18. Ophelia

Chapter 18

Ophelia

I turn in bed, pulling the cover closer to me, Javier's musky cologne wrapping around me. It's comforting but also disorienting. I sit upright, my heart pounding. Dad! I touch my face and look at my fingers. There's no blood there.

I get out of bed, the urgency to escape pushing me forward. I should not be here. I rush to the bathroom, the realization hitting me that I'm no longer in my bloody wedding dress but in Javier's T-shirt instead.

My face is bare of blood, but I touch my cheek, where I had felt my father's hot blood splatter. There's nothing—my face is clean as if it was all a bad dream. Oh, how much do I wish it were all just a dream… a nightmare. Bile rises in my throat as the scene of the church unveils in front of my eyes. The outcome of the day was far worse than I could have ever imagined.

My hand trails to my neck, where I had felt the sharp pain before passing out, but there's nothing. Panic rises. I need to get out of here.

I look down at my bare legs, Javier's T-shirt stopping low on my thighs, low enough to pass for a dress, but it's not a good idea to go out like that. I rush to his walk-in closet, hoping to be gone before he comes back from wherever he is.

I find a pair of gray sweats that have a tie around the waist, and I roll them up a few times. I have no shoes, no phone, no bag, but right now, I don't care. I'll walk home if I need to—I just need to leave. I open his drawers and find a pair of socks. That will have to do. At least with this look, I'm pretty sure to be left alone on the street.

As I pull on the socks, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror. My hair is a wild mess, and the oversized clothes hang awkwardly on my frame, but there's a determination in my eyes that I haven't seen in a long time. I need to get out of here, to find some semblance of control in this nightmare.

I slip quietly out of the walk-in closet and tiptoe to the door. My heart pounds in my chest as I reach for the handle, praying it doesn't make a sound. The hallway is dark and silent, and I take a deep breath before stepping out.

I tiptoe across the living room, the floorboards slippery under the woolen socks. I catch my breath as I see the front door. Just a few more steps and I'll be free.

"Good morning."

I squeak and turn around, seeing Javier standing in the corner by the bay window in pajama pants, holding a cup of coffee in his hand.

"What are you doing?" His voice is calm, but his clenched jaw reveals his tension, making me pause.

He looks rough, with deep circles under his eyes, his fine lines far more prominent even in the lack of light. He may look at ease, but I see how his body is tensed, ready to pounce. I glance at the door again, and if I know anything about the man in front of me—though I'm not certain anymore—it's that he will not let this go without a fight.

Lie. Make him believe it's okay. Once I'm out of here, I can forget I've ever met him.

"Hi. I didn't know you were here. I just need to go home and check up on things. I'll see you later?"

His eyes narrow a little, and he takes a sip of coffee as my heart pounds in my chest with my need to flee but also to jump on him and claw his skin off for destroying my life, my heart, everything. What I feel for him right now is almost suffocating. It's pain; it's hate, rage, and the need to wail and hurt. I'm not even sure how I'm still standing, as my whole body seems to be shaking.

"Is that right?" How can he sound so calm?

Because he's a monster , my mind claims. Because he hates you and wants to torture you some more.

I manage a nod.

He sighs and shakes his head. He takes a couple of steps closer, and I mirror him, taking a couple of steps back to keep the same distance.

"You know what I think? That if I let you leave this apartment now, I'll never see you again." His voice softens, a hint of desperation seeping through.

That's the plan , I say in my head but remain standing stoically.

"You don't get it," he mutters, almost to himself. "You're not safe out there. Not now. Not after everything."

"I don't care," I snap, my voice trembling. "I need to get out of here. I need to be somewhere… anywhere but here. "

"Running won't change anything," he says softly, taking another step closer. "It won't bring him back. It won't undo what's been done."

My flimsy control snaps.

"What you've done!" I shout, balling my hands into fists. "You killed my father."

"No, I didn't. I couldn't do that to you despite?—"

"Yes, you did!" I feel my nails bite into my palms, grounding me somehow. "Your actions did and?—"

"Your father killed my wife!" he roars, voice cracking with raw emotion, and I recoil.

The room seems to be frozen in the moment, his words still echoing on the walls. It's dead silent, and my eyes fall to the crying dove on his chest… Paloma. That's the name Father Hernandez said.

I feel disgust at myself and at him—tainting even more the moments we shared. I kissed that dove. I caressed it as we made love. I loved a tattoo that was done in honor of his dead wife.

"I don't believe you."

"And yet he did, on my wedding day."

I take another couple of steps back until my back is against the wall. "You're a liar. Everything you said to me, everything we did was a lie." Except I can see the sorrow and righteous vengeance in his eyes. I know it's the truth.

"No." His jaw tightens. "How can you say that? How?—"

"Was it all a setup? Did you even save me—truly?"

I see shame flash in his eyes, and it stings. It was a lie from the start .

He reaches for my cheek, and I slap his hand away. "Do not touch me," I bark. "Just answer the damn questions! Have some decency and give me at least that."

He straightens up and takes a step back, giving me the distance I crave. "What do you want to know?"

My breath comes in shallow gasps, and I try to steady myself. "Did you know who I was from the beginning?"

"Yes," he admits, his voice low. "I knew who you were. "

"Did you plan everything? The attack, the rescue… all of it?"

His eyes flicker with guilt and a bit of defiance. "It wasn't supposed to go this way," he says, a hint of regret in his voice. "They were never supposed to hurt you."

"Because that was your job, huh?" My hand is shaking with my need to slap him.

"It was not personal. I didn't know you then."

I cock my head to the side. "And that's justification enough?"

He looks straight at me. "Yes. But then I?—"

"How did you know I'd be there? Did you track my phone? Was Jenna working for you?"

"No, she wasn't."

I feel relieved that my friend was real, but it only lasts a second before he adds, "Jenna was Derek."

Oh god, that one guts me too. The pierced, tattooed guy from the fair. I felt an instant connection with him… I guess that was a trick too.

"Anything else? "

He seems to ponder that for a second. "I don't work for Synco… I am Synco."

"Ah." I nod; the guy is a billionaire—of course he is.

"I need to go home."

"You don't have a home anymore."

"No, you're right, I'm a traitor—because you made me that way." I'm the reason my father is dead.

"Stay here."

"With you?" I can't help but laugh when he nods. "I will go home whether you want me to or not, and if they shoot me, so be it."

"You'll take death over me?"

"I'll take death over everything you represent."

"I made a deal with the devil to save you," he confesses, the weight of his words hanging heavily between us.

Lucchese, The Reaper—the only man who makes my family think twice when they do things.

"You shouldn't have. I don't want to be saved by you. I'm going home."

"It's not your home anymore. They don't want you there."

I can't help but grimace, but I stand my ground. "No offense if I don't take your word for it. If they don't want me, they need to tell me themselves."

He purses his lips before letting out a huff. "Fine, let me change, and I'll?—"

"I'm not going anywhere with you. Have you lost your mind, or did you miss the part where I said I'll choose death over you?"

"Carmine killed your father. Not me. "

"You didn't pull the trigger, but you handed him the ammunition."

Javier's face pales, and he looks away. "I never wanted this for you. I wanted justice for Paloma, but not like this."

"Justice?" I scoff. "You think this is justice? Destroying lives, manipulating people, lying?"

He steps closer again, his eyes desperate. "I never lied about my feelings for you."

I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. "Please don't bother. You slept with me to satisfy your vendetta. God, I've been so stupid!"

"I told you!" He grits his teeth, running his hand through his hair. "I told you, if we got together, things would get messy and complicated."

"I— What?" I step back in disbelief. "You can't be serious! I thought it was because you were a bodyguard and I was a Mafia daughter, not because you were set to destroy my father and my life!" I shake my head, exasperated. "I'm done with this conversation." I turn to leave, but he blocks my way.

"I can't let you go by yourself," he says firmly. "You may be ready to die, but I'm not going to let you."

"Let me?" I point at my chest. "Bold of you to assume I will listen to you. Keep me locked here, but I swear I'll find a way out."

"I wonder, where was this fire when your family treated you like a pretty little doll?"

My hand moves before I even think, and the loud slap echoes in the room. My palm burns from the impact on his cheek. I slapped him! I slapped him with all my strength. And a part of me wants to do it again and again.

He turns back toward me, his cheek slightly red despite his tan. "I deserved that."

"You deserve this and so much more." I raise my hand to slap him again, but he catches my wrist firmly. "I probably do, but now is not the time."

"I'm not going with you."

He sighs, shoulders slumping. "Fine, go with Derek."

I snort. "Oh yeah, because he's so much more trustworthy."

"He is. He did what he did out of loyalty to me, but he hated it. I believe Jenna was truthful. Everything he revealed to you as her… I don't know what it is, but I think it's true. He cares for you deeply, and you will need him when they kick you out of that house."

"Fine, whatever." I'll agree to anything just to get out of here.

He grabs his phone, eyes locked on me. "Hey, I need you to take Ophelia to Bergotti's house." He purses his lips. "Yes, I know. No, she doesn't want to be with me." His jaw tightens. "No, I'm not blaming her. Yes, she knows. Yes, I told her." He huffs, frustrated. "Will you take her, or do I need to call Tiago? Okay." He hangs up. "Derek will be waiting in the parking garage in five. Let me take you there."

I follow him stiffly, every step heavy with the weight of betrayal and anger. The hallway seems endless, and my mind races, full of thoughts and emotions. As we reach the garage, the dim lighting casts long shadows on the cold concrete floor. Derek is leaning against a sleek black car, its windows tinted darkly. He straightens up as we approach, his face a mask of remorse and concern.

Javier stops and looks at me, his eyes softening. "Ophelia, I… I love you," he whispers, his voice cracking.

I swallow hard, my throat tight with emotion. "I don't want you to," I reply, my voice trembling.

His face falls, and he nods, stepping back as Derek opens the back door for me. I slide into the cool leather seat, feeling a shiver run through me.

Derek gets in the driver's seat and turns to face me. "I'm sorry for everything," he says softly, his voice sincere, eyes reflecting guilt and regret.

I shrug, not trusting myself to speak. The car starts with a low purr, and we pull away from the building.

I blink as I sit in the car, fighting the tears. It was easy to be angry, but now that the person who makes me feel all of this is gone, I'm left to wallow in my grief and guilt.