8. Ophelia

Chapter 8

Ophelia

I wish I could stay home tonight. No, that's a lie. I adore the dress I bought at the mall—the way it clings to my curves and the vintage allure it brings out in me. The makeup artist transformed me into a fifties vixen, complete with bold red lips and a coiffed hairstyle.

But the excitement dims when I think about where I'm going, even though I can't help but imagine his reaction when he sees me like this. It's a disaster waiting to happen, but he's more than just a brute. He's the man whose soft gaze makes my stomach flutter, who knows my favorite treats. My fingers brush the bee pendant resting against my skin. The makeup artist my father hired tried to replace it, but I stood my ground.

My phone beeps, reminding me that I have less than five minutes to leave the house if I don't want to be late for Francesca's party and cause a scene. I look at myself one last time in the mirror before glancing at my feet. The heels make me teeter. I whisper a silent prayer that they won't betray me tonight.

When I get downstairs, I nearly miss a step when I spot Javier standing there, his intense gaze locking onto mine. It's a little awkward for me since his reaction to my kiss. I didn't think; I just acted, and the visceral rejection broke my heart. It's silly, I know—he's so much older, so serious, everything I'm not. But I couldn't help the hope that sparked every time he looked at me.

"I didn't know you were working tonight."

"Of course I am. You're going somewhere, so am I."

I feel the flush spread on my neck as he extends his hand to help me down the last few steps.

"It would have been a shame to miss seeing you tonight," he says, his eyes roaming over me. "You are absolutely breathtaking."

My heart skips a beat at his words, but I force a casual smile, trying to downplay the thrill his compliment gives me. "You're just saying that because you're my bodyguard, and it's your job to keep me happy."

He lets go of my hand, sighing deeply before looking down the empty hall. "No, I shouldn't say that because I'm your bodyguard."

This puts a lead weight on the reality, and we both stay silent until we reach the fancy club where the party is taking place. We're not even out of the car, and I can hear the music blaring. I can't help but wince.

"It's not too late to turn around and go get a burger."

I sigh. "Ah, I wish." I look at the door, where there is a ridiculous number of guards. "Let's just get this over with."

Javier steps out first, scanning the area before offering me his hand again. I take it, feeling a mix of anxiety and excitement as I step out of the car. The club is an opulent fortress of excess, and the music's bass thumps in time with my racing heart.

I brush my fingers against the bee necklace, its familiar weight a small comfort against the chaos of the night. He notices it, and a half smile appears on his lips. I'm wearing his present, and it pleases him.

We walk through the entrance, past the bouncers who give us only cursory glances—one of the perks of being Bergotti's daughter. Inside, the party is a cacophony of laughter and clinking glasses. Crystal chandeliers cast glittering prisms of light over the guests, all dressed to impress, all playing their parts in this elaborate charade.

One of Gambino's lead guards blocks our way as Javier follows me down the steps to the main party area. "Bodyguards stay here," he says, glaring at Javier.

"I'm going where she goes," Javier insists, his voice steely.

Javier's hand settles on my waist with a firm possessiveness, drawing a sharp glance from the guard, noting the gesture and clearly not ignoring the impropriety of him touching me.

I move away from his touch. "It's fine, Javier. Stay where you belong," I say with a voice I hope sounds dismissive. I'm doing it to protect him, but I can see in the set of his jaw that he doesn't like any of it.

"Miss Bergotti," he says, bowing his head, and I hate the frustration I see written all over his face.

"He'll be in the back room with the other bodyguards. Let me know when you wish to leave, and I'll retrieve him for you. "

I have to use all my effort not to wince at the way he refers to Javier as if he is nothing more than a piece of furniture—an accessory for Mafia daughters.

"Great. Thank you."

Walking deeper into the party, I feel Javier's eyes on me, a silent promise. Francesca spots me and waves, her smile wide and fake. I plaster on my smile and make my way over to her, feeling like a marionette in this puppet show.

"Ophelia, you actually came!" Her laugh rings as fake as everything she is. "I guess I owe Romero five bucks then." She kisses my cheeks soundly. "Look at you! We could almost believe you belong."

Here we go.

I extend the present I have. I don't even know what it is—my father's assistant gave it to me, and I didn't care enough to ask. "I just wanted to look nice for your classy party… It's very Jersey Shore , I love it."

Francesca narrows her eyes slightly, a warning in her gaze. I straighten my shoulders, determined to hold my ground.

"Antonela, you're here," she says, effectively dismissing me.

I shake my head and look at the inviting and empty red sofa at the back. Maybe I can just stay in the corner for a while and?—

"Ophelia, I win five dollars."

I turn to face Romero, who's smiling brightly at me.

"Oh, thank God. I'm sure you need the money."

He laughs, his hand settling on the small of my back with a confidence that borders on arrogance, guiding me to the bar. "A drink?"

I nod, a hint of a smile playing on my lips. Romero might not be my type, but his company is a welcome distraction.

"You look beautiful tonight. Well, you always do, but tonight…" He lets out a low whistle.

I smile politely, but his compliments don't affect me, not the way a long look from Javier does.

I sigh, and he cocks his head to the side. "Am I boring you?"

"No, of course not. It's just—" I gesture around us. "Everything." I see the eyes of a few girls watching us. "You're putting a target on my back, showing me interest."

He laughs. "It's fine, let them stare." He orders a glass of scotch and turns toward me.

"A white wine," I say. I need alcohol to get through the evening.

"So, I think it's time for us to have a serious discussion."

"Here?" I ask, looking around again. "Now?" I suspect what he's about to do, and I don't want it. I need more time.

For what? the voice chimes in my head.

His smile turns flirtatious, and he takes a step forward, his cologne wrapping around me. All I want to do is put distance between us, but my back hits the pillar of the bar.

"Now is as good a time as any. Listen, Ophelia, I like you," he says, his fingers tracing the rim of his glass. He hesitates, then looks up, meeting my eyes. "My father might not think you'd make a good wife, but it's your wild side that I find entertaining."

I fight the urge to cringe, forcing myself to listen to his presumptuous words .

"Anyway, my father mentioned it to your father, and he's quite excited at the idea."

I clench my fists, biting back a retort as Romero smirks, clearly proud of himself for talking to our fathers without consulting me.

"Ah, that's quite unexpected."

"Is it?" He arches an eyebrow. "You must have known."

"There are so many other options… better options."

He shrugs. "Let's go on a date."

I swallow hard, trying to think of a polite way to decline. "I?—"

Romero leans in closer, and I can feel his breath on my skin. "Just one date," he pleads. "Give me a chance to change your mind."

I glance around, desperately hoping for a distraction. My eyes land on Javier, standing at the edge of the room, his gaze locked on us. There's a storm brewing in his eyes, and I know he's ready to intervene if I give the slightest signal.

The thing is, in the Mafia, a date is never only a date, especially now that he threw the word marriage out so casually. I see it happen around us—depending on where you go and with whom, it immediately becomes a claim. As stupid as it sounds, it's basically an agreement that you're willing to date him seriously.

"Is it because of your cousin? You know Francesca and me, it never went anywhere. We didn't even go out officially—not even once."

I look up to the ceiling. Relief floods me, a miracle in this precarious moment, giving me an escape from Romero's presumptuous proposal. Because even I know that rejecting the son of the Gambino's consigliere is not an easy task.

"I—yeah." I glance at Francesca, who's laughing too loudly and leaning too close to one of the guys at the party. "We already have enough problems between us. I need to talk to her first. You understand."

He looks at Francesca, too, and then nods with a sigh. "Fine, I get it."

I try to enjoy my drink, keeping the conversation surface level. It's harder than it seems. I used to speak without a filter before joining this family, and I speak freely with Javier. My gaze drifts back to the bodyguards' section, searching for Javier's familiar silhouette.

"You want to go home, don't you?"

I turn back toward Romero, having almost forgotten he was here. "Desperately," I reply with a little laugh, relieved that he misunderstood my searching look for a desire to go home.

He nods, brushing his forefinger on his lips. "I tell you what, finish that glass of wine, and I'll help you escape."

I love the idea, but cock my head to the side. "And what will that cost me?"

"A kiss."

I frown, about to refuse when he chuckles, resting his hand on his chest.

"Damn, Phee, you know how to hurt a man's ego. A kiss on the cheek, all innocent."

I blush, not at his mention of my nickname but at the kiss—my kiss on Javier's cheek was all but innocent. "Okay, you have a deal."

I finish my wine, feeling the buzz of alcohol take the edge off my nerves. Romero stands up and offers his hand. "Let's get out of here."

I take his hand, and we weave through the throng of partygoers, their laughter and chatter a distant buzz in my ears. As we pass by the bodyguards' area, I make eye contact with Javier. His eyes dart to our joined hands, and a muscle in his jaw twitches. I give him a small, reassuring smile, hoping he understands that I'm just playing along for now.

Outside, the cool night air is a welcome relief.

"Thank you. I've got her from here," Javier says from behind me. His tone is defensive again, and his body is much too close to mine.

Romero eyes him silently for a few seconds before looking down at me, a smile on his lips. "Yeah, I better get back in. We don't want the rumor mill to start before it's necessary, do we?" He takes a couple of steps forward, and I can feel Javier's grip on the back of my dress.

"So, that kiss?" Romero asks, but his eyes move to Javier. Is that a challenge I see there?

I lean over and press a quick kiss to his cheek. "Thank you for getting me out of there."

He smiles, looking genuinely pleased. "Anytime, Phee. And don't forget about our date," he adds before disappearing inside the club again.

Javier gestures to the valet, and we stand side by side on the curb, waiting for his car. His arm brushes against mine, sending a shiver down my spine. The warmth of his body radiates through the thin fabric of my dress, making it hard to focus on anything but the desire to be even closer.

"So, you're going to date ten-cent Romeo?" he asks .

I glance at him, but he's looking straight ahead. "Is that a problem?"

He looks down at me, his eyes narrowing a little. "It shouldn't be."

Shouldn't … "That's not an answer."

His jaw tightens, and he looks away. "It's the only answer I can give."

I cross my arms, trying to ignore the way my heart races when he's this close. "Way to be cryptic."

He takes a deep breath, his gaze finally meeting mine. "You deserve someone who cares about you," he says softly. "Someone who sees you for who you are, not just as a pawn in this Mafia game."

My breath hitches, caught in the snare of his intense gaze, a desperate plea for something more than words can convey. "And you think Romero doesn't see me that way?"

Javier's expression hardens. "I think Romero sees you as you show yourself to them, which is as fake as it is. It's not about you; it's about what you represent."

I feel a pang of frustration. "And what about you? What do you see when you look at me?"

He hesitates, his eyes searching mine. "I see someone worth protecting. Someone who deserves better than all of this."

I deflate as the valet pulls up with the car, and Javier steps forward to open the door for me. As I slide into the passenger seat, his words echo in my mind. There's no feeling behind his words, just a sense of duty that, despite all reasonable thought, hurts me far more than I anticipated.

"I'm not going to date Romero. I can't keep pretending this life is enough for me," I say as he starts the car.

I see the tension ease from his shoulders, a flicker of relief softening his stern features.

"I… This is not for me," I add for good measure. "This role—you're right."

He lets out a growl as if I am frustrating him. "Why are you doing things you hate so much? Why don't you admit how you feel about all this?"

I feel tears starting to burn at the back of my eyes. "Because I think if I open the floodgate, I'll suffocate." I rest my hand on my chest. "Because I'm angry—angry at him for claiming me, angry at my mom for leaving me." I shake my head. "They managed to hide me so well, no one even knew I existed."

"No, no one did."

His comment makes me frown, but I'm too emotional to think twice about it. "And then I'm here, in the middle of a dangerous world where my life is in danger just because of the blood I share. They just threw me in this golden cage, and part of me is grateful—I am—but also, I wonder what I would have done if I had the choice, and knowing what I know, I think I would have wanted no part of it." I shake my head. "But it's too late now, and being his daughter puts a target on my back. The way we met is confirmation of this." I touch the scar on my neck, the memory of that day with Javier still fresh. "This life isn't what I wanted," I say, my voice shaking. "But I guess we don't always get to choose, do we?"

Javier's grip on the steering wheel tightens, his knuckles turning white. "Caring doesn't excuse everything. You deserve to be safe, to be happy, not to live in fear and manipulation."

I look out the window, the city lights blurring as tears well in my eyes. "It's not all that bad." I'm not certain if I'm trying to convince him or myself. "I'm lucky to have a family, and my mom called him; she must believe he would be a decent father."

His silence speaks volumes, his unspoken thoughts pressing heavily between us, a barrier as tangible as it is invisible. "Desperation sometimes makes you do foolish things," he all but whispers as we stop in front of the house.

"What?"

He shakes his head, but I notice he hasn't unlocked the doors yet, and it feels somehow like a cocoon in the car with him in front of the darkened house.

I sigh, wanting to remove the frown of worry etched between his brows. "My father is trying, but he makes mistakes like I sometimes do foolish things." Like being attracted to my bodyguard , I add to myself. "Have you ever done something stupid, Javier Vargas?"

He gives me a tired half smile. "I've done plenty of stupid things. Things that cost me dearly, but I learned from them… At least, I used to think so."

"You used to?"

"Yes, because I'm about to probably do the stupidest thing I've ever done." His gaze drops to my lips, and for a heartbeat, the world holds its breath.

Then, his lips are on mine, igniting a fire that consumes all rational thought.

The kiss is fierce, awakening something primal and profound within me. His hand cups the back of my head, fingers tangling in my hair as he pulls me closer. I gasp, and he takes the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring my mouth with a hunger that leaves me breathless. My hands find their way to his chest, feeling the hard muscles beneath his shirt, and I press against him, craving more of his warmth, more of him.

His other hand slides around my waist, pulling me over the console and onto his lap. I straddle him, our bodies pressed together, and the sensation sends a shiver down my spine. His kisses become more urgent, more demanding, and I respond with equal intensity, my fingers threading through his hair, tugging slightly.

He groans into my mouth, the sound vibrating through me and making my pulse race. His hands roam over my back, caressing and kneading as if he can't get enough. I can feel the heat between us building, an inferno threatening to consume us both.

I break the kiss, needing to catch my breath, but he doesn't let me go far. His lips trail down my neck, leaving a path of fire in their wake. I tilt my head back, giving him better access, and he takes full advantage, nipping and sucking at my sensitive skin. My body arches into him, desperate for more contact, more of the incredible sensations he's eliciting.

"Javier," I whisper, my voice trembling with need.

He pulls back slightly, his eyes dark with desire, his breath warm and ragged against my skin. "Ophelia," he murmurs, his voice a low growl that sends a thrill through me. "This is madness. "

"Then let's be mad," I reply, capturing his lips again in a kiss that promises so much more. His hands tighten on my hips, pressing me down against the hardness of his desire, and I moan into his mouth, feeling the friction through every nerve in my body.

The kiss deepens, turning even more passionate, more intense. It's as if all the tension, all the longing, has finally found its release. We lose ourselves in each other, in the heat and the need, the rest of the world fading away until there's only us.

In this moment, nothing else matters. Not the Mafia, not the danger, not the consequences. Just Javier and me and the undeniable connection that binds us.

Suddenly, the security light outside the house flickers on, flooding the car with bright light. We break apart, both of us breathing heavily. I jump back to my seat, my heart pounding, and I can see the force of his desire still etched on his face.

I touch my lips, feeling the tingle left behind by his kiss.

"This was a mistake," he rumbles, running a hand through his hair. "I'm your bodyguard, Ophelia. That's all I can ever be. You're so young, and I'm so much older. This is not right." He shakes his head. "This can't happen," he continues, his voice strained. "I have a job to do. Protecting you is my duty, and I can't let my feelings get in the way. It's not fair to you, and it's not right for me."

"Javier—"

"I'm so sorry. I was?—"

"Jealous?" I venture.

He closes his eyes and nods almost wearily. "Yes. Jealous."

I am hurt, but I also understand his wariness somehow. It's like a fight between logic and desire, and I don't want to make it harder for him.

I open the door. "Good night, Javier Vargas."

"Good night, Ophelia James."

As I step out of the car and walk toward the house, I can still feel the lingering heat of our kiss. Desire, confusion, and hurt mix in my heart. Despite the confusion, a glimmer of hope remains. Maybe tonight was a mistake, but it also revealed something important. The line between duty and desire has blurred, and for the first time since I stepped into this house five years ago, I feel alive.