16. Ophelia

Chapter 16

Ophelia

I think I'm in shock—a kind of weird shock that leaves you numb and lets you go through the motions like a robot because it's the only way I can explain standing in the small preparation room in a ridiculously old-fashioned lace wedding dress that's so tight around my middle, I can't take a full breath.

The dress is a mockery of what this day should be—white lace and frills, the embodiment of innocence and joy, but on me, it feels like a shroud. My movements are stiff, mechanical, each step a forced action devoid of any real purpose or emotion. The mirror reflects a stranger, a porcelain doll dressed for a macabre display. My hair is pinned up in elaborate curls, my face painted with makeup that feels like a mask.

I glance over at my father, sitting grimly in the corner of the room. He looks like he's attending a funeral rather than a wedding, and it's quite fitting. His eyes are hollow, his face pale and drawn, as if the life has been sucked out of him. The room is heavy with silence, the kind that presses down on you, making it hard to breathe.

"You look beautiful," he says, his voice a hollow echo of its former self.

I try to smile, but it feels like my face might crack under the strain. "Thanks, Dad," I manage to whisper.

He stands up and walks over to me, his movements slow and deliberate. "I wish there were another way," he says, his eyes brimming with unshed tears. "I'm so sorry, Ophelia."

"Don't be," I reply, forcing myself to keep my voice steady. "This is my price to pay. I'm the one who betrayed you."

He shakes his head, a look of profound sadness in his eyes. "You didn't, not really. You made a mistake. You let yourself be driven by your heart, just like your mother did. I can't blame you for that. It was my role to protect you. It was my role to ensure you were safe. I failed you."

His words bring tears to my eyes and a lump in my throat. I can't cry—I won't cry. I won't let Dario know how much he's breaking me.

I clear my throat. "Ah, he's old. With a little luck, I'll be a widow soon enough," I say in a failed attempt at humor.

The door opens, and Dario's imposing figure fills the doorway. He's dressed in an impeccably tailored suit, a predatory smile on his face. "Are you ready, my dear?" he asks, his voice dripping with mock sincerity.

I nod, feeling the bile rise in my throat. "Yes, I'm ready."

"Good," he says, his eyes gleaming with triumph. "It's time."

He steps aside, and two guards enter the room, positioning themselves on either side of me. I take a deep breath, the tight bodice of the dress constricting my lungs, and walk toward the door. My father follows behind, his footsteps heavy and reluctant.

The hallway outside is dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of old wood and musty fabric. Each step echoes loudly in the oppressive silence, a grim reminder of the path I'm about to take.

Despite the chapel being small, with only a few pews on either side, it's extremely bare. There are only a handful of guests, including the judge, sitting in the last pew, looking at the scene, his face devoid of any emotion.

Why is he here?

As I reach the entrance to the chapel, I pause for a moment, feeling the weight of the impending ceremony pressing down on me. The guards position themselves at the doors, and my father takes my arm, his grip trembling slightly. Together, we step into the main part of the chapel.

The murmurs of the few guests die down as we walk down the aisle. The judge's cold, emotionless gaze follows our every move, adding to the already suffocating atmosphere. I focus on putting one foot in front of the other, the tight dress making it difficult to breathe.

Dario stands at the altar, his eyes locked on me with a predatory gleam. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat a painful reminder of the reality I'm being forced to accept. As we reach the altar, my father gives my hand a gentle squeeze before stepping back, his eyes filled with sorrow.

The priest begins the ceremony, his voice a distant drone as I stand there, feeling like I'm trapped in a nightmare. Dario's smug smile never falters, his eyes gleaming with triumph.

"Do you, Ophelia, take Dario to be your lawfully wedded husband?" the priest asks, his voice echoing in the small chapel.

Before I can open my mouth, the chapel doors burst open with a resounding crash. Gasps ripple through the small crowd as everyone turns to see who dares to interrupt.

Javier stands in the doorway, his eyes wild with desperation and fury. "Stop this wedding!" he shouts, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

Dario's face twists in rage, his grip on my hand tightening painfully. "What is the meaning of this?" he demands, his voice a low growl.

"She's not yours, Carmine. She's mine." Javier continues walking up the aisle.

Even if I'm grateful for the interruption, I'm getting angry at Javier—well, angry despite the bleeding wounds of my heart aching at seeing him again. He betrayed me in every way possible, and he has the audacity to come here and claim me as if he has any right to me when I'm standing here because of him.

"I don't belong to you," I tell him, standing taller.

"You heard her." Dario lets go of my hand now that he knows I won't run away.

"Ophelia, please." I see the anguish in Javier's eyes, but instead of swaying me, it hardens my resolve, and I just stare at him.

His face shifts, taking on a violent fierceness. "She's mine because I took her innocence."

There are a few gasps among the guests, and gossip starts again. I narrow my eyes at him; I could murder him right there.

Dario gets his gun out of his holster, and I take a step back. My father rests a hand on my shoulder. "I know she's a filthy whore. I didn't expect her to be pure. She's her mother's daughter after all. I have far fewer qualms about all the things I'll do to her tonight."

I flinch, and my father's hand tightens on my shoulder.

Javier's face contorts with rage. "Don't you dare touch her!" he snarls, taking another step forward.

Dario raises the gun, pointing it at Javier. "One more step, Reyes, and I'll put a bullet in your head. You've already caused enough trouble."

"I wouldn't advise it if I were you."

The church becomes utterly quiet as a tall man dressed all in black enters. He walks slowly up the aisle, drawing wide-eyed stares from everyone, including the judge, who doesn't seem able to hide his own surprise.

The man stares at Dario with eyes so dark they look like bottomless pits, and the first thought that crosses my mind is that he's Death coming to claim me.

Dario's hand shakes as he keeps his gun pointed at Javier, the only sign of his fear, and that, too, is a surprise—I didn't think Dario Carmine was afraid of anything.

"It has nothing to do with you, Lucchese."

Ah, Rafaele Lucchese… also known as The Reaper.

"It does now," Rafaele says, his voice cold and unyielding. "Javier Vargas is under Lucchese protection. You kill him, it's war."

"Fine." Dario turns his gun and points it straight at the middle of my forehead, and once again, I don't feel fear and hold the man's eyes defiantly, almost tauntingly.

"Not her either," Rafaele says just as my father swipes his arm to push me behind him. I think it's the first time he has actually stood up to Carmine for me. "She belongs to him; that puts her under my protection too."

Dario's nostrils flare with annoyance as he directs his gun toward my father's head. I try to get in front of him, but he's too strong and keeps me back.

"Any objection, Lucchese?"

"Nope," The Reaper says, popping the P like it's nothing more than a game.

Dario grins. "Any final words, Angelo?"

My father turns his head to the side and gives me a sad smile. "You're my greatest achievement, Ophelia, and my greatest pride. I'm sorry, but it's how it's supposed to end. Close your eyes, sweetheart."

I don't have the time to blink, think, or even breathe. The shot is fired, and suddenly, I feel the warmth of blood all over my face. As my father falls heavily to the floor, his head with a giant hole, someone starts to scream, and I realize that someone is me.

Time seems to freeze as I stare at my father's lifeless body, my mind unable to process the horror. The scream tears through my throat, raw and guttural, echoing off the walls of the chapel. I fall to my knees beside him, my hands shaking as I reach out to touch him, the blood seeping into the white lace of my dress.

"Dad, no! Please, no!" I sob, holding him tighter, my entire being shattering with the loss .

Dario's voice cuts through my grief, cold and heartless. "The blood has been spilled, the betrayal repaid. Take your whore and go now. The Gambinos are washing their hands of her."

Javier steps forward, his face a mask of anguish. "Ophelia, we need to go," he urges, trying to pull me away from my father's body. "We can't stay here."

"Get away from me!" I scream, shoving him back with all my strength. "This is all your fault! You should have left me to die! I will never forgive you!"

"Ophelia, I never wanted this to happen," Javier says, his voice breaking. "I was trying to protect you. Please, we have to leave."

But I can't hear him, the rage and grief consuming me. "I hate you!" I scream, my voice hoarse and filled with venom. "You ruined everything!"

Rafaele steps forward, his presence like a dark shadow over us. "Ophelia," he says softly, his voice a stark contrast to the chaos around us. "We need to get you out of here."

I turn to face him, my vision blurred with tears. "I don't care. Let me die here with him."

"I'm sorry," Rafaele murmurs, and before I can react, I feel a sharp pain in my neck. My vision blurs further, the world tilting on its axis as darkness engulfs me.

The last thing I see is Javier's face etched with sorrow and guilt before everything goes black.