15. Javier

Chapter 15

Javier

I kneel at the front pew of San Miguel, my head bowed, hands clasped tightly together. The stained glass windows loom above, casting a kaleidoscope of muted colors onto the cold stone floor. The thick scent of incense mingles with the cold, damp air of the ancient church. I don't believe in God, but here I am, praying to a deity I doubt exists.

"Are you enjoying this, torturing me?" I mutter, my voice barely a whisper. "Is this my punishment for turning my back on you?" The silence of the church feels mocking, pressing down on me like a physical weight.

I close my eyes tighter, memories flooding back—Ophelia's laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at me, the warmth of her touch. I waited until this morning to see her, only to be turned away by the Bergotti guards. Calls unanswered, her phone offline, yet her necklace remains at her house. She wouldn't leave without it.

Desperation gnaws at me. I remember the last time I felt this powerless—watching Paloma slip away, unable to do anything but pray to a God who never answered. The same crushing helplessness fills my chest now, the weight of my failures pressing down on me.

A soft creak echoes through the empty nave, followed by the sound of steady footsteps approaching. The noise pulls me from the dark abyss of my thoughts, a brief distraction from my despair.

The footsteps stop beside me, and a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

"Javier, what are you doing here?"

I look up to see Tiago standing there, his brow furrowed in confusion.

"Praying," I reply, my voice hollow. "And it's a church, isn't everyone welcome?"

He nods, choosing his words carefully. "They are, but you told me to stay out of your life. Coming here defeats the purpose."

I am still mad at him, furious even, and seeing him now fuels this anger. But I need him more, the comforting words of a friend driven by something other than anger and pain.

"And you don't believe in God," he adds, raising an eyebrow.

"No," I admit, looking up at the depiction of the Christ on the cross. "Do you think she was sent to my life as divine punishment? Why would I have fallen in love with the daughter of my greatest enemy otherwise?"

Tiago sighs and sits down beside me, the wooden bench creaking under his weight. "Ah, at least you admit it."

"How can I not?" I shake my head. "Her silence is killing me, Tiago. Every moment without her feels like a lifetime. She breathed life into me, and now… now I feel like I'm suffocating."

"I don't think she's a revenge or a punishment. God is not like that. I think she might very well be your redemption."

"Is…" I stop for a second. "Is everything you said about Paloma…"

"Yes, it's true."

I shake my head again. "The love I feel for Ophelia is different. I was a boy before; I loved in a way that was… I don't know. With Ophelia, it's… I'm not even sure how to say it."

Tiago reaches for my hand and squeezes it. "I know, brother."

"Will I lose her too? Am I condemned to never know love, never be happy?"

Tiago sends me a look full of anguish, one I've rarely seen before, and as far as I can remember, the last time I saw a similar look was on the steps of the church when Paloma took her dying breath in my arms.

"I didn't do it," I admit. "The final step to destroy her father—the file I was planning to send to the Gambinos. I decided she mattered more. I burned it."

Tiago's eyes fill up with tears. "You know how important God is to me, how my role with the church matters."

I am confused. "I know."

"And if I do what I'm about to do, I'll break one of the most important vows. One that will—" He swallows hard. "My problem is that I can't fail you again, and I love you far more than my calling. Never doubt that."

I start to get anxious now in front of his torn desperation. " What is it?"

"Forgive me, Father," he whispers, the words choking in his throat. "I am about to betray the sacred trust of the confessional."

I look at him, my heart pounding, waiting for him to come to terms with what he's seeing as a betrayal of God.

"The Gambinos know everything about you, your plan and how you used her." His expression is grave, his eyes filled with a mixture of pity and frustration. "Ophelia is getting married. To Dario Carmine."

The words hit me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless. "What? No, that's not possible."

Tiago looks down. "It is. She's doing it to protect her father. Dario made her an offer she couldn't refuse."

I clench my fists, feeling the rage boiling within me, each heartbeat echoing like a war drum in my ears. "I won't let this happen," I whisper, more to myself than to Tiago. "I can't let this happen." My mind races, already plotting the next steps, the risks, the inevitable showdown.

"Javier," Tiago starts, his voice breaking slightly. "I'm breaking my vows to tell you this. Ophelia came to confess, and I can't stand by and let you suffer another heartache. But you need to be careful. Dario is a dangerous man. Going up against him could cost you everything."

"I don't care," I snap, standing up. "I can't lose her. Not like this."

Tiago grabs my arm, forcing me to look at him. "Then you need to be smart about this. Charging in without a plan will get you killed, and it won't save her."

I take a deep breath, trying to calm the storm inside me. Tiago's right. I need to think this through, and I need to find a way to save her without getting us both killed.

"I'll find a way," I promise, my voice steadying. "I'll save her, no matter what it takes."

Tiago's grip tightens on my arm, his eyes pleading. "Promise me you'll be careful. I can't lose you too."

"I promise." My resolve's hardening as a plan is already forming in my mind. "Thank you, Tiago. For everything."

He nods, releasing my arm. "I'm with you, Javier. Whatever you need, I'll help."

As I rush out of the church, a chilling realization settles over me. I know what I need to do—the only thing I can do. I have to sell my soul to the devil himself.

The devil, or rather Il Mietitor e as he's known within all Mafia circles, Rafaele Lucchese—one of the few men powerful enough to make the Gambinos retreat.

I stop at the high-end club I know is his usual headquarters and walk to the side entrance.

"It's closed. Come back at ten," the surly guard at the entrance growls, stepping directly into my path.

"Is Rafaele Lucchese here? I need him; it's urgent."

He looks at me silently, not moving from the spot.

"Tell him that Javier Vargas is here to see him. Trust me, he'd like to know."

The man keeps staring at me, and I'm about to speak again when he presses the button on his earpiece.

"A certain Javier Vargas is here for the boss," he says gruffly.

I notice from the corner of my eye that the camera above the door moves, and I look straight at it.

A couple of minutes later, the guard at the door nods and steps aside. The heavy metal doors creak open, revealing another guard waiting on the other side. The cold air from inside hits me like a wave, heightening my sense of foreboding as I step into the darkness beyond.

"Mr. Lucchese will see you now."

I follow him down the dark corridor, up the stairs to a door guarded by two men.

"Go in. Mr. Lucchese is waiting."

I take a deep breath, stand straight, and force myself to project confidence. Inside, my heart pounds with desperation. I know this is my last chance—my only chance—to save Ophelia. Failure here could cost me everything, including the woman I love.

The office is a reflection of the man behind it—dark, sleek, and meticulously ordered. Black leather chairs, a polished mahogany desk, and shelves lined with ominous artifacts give the room a cold, calculated feel. Tall and lean, Rafaele Lucchese stands by the window, surveying his domain with a calm, calculating gaze. His dark eyes, sharp and penetrating, seem to see through every facade. His hair, a deep onyx, frames a face marked by an aquiline nose and high cheekbones. Despite his pale complexion, there's an undeniable allure to him, a magnetic presence that commands attention. But I'm not fooled by his lean physique. His movements are fluid and precise, like a predator ready to strike at any moment. The stories of his marksmanship—how he never misses a shot—flash through my mind, reminding me of the danger and the allure he embodies.

"Alejandro Reyes," he says, flicking the silver lighter open and closed. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I haven't been Alejandro for a long time."

He shrugs, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips, his eyes calculating. "Perhaps, but it's the side of you I always admired—the nobody who dared to make the Gambinos shake so many years ago."

"And who paid dearly for his foolish ambition."

"Everyone wants to rule the world, but very few can live with the consequences of doing so." He walks to his seat with a grace that belies his lethal reputation, sitting down and gesturing for me to take the seat across from him.

"There was a time you asked me to help you," I remind him. "You wanted me to join your team as a member of Synco Securities."

His smile is cold, emotionless. "As the owner of Synco Securities, I've done my research, Mr. Vargas, and your ownership may be hard to find but not impossible." He flicks the Zippo open and closed with a calculated rhythm, the metallic clicks echoing in the silence. "Let's not waste time denying what I already know. My patience is thin, Mr. Vargas, and trust me, you do not want to see what happens when I lose it."

"Very well. You wanted my services as the owner of Synco."

"Better." Rafaele nods his approval. "And you turned me down if I remember correctly. Something that doesn't happen often."

"I've changed my mind."

"Oh, have you now?" He leans back on his chair, steepling his long fingers under his chin. "What is it you need?"

"Ophelia Bergotti is getting married to Dario Carmine. I need you to help me stop it."

He scoffs. "Wow, you don't come with something small, do you?"

"Well, you're the fearsome Rafaele Lucchese, aren't you? If anyone can pull it off safely, it's you."

He raises an eyebrow. "Stroking my ego now? You must be quite desperate." He sighs. "It's frowned upon to mettle in other Mafia business."

"She's mine," I say with conviction.

"And what makes her yours?"

I know how the Mafia considers virginity, and despite the antiquated ways, it will work in my favor. "I took her innocence." The words hang in the air, a deliberate challenge, knowing full well how much weight they carry in our world.

He nods. "Still, what do I have to gain in this, huh? You have to admit it's much more than a simple favor."

"I'm not a fool to try and pull this one off alone; you will have to claim me as being under your protection."

"True…"

"Then you'll be owed favors, and we both know having Synco on your side is worth so much more than you're ready to admit."

"What do you want exactly?"

"Her, I just want her."

He looks at me for a few seconds. "I'll be owed favors, specific amount to be determined later."

"I know."

He nods. "Where are they getting married?"

"I don't know."

"And when is it happening?"

"I don't know."

He lets out a huff of irritation. "You're not going to make it easy for me, are you?"

I shrug.

He picks up the phone. "Theodora, I need the date and place of a marriage—Catholic." He rolls his eyes. "Carmine and Bergotti." He sighs. "Yes, I'll speak to Leo, and I need that now, Theodora, not in an hour… now."

He puts his hand over the mouthpiece and speaks to me. "You're lucky that Carmine is old-fashioned—he'll want to do the religious ceremony first. Theodora works for the diocese. We'll know in—" He stops talking. "Yes? Perfect. Thanks as always. I'll have a case of Sassicaia sent to your house." He hangs up, and I stop breathing.

"The Carmine Bergotti wedding will be held behind closed doors at the St. Lucia Chapel."

I still can't believe this is really happening. Hearing the confirmation feels like a betrayal, even if I have no right to feel that way.

"When?"

He looks at his watch and stands up. "Now. Come on, let's go."

I leap from my seat, a cold dread settling in my stomach. I'm already afraid it's too late.

The irony isn't lost on me. The vendetta that began on the steps of a church will find its climax within one.