Page 49 of Of Vows and Betrayal

Me: I’m on a date with Romero. This was a mistake. I’m scared.

Please save me.The last words echo in my mind, a silent prayer for rescue.

I wait, my heart pounding in my chest, each second stretching into an eternity. The silence is suffocating, and I wonder if help will come in time.

Chapter 13

Javier

I’m in a foul mood. Derek hung up on me, and even Tiago, the patient one, kicked me out of the church, calling me insufferable. I fucked up. Bergotti said my services are no longer needed, and I wonder if it was his decision or hers.

Ophelia…

I haven’t slept a wink. Every time I close my eyes, I see her with Romero, and murderous rage surges through me.

I walk the empty streets, the cool spring air doing nothing to cool the fire inside me. The city lights blur as I force myself to breathe, trying to shake the image of Romero’s possessive grip on her. Every fiber of my being screams to protect her, but I know that stepping out of line could mean more trouble for her—and for me.

I failed her so many times. Derek and Tiago are right, and it leaves a bitter taste in my mouth. Her words from our fight are also on repeat.People change, Javier, and sometimes they end up becoming exactly who they swore they’d never be.

It’s true. This is exactly what I’ve become. I’m hurting an innocent person. I’ve abandoned her instead of trying to figure out why she rejected me the way she did. I refused to see she was good because everything surrounding her was darkness, and I refused to accept my growing feelings for her, rejecting the affection she extended my way.

If only I could go back…

My phone buzzes, and I snatch it from my pocket, hoping it’s Ophelia. It’s a message from Derek.

Derek: I have the port authorities ready to stop the shipment and even if you say you don’t care, Ophelia is at the Trattoria.

I shove the phone back into my pocket, teeth gritted. Derek means well, but he doesn’t get it. Hell, I barely understand my feelings. Ophelia became more than a means to an end, something Tiago and Derek noticed, but none of us would admit it out loud.

Looking into her eyes, knowing I’m betraying her to destroy her father, becomes more and more unbearable. It was hard to see her yesterday, knowing that her father was drowning by my hand, and she didn’t know.

Resisting the urge to touch her, to kiss her, is torture.

As I stroll past a quiet park, I realize my feet have led me to La Trattoria, not my apartment.

For what?Part of me thinks that maybe if I see her at the table, content with Romero, I can sleep again knowing that she won’t be caught in the cross fire, that she will be protected once her father is no more.

But another part of me hopes to find her unhappy, to justify my own feelings, my own desire to keep her awayfrom Romero and with me.

I pick up my pace, the spring air brushing against my face as I near the restaurant. With each step closer to the flickering neon sign of La Trattoria, my heart pounds harder, anticipation and dread intertwining. I can’t let her see me like this, not with my emotions written so clearly on my face.

I stop outside the restaurant, drawing a deep breath. Through the window, the warm glow of the interior contrasts sharply with my turmoil. I scan the room, searching for Ophelia.

She’s not here. Fuck. I let my eyes wander to the back. I can only see the wood panel, and I hate that this man thinks he needs privacy. What is he planning to do with her? What is she planning to allow him to do? My hand balls into a fist, nails biting into my palm.

My phone buzzes. Ophelia’s name flashes on the screen.

Ophelia: I’m on a date with Romero. This was a mistake. I’m scared.

My blood runs cold, the words searing into my brain. I bolt upright, adrenaline surging through me. A chill runs down my spine, my fingers trembling as I reread her message, hoping I misunderstood, but her fear is palpable, even through text.

Without a second thought, I dial her number, but it goes straight to voice mail. Panic claws at me, but I force myself to stay calm.

I start running toward the entrance, my mind racing with possibilities. If Romero hurts her, if he even lays a finger on her, I won’t be able to control myself. I will killhim, and revenge be damned, I’ll start a fucking war I have no means to win.

The realization hits me in full force, but I have no time to overthink it as I burst through the doors, ignoring the startled hostess. My eyes scan the room, but there’s no sign of them in the main dining area. I stride toward the back, where a corridor leads to private rooms.

“Sir, you can’t go back there!” the hostess calls after me, but I’m already halfway down the hall.

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