Page 1 of Of Vows and Betrayal

Prologue

Javier

Fifteen minutes.

That’s how long my happily ever after lasted.

Fifteen minutes

from the moment I said “I do,” to the moment her heart beat for the last time.

Fifteen minutes

to transform the happiest day of my life into a constant hell.

Fifteen minutes

from seeing my wife’s eyes lit with joy to seeing them lifeless as her blood slowly soaked the forecourt of Iglesia de Santa María.

Fifteen minutes to destroy my whole life.

Fifteen years.

That’s how long it took to prepare my revenge.

Fifteen years

to ensure I’d hurt him and destroy him just as thoroughly as he destroyed me.

Fifteen years.

But my revenge begins… today.

Chapter 1

Ophelia

Doomed.

That’s the word that best describes today, contrary to my desk calendar’s proclamation of “Resplendent,” a term suggesting something dazzling or splendid. Try fitting that into daily chatter! No, “doomed” is far more fitting, especially now.

It all began three weeks ago when Jeremy, the bodyguard my father assigned to me two years ago, quit without notice. Jeremy is different; he lacks the overbearing nature of the typical Italian guards my father preferred, and we had a plan—he and I—a plan I fear played a part in his resigning. Something my father, Angelo Bergotti, seems to dismiss far too easily. A man whose presence was unknown to me until five years ago, he now orchestrates my life with the precision of a maestro. Stepping into his golden cage, I didn’t know at the time that there would be no escape.

My eyes drift to a photograph on my dresser: Mom and I in front of the Colosseum, grinning over ice cream cones. That trip to Rome was our only realjourney together, our last surge of unbridled joy, captured just weeks before she revealed her illness. It shattered my childhood illusion of her immortality, leaving in its wake the stark reality of her mortality. The void she left is a raw, unhealed wound, throbbing with every memory and every missed moment.

I press a hand to my chest, hoping to ease the ache. The brief affair between my vibrant, youthful mother and my older, austere father is one thing I’ll never understand. I didn’t meet him until after she passed, and he has not been forthcoming about his past. His entrance into my life silently confirmed his infidelity to his late wife—a common enough tale in the Mafia, but an illegitimate child is another matter. The only thing he shared is that my mother didn’t know who he really was or that he was married until it was far too late—until I was already on the way.

I check the time, push away thoughts of Mom, and stride toward my father’s office. I need to ask him for the freedom to leave without a bodyguard. Even after years under his roof, the absurdity of this life strikes me—at twenty-one, I shouldn’t need to seek permission to step outside. I should have cherished my freedom when it was still mine.

“Mario,” I greet the guard stationed by my father’s office door.

“Miss Bergotti.” He bows his head slightly, and I wince at the formality. I’ve tried to get them to call me Ophelia, but they refuse, which only served to offend my father.You are not just anyone, Ophelia; you are my daughter,he had scolded with a frown.

“Is my father here?” I ask, already knowing theanswer—Mario shadows my father’s every move. Yet, I have to play along, ask the questions as expected.

“He is, and he’s alone.”

I knock sharply. A moment later, his deep baritone beckons me inside. Stepping into his office, I find it slightly less intimidating now, yet the air—thick with cigar smoke and weighed down by dark, ornate furniture—still makes it hard to breathe. The room’s dark wood paneling and imposing brown leather chairs exude an oppressive atmosphere, reinforcing my father’s iron grip on our lives.

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