21. Ophelia

Chapter 21

Ophelia

I officially moved in with Javier a little less than forty-eight hours ago, and I've masterfully managed to avoid him since. No, that's a lie—he's helping me avoid him.

The first day, I stayed locked in my room despite the hunger. I waited until late at night before raiding the fridge.

When I woke up the next morning, I found a note under the door informing me of the hours he would be away.

In the living room, I discovered a phone preloaded with his number, Derek's and Father Hernandez's. I now have a priest on speed dial—it's quite convenient for on-the-go exorcisms.

He also texted me when he got to the parking garage, leaving me enough time to disappear into my room.

I'm not sure if he's doing that for my benefit or his—maybe a little of both. He probably can't stand the accusation on my face. Just as I can't look at him without the desire to burn him for all the pain he caused me, for how he broke my heart and now tries to atone for his guilt.

Javier Vargas can choke on his sweet lies for all that matters.

The thing is, I know staying in this room, in this place, is unhealthy. I'm lost in my head, ruminating on what I did, what I should have done—who I should have trusted and not trusted.

"Jenna" is back online, and though we both know it's Derek, we keep the charade up. It's good to talk to him about my conflicting feelings, and despite everything, I trust him not to tell Javier.

There's a soft knock at my door. I put the phone on the bed and look at it dumbly. It's late, much too late for any kind of social call, especially from someone I don't want to see at all.

"Ophelia, please. I know you're not sleeping—I can see the light under the door."

I walk to the door but don't open it. "I never said I was sleeping, but I remember saying I didn't want to speak to you."

"I know."

I glower at the door. The softness of his tone, the defeat in it, angers me. He's acting like a kicked puppy instead of a predator caught short of destroying his last victim.

"Unless you're here to tell me I'm free to go and everyone around me is safe, you can leave."

He doesn't talk, and I turn to go back to the bed, knowing that nothing he can say will make me open the door.

"I want to take you to say goodbye to your father."

Except that .

I open the door and glower at him. He's dressed to the nines in a perfectly pressed black suit with a black shirt… He looks like death—how fitting.

I cross my arms on my chest, trying to ignore the fact that I'm wearing an oversized, over-washed sleeping shirt and pink fluffy socks with a hole in the right big toe.

"I'm not welcome there."

"Maybe not tomorrow for the funeral, but tonight you are."

I narrow my eyes at him with suspicion. "Why would you do that? What's your angle? You hated him."

He nods. "But you loved him, and I love you. You deserve a chance to say goodbye."

I want to shove the door in his face; I don't want to give him anything, but I need to say goodbye so much more.

"I've got nothing to wear." Fabrizio has yet to send my things here, or maybe he has, and Javier has them hidden somewhere for some sick game he wants to play.

"I thought of that." He reaches behind him for a garment bag, extends it to me, then reaches down for a shoebox.

"Give me ten minutes."

He nods and leans against the wall across from my door.

I open the bag and find a somber designer dress, something perfectly suitable for a funeral. It has a high, arched neck and stops at the knees. I don't bother with any artifice and remove my sleeping shirt, step into the dress that fits perfectly, and put my hair in a tight bun before stepping into the kitten heels he bought as well.

I sigh, running my hands over the dress, my heart racing at everything that could go wrong. I don't want to bring shame to my father or cause him a final scandal.

I don't want to speak to Javier, to give him the satisfaction of hearing my voice, but the anxiety gets the best of me.

"They don't want me there," I say as we take the elevator down.

"They won't be there. The wake is over, and the shut coffin will be brought to St. Raphael's Cathedral in the morning. I pulled some strings, and we can go, but it needs to be before five a.m."

A little of my apprehension eases. St. Raphael's Cathedral is used for high-ranking Gambinos—Fabrizio really came through.

When we get to the parking garage, Derek is waiting by the back door, and my pace falters with surprise.

"I know you're not my biggest fan right now, so I thought you could use a friend," Javier whispers.

I feel gratitude for his thoughtfulness but shrug. "Don't expect me to thank you for this," I spit before throwing myself into Derek's arms, closing my eyes tightly as tears burn at the back of my eyes.

"I wouldn't dream of it," Javier lets out bitterly. "Shall we?"

Derek opens the back door for me, and I hold on to him as I sit down. He throws a look at Javier.

I hear Javier sigh. "Go on."

Derek sits beside me, keeping my hand in his. He doesn't say anything but squeezes it, and it's far better than words.

We park at the back of a gray two-story building, and we wait, Javier's head turned toward the metal door barely visible through the security light.

"Wha—"

Suddenly, the light above the door flickers. "That's our cue," Javier says, exiting the car.

"Trust him, please. If only for tonight, trust him," Derek whispers urgently.

I don't have time to ask what he means as Javier opens my door and extends his hand.

"Please, just play the part."

I glance at Derek, and his face tells me all I need to know.

I sigh and take Javier's hand. He intertwines our fingers, and I hate how good his hand feels, how warm and protective. I hate the little dip I feel in my stomach at his touch, and what I hate most… is that I don't actually hate it at all.

We walk silently to the back door, Derek a few steps behind. The door is cracked open, a somber light spilling onto the darkened pavement. Inside, the funeral home is hushed, the air thick with the scent of lilies and polished wood. The narrow hallway is lined with framed landscapes and muted sconces casting gentle light. The carpet muffles our steps, adding to the heavy silence.

Javier leads me through the hall, his grip on my hand steady and reassuring. My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing the dread I feel.

We reach a door at the end of the hallway, slightly ajar. Javier pauses, looking down at me, his face tight with concern.

I refuse to give in but don't let go of his hand as I push the door open. The room is softly lit, the overhead lights dimmed to a gentle glow. Heavy burgundy drapes line the walls, absorbing the light and sound, creating an intimate, almost sacred space. The air is cool with a faint hint of incense.

At the center of the room is a casket, gleaming under the soft lights. My father's body lies within, peaceful and dignified. My grip on Javier's hand tightens involuntarily, my emotions threatening to overwhelm me. I can't take a step closer, not yet.

"How long do I have?" My voice cracks, and no matter how much I don't want to show him my weakness, I can't hide it right now.

"As long as you'd like." His voice is deeper, carrying a sorrow that sounds somehow real.

I can't help but glance at him, and he looks solemn, almost mournful. A hint of annoyance mixes with my grief, and I try to pull my hand out of his, but he holds tighter.

"Who are you faking it for?" I whisper. "We know how you feel."

"No, you don't." His jaw tightens, and it's his first sign of irritation with me—somehow, I enjoy it. "I'm not mourning him; I'm mourning for you. I'm grieving with you because no matter how you feel about me, I can't help but care for you. I can't help but?—"

"Stop!" I say a little louder than a place like this warrants. "I don't want to hear it. Not here and certainly not now." This time, when I shake his hand, he lets me go. I slowly make my way to the coffin, my father looking the same but also so different… like a wax figure. It takes me back to my mother's wake, and at that time, I had my father beside me, a stranger really then but still a support I had needed more than anything.

I stand closer, bile rising in my throat when I look at the side of his head.

"They worked a miracle." My voice is more like a pitiful croak as I bring my shaky fingers to his temple, where there used to be a hole from the bullet Dario shot.

My vision blurs with tears. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry, it's all my fault." I feel my knees give in, but suddenly, strong arms are around me, and I feel his solid body against mine. His cologne—rich, earthy, with a hint of cedar and musk, a scent uniquely him—wraps around me.

"I've got you," he whispers before brushing his lips on the crown of my head, and even though I know I should push him away, I can't. Instead, I collapse into his embrace, weeping uncontrollably. His hold tightens, a silent promise of comfort amid my despair.

For a moment, the world narrows to the feel of his arms around me and the sound of my own sobs. I hate him for what he did, for breaking my heart, but in this instant, I need him. I cling to him, the man who betrayed me, finding a twisted solace in his presence. His breath is warm against my hair, and I feel the tremor in his chest as if he, too, is fighting back tears.

And so, in the dim light of the funeral home, surrounded by the echoes of grief, I allow myself to be vulnerable. I weep for my father, for my shattered trust, and for the love that still lingers, bittersweet and unyielding, in the arms of the man who caused it all.

I'm not sure how long I stay there crying, but he's holding me the whole time until I have no more tears left to cry.

Finally, I straighten, and he slowly releases his hold on me.

I take a step away and sniffle, not ready to look at him while feeling so empty.

"We can go now," I whisper. Turning around, I see the door closed and Derek gone. I sigh and look at Javier, his face hard and solemn.

"Thank you. It doesn't change a thing, but thank you."

He nods. "You're welcome. I know how important goodbyes can be."

I don't ask him for more. I don't want to hear his own heartbreaking story. I don't need to feel conflicted. I know he's not a monster deep down. I know he has his reasons, his own pain and past to deal with, but it's not my problem. We're way past that.

"Where's Derek?" I ask when we walk outside and I don't see him by the car.

"He left—I…" He rubs at his neck. "He doesn't deal well with people's sorrow."

"He's a good man."

The fierce look he sends me says it all… I, too, am a good man , but I hold his eyes, hold them until he brings them down. Then I go forward and wait by the passenger door.

"Will you do me a favor?" I ask when he unlocks the car.

"Yes, of course. Anything."

"I want to meet Lucchese."

He starts the car and takes the road back. I'm about to repeat my request when he speaks.

"You've already met him," he says, and the edge in his tone is enough to know he understands what I mean.

"Yes, when you brought him to interrupt my wedding and get my father killed. Then you had him drug me when I was not cooperating."

"I never asked him to—" He sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It wasn't supposed to happen like that. He acted on his own, trying to protect you, protect us."

I narrow my eyes at him. "Protect me ? Is that what you call it?"

His grip on the steering wheel tightens, knuckles turning white. "Meeting Lucchese won't change what happened. It won't bring your father back."

"I don't expect it to. But I need answers. I need to talk to him."

Javier glances at me, his expression conflicted. "And what will you do when you meet him?"

I stare out the window, the city lights blurring into streaks of color. "This has nothing to do with you."

He's silent for a moment. "Lucchese is dangerous."

I scoff. "And you're not?"

A faint, bitter smile touches his lips. "I never intended to be… at least not to you."

"Well then, it seems that you fail at everything you try. Keeping your wife alive, keeping me safe…"

I am not looking at him, but I hear the sharp intake of air, and I know the blow landed.

We drive in silence, the unspoken words hanging heavy between us, hurting because of the words we said—or didn't say—to each other.

He didn't hurt me with intent, but I did. He did far worse. He used me as a tool for his vendetta. I was merely a pawn, and now he still plays me.

We're still submerged in the heavy, resentful silence when we get back to the building.

As soon as the elevator opens on his penthouse, I head toward the bedroom, but his words stop me.

"No, I won't take you to see Lucchese," he says as I round the corner. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't, right?"

I can't help but laugh. I'm not surprised—this is the answer I expected, and yet it still angers me and hurts me at the same time.

"Took you a long time to find the courage to spit that one out, didn't it? You see, this is the main issue. You are not honest; it's not in your DNA. I don't care if it wasn't part of your plan or if it wasn't personal. It was personal to me. And when you discovered your feelings for me?" I can't help but use quoting fingers at the word feelings . "You still didn't come clean and kept using me. Either you're a stupid fool, or you just didn't care, and one thing I know for certain—you're a very intelligent man."

He just stands there stoically, and it angers me more than any words could have. He seems to be unaffected, but the set of his jaw and the way his arms are crossed over his chest show his irritation. I just wish I could read him as well as he can read me .

"Aren't you going to say anything?"

"I want to, but you don't want to listen. You don't want to hear it. You don't want to hear me." He shakes his head. "I'm tired, Ophelia."

"Tired?" I spit the word out. "You're tired? Imagine how I feel, Javier. Betrayed, manipulated, grieving."

"I know," he whispers, and the softness of his voice cuts through my anger. "I know I hurt you, and I wish I could change that. But I can't. All I can do is try to make things right from here on out."

"How? By lying more? By keeping me in shackles?"

"No," he says firmly. "By being honest, even if it's too late. I never wanted you to get hurt. Things spiraled out of control."

"Spiraled out of control? You mean you lost control, Javier. You tried to play both sides. You wanted everything, and you failed."

He flinches at my words, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he takes a deep breath and looks me in the eye. "You're right. I lost control. I thought I could handle everything, but I fell desperately in love with the most beautiful, kind, and aggravating woman in the world. Something I never saw coming, and yes, it all crumbled."

There's that word again. Love . "Love has done nothing but hurt me," I reply, but I'm not only talking about him. I loved my mother, and she left me. I loved my father, and he left me too. And God help me, I loved Javier, and he broke my heart.

"Ophelia," he begins, his voice trembling with sincerity, "I know I can't undo the past. But I want you to know that my feelings for you are real. They always have been. I made terrible mistakes, but my love for you wasn't one of them." He takes a tentative step toward me.

I laugh bitterly, shaking my head. "Love? Javier, love is supposed to protect you, to make you feel safe. All it's ever done for me is bring pain." I take a step back and then another. "I'm tired too." Of everything , I think before turning around and taking refuge in my room.

I lie on the bed in my black dress and let the sorrow come again, and I cry. Except that this time, nobody is holding me, and I hate to admit that I miss Javier's comforting presence.

The room feels colder and lonelier than ever. Each sob racks my body, a painful reminder of everything I've lost and the betrayal I feel. The silence is deafening. I clutch the pillow, wishing it were someone who could offer comfort, even if that someone is Javier.

My thoughts swirl with anger, hurt, and longing. I want to hate him, to push him away forever, but a part of me still yearns for the man I fell in love with.

As the tears finally begin to subside, exhaustion takes over. I curl up on the bed, pulling the blanket around me, seeking warmth and comfort.

Just as I'm drifting into an uneasy sleep, I hear a soft knock on the door. I don't have the energy or will to respond.

"Ophelia." Javier's voice comes through the door. "I know you don't want to see me right now, but I'm here if you need anything. I'll be right outside."

I don't respond, but knowing he's there, offering a small piece of stability in the chaos, brings a strange comfort. Despite everything, his presence makes the pain a little more bearable.

As I lie there, drifting between sleep and wakefulness, I know he's right there, just across the hall, a silent guardian in the dark. It's not enough to erase the hurt, but for now, it's enough to know that I'm not entirely alone.