13. Javier

Chapter 13

Javier

I 'm in a foul mood. Derek hung up on me, and even Tiago, the patient one, kicked me out of the church, calling me insufferable. I fucked up. Bergotti said my services are no longer needed, and I wonder if it was his decision or hers.

Ophelia…

I haven't slept a wink. Every time I close my eyes, I see her with Romero, and murderous rage surges through me.

I walk the empty streets, the cool spring air doing nothing to cool the fire inside me. The city lights blur as I force myself to breathe, trying to shake the image of Romero's possessive grip on her. Every fiber of my being screams to protect her, but I know that stepping out of line could mean more trouble for her—and for me.

I failed her so many times. Derek and Tiago are right, and it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Her words from our fight are also on repeat. People change, Javier, and sometimes they end up becoming exactly who they swore they'd never be .

It's true. This is exactly what I've become. I'm hurting an innocent person. I've abandoned her instead of trying to figure out why she rejected me the way she did. I refused to see she was good because everything surrounding her was darkness, and I refused to accept my growing feelings for her, rejecting the affection she extended my way.

If only I could go back…

My phone buzzes, and I snatch it from my pocket, hoping it's Ophelia. It's a message from Derek.

Derek: I have the port authorities ready to stop the shipment and even if you say you don't care, Ophelia is at the Trattoria.

I shove the phone back into my pocket, teeth gritted. Derek means well, but he doesn't get it. Hell, I barely understand my feelings. Ophelia became more than a means to an end, something Tiago and Derek noticed, but none of us would admit it out loud.

Looking into her eyes, knowing I'm betraying her to destroy her father, becomes more and more unbearable. It was hard to see her yesterday, knowing that her father was drowning by my hand, and she didn't know.

Resisting the urge to touch her, to kiss her, is torture.

As I stroll past a quiet park, I realize my feet have led me to La Trattoria, not my apartment.

For what? Part of me thinks that maybe if I see her at the table, content with Romero, I can sleep again knowing that she won't be caught in the cross fire, that she will be protected once her father is no more.

But another part of me hopes to find her unhappy, to justify my own feelings, my own desire to keep her away from Romero and with me.

I pick up my pace, the spring air brushing against my face as I near the restaurant. With each step closer to the flickering neon sign of La Trattoria, my heart pounds harder, anticipation and dread intertwining. I can't let her see me like this, not with my emotions written so clearly on my face.

I stop outside the restaurant, drawing a deep breath. Through the window, the warm glow of the interior contrasts sharply with my turmoil. I scan the room, searching for Ophelia.

She's not here. Fuck. I let my eyes wander to the back. I can only see the wood panel, and I hate that this man thinks he needs privacy. What is he planning to do with her? What is she planning to allow him to do? My hand balls into a fist, nails biting into my palm.

My phone buzzes. Ophelia's name flashes on the screen.

Ophelia: I'm on a date with Romero. This was a mistake. I'm scared.

My blood runs cold, the words searing into my brain. I bolt upright, adrenaline surging through me. A chill runs down my spine, my fingers trembling as I reread her message, hoping I misunderstood, but her fear is palpable, even through text.

Without a second thought, I dial her number, but it goes straight to voice mail. Panic claws at me, but I force myself to stay calm.

I start running toward the entrance, my mind racing with possibilities. If Romero hurts her, if he even lays a finger on her, I won't be able to control myself. I will kill him, and revenge be damned, I'll start a fucking war I have no means to win.

The realization hits me in full force, but I have no time to overthink it as I burst through the doors, ignoring the startled hostess. My eyes scan the room, but there's no sign of them in the main dining area. I stride toward the back, where a corridor leads to private rooms.

"Sir, you can't go back there!" the hostess calls after me, but I'm already halfway down the hall.

I find the door to the back room and fling it open. Romero's hand grips Ophelia's arm, tight and possessive. Her eyes widen, flickering between relief and fear, her body tensing at Romero's grip.

"Get your fucking hand off her," I growl, my voice low and deadly. "Or I swear I'll cut it off."

Romero looks up, a smug smile playing on his lips. "Ah, the loyal bodyguard. How quaint."

"I said, get your hands off her." I step closer, my fists clenched and muscles coiled, ready to strike.

Romero's eyes narrow, but he doesn't release his grip. "You're out of place, dog. This is none of your business."

"It became my business the moment you touched her," I snap, stepping closer. "Let her go. Now."

"Oh, did you let him fuck you, bella?"

And then I snap. In a blinding rage, I seize the back of his head, fingers gripping his hair tightly. With a surge of anger, I slam his face into the wall, feeling the sickening crunch of bone beneath my palm. He staggers, blood streaming from his nose, finally releasing Ophelia. She stumbles, her legs giving out. I catch her, my arms encircling her protectively, but the scene around us is chaotic. Romero's groans fill the room as blood pools on the floor.

And then I see them—the marks on her upper arm, the unmistakable fingerprints, red and angry against her pale skin.

I trace them softly. "He did this?" It's not a question, and when he groans and I see his hand on the floor, I act on impulse and step on it, breaking his fingers.

Romero screams, clutching his hand, but I don't care. My only concern is Ophelia. I hold her close, my rage simmering just beneath the surface.

"Let's go," I whisper to her, my voice softer now, though my body is still trembling with anger.

She nods, a single tear tracing a path down her cheek, mingling with the relief and fear in her eyes. The sight tugs at something deep within me, a primal need to shield her from the world's cruelty. I lead her out of the restaurant, ignoring the stares and whispers from the other patrons.

Once we're outside, I stop and look down at her, my heart aching at the fear in her eyes.

"Are you okay?"

She nods, lips trembling. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gone with him."

"Don't apologize," I say, gentleness masking the turmoil inside me. I need her to know it's not her fault. "You did nothing wrong. I'm here now, and I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"We're in trouble. In so much trouble." She looks up at me, her eyes full of fear.

She's right, of course. She always sees the truth, even when I refuse to. Despite all my connections, even I'm not sure I can pull off maiming the consigliere's son. And yet, I didn't think twice and would do it again if needed.

"Don't worry about it. I'll fix this. I promise."

"How?"

I have no fucking clue. "I'll find a way." I hail a cab. "Come on, let's go."

"Where are we going?"

"My place."

Seething, I sit there, fighting the urge to lash out. I should be comforting her, but the rage inside me won't be silenced. I'm angry at her father for pushing her to go out with that limp dick, I'm angry at that guy for daring to put his hand on her, and then I act—destroying her whole world with one text.

Me: Unleash port authorities.

I'm angry at myself for letting it happen and I'm angry at her for going out with him.

"You said you wouldn't do it." It's a dick move. I know that, and I'm about to apologize when she speaks.

"I know, and my reasons are so childish." She rests her hand on her bright-red face. "I heard what you said to the priest, and you said you could never want me."

I stop breathing. This is why she left? This is why she sought comfort.

"Ophelia, damn it." I run a hand over my face. "What was I supposed to tell him? That you've been the source of all my wet dreams for the past two months?"

"Oh!" Her eyes go wide, and she looks away, her face even redder .

Taking a deep breath, I try to calm the storm inside me. "What you heard wasn't the whole truth. I said those things to Tiago because I had to."

She glances back at me, her eyes still wide, her face flushed with embarrassment and something else—hope, maybe?

"Javier, I—" she starts, but I cut her off, needing to get this out before I lose my nerve.

"You're not just a job to me. You're not a means to an end. You're…" I shake my head, struggling to find the right words. "And it kills me to see you with him, to see you hurting."

The cab driver shoots us a glance in the rearview mirror, and I force myself to lower my voice. "I need you to understand that whatever happens, I will protect you."

The cab pulls up in front of my apartment building, and I pay the driver, helping Ophelia out of the car. We walk inside in silence, the tension between us thick and electric.

Once we're inside my apartment, I close the door and turn to face her. She's looking around, and somehow, the splash of color she brings seems to belong in the oversanitized, impersonal place that I call home.

"You're safe here. No one will find you."

"I want to stop being safe." She shakes her head. "No, what I mean is that I've been thrown into this life without being asked, and since then, my choices have been dictated. I haven't stopped thinking about you. I want you, too, and to hell with the consequences."

I step closer, unable to resist the pull between us. "Ophelia, I need you to know something. I won't let anyone hurt you. Not Romero, not your father, not anyone. You're mine to protect."

Her eyes meet mine, and for a moment, the world fades away. "I think I'm falling in love with you."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and all the anger, all the frustration, melts away.

"It's going to be a mess. This complicates everything," I say.

"I don't care." She thinks that because she doesn't know the whole picture, and I'm lying to both of us when I tell myself that everything will be okay.

I lift my hand and let my fingers graze her soft cheek. I trace her jaw with my thumb and tip her face up to meet my gaze, making sure there's no conflict there.

"Phee," I whisper. "You've done it now." I brush my lips against hers. "We can't ever go back to what we used to be."

She nods, not fully understanding the gravity of my statement, but nothing matters at that moment. I want whatever fevered emotion is swirling in her stormy eyes.

I crash my lips onto hers, devouring any thought of protest or fear. I kiss her with a fiery desperation, in a way that I've dreamed about doing but never thought would happen. As I kiss her, the sensation of being utterly alive pulses through every fiber of my being, and it's like I'm finally living again.

I let my lips trail along her neck, tasting her skin. She tastes just as she looks—sweet and innocent, with a hint of floral that is completely intoxicating.

"Javier." Her voice wobbles just the tiniest amount, the nerves finally coming through. I smile against her shoulder.

I reach behind her, my fingers trembling as I slowly unzip the ugly satin dress. It's not like her at all. I give her enough time to change her mind, my heart pounding with a mix of hope and fear. I can't believe I am this lucky to finally have her in my arms, and I expect that at any moment, she will be snatched away from me.

As she should be , my mind whispers in my cloud of lust.

"Are you sure?" I murmur against her ear, my hands pausing as they rest on the small of her back.

She nods, her eyes meeting mine, filled with fear and resolve. "I've never been more sure of anything."

I slide the dress off her shoulders, my fingers trembling slightly as I expose her soft, delicate skin. The dress stops at her hips, and she stands before me, vulnerable and beautiful.

I want to touch her, taste her, explore her every curve with my fingertips, with my tongue.

I reach over to cup both her breasts in my hands.

The smallest of moans escapes her lips, and my twitching cock springs to life. If her laugh is like a breath of life, her moans are orgasm inducing. I wanted to hear more of them.

"I want you so much." I nip at her neck, my hands still playing with her breasts. "Let me look at you." With difficulty, I let her go, taking a couple of steps back, and I let my eyes wander down her body.

Small, high breasts, her dusky nipples already standing up proudly.

Pushing her dress over her hips, I take in the rest of her. Tiny waist, narrow hips. Under the satin of her black panties, I eye her mound. Reaching out, I brush my fingers over it. "Does me touching you here scare you?" There is a dampness against the satin already. I lift my eyes, gauging her reaction to my touch.

She shakes her head. "No, I want more. I want all of you. I—" Her words cut off as I cup her in my hand and grind the heel of my palm against her clit. "Oh!"

"You are beautiful," I whisper, continuing to rub her until she's so wet she's soaking her panties.

I want to sink into her, my hard cock begging against the zipper of my pants, but I grab her hand, and with my heart pounding in my chest, I take her to my bedroom.

I stop by the bed. Once her knees brush the mattress, I slip my hand into her panties, touching her for the first time. Teasing her entrance with my fingers, I whisper, "You were made for me," as I gently ease a finger inside her.

She moans, her legs shaking at the sudden intrusion as she leans into me, her breath hot on my shoulder through my shirt. Her small hands come up to grip my shoulders to steady herself.

She is a perfect contradiction. Fierce but soft, and I love every part of her.

Bringing my glistening finger to my lips, I catch her eyes and smile before slipping the finger between my lips, sucking it dry.

"Mmm." I let my eyes close as the taste of her explodes in my mouth. "You are all vanilla and sunshine. I'm going to enjoy tongue fucking you."

Her eyes widen. "What?"

Closing my hands on her shoulders, I give her a gentle push. She falls back onto the bed, bouncing slightly on the mattress.

I discard my shirt and jeans in record time, probably popping a few buttons along the way. I just need her—it's a visceral need, like breathing. It should scare me, but right now, I can't think of anything other than tasting her again and getting lost in the beautiful music of her moans of pleasure.

Hooking her under the knees, I drag her to the edge of the bed, yank off her panties, and toss them to the floor. I pull her legs up over my shoulders and lick my way up her folds.

She lets out a cry of pleasure as I start to suck at her clit before going down and introducing my tongue to her tight wetness, in and out, like I will do with my cock.

My thumb brushes against her clit. I want more of those little moans. I want to hear them change to screams of pleasure, and I want her juices coating my face. It's only then that I'll be able to really sink into her, making us both see heaven.

God, I want that, I want her. I never want to let her go—everything else be damned.

"You like this, don't you?" Flattening my tongue, I lap at her folds.

"Yes, Javier, god, yes." She reaches for my head, her blunt nails scraping my scalp.

She's turned on, but she hasn't orgasmed yet. She will soon, though, and the moment she does, I will take her. In an ideal world, I would take more time, but I can't wait and based on her shameless begging, neither can she.

I look up for a second at the way her body is flushed, her chest heaving with rapid breathing, and for a moment, I feel like a superhero bringing her pleasure instead of the villain destroying her life.

"No, don't stop, please."

"Don't worry, beautiful. I'm just getting started." Bringing my mouth back to her swollen lips, I close her thighs around my ears and start eating her out like a starved man. My slurps and small groans are soon drowned out by her moans and cries.

Each one of them makes me throb even more.

Her nails dig deeper into my scalp, and I smile against her wetness. This is it. She is fighting her orgasm.

I reach down, freeing myself from my boxers and squeeze my steel-hard cock in my fist.

Finally, her thighs begin to tremble. She arches her back and shouts my name as her orgasm takes her.

With my hand still on her clit, I climb over her body, shoving my boxers down farther as I lower myself over her. Drawing her knee over my hips, I edge forward. The thick head of my cock pushes into her swollen heat.

I inch in slowly, and it feels like the hardest challenge of my life. She feels even better than I thought she would, and I know that even if her father were to end my life tomorrow, it would be worth it just for a night with her.

The hands that were so desperate on my scalp now try to push my hips away. Catching a hold of her wrists, I draw them on either side of her head and hold them to the mattress.

"Shh," I murmur. "Just relax." Flexing my hips, I slide all the way home and freeze. "Just get used to me for a second."

She burrows her face in my neck, and I feel the unmistakable wetness of tears. "Okay," she whispers against my skin.

"I'm sorry it hurts." Leaning down, I kiss the tears from her cheek. "Just let me know when I can move."

She doesn't say anything, and I wait, holding my breath. Slowly, under me, her body starts to relax. She wiggles slightly and flexes her pussy. I groan, my eyes rolling back. I need to move soon before I explode inside her.

"Javi." Her small hands move down my back to grip my ass. "Please. Move, please."

She doesn't have to ask me twice. I pull out, only to drive back into her with a punishing force that speaks of pent-up desire, driving into her with a rhythm that matches the pounding of my heart. She grips my ass as I move, pushing me farther into her with every thrust.

God, this woman is amazing, and she is mine, only mine. Always fucking mine .

"God, Phee," I groan, my movements unyielding, relentless. "You have no idea how long I've imagined being inside of you." It became a daily wet dream since that day we made out in the car. I marvel at the pleasure as I fill her, claiming her just how I want to and how she's begging me to. I spent so many nights imagining this moment.

"Javi, Javi. More, please."

I move faster, harder as I slip my hand between us until I settle it between her thighs, my finger finding her clit, and as soon as I touch it, she lets out a cry of pleasure.

She moans and arches her back, pleading for more.

"I'm going to come, Javi. Fuck, I wanted it to last longer."

I press harder against her clit, and she calls my name as she orgasms, her walls tightening so hard around my cock that I come too, calling her name.

The intensity of the moment seems to stretch out, time itself bending to our desire as we cling to each other, my cock still deep inside her, our bodies moving in perfect rhythm.

I collapse on top of her, my brain empty, my body exhausted but satisfied. I kiss her neck before wrapping my arms around her and rolling onto the bed, so her head rests against my heart.

I move her hair out of her face, making sure she's okay. When she gives me a tired smile, I brush my lips against her forehead.

"You're mine now. Always." I keep my eyes locked on her, hoping she sees how much I mean it, how much I need her to agree.

She moves her head and kisses my chest, her lips pressing against the crying dove tattoo. It feels almost obscene to enjoy that kiss, knowing what the tattoo represents, and yet I can't find it in me to stop her.

"Yours," she replies sleepily, and for now, it's all that matters.

I barely sleep, fearing that every time I close my eyes, I'll wake up to an empty bed and realize the night we shared was nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

In the dim light filtering through the curtains, I study her face, committing every detail to memory. I notice the small freckle at the corner of her left eye, a tiny imperfection that only makes her more perfect to me. Her long eyelashes flutter gently as she dreams, casting delicate shadows on her cheeks. Her mouth, slightly open as she sleeps, reveals a vulnerability that makes my heart ache.

My gaze drifts to the curve of her shoulder, the smooth, soft skin that I've kissed so many times tonight. The way her collarbone gently slopes into the hollow of her neck captivates me, and I can't help but lean in to breathe in her scent, a mix of floral and something uniquely Ophelia.

Guilt gnaws at me, a dark undercurrent to the peace I feel with her in my arms. I've destroyed her world and pulled her into mine without a second thought. Her father's empire crumbles because of my actions, and she's caught in the fallout. In this moment, holding her close, the rest of the world fades away. She is my universe, and I swear silently to protect her, to cherish her, no matter the cost.

I tuck a loose strand of hair behind her ear, my fingers lingering on her soft skin. She stirs, a soft sigh slipping from her lips, and a fierce protectiveness floods my heart, overwhelming in its intensity. I will shield her from the chaos I've created. I will be her anchor, her safe harbor.

As she sleeps, I make a silent vow. I will be there for her, no matter what. I will rebuild the world around her, making it a place where she can thrive. I will be the man she deserves, the man who loves her unconditionally.

She shifts closer to me, her hand resting on my chest, and I feel a profound sense of purpose. I will make things right, not just for her but for us. Together, we will face whatever comes our way.

"Sleep well, Phee," I whisper, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I've got you. Always."

With that promise in the air, I hold her tighter, letting the rhythm of her breathing lull me into a light, vigilant sleep, ready to protect the woman who has become my everything.

It's seven a.m. when my phone vibrates, announcing someone getting on my private elevator. I slip out of bed carefully, not wanting to wake Ophelia. Pulling on a pair of pajama bottoms, I quietly make my way to the living room.

I barely have time to gather myself before Tiago storms in, his face a mask of fury.

"What did you do, Javier?" he demands, his voice low and dangerous.

"Be more specific," I say, keeping my voice steady, though my gut churns with a premonition of what's to come.

"Everything is imploding," Tiago snaps, stepping closer. His eyes dart around the room, finally landing on Ophelia's discarded dress on the floor. His expression shifts from anger to shock, then to a grim understanding.

"Javier, no," he whispers, his voice tinged with disbelief.

I can't help but smile, a small, almost sad smile. Part of me regrets not witnessing the havoc firsthand, but a much larger part of me is content in my bubble with Ophelia.

"Yes," I say quietly, glancing back toward the bedroom where she still sleeps peacefully. "I couldn't help it, Tiago. She means everything to me."

Tiago's eyes narrow, his jaw tightening. "You know what this means, right? You've dragged her into the center of this mess. You've made her a target. "

Just then, Ophelia appears, looking good enough to eat wearing my dress shirt. She blushes bright red, and I guess facing a priest the morning after would do that to you.

"Um, morning," she stammers, her eyes darting nervously between Tiago and me. "I just… I need to… get my dress… It's, uh, kind of important. For wearing. And other things."

I can't help but smile at her awkwardness. She bends down to pick up her dress, mumbling under her breath, "I mean, it's not like I can just walk out in this shirt. Not that I don't love it, it's very comfy. And smells like you. But, um, yeah… not appropriate for the public."

Tiago raises an eyebrow but stays silent. I'm sad I can't enjoy the view any longer—she looks so good wearing my clothes. She mumbles another excuse, her face bright red, and quickly disappears back into the bedroom.

A few minutes later, she comes back out, fully dressed. "I need to go home and do damage control," she says, her voice fierce, but I see the fear in her eyes.

My previous irritation at Tiago's arrival morphs into concern. "I'll take you," I offer, not wanting to let her out of my sight.

"No," she says firmly. "I want to Uber. You being there will only make it worse."

Tiago nods in agreement, and the way he presses me with his gaze, I understand I have to let her go.

I grab her arm gently and pull her close, kissing her deeply just before she gets in the elevator, Tiago be damned. The kiss is full of promises and unspoken words, a desperate attempt to convey how much she means to me .

When we finally pull apart, her eyes are wide, her lips slightly swollen. "Be safe," I whisper, my voice rough with emotion.

"You too," she replies softly, her eyes searching mine for a moment before she steps into the elevator.

As the doors close, I feel a hollow in my chest. But I know this isn't the end—it's just the beginning. I turn back to Tiago, my resolve hardening. We have a lot to do, and I won't rest until Ophelia is safe and this mess is behind us.

"You have to leave her," Tiago says, his voice like steel.

I take a step back at the vehemence of his words. "What? No. She's mine," I reply, heading to the kitchen to make myself a coffee.

"Javier! I've heard through the grapevine that the judge has been called to her father's house! The man will be done soon. You can't—" He lets out a groan of frustration. "You only have two choices. One, you stop your vendetta, try to fix what you broke—tell her the truth, and if she forgives you, you keep her. Or two, you keep going but let her go. You never see her again, and let her be without you."

I turn around, cup in hand. "I choose option three. I finish what I started, she never finds out what I did, and I keep her beside me, making it my life's mission to make her happy."

"There is no third option! Doing that will only hurt her. This vendetta is not worth it. It never was."

I slam my cup on the counter, and it shatters, burning my hand, but I barely notice it through my fury. "Paloma doesn't deserve revenge?"

Tiago looks heavenward. "Paloma was not a saint; she never was!" he shouts before raising his hand to stop me from speaking. "You don't have a monopoly on grief! She was your wife, but she was my sister. My blood!"

His words hit me like a punch to the gut. The anger drains from me, replaced by a raw, aching pain. "Tiago, you don't understand. I loved her. She was my world."

"And I loved her too, Javier. But this path you're on—it's destroying you. It's destroying everything you could have."

I look down at my bleeding hand, the pain finally registering. "I can't just let it go, Tiago. I can't. Paloma deserves justice."

Tiago steps forward, his eyes filled with a mix of anger and sorrow. "Justice, Javier, not vengeance. There's a difference." He tosses a tea towel across the counter, the weight of his words landing heavier than the cloth.

"We don't speak ill of the dead in this family, but we'll start because as much as you weren't ready to listen before, you are now. Paloma was the world to an impressionable teenage boy. She's the one who pushed you into dealing—she had luxurious tastes and needed them fulfilled." He raises his hand in surrender. "I won't lie—I enjoyed the easy money too. The cars, the watches, the fancy apartment, and all the women that came along with the money and the status. But I also remember that you were worried. After the Gambino warnings about you growing too fast, taking too much of what didn't belong to us, you wanted to pull out. And that's when she told you she was pregnant. How convenient."

I see red… rage bubbling up inside me. "What are you sa ying, Tiago? Just spit it out."

"She was never pregnant. She just said that to you… to us because she wanted you to commit, to keep the lifestyle."

I let the towel fall, feeling a crack in my chest. "We're done. I never pegged you for a liar."

"I'm not lying! Madre de Dios ! I would never lie to you. I saw her sniff coke a day before the wedding. I told her off because of the baby. She told me there was no baby, that she would tell you she lost it the week after—once you stole the Gambino shipment. How—" He shakes his head. "She was not innocent, Javier, and when she died on those steps, as my whole life shifted and my heart immediately broke, I realized that justice had been served after all because she had been killed by the same man she was sleeping with to get ahead in the game."

Nausea hits me, and I barely have time to turn around before vomiting in the sink. Paloma, my Paloma, was sleeping with a Bergotti.

I grip the edge of the counter, my knuckles white, my mind reeling from the betrayal. "Why didn't you tell me this sooner?" I manage to choke out, my voice hoarse.

"Because you weren't ready to hear it," Tiago says quietly. "You idolized her. You saw her as perfect, and I didn't want to take that away from you. But now… now you need to know the truth."

The room spins, and I lean heavily against the counter, trying to steady myself. "I've been living a lie," I whisper, more to myself than to Tiago. "I've based my whole life on a lie."

"No, Javier," Tiago says, stepping closer. "You've based your life on love and loyalty. That's not a lie. But now it's time to live for something real, something genuine."

I look up at him, my vision blurred by tears I refuse to shed. "And what is that, Tiago? What do I live for now?"

"You live for Ophelia. You live for yourself. You find a way to make peace with the past and move forward. Let go of this vendetta before it destroys you and everyone you care about."

I take a deep breath as his words sink in. "How do I do that?"

"By being honest. With yourself and with Ophelia. You tell her the truth and let her decide if she wants to stand by you. You start fresh, without the lies and the revenge."

My vision sharpens, and suddenly, all I see is red. "You need to leave," I say, my voice dangerously calm.

"What?" he asks, taken aback.

"I said you need to leave," I repeat, my tone hardening. "Right now, I'm not seeing my best friend. I'm seeing everything that's wrong with the world. I need a break from you."

"Javier, come on?—"

"No," I cut him off, my voice rising. "Get out. I can't look at you right now. All I want to do is hurt you, and I think I have enough black marks on my soul that I don't need to make a man of God bleed."

Tiago stands there for a moment, shock and hurt etched on his face. Then he nods slowly, backing away. "Alright, I'll go. But think about what I said. This path you're on—it's not worth it."

I turn away from him, unable to respond. As he leaves, the silence in the room feels suffocating.

This isn't going to be easy, letting go of this boiling revenge that has been keeping me going for so long, but I have to do it. For Ophelia's sake. For both of our sakes.

Because I'm not an impressionable teenager anymore, I'm a man—a man who knows what he has found and will not accept losing her.

I have found the love of my life, and I will spend the same energy I had used to destroy everything to build us a future.

I walk back and look toward the bedroom where Ophelia had slept, feeling a newfound determination wash over me. The path ahead is uncertain, fraught with challenges and danger, but for her, I will face it all. For her, I will change.

As I clean up the shattered pieces of the coffee cup, I make a silent vow: my vendetta ends here. From this moment forward, my life is dedicated to protecting and loving Ophelia. No more lies. No more revenge. Just us against the world.

With that resolve burning in my chest, I take a deep breath and prepare for the hardest conversation of my life. But as long as she's by my side, I know we can face anything. Together.