6. Ophelia

Chapter 6

Ophelia

A s Saturday approaches, the anxiety gnaws at me like a persistent ache. Julia's warning about my father's broken promise echoes in my mind, making every heartbeat feel like a countdown to doom. The thought of losing Midsummer Petals, the last tangible piece of my mother, fills me with a dread so deep it feels like I'm suffocating.

Even the few days spent with Javier—visiting all the places I used to frequent, his kindness, and how much he actually inserts himself into my activities—don't help settle the black cloud hanging over my head. The only thing I can do is get my answer, and how can I do that? Confront my father.

My steps are resolute as I head toward his office, my heart pounding louder with each step. Just as I reach the door, I hear the low murmur of voices from inside. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I pause, pressing my ear against the wood.

"…the delivery at Little Island is crucial," my father says, his voice carrying the weight of authority. "We can't afford any mistakes. "

I take a few steps back, intending to leave, but my foot catches the edge of a console table. A vase topples and shatters on the floor, the sound splintering the silence. The conversation inside stops abruptly.

"Who's there?" My father's voice is sharp, and I can almost feel his fury radiating through the door.

The door swings open, and my father's eyes blaze with anger as he sees me standing amid the shards of the broken vase. He's not alone; several of his associates, men whose faces are etched with the harsh lines of their trade, turn to look at me.

"Ophelia." My father's voice is icy, slicing through the tension. "I told you to stay away from my office during meetings."

"And you promised to keep my store," I shoot back, bitterness lacing my words. "Looks like we both broke our promises."

His face flushes a deep red. "It's my store, Ophelia! My store! And I think it's time to let it go. You keep going back there?—"

"It's my home!" I shout, my voice cracking with emotion.

He slams his hand on the desk, the sharp sound echoing through the tense room. "No, it's not. This is your home. This is your life!" His words reverberate with finality.

The room falls silent, the men shifting uncomfortably.

"Dad, don't," I plead, my anger giving way to desperation. "Midsummer Petals is all I have left of Mom."

His face softens for a moment, a glimmer of regret in his eyes, but it's quickly replaced by the hardened resolve of a Mafia boss. "You need to let it go, Ophelia. We have more important things to focus on."

I shake my head, tears welling up. "Important to you , maybe. But not to me ."

A knock redirects his attention toward the door. "I'm coming. Get the car ready," he says before turning toward me. "What I'm doing now is important for you, for your safety and the place of this family within the organization. You may act like this is not your life, but it is, and everything I'm doing is to ensure our survival."

"Dad…"

He sighs, walks around his desk to the door, then stops, hand on the doorknob. His expression hardens, unyielding. "I've been too lenient with you, Ophelia. It's time you remember your place."

I struggle to understand this sudden switch in his demeanor, but I know better than to question him now. The fire in his eyes warns me to tread carefully.

"Your cousin Sophia will help with that," he says, a note of finality in his voice.

I know Sophia too well; her saccharine smile always hides a sharp blade, every word designed to cut. I brace myself, already anticipating that any interaction with her will only fuel her cruelty. Her perfectly coiffed hair and designer clothes complement the venom in her eyes..

"Tomorrow, you'll go shopping with her," he continues, ignoring the protest forming on my lips.

"I already have plans," I say, trying to keep my voice steady.

"No," he snaps, cutting me off as he opens the door. " You will go with her tomorrow, or I'll take away your guard and stop pretending I don't know all the rules you break. Then we'll see how you like it."

I can't believe his transformation. Just moments ago, he was promising to protect me, and now he's throwing me to the wolves. My heart aches with the betrayal.

I tighten my fists, feeling Jeremy's loss even more now. If I had my way, this whole issue would be nothing more than a bad dream.

I retreat to my room, my sanctuary, letting the tears flow. The weight of my father's words and the threat of losing Midsummer Petals crush me. I feel powerless, trapped in a world that doesn't care about my dreams or my past.

The next morning, I meet Javier in the hall. He takes one look at me and frowns, immediately sensing my tension.

"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice gentle but concerned.

I shake my head. "Nothing, just a change of plans. I have to go shopping with my cousin," I say, hoping the reluctance in my voice isn't as obvious to him as it is to me.

"Shopping?" He twists his mouth to the side. "We can't really say it worked for you last time."

"No, but this time I have you."

His expression softens. "Now you have me." He gestures toward the door. "What are we shopping for? Is it a real shopping trip this time?"

I sigh as we settle in the car. Unfortunately, it is. My cousin Sophia would not cover for me. If anything, she'll go out of her way to make it difficult for me.

Javier throws me a side look that I can't quite decipher, but it seems to be bafflement.

It's like when he asked me in the library why I stayed—I can't trust him with my secrets yet, and I can't tell him how I, and all the people I care for, have targets on our backs just because of who I share DNA with.

The last person I completely trusted quit, and things around the house got stranger… and now my father's more on edge. I won't commit the same mistake again.

"It's my cousin Francesca's birthday in a couple of weeks, and I've been ordered to go."

"You don't seem much more excited by the party than you are for the shopping trip."

"Oh no, it's okay. I just… It's not my usual scene."

Understatement of the year, but once again, I don't want to tell that to Javier. I sometimes wonder why he is even here. Every small act of kindness from me seems to surprise him, and I don't miss the hard looks he gives my father and the other men of the famiglia . Is he here because he pities me? I throw him a side look.

"We can skip it if you want."

The idea did cross my mind, and I smile to myself, considering it again for a few seconds before seeing my father's irate face.

"Nah. My father is already in a foul mood. There's no need to add fuel to the fire."

"What's up with him? Is he angry about the stunt you pulled?"

I shake my head. "No, some of his business at Little Island is stressing him." I realize my slipup. I was used to speaking freely with Jeremy, but Javier doesn't seem to have picked up on it. "I confronted him about selling my mom's store. He didn't like that," I add quickly, hoping to divert the conversation.

He lets out a low whistle. "And how did that go?"

I grimace just as he parks the car across from the mall. "As well as I expected."

"Who knows, maybe nobody will buy it."

Maybe so, but perhaps it's for the best. Maybe I'm being hung up on a life that's not mine anymore.

As if on cue, I see Sophia in front of the mall, waiting with her bodyguard. She looks like a perfect social media influencer clone, with her black hair perfectly styled, designer clothes, and a face sculpted by makeup. Her smile is all teeth and no warmth.

My father had always tried to integrate me into the family's social sphere, but I was the one who resisted. Lost in my grief for my mother, I rejected every attempt my cousins made until the disdain was well-ingrained.

"Here goes nothing," I mutter as I get out of the car and cross the street to meet her.

"Ophelia," she says, her voice saccharine sweet. "Ready to look a little more… presentable?" she adds, looking my outfit up and down.

I don't take the bait though; I know better now, and I also know that ignoring her is far worse for her.

"Sure," I say, trying to muster some enthusiasm. Javier stands close by, his presence a small comfort.

As we walk through the mall, Sophia wastes no time belittling me. Every comment is a thinly veiled insult meant to remind me of my supposed inferiority .

"You really should consider more designer brands," she says with a disdainful glance at my outfit. "Your current taste won't suit Francesca's birthday party."

I clench my fists, nails digging into my palms. Her words are like the bars of a cage, trapping me in a world I desperately want to escape.

We enter a boutique filled with dresses that scream wealth and status. Sophia immediately starts picking out gowns, her eyes gleaming with the thrill of spending money.

"She seems like a handful," Javier whispers to me as we follow her to the back.

"You have no idea. I actually feel bad for the poor bastard who will end up marrying her."

We both chuckle, and it feels nice, but it also attracts Sophia's attention, and the venomous smile playing on her lips predicts poison.

"You have to let me pick," she says, tossing a dress at me. "With your taste, you need all the help you can get."

Before I can respond, Javier steps in, his voice steady. "Ophelia has her own style," he says firmly, a comforting shield against Sophia's barbs.

Sophia's eyes widen. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me," Javier says, stepping closer. "Ophelia's style is her own. If you can't be respectful, maybe find someone else to shop with."

Sophia's face flushes with anger, but she quickly masks it with a tight smile. "Well, I see someone is quite protective." I don't like the speculation in her tone at all.

"It's alright, Javier. She's right; Sophia is so skilled—see how good she manages to look despite all her flaws. "

Her face turns purple, but she focuses on me, forgetting Javier's protectiveness.

"Well, you may want to wear something flowy with those hips," she attacks back, extending me another dress.

I take the dresses from her, biting my tongue to keep from snapping back. One is a pale-pink chiffon with delicate lace accents, making me feel like a child playing dress-up. The other is a sleek, black satin number with a high slit, sophisticated but alien to me.

I retreat to the changing room, grateful for a momentary escape. I try on the pink dress first. I grimace in the mirror; it feels childish. When I step out to show Sophia, she barely glances at me.

"It's cute," she says dismissively. "But not for Francesca's party."

I glance at Javier, whose grimace matches mine. I nod and retreat to try the black dress. It's stunning but feels like a costume. I step out again, feeling exposed.

Sophia smirks. "Not bad; you look almost civilized… Al most."

Javier's eyes dart to her, disapproval clear on his face.

I shake my head, determined to find something that suits me.

Finally, I pull out a royal-blue dress from the rack. It's a fitted bodice with an off-the-shoulder neckline and a flowing A-line skirt that stops just below my knees. The color is rich and vibrant, and the material feels luxurious against my skin.

I step out, and for the first time, I feel a bit of confidence. Javier's reaction is immediate. His eyes widen, and awe crosses his face. His expression tells me everything I need to know.

Sophia looks up, freezes, then sneers. "No, it's too bright—too childish." Jealousy flashes in her eyes.

I turn to the mirror, taking in the dress. It feels right. "This is the one," I say, meeting Javier's gaze in the reflection. He smiles, his eyes warm with genuine admiration, sending a thrill through me.

Sophia rolls her eyes. "At least it's designer. I've done all I can." I ignore her. I love the dress and how Javier looks at me in it. It's dangerous, but I can't resist the pull toward him. It's something that makes me dread more and more the potential of dating someone within the famiglia .

Once I exit the changing room, she sighs again. "Okay, we're done."

"Aren't you buying anything?"

"In here?" Her mouth pulls down with disdain. "No, that's bottom of the range, but I didn't want to scare you and take you into my kind of store."

Bottom of the range? That dress I'm holding has a seven-hundred-dollar price tag. But I once more shrug it off.

"Okay, let's go get you shoes and accessories now. I need to meet my friends."

I nod and now realize that she's forced to be here just as much as I am, and it somehow makes me feel a little better… shared misery and all that.

"We don't need accessories."

"My father said you needed the whole outfit, so that's what you'll get," she responds with a dismissive wave.

After getting the shoes, we walk down the mall to the accessories store. I stop at a smoothie stand, suddenly craving some sugary goodness.

"I'm going to get a smoothie," I say to no one in particular.

Sophia scoffs, her eyes lingering on my hips and thighs. "I don't think you should. You really don't need the calories, and the dress was already quite tight on your hips."

Before I can say something, Javier intervenes again. "Some men don't like bags of bones," he says pointedly, defending me again while eyeing her with barely veiled disdain.

I blush slightly but smile, grateful for his support. "One strawberry banana smoothie, please," I tell the vendor.

Sophia narrows her eyes at him but finally looks down at her phone. "Just get it over with."

I've had enough, and when I see Javier open his mouth, I step in. "You know what, Sophia, I've got it from here."

She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow, staring at me with a mocking smile. "Is that right?"

"Yes, you were helpful enough—too helpful, even. Consider your duty accomplished or whatever and go meet your friends to do whatever you feel like doing."

She turns toward her bodyguard. "You hear her, Mario? She's dismissing us," she tells him mockingly.

I'm half-surprised she even knows his name; I've seen her treat him as furniture quite often.

"Seems like it, signorina," he replies.

"Okay then, suit yourself. See you at Francesca's birthday. Try not to shame us," she adds before throwing a last longing glare at Javier and leaving us, her stilettos clicking on the floor of the half-deserted mall.

"She's adorable," Javier says, keeping his eyes on her retreating back.

"Umm," I say, sipping on my smoothie. "Would you believe me if I told you she's the least bitchy of the lot?"

He lets out a slow whistle. "Scary thought."

I laugh. "You don't say."

"More shopping?"

I laugh. "No, god no!" I look at my watch. "We still have time to get to the retirement home before the end of visiting hours."

We arrive at the retirement home, and as we walk through the doors, a sense of calm washes over me. The scent of fresh flowers and the hum of quiet conversations fill the air, a stark contrast to the chaos of the mall.

"Ophelia! You're here!" Mrs. Thompson exclaims, spotting me. She's sitting in the common area with a group of her friends, knitting needles in hand.

"Hi, Mrs. Thompson," I say, giving her a warm hug. "How are you today?"

"Much better now that you're here, dear," she replies, her eyes twinkling. "And who is this handsome young man with you?"

"This is Javier," I introduce him. "He's… well, he's sort of my bodyguard."

"Sort of?" Javier raises an eyebrow, a playful smirk on his face.

"Okay, he is my bodyguard," I admit with a smile.

"Nice to meet you, Javier," Mrs. Thompson says, nodding approvingly .

As I settle in with the ladies, Mrs. Thompson hands me the scarf I had been knitting during my last visit. "Here, dear. You can continue working on this."

I take the scarf and resume knitting, enjoying the familiar rhythm. The ladies chat around me, discussing everything from the latest news to their favorite recipes.

I glance over at Javier, who has been roped into a card game with some of the veterans. He looks completely at ease, laughing and talking with them as if he's known them for years. This side of him makes my heart soften a little more.

"Isn't he wonderful?" Mrs. Thompson's friend, Mrs. Lawson, whispers to me.

I blush, realizing I've been caught staring. "He's… he's something," I say, trying to play it cool.

"Is he your boyfriend?" Mrs. Thompson asks, her eyes twinkling with curiosity.

I shake my head quickly. "No, it's nothing like that. He's just my bodyguard."

Mrs. Lawson gives me a knowing smile. "Maybe it should be something more."

"Why do you say that?" I ask, my heart racing.

"Because, dear, he looks at you with the same longing when you're not looking as you do when he's not looking," she replies, patting my hand gently.

My heart skips a beat at her words. Could she be right? I glance over at Javier again. He's engrossed in the card game, but there's a warmth in his eyes that makes me wonder if there's more to his feelings than just professional duty.

As we continue knitting and chatting, I can't help but steal glances at Javier. Each time, I find myself hoping Mrs. Lawson is right. Maybe, just maybe, there is something more between us.

The visit ends too soon, and as we drive back in a comfortable silence, the weight of the day's events lingers in the air. I steal glances at Javier, my mind replaying the words of Mrs. Lawson.

"You handled that viper well today," he says as we reach my street.

"Thanks," I say, smiling at him. "I couldn't have done it without you."

He chuckles. "Well, I'm here to protect you. That includes verbal attacks too."

I let out a sigh at the memory of Sophia's speculative face. "You shouldn't defend me that much."

He turns to look at me, frowning. "I can't just stand here and say nothing."

"No, but this won't fly," I say, my voice tinged with regret.

He scoffs. "I'm not afraid."

Then you're a fool, I think. "But I am. I don't want you to disappear too."

He looks at me for a beat longer, his eyes intense and searching. His gaze slides to my lips, remaining there for a moment that feels like an eternity before he looks back up, meeting my eyes.

"We're in trouble," he says, voice low, eyes intense.

I nod, the gravity of his words sinking in. "Yes, we are."

We pull into the driveway, unspoken feelings hanging heavy. As I step out of the car, I glance at Javier, our connection growing more dangerous with each passing day.

For now, I cling to the warmth of his presence, knowing that for the first time in a long while, I'm not facing this messy world alone.