese usted, señora doña Robustiana, que el gobierno
abre un poco la mano y empieza a perdonar, a perdonar... Pues ya
tiene usted la revolución encima. No lo digo por el señor don Benigno
que es un hombre de bien, sino por esos pillos que están acechando
nuestra debilidad para soltar las riendas de su desvergüenza... No se
aflijan ustedes; que vamos a dar una amnistía, una amnistía amplia
general, con excepción de todos los pillos se entiende, y entonces o no
soy quien soy, o don Benigno será comprendido en ella.
Con estas promesas se consolaba la familia; pero pasaban los
meses, y la deseada amnistía no era más que una esperanza. En su
lugar veíanse nuevas proscripciones, encarcelamientos, la horca
siempre en pie, la venganza más cruel gobernando a la nación, y la
vida de los españoles pendiente del capricho de un salvaje frailón o de
fieros polizontes. Las delaciones, como puñaladas recibidas en la
oscuridad, traían en gran consternación a la corte. Desaparecían los
ciudadanos sin que fuera posible saber en qué calabozo habían caído
Las cárceles tragaban gente como las tumbas en una epidemia. Nadie
libre hoy, podía estar seguro de conservar la libertad mañana, porque
la virtud más pura no podía estar segura del golpe secreto, como no
puede estarlo del miasma invisible.
Al fin, allá en mayo del 24, vino la amnistía. Por ella se concedía
indulto y perdón general; mas eran tantas las excepciones, que antes
que amnistía parecía el decreto una sangrienta burla. Se perdonaba a
todo el mundo, y se exceptuaba después a todo el mundo. La familia
de Cordero, viendo que pasaban meses sin que el proscrito volviese
examinaba detenidamente los 15 artículos de las excepciones, por ve
si don Benigno podía ser comprendido en alguno de ellos; pero Romo
tranquilizaba a las dos señoras, diciéndoles:
—Eso corre de mi cuenta. Don Benigno vendrá; en caso que la
Superintendencia de Policía tenga algún escrúpulo, le purificaremos
y..., santas pascuas.
En efecto, una mañana del mes de agosto hallábase doña
Robustiana en el mostrador midiendo algunas varas de puntilla
cuando vio que oscurecía la luz de la puerta un objeto, un bulto, un
cuerpo, un hombre, ¡don Benigno!... Cayósele de las manos la vara de
medir, y dando un grito, extendió los macizos brazos por encima de
mostrador. Cordero, a quien la emoción tenía mudo y aturdido, no
acertaba a abrazar a su esposa convenientemente, hallándose po
medio, como guión entre dos letras, la dura tabla del mostrador, y le
dio una cabezada en el pecho. Entonces doña Robustiana cogiole con
sus robustas manazas, tiró de él suspendiéndole, y don Benigno
quedó de rodillas sobre el mostrador. Su amante esposa le oprimía
contra su delantera, y así estuvieron largo rato entre babas y sollozos
hasta que vencida por su sensibilidad, que era más fuerte que ella
cayó redonda al suelo la esposa, como un colchón que recobra su
posición natural. El mancebo corrió en busca de un sangrador.
—Esto no es nada —dijo don Benigno corriendo a desabrochar e
corsé de su esposa, que no era tarea de un momento—. Robustiana..
Robustiana... ¿Y qué tal? ¿Están buenos los niños? ¿Y Elena?... ¿En
dónde están mis hijos?
El héroe de Boteros se bebía las lágrimas. No tardó la señora en
volver de su soponcio, y abrazándose nuevamente ambos, derramaron
más lágrimas. Don Benigno dijo entre pucheros:
—No más política, no más tonterías. La lección ha sido buena. Viva
mi familia, que es lo único que me interesa en el mundo.
Los amigos de las tiendas cercanas acudieron a felicitarle; e
mancebo corrió a traer a los chicos que ya habían ido a la escuela, y
él, no pudiendo refrenar su impaciente anhelo de ver a Elena, corrió a
la calle de Coloreros. Por el camino topaba a cada instante con amigos
que le daban la bienvenida, y como casi todos se empeñaban en
manifestarle su gozo con apretones de manos, abrazos y otras
muestras de sensibilidad, al feliz padre le consumía el desasosiego, y
procurando desasirse de las amistosas manos, exclamaba:
 —Yo bueno... Estoy bien... Hasta luego, señores... Voy a ver a m
hija querida.
Y penetrando en el portal decía:
—Estará sola la pobrecita... ¡Qué alegría tendrá cuando me vea!..
¡Pobre ángel de mi vida!
Subió temblando, y al acercarse a la puerta, y cuando alargaba la
mano para coger el verde cordón de la campanilla, sintió una voz de
hombre que sonaba dentro de la casa. Era una voz agria, bronca, y
pronunciaba atropelladamente palabras que no podían entenderse
bien desde la escalera. Luego oyó don Benigno la voz de su hija
expresándose con agitación. Al buen ciudadano matritense se le heló
la sangre en las venas, a pesar de no haber formado aún idea
concreta de lo que oía, y llamó fuertemente con la campanilla y con los
puños, gritando:
—Elena, hija mía, soy yo... ¡tu padre!
 IX

Aquella mañana, cuando don Benigno estaba aún a dos leguas de

la corte, entraba Sola en su casa después de una breve excursión po
las tiendas.
—Querida niña —le dijo Sarmiento suspendiendo el barrido y
apoyándose en el palo de la escoba—, Elenita Cordero ha venido a
buscarte para que la acompañes un poco. Hoy está sola todo el día.
—¿Y no ha venido nadie más?
—Sí, ha venido también el caballero que estuvo ayer —repuso
Sarmiento poniendo ceño de disgusto—. Puede que él crea que yo no
le conozco a pesar de las barbas de capuchino que gasta... Si me
parece que le estoy viendo en la sala de armas del castillo... Pero más
vale callar... ¡Ah!, se me olvidaba decirte que ha dejado un paquete
para ti.
—Sí..., hoy debía traerle —dijo Sola mirando a todos lados con
ansiedad—. ¿En dónde lo ha dejado?
Don Patricio señaló una puerta, por la cual entró Sola corriendo
Fue derecha a tomar un paquete que estaba sobre su cama. Pálida y
con los labios secos, le dio vueltas en sus manos temblorosas
buscando la lazada del cordón que lo ataba. La veía, la tocaba sin
acertar a deshacerla: de tal modo se había vuelto torpe a causa de su
gran emoción.
En el paquete había cartas, muchas cartas; pero Sola buscó entre
todas una que debía de ser la principal, y hallada se puso a leerla. Po
temor a ser interrumpida, encerrose en la alcoba, y sentándose en un
rincón, arrojó todo su espíritu sobre un papel escrito. Allí estuvo largo
rato aleteando sobre él, como la mariposa sobre la flor, y tan pronto
lloraba como reía, según los sentimientos expresados por aquella
sombra de un ser vivo a la cual se llama carta. Después miró uno po
uno los sobrescritos de las otras, y al hacer esto no mostraba mucho
contento, antes bien temor. Además, el paquete contenía una cajita
pequeña con dinero en monedas de oro. Contolas una por una, y
después lo guardó todo cuidadosamente, a excepción de las cartas
que no eran para ella. De estas hizo un nuevo paquete que ocultó en
su seno.
Púsose la mantilla para salir. Don Patricio vio pintado en e
semblante de la joven el gran gozo que la dominaba, y dando el último
escobazo, se dirigió a ella sonriendo. Sola se detuvo en la puerta, y
mirando a su protegido con expresión de lástima y de bondad, le dijo:
—Abuelo Sarmiento, si yo tuviera que marcharme para Inglaterra
¿qué harías tú, viejecillo bobo?
Y diciendo esto y sin dejar de mirarle, bajó la escalera.
Inmóvil y perplejo don Patricio, empuñando con su derecha mano e
palo de la escoba, y alzando la siniestra hasta la altura de su frente
parecía la estatua erigida para conmemorar la petrificación de
hombre.
Solita entró en casa de Cordero. Elena, que corrió a abrirle la
puerta, le dijo:
—Hace una hora que te espero... Quítate la mantilla... Estoy sola
con Reyes... Tengo muchas cosas que contarte.
Entraron en la sala. En el centro de ella había una gran mesa llena
de puntillas que Elenita cosía unas con otras...
—¿Pero no te quitas la mantilla? —repitió la de Cordero
emprendiendo la obra interrumpida—. Hoy no sales de aquí en todo e
día.
—Ahora mismo me voy —replicó Solita dejando escapar por sus
ojos el contento.
—¡Vaya unas amigas! —dijo Elena manifestando en el tono su
tristeza—. ¿A dónde vas ahora? Hace calor.
—Tengo que hacer —repuso la huérfana tocándose el pecho para
ver si se le habían perdido las cartas—. Hay cosas que no se pueden
dejar para mañana.
—Es verdad —dijo la muñeca poniendo un hilo entre los dientes—
Si yo pudiera dejar esto para la semana que entra, lo dejaría... Parece
que estás contenta...
—Siempre no hemos de estar tristes.
—¿A dónde fuiste esta mañana?
 —A comprar un vestido.
—¿Y a dónde vas ahora?
Sola vaciló un instante, porque era preciso mentir y su inventiva no
era grande.
—A comprar otro —repuso al fin.
—¡Qué lujo!... —exclamó Elena en son de amistosa burla.
—¡Qué quieres tú...! Es posible que tenga que salir de Madrid para
ir a...
—¿A dónde? —preguntó la de Cordero con viveza.
—A... otra parte —repuso la huérfana cayendo en la cuenta de que
había sido indiscreta—. Todavía no hay nada de cierto.
—De modo que me quedaré sola... Pero muy satisfecha, muy
oronda estás hoy.
Sola se echó a reír. Este era el desahogo de un espíritu a quien la
prudencia imponía silencio absoluto. Cuando una alegría tiene en la
boca de su cráter una gran piedra de discreción que la tapa y la ahoga
solo puede calmar su hervor riendo como los chicos y los tontos.
—Tú ríes y yo estoy desesperada —dijo la primorosa muñeca
dando una patadita en el suelo y rompiendo de un tirón el hilo que
tenía entre los dientes—. Solilla, anoche..., si supieras lo que me pasó
anoche...
—¿Qué?
Este monosílabo lo pronunció Sola distraída y maquinalmente
porque tenía fija toda su atención en sí misma.
—¡Anoche!
—¡Anoche!... —repitió la amiga, volviéndose a tocar el pecho para
ver si había perdido las cartas.
—Todavía no se me ha quitado el miedo —dijo Elena suspendiendo
su obra para que ningún acto perjudicase a la expresión de lo que iba
a decir—. Antes ese hombre me era muy antipático; pero ahora..., te
juro que le aborrezco con toda mi alma.
—¡Pobrecito!... No, no; quiero decir que le está bien merecido... E
señor Romo no cautivará a ninguna mujer. Sin ser feo, es tal que
parece más feo que los que lo son adrede.
—Justamente, has dicho la verdad... El amigo de la casa se
empeña en quererme y en que he de quererle yo. ¡Ay!, amiga, tienes
razón en decir que ese hombre es malo... Hay en su cara una cosa..
¿qué es? Parece que va pasando por delante de él una máscara
horrible que le hace sombra en la cara. ¿No es así?
—Así mismo es, así —dijo Sola mirándose en un espejo colgado
frente a ella, y haciendo la observación de que no se encontraba tan
poco bonita como antes creyera.
—Pues ve a decirle a mamá que Francisco Romo no es la flor y
nata de los caballeros... Todo lo bueno lo hace el señor Romo... «¡Ay
cuándo vendrá el señor de Romo para contarle lo que nos pasa!...»
«De este apuro nadie más que el señor de Romo puede sacarnos...»
«Si el señor de Romo no nos devuelve a tu padre, tenlo po
perdido...». Y dale con el señor de Romo.
—¿Por qué no le cuentas o tu madre lo que te pasa?
—No puedo... De ningún modo —dijo Elenita mostrando en su
hermoso rostro perfilado la imagen de la mayor confusión—. ¡Ay, pobre
de mí, qué desgraciada soy!... Sí, la más desgraciada de todas las
mujeres.
Diciendo esto, la figurita de porcelana cayó en una silla y llevó a los
ojos, acompañadas de un largo pañuelo, sus dos lindas manos
Alarmada Solita, acudió hacia ella y abrazola tiernamente, rogándole
que explicase aquellas desgracias tan enormes que la abrumaban.
—Yo no puedo querer a Romo —afirmó esta sollozando— porque
es muy feo, muy bastote, y porque no me gusta... ¿Qué culpa tengo yo
de que otro me haya parecido mejor? Dime tú si cualquier mujer a
quien le pongan delante a Francisco Romo y a Angelito Seudoquis
puede dudar.
—¡Oh!, no, de ningún modo. Angelito Seudoquis se ha de llevar la
palma.
—Pues está claro —dijo Elena, recibiendo gran consuelo con la
declaración de su amiga—. El pobre muchacho es muy bueno, de
noble familia, superior a nosotros, que somos tenderos; es honrado
caballero, muy fino, muy valiente, según él mismo me ha dicho..., y
quiere casarse conmigo.
—¿Y por qué no se ha de casar?
—Porque yo soy muy desgraciada..., no te rías..., la más
desgraciada de las mujeres —exclamó la doncella llorando como una
Magdalena—, y además, porque he sido mala, muy mala y Dios me
está castigando.
—¿Qué has hecho?
 —Escribí una carta a Angelito —dijo Elena observando su pañuelo.
—Eso sí que no me lo habías dicho.
—Pensaba decírtelo hoy... Le he escrito dos cartas.
—¿Dos?
—No..., me parece que han sido tres..., o quizás sean cuatro.
—¿Cuatro?
—La verdad, amiga de mi alma: llevo escritas cinco cartas.
—No digas más, porque si sigue la cuenta, va a resultar que le has
escrito cincuenta.
—Él pasaba todos los días por aquí... Yo sentía sus taconazos con
el rechinchín de las espuelas, y me daba mucha lástima... No podía
menos de asomarme... Un día me mandó con Reyes un papelito... En
fin, en la última carta que le escribí...
—Eso es: vamos a la última.
—En la última carta le decía muchas bobadas... Como él es tan
tierno y en las cartas pinta corazones ensartados chorreando sangre...
—¿Tu también le pintaste corazones?
—No..., pero le decía que Romo es un animal..., porque está celoso
de Romo... También le decía que con él (es decir, con Angelito) o con
nadie..., que me metería monja..., que el sepulcro me era más dulce
que casarme con otro... En fin, esas cosillas que se dicen...
—¿Y nada más?
—Pero es el caso que la policía ha puesto preso a Angelito ayer po
la mañana.
—¡Jesús, mujer!
—Sí —añadió Elena más acongojada—. Le han puesto preso
porque parece que un hermano suyo que estaba emigrado en
Inglaterra ha venido para conspirar. Le buscan, y como no pueden
encontrarle, han cogido al hermanito..., y..., y...
Elena soltó un torrente de lágrimas y se deshizo en sollozos.
—¡Y..., y le van ahorcar! —prosiguió con lastimeros ayes.
—No seas tonta, mujer —le dijo Sola, que se había puesto muy
pálida—. Y dices que por haber llegado su hermano...
—Sí, un condenado masón que ha venido a armar revoluciones; y
como no le han podido coger...
Soledad pasó de la sorpresa a la estupefacción más profunda.
—¡Esos infames polizontes son tan malos!... —añadió la de Cordero
—. ¿Qué culpa tiene el pobre Angelito?... Él es liberal, muy liberal
pero se halla decidido, así me lo ha dicho, a no desenvainar su espada
contra el rey. Ya sabes que es cadete. No, no: jamás Angelito atentará
a los derechos del trono... Pues volviendo a ese vil Romo..., ya sabes
que es amigo de los de la policía y de Chaperón.
Sola no oía nada. Estaba absorta y no apartaba su mano del seno
Creía sentir sobre él un peso colosal que la abrumaba.
—Como es amigo de la policía... —añadió Elena—. Ya sabes que
registran a todos los presos... Romo encontró en el bolsillo de Angelito
la última carta que le escribí... ¿Conoces tú desgracia semejante?
—¿Y qué?
— Que la tiene él..., Romo..., y me la enseñó anoche..., y dice que
se la va a enseñar a mamá y a papá cuando venga..., y dice que
cuando ahorquen a Angelito él le tirará de los pies...
Un nuevo temporal deshecho de lágrimas, ayes y acongojados
sollozos, interrumpió la narración de la inocente doncella.
—Yo me voy —dijo Sola levantándose bruscamente.
—No digas eso —repuso Elena tirando de la falda de su amiga—
Voy a estar llorando todo el día: acompáñame.
—Después.
—Ahora.
—Tengo que salir —repitió Sola sin mirar a su amiga y
oprimiéndose el seno.
—¿Qué llevas ahí? —preguntó Elena tocando también y sintiendo
rumor de papeles.
—Nada, nada —repuso la huérfana con turbación.
—¡Ah!, pícara..., las cartas de tu novio..., y no me has querido deci
quién es..., y dices que no tienes ninguno; ¡y te escribe tantos
pliegos!... Ahí llevas una resma... No te vayas, por amor de Dios.
Sola se despidió de su amiga con gran desasosiego.
—Parece que se te ha desvanecido la alegría —le dijo la muñeca.
—Adiós.
—Espera un rato.
—Ni un minuto... Voy a ver a una persona...
—¿No me has dicho que a comprar otro vestido?
—Es verdad... Volveré pronto. Adiós.
 X

Elenita se quedó sola en la calma y silencio de la casa, apenas

interrumpidos por los cantorrios de la criada, que chillaba en la cocina
acompañándose con el almirez.
La desgraciada joven, más infeliz que todas las mujeres nacidas
según su propio parecer, reanudó su trabajo de coser puntillas, en e
cual, si no ponía la artífice gran atención, había de salir muy
imperfecto. No iba a las mil maravillas la obra, por cuya razón Elena
deshacía con frecuencia lo hecho, tornando a empezar. A ratos
aparecían entre la delicada tela de araña algunas lágrimas que se
quedaban temblando en los menudos hilos negros, como insectos de
diamantes cogidos en una red de pelo. A ratos los suspiros de la
obrera hacían moverse y volar los pedazos más pequeños, que se
remontaban en busca de otros climas. Frecuentemente se picaba
Elenita con la aguja, y muy a menudo se le enredaba el hilo entre los
dedos, obligándola a detenerse y a perder los minutos. También solía
pasar la aguja con tanta presteza como si fuera puñal y con él tratara
de atravesar un corazón aborrecido.
Absorta en sus reflexiones, la niña no advirtió que habían llamado a
la puerta, que la criada acababa de abrir, y que un hombre avanzaba
con pie muy quedo, al modo de ladrón, hacia la salita donde estaba e
taller de encajes. Así es que al sentir las palabras: «¿Se puede
pasar?», la joven dio un grito y saltó despavorida, cual si se viera en
presencia de un toro del Jarama.
—Váyase usted, señor de Romo, váyase usted —exclamó con
terror, refugiándose en un rincón de la estancia—. Mamá no está
aquí... Estoy sola...
—Mejor —repuso Romo sonriendo y tratando de dar a su rostro y a
su ademán el aire no aprendido de la cortesía—. ¿Me como yo a la