14. Ophelia

Chapter 14

Ophelia

I sit in the Uber that's taking me home, unable to wipe the smile off my face or calm the flush spreading all over my body at the memory of my night with Javier.

Javier… His name is a whisper on my lips, a secret thrill that dances through me. I rest my hands on my burning cheeks, feeling the lingering warmth of his touch. The memory of his hands tracing my skin, the way his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race—it was beyond perfect. We met only a few months ago, but it felt like destiny. Javier had seemed like the one person who understood the cage I lived in, promising a freedom I had only dreamed of. Even if I never see him again, last night will forever be etched in my soul, a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

He was tender, loving, and passionate. In his arms, I truly felt like a goddess. What happened between us will undoubtedly complicate everything. But as I get closer to my house, I can't bring myself to care.

For once, I let myself be happy, let the memory of his tender, passionate embrace overshadow the uncertainty of tomorrow.

As the Uber approaches the house, the sight of the iron gates standing ajar sends a shiver down my spine. The cool air seems to seep through the car, carrying an ominous chill that gnaws at my bones. Grim-looking guards, unfamiliar and intimidating, stand like sentinels, their stern faces adding to the foreboding atmosphere.

"I-Is everything okay?" The driver's voice wavers, his eyes darting nervously to the open gates, sensing the palpable tension.

"Sure…" I trail off. My father blew up my phone with calls last night. I know he's going to be mad, and there'll be hell to pay, but the gloomy vibes seem excessive.

As soon as I exit the car in front of the house, two guards I've not seen before come to me.

"You have to go see your father now. The judge is on the way." The guard's voice is a low growl, his eyes hard and unyielding, making my stomach churn with dread.

A cold, heavy weight settles in my stomach as soon as he mentions the judge. Memories of the last time he visited—an execution I narrowly avoided witnessing—flash through my mind, making my hands tremble. What happened last night was not that bad; Romero is the one who was forceful. I have nothing to apologize for.

I'm a little more confident when I reach my father's office, only to deflate again when Romero exits it. He sneers at me, and I see the damage on his face: the strips on his nose and the bruises extending from his nose to under each eye. He also has his hand in a cast, and despite the satisfaction I feel at that moment, I also feel the cold ice of dread in my throat. He does look quite beat up, and despite everything, he is the consigliere's son.

I take a deep breath as the guards open the door and practically shove me into the office before closing the door again. His usually pristine office now feels suffocating, the dim light casting long shadows that dance menacingly on the walls. My father slumps at his desk, his normally impeccable suit wrinkled and his hair disheveled in a way I've never seen. The room smells faintly of cigar smoke and leather, a testament to the countless hours he's spent here. The oppressive silence is broken only by the faint ticking of the grandfather clock.

Across from him, Romero's father, the Gambino's consigliere, sits with a grim, almost victorious expression, his eyes flicking to me with a predatory gleam.

"Listen, Dad, I know the judge is on his way, but it's not me who started th?—"

"The judge is not coming for you," says Dario, cutting me off with a cold sneer.

"He's coming for me," my father interjects, his voice heavy with resignation.

"I—" I shake my head, trying to clear the confusion fogging my brain. None of this makes any sense. "Why?"

"He brought a traitor into this house. He made us lose over seven million dollars," Dario states, his voice dripping with disdain.

"Traitor?" I echo, my mind struggling to process his words.

"You, Ophelia."

I sit down in shock, my legs giving out beneath me. " Dad, tell him he's wrong!" I plead, my voice breaking.

"Where did you buy this boat, Ophelia?" he asks, pointing at the model on his desk, his voice a chilling monotone that sends a fresh wave of anxiety through me.

"What?" I blink, thrown off by the sudden change in topic.

"Where did you buy it?" he repeats, his voice now carrying a cold edge he's never used with me before.

"Why?" I stammer, my heart racing.

He fists his hand and slams it on the boat. I gasp as it shatters into small bits, revealing some electronic components. Tiny wires and circuits spill out, glinting ominously under the office lights.

"This is why." I see droplets of blood on the light leather mat where the sharp fragments have cut his hand.

"I'm not—" I start, but my words falter, drowned by the cold, hard reality setting in. This is what Javier gave me. My Javier.

"I—"

"How long have you known?" my father insists, and there's pain in his eyes despite the cold, accusatory tone.

"Known wh?—"

"Were you in on it since the fake attack? Is that why you went to explore the alleyway?" my father continues, and I feel Dario's eyes on the side of my face.

"How long have you known of his plan?"

"Whose plan?"

"Alejandro Reyes," Dario finally pipes in, extending the file he is holding.

I open it and see a photo of Javier. He's much younger, probably even younger than I am now. His hair is long, and his face is still rounded with youth, but it's definitely him.

"I don't—" I shake my head. I'm not even sure all this is real. I have to be in a state of shock because I feel like I'm here, in the moment, but also not—like my brain is taking a break and letting my body still do the work.

I look back up, my eyes filling with tears. Now I understand Javier's questions about my father and the info I gave him. Now what we shared last night doesn't sound like a dream. It sounds like something wrong and dark, and all I want is to get into a bath as hot as I can to rid myself of his touch on my skin.

Bile rises to my throat as I look back down at the file, all the information about Alejandro and how all traces of him disappeared fifteen years ago. How could I have been so blind? Part of me still clings to the moments we laughed together, the stories he shared about his childhood, wondering if any of it was real.

I look back at my father, who is staring at my face intently. Suddenly, he lets out a little huff of relief. My heart, which has been pounding furiously, slows just a bit. Maybe he believes me. Maybe there's still hope. But then his gaze hardens again, reminding me of the precarious tightrope we are walking.

"She didn't know, Dario—it's clear."

"Is it?" Dario replies, his eyes narrowing. He reaches for a little square contraption and waves it in front of me slowly. It crackles until it reaches my bee necklace and starts to beep.

I grab the necklace in my hand and make a fist around it. " This is a gift," I whisper, my voice trembling.

"From Alejandro?" Dario asks mockingly, his lips curling into a sneer. "It's not a gift, stupid girl; it's a tracker, and you're just a pawn."

My father doesn't defend me, and frankly, I can't blame him right now. I am a stupid girl. My hand shakes as I reach behind my neck, unclasp the necklace, and give it to him.

"I didn't know."

"See, Dario?"

Dario's face remains hard, locked on me. "It doesn't matter. You took the man on without doing your due diligence."

"That's my fault!" I say quickly. "I wanted a new bodyguard. He did it for me."

"Yes, he did. How does it feel?"

The guilt is unparalleled, and he can see it in my face because now he's grinning like a madman.

"Dario," my father starts, but Dario raises his hand, stopping him, his evil eyes still on me.

"You gave him a present that was nothing more than a Trojan horse, and he put it in his office with pride, giving away all our secrets instead of getting it checked as he should have. Your father got sloppy, and whether it's your fault or not, he deserves to be judged."

"No, he doesn't!" I all but shout. "Judge me!"

He snorts. "No, the judge doesn't consider you famiglia , not really. You're just a half-breed stray dog your father took against his better judgment."

All the air is sucked out of me, especially due to my father's silence. I glance his way and see him bowed down, staring at his desk. Does he feel the same? Does he regret taking me in? Is he trying to hide his shame?

I feel my phone vibrate in my bag, and both their faces turn toward it. I know it's him, Jav—whoever he is. It's pathetic to admit he's probably the only person texting me these days. I've been so cut off from my old life since moving here, never fitting into this new one.

I've always felt like a nomad, not belonging anywhere—a wanderer without a true home. But now, I feel like a fool, a fool and a traitor, which is so much worse. I'd give anything to go back to just not belonging.

I hate myself a little because, despite his betrayal and using me as a pawn, part of me can't help but worry for his safety.

"Are you going to kill him?" I ask, pleased with how detached my voice sounds. What if they say yes?

Dario grunts. "Unfortunately not. Mr. Billionaire is far more protected than we anticipated."

Billionaire? God, I feel even more stupid.

"But your father, on the other hand…"

I turn to my father, all the blood draining from my face. I'm hoping he will deny it. It can't go that far, but I see the truth there.

"Your father's actions… Well, your actions, really, made us lose millions. Ophelia, look at me!" Dario commands and I turn toward him. He's never ordered me before. "Do you know how many men, good men, died because of your foolishness? How many children lost their fathers? How many wives are now widows because of you ?"

"How can I fix that?" My voice cracks .

"Ophelia," my father starts, his voice much gentler now.

"There's no fixing it. The only thing you can do is damage control, and the only way to do that is to marry someone powerful enough to protect you and your father."

My heart sinks. Was that why Romero was grinning? He was getting me anyway?

I nod despite the desperation filling me. After his behavior last night, I have little hope of a decent life with him, despite the decent image he shows the world. But living with the guilt of ruining my father's whole life and the many people who died because of my idiocy is worse.

"I'll marry Romero," I say, my mind racing with a million thoughts. This could buy me time, a chance to find another way out. As repulsive as the idea is, it's the only immediate solution I can see. But I vow silently to myself—this will not be my end. I will find a way to save my father and myself.

Dario laughs. "If you think my son has enough power to save your father, you're more delusional than I thought. No, girl. The person you're going to marry is me," he declares, his voice dripping with malice.

I jerk back in my chair, almost toppling it over. I don't think I can hide the horror in my face at the mere thought. The man is old enough to be my father… my grandfather even, and his sadistic nature is legendary.

I rest my hand on my mouth as I throw up a little at the thought of his hands on me and all the pain that would follow.

"Dario, no," my father tries, but I keep my eyes on the snake in front of me .

"It's not your decision, Angelo. You intervened enough for a lifetime. So what do you say, Ophelia?" His voice itself makes me cringe, and yet I hear myself asking.

"And the judge will go away?"

"Everything, yes. Your father will be supervised far more closely from now on, of course, but his status and reputation will remain untouched."

I want to ask him where his thoughts are now for all the lives lost or if they stopped counting the moment he realized he could make me his broken doll.

"Fine." I look at my father, and his look of anguish makes me feel a little better somehow. At least he understands the sacrifice I'm making. "I'm truly sorry for everything."

My father is about to reply when my phone vibrates again. Dario's eyes narrow. He walks over, snatches the phone from my bag, and swiftly removes the battery. Without a word, he tosses the phone into the fireplace, watching it crackle and burn.

"You won't need this anymore," he says, his voice devoid of emotion.

"I'll go arrange everything for the marriage. You stay here in the meantime, Ophelia. I mean it," Dario warns as he stands by the door.

"Wait! I need to go somewhere."

"You will learn your place, wife."

I want to correct him, tell him I'm not yet his wife, but I don't need to anger him anymore.

"I need to go to church. I need to confess."

His shoulders relax; despite all his crimes, the man is a self-declared Catholic. "Yes, of course. This is a good idea before you take the marital vows in front of God. I'll have two of my men take you. Which church?"

"San Miguel."

His mouth tips down. "Ah, yes. I keep forgetting your… origins." He looks at his watch. "Be ready in two hours." He looks up. "Angelo, I'll call off the judge. I'll be here later to give you the time and place of the wedding."

"You didn't have to do that, Ophelia," my father says just as the door clicks shut behind Dario.

"Would you have died if I didn't?"

He remains silent for a bit longer, and I know what the answer is before he even speaks. "Yes."

"Then, yes, I have to." Despite everything, I can't help but want answers, and today, in this church, it may be the only way for me to get them.

"Dad, one more thing."

"Anything."

"Why? Why does Javier want to destroy you?"

I see shame flash cross his face, and then he shrugs. "Why do people do things? I stopped trying to understand people's motives a long time ago, Ophelia, and so should you. It will make your life far easier."

"Yes, see you later." I exit the office, and as I close the door behind me, I realize that even in his silence, my father's lies are louder than his truths.

When I get there, I don't even know what I'm going to say or why I even try, but as I take the steps leading into the church, I feel an almost overwhelming grief. The irony hurts because I know that when I walk down the aisle in the next few days wearing a generic white dress for the stupid spectacle this wedding will be, it will be my funeral. With each step I take toward Dario, I will kill a little part of my soul, of my being, and I'll be a ghost of myself.

I take a deep, shaky breath as I enter, the two guards following me closely.

The church's cool, dim interior offers a temporary respite from the oppressive reality outside. The flickering candlelight casts eerie shadows on the ancient stone walls, and the scent of incense lingers in the air, mingling with the faint smell of aged wood. The weight of the silence presses down on me, contrasting with the turmoil churning inside.

One of them tours the grounds while the other remains by my side as I make my way to the confessional. He opens the door and checks inside before gesturing for me to enter.

"What did you think you would find inside? Houdini?" I mutter.

He gives me a smile devoid of any actual joy. "I'd be careful with that mouth if I were you. Mr. Carmine has a loose and heavy hand, and hiding bruises is harder than you think." He jerks his head toward the open confessional again. "Now get in. I'll be waiting over there," he adds, pointing to the pews across the church.

Ah yes, the fear of the Divine—they will not cross the line and listen to confessions.

I sit on the hard, uncomfortable wooden bench and press the button to announce to the priest that a sinner is ready to confess.

After a couple of minutes, I hear the creak of the door, and Father Hernandez settles in before opening the small hatch separating both sides.

"Welcome to San Miguel, my child. How can I assist you today?"

"Did you know?" I ask, my voice carrying my accusation. I intend to start small, ask questions, but this plan, like every single one I've made for the past months, has turned to shit.

"Ophelia?"

"Did you know?" I insist. "About Javier."

His silence is louder than words.

"Ophelia, please, it's complicated. Javier and Paloma?—"

I let out a tired laugh. "I'm not here for that. Everything I say here is confidential, isn't it?"

"Yes, the sacramental seal is a fundamental rule and is inviolable. Breaking this seal is one of the gravest violations in the church and can result in severe ecclesiastical penalties, including excommunication."

I sigh with relief. "You see, I hate that I'm here. I hate that I'm trying to protect him after everything he did, destroying my life with a smile on his face. I hate that I fell in love with him just to discover he was using me."

"No, he cares for you. He's beside himself that you're not answering his calls, and I had to stop him from going to your house."

I roll my eyes, even if he can't see me. "The Gambinos know everything. They are telling me they won't go after Javier, but I'm not sure you can trust them. Just tell him to watch his back."

"What about you, Ophelia? I can help you—we can help you. "

"You've done enough. I'm fine; I fixed my situation."

"What did you do?"

"I'm marrying Dario Carmine."

Father Hernandez's gasp is audible through the confessional screen. "No, you can't. That man is a monster."

"I don't have a choice," I say, my voice barely above a whisper. "It's the only way to protect my father and make up for the lives lost because of me."

"Ophelia, there has to be another way. We can find another way."

"There isn't," I say firmly. "Dario made it clear. It's either I marry him, or my father pays the price."

The priest's voice trembles as he speaks. "I can't let you do this. You're sacrificing your life, your soul."

"I've already lost my soul," I reply bitterly. "This is just the final nail in the coffin."

The silence that follows is heavy, oppressive. I can hear the soft rustling of Father Hernandez's robes as he shifts uncomfortably.

"Ophelia, please reconsider. There are people who can help. The church can help."

"No, Father," I say, standing up. "I appreciate your concern, but this is my decision. It's the only way to save my father and possibly even Javier. Please, just tell him to be careful."

I push open the confessional door and step out. The guard who had been waiting in the pews watches me closely as I make my way to the exit.

As I walk down the aisle, the enormity of what I'm about to do settles over me like a shroud. I'm walking to my doom, but it's a doom I've chosen. For my father. For Javier. For the lives lost.

When I step outside, the harsh light of day feels like a slap in the face. The guard follows closely behind as I head to the car, waiting to take me back to my prison.

The reality of my fate crashes down on me, and I can't hold back the tears any longer. They spill down my cheeks, hot and unchecked, as I climb into the back seat of the car.