19. Ophelia

Chapter 19

Ophelia

F rom the moment we reach the gates and they stay closed, the guard glaring at me, I know Javier was right. I'm unwanted here. But fear is a luxury I can't afford anymore. I'm getting in.

"Open the gate, please." I force my voice to stay civil.

"I've been ordered not to let you in," he replies gruffly.

"This is my home."

"Not anymore." The guard's gaze drops, shame crossing his face.

I turn to Derek, not wanting to cause more trouble. "You don't have to stay here for this. I'll get out; you just go away."

I hear the doors lock. "No. Where you go, I go. I've got your back."

I snort despite myself. "Since when?" I shake my head but now is not the time. "Your funeral," I mutter, turning back to the guard.

"Then so be it," Derek replies. Despite his betrayal, a small comfort settles knowing he's here .

Taking a deep breath, I lean forward. "Listen, I just need to get inside. Please, open the gate."

The guard hesitates, glancing at Derek before meeting my gaze. "I have my orders."

"Your orders are wrong," I say firmly. "This is my home, and I'm not leaving until I get in."

The guard's eyes soften slightly, but he doesn't move. "I can't."

Anger surges, my fists clenching at my sides. "Call whoever gave you those orders. Tell them I'm not leaving. They'll have to put a bullet in my head."

Reluctantly, he pulls out his phone and steps away to make the call.

"It may not go the way you want," Derek says carefully.

"I'll climb that gate if I have to." I glance up, assessing the wrought iron bars. "I need to get in. I need to speak with whoever."

Minutes pass like hours, and the tension is palpable. Finally, the guard returns, his expression unreadable. With a heavy sigh, he presses the button, and the gate groans open.

At the front of the house, my cousin Fabrizio stands on the steps in mourning attire, his face solemn. His brows furrow as I step out of the car, disapproval clear—whether at my visit or my outfit, I can't tell.

"Go back home, Ophelia," Fabrizio orders, his voice cold and unyielding.

"This is my home," I retort, my voice shaking but resolute.

He sighs, glancing at Derek in the car. "Wait here," he says, jerking his head toward the house .

I follow him as quickly as I can, the slick marble floor causing my sock-clad feet to slip and slide with every hurried step.

When we reach the office, it's like being punched in the stomach. It is like it always was, my father's cigars still permeating the air.

"Sit," he orders as he takes his seat in my father's chair.

"You took my father's place pretty fast."

"What did you expect? The famiglia to crumble? Sorry to disappoint."

"I never wanted my father to die." My voice cracks as my fingers trace the desk's edge. "I never wanted any of this."

He sighs, leaning back in his seat. "I like you, Ophelia. I do. I get it; you were thrown into a world you knew nothing about, but it doesn't matter."

I look at him before blinking quickly, my eyes burning with unshed tears. "What do you mean it doesn't matter?"

"It means," he says, his voice softening slightly, "that intentions don't change outcomes. The famiglia has to move on, and so do you. You can't stay here."

I shake my head, feeling like I'm trapped in a nightmare. "What about Dario? He killed my father."

He sighs. "Dario did what he always wanted to do—Uncle Angelo…" He trails off, and I know there's a lot he's not telling me. "You're lucky to be alive. You're lucky all your friends are still alive, and you only owe it to Lucchese's goodwill."

"I don't know Lucchese."

"You don't, but your husband does. Be grateful. "

"What I—" I freeze as his words register. "What did you say?" My heart pounds in my chest, each beat louder than the last.

"Ophelia, frankly, I have no time for any theatrics. I?—"

"I don't have a husband." I shake my head, wondering if I ended up marrying Dario. If I did, I'll stab him tonight.

He picks up an envelope on the desk and retrieves the documents, his lips curling into a sneer as he throws them my way. "I told you I don't have time for lies and theatrics. It may have worked on your father but not on me."

I take the papers with shaky hands. A marriage certificate dated the day before my father's death between Javier Manuel Vargas and Ophelia Marie Bergotti, and a wedding picture of Javier and me at city hall, kissing.

I snort, throwing the documents back at him. "This is fake. I never married him, and his name is not even that, apparently."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear you say that because this piece of paper is the only thing that's keeping you alive. And not only you," he continues quickly as if he already knows I don't really care about my own survival right now. "The man in that car, the priest, your baker friend… When we clean up, we clean up well. And also, fuck, be a woman with a purpose—at least people now think of you with a certain respect. At least you have some loyalty, even if it's not to us. Don't become the stupid girl who betrayed her blood for a pretty face."

"Fabrizio," I begin.

He stands up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. "You have to go now. I've shown you far more consideration than you were owed," he says, shuffling through papers on his desk. "I have funerals to finalize."

"When is it?"

"You're not welcome."

A stab of pain hits my chest. "No, this is my father."

" Madre de Dios ," he mutters, sitting back down. "This isn't about him. Funerals never are. Your father was a traitor." He raises his hand, silencing me. "I'm not talking about the whole mess about you fucking your bodyguard."

I blush but refuse to look away.

"As I said before, Dario and your father had a long-standing issue, and well, this was always going to be the outcome. I don't blame you, not really—at least not in private. Your father is getting a proper famiglia funeral, which is all he wanted. He didn't want to finish disgraced, and he's getting that—much to Dario's dismay, if I may add. Dario may have acted a little impulsively at the church; we all know that, and this is how I managed to get real famiglia funerals."

"A little impulsively?" He's saying this as if he threw a fit, not as if he ended a man's life.

He shrugs. "Nothing is stopping you from going to his grave after, but don't cause a scene. If you truly care about him, don't make his funeral about you . Don't remind people of his latest mistake."

Taking me in was a mistake, trusting me was a mistake, and it's a hard pill to swallow, especially when it's not said with malice but only as a statement of fact.

"I'll have your things shipped to your place. Leave me the address. "

"My place…" I trail off. I have no place.

He looks at his watch and huffs with impatience. "Come, let's go to your room and pack what you need for right now. I'll have the rest dealt with."

I stand up and follow him down the hall automatically—my mind reeling so much that it feels like I'm on autopilot.

I follow him to my room—well, my old room, it seems. He closes the door and rests his back against it.

I take a suitcase from my walk-in closet and open it on the bed before grabbing the photo of my mother and me on the dresser and clutching it to my chest.

"You have to stay with him," Fabrizio says quietly, as if he's reluctant to concede anything at all.

"I can't." I won't.

"If you cared for your father—even a little—you will. That man did everything to keep you alive. Stay with him until you find strong enough protection. The lives hanging in the balance—this is not a threat, it's a promise. Even if your father's death isn't on your head, any death after will be your guilt to bear."

I stop packing for a second and look at him. "Why do you care?"

He shrugs, a fleeting look of regret crossing his face. "Take it as my way of trying to fix things, to apologize for not stopping Dario, for—" He stops, but his eyes betray a deeper conflict. "Just thank your good luck and move on."

I loathe the idea of sharing a space with Javier. The thought of being tricked into a marriage I didn't want makes my skin crawl, but the reality of those documents leaves me with no choice. I regret the day I met him, the day I gave him my trust—the day I… I shake my head. No, don't go there.

I pack the suitcase, not really caring what I put in it, as long as I don't have to go around wearing Javier's clothes. I also take a minute to change into a pair of jeans and a dark-brown sweatshirt, reflecting my mourning in the best way I can.

"He was not perfect, but I think he loved me," I say as I close the case.

"He did, but it doesn't mean very much in our world."

I move toward the door, but he stands in front of it, blocking my path. An irrational part of me hopes that maybe he's changed his mind, that perhaps he'll say I can stay.

"I know that husband of yours has a taste for revenge."

I grimace at the word and open my mouth to correct him, but he raises his hand to stop me.

"Don't let him drag you in this any further than you already are. Dario is not your problem—we have a judge for this reason. As I said before, the wedding may have been the last straw, but Dario always planned to end your father's life. Angelo had it coming."

Part of me is glad that I'm facing my emotionally detached cousin because anyone else might have put doubts in my head that he's only trying to ease my guilt. But he's not the type.

I know my father led a dodgy life, and I knew that this was always a potential outcome. I always knew that there was no lost love between Dario and him.

No, what I feel right now is far more confusing. Guilt gnaws at me, but it is the pain and anger that burns the hottest, threatening to consume me from the inside out. The bitter taste of betrayal lingers on my tongue—anger at Javier for tricking me, at my father for leaving me, which brings the other overwhelming feeling… shame. Shame at being so gullible, shame for trusting a pretty face with sweet words.

Fabrizio's gaze is steady, emotionless but knowing. "You'll need to be strong, Ophelia. Stronger than ever. Channel your anger to move forward, be smart."

I nod, trying to hold back the tears that are threatening to spill. "I'll be fine," I say, though my voice wavers.

He steps aside, allowing me to leave. "Remember what I said. Don't let Javier drag you deeper into this mess."

"I won't," I whisper, though I'm not sure I believe myself.

I step out of the room, feeling a mix of relief and dread. I make my way back to the car where Derek is waiting.

As soon as he sees me come down the steps, Derek rushes out of the car and grabs my suitcase. I'm not in the mood to fight him, so I give it up and sit in the passenger seat.

"Are you okay?" He shakes his head. "That's a stupid question."

I sigh. "Javier was right. I'm homeless and alone."

"You're not alone; you have us… me," Derek stammers, trying to sound reassuring as he starts the car. "If you need a place, you can stay with me." He hesitates, then adds, "I live two floors below Javier. It's not much, but it's something." He rubs his neck awkwardly. "I don't have a lot of furniture, and I have no beds, but we can stop at a furniture store on ou r way and get stuff."

Despite the annoyance I feel at his deception, my heart breaks for him because I know somehow that despite him pretending to be Jenna, all that we shared was the truth—you can't lie about things like that. You can't.

I look at his profile, his piercings, the tattoos going up his neck to his jawline. I let my eyes trail down his arm, and I see them—almost unnoticeable, but I know they are there… he told me. The cigarette burns his mother gave him when she was going through withdrawal.

"You never lied to me about anything, did you?" I ask, keeping my eyes on his arm.

He slows down, his grip on the steering wheel tightening as he looks at me, eyes filled with pain but also understanding as he follows my gaze to his scarred arm.

"No, I didn't." His voice is barely louder than a whisper. "I never meant to reveal that much. I never meant to truly share."

I nod. "But the anonymity of being behind the screen helped." I know because I overshared too.

"Yes, it did."

I think about what he revealed. How it was his friends who helped him breathe in his darker hours. How he grieved his drug-addicted mother when she finally died despite the torture he endured at her hands, and how she sold him for drug money. I also know how important his friends are in his life. How they helped him when he wanted to end it all, and no matter what he helped Javier do, I will not be the one taking away his support system by moving in with him and driving a wedge between them .

I sigh, the weight of the decision pressing down on my shoulders. "I'll stay with Javier for now until I find a solution." My mind is racing with the need to protect those I care about, even if it means enduring Javier's presence.

Derek nods absently.

Despite his deception, I trust him… far more than I trust anyone right now.

"Did you know Javier and I are apparently married?"

He throws me a side look, making his car sway on the road, and it's answer enough. He had no idea.

A car honks behind us, and Derek opens his window, flashing his middle finger before concentrating on me again.

"What?" He shakes his head. "I had no idea, I swear. Knowing Javier's views on marriage, it seems…" He stops talking, and now I think about what Javier said about my father.

"Did my father really—" My voice falters, grief tightening in my throat. I swallow hard, fighting for composure. "Kill Javier's wife?"

Derek's shoulders slump. "He did."

"Are you sure?" My father had flaws, and he could be ruthless, but killing a young woman on her wedding day?

"I am. I was there," he says quietly, as if grieving too.

It breaks my heart to know that—that he'd stolen someone else's happiness, and I'm confused because no matter what, I can't stop grieving his loss.

"I can't help but mourn him," I admit just as we reach the parking garage. I know he will understand—I remember his words about his mother.

"Of course. He's still your blood. It's hard not to mourn them. Trust me, I know," he adds as he parks the car.

And I decide then—I won't be mad at Derek. I won't hold a grudge, and I reach for his hand and squeeze it.

I see his throat wobble as he swallows, and he blinks a few times.

"So, we—we're good?" he asks hopefully.

"We're good."

Derek helps me take my things out of the car, and we head toward the building. He scans a card and hands it to me. "This is the card to get into Javier's apartment," he says.

I hesitate for a moment, then ask, "Won't you come back up with me?"

He shakes his head. "No, I think it's best if you do that alone. But know I'm only two floors down, and my door is always open."

I nod, feeling anxious but grateful. "Thank you."

He gives me a small, reassuring smile. "Anytime."

I step into the elevator and watch the doors close. Taking a deep breath, I brace myself for whatever comes next. Facing Javier and confronting the reality of our twisted situation—it all feels daunting. But I remind myself of Derek's words and the small comfort they bring. I'm not completely alone.

One step at a time, I tell myself. One step at a time.