Page 56 of Of Vows and Betrayal

Isit in the Uber that’s taking me home, unable to wipe the smile off my face or calm the flush spreading all over my body at the memory of my night with Javier.

Javier…His name is a whisper on my lips, a secret thrill that dances through me. I rest my hands on my burning cheeks, feeling the lingering warmth of his touch. The memory of his hands tracing my skin, the way his eyes locked onto mine with an intensity that made my heart race—it was beyond perfect. We met only a few months ago, but it felt like destiny. Javier had seemed like the one person who understood the cage I lived in, promising a freedom I had only dreamed of. Even if I never see him again, last night will forever be etched in my soul, a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.

He was tender, loving, and passionate. In his arms, I truly felt like a goddess. What happened between us will undoubtedly complicate everything. But as I get closer to my house, I can’t bring myself to care.

For once, I let myself be happy, let the memory of his tender, passionate embrace overshadow theuncertainty of tomorrow.

As the Uber approaches the house, the sight of the iron gates standing ajar sends a shiver down my spine. The cool air seems to seep through the car, carrying an ominous chill that gnaws at my bones. Grim-looking guards, unfamiliar and intimidating, stand like sentinels, their stern faces adding to the foreboding atmosphere.

“I-Is everything okay?” The driver’s voice wavers, his eyes darting nervously to the open gates, sensing the palpable tension.

“Sure…” I trail off. My father blew up my phone with calls last night. I know he’s going to be mad, and there’ll be hell to pay, but the gloomy vibes seem excessive.

As soon as I exit the car in front of the house, two guards I’ve not seen before come to me.

“You have to go see your father now. The judge is on the way.” The guard’s voice is a low growl, his eyes hard and unyielding, making my stomach churn with dread.

A cold, heavy weight settles in my stomach as soon as he mentions the judge. Memories of the last time he visited—an execution I narrowly avoided witnessing—flash through my mind, making my hands tremble. What happened last night was not that bad; Romero is the one who was forceful. I have nothing to apologize for.

I’m a little more confident when I reach my father’s office, only to deflate again when Romero exits it. He sneers at me, and I see the damage on his face: the strips on his nose and the bruises extending from his nose to under each eye. He also has his hand in a cast, and despite the satisfaction I feel at that moment, I also feel the cold ice of dread in mythroat. He does look quite beat up, and despite everything, he is the consigliere’s son.

I take a deep breath as the guards open the door and practically shove me into the office before closing the door again. His usually pristine office now feels suffocating, the dim light casting long shadows that dance menacingly on the walls. My father slumps at his desk, his normally impeccable suit wrinkled and his hair disheveled in a way I’ve never seen. The room smells faintly of cigar smoke and leather, a testament to the countless hours he’s spent here. The oppressive silence is broken only by the faint ticking of the grandfather clock.

Across from him, Romero’s father, the Gambino’s consigliere, sits with a grim, almost victorious expression, his eyes flicking to me with a predatory gleam.

“Listen, Dad, I know the judge is on his way, but it’s not me who started th?—”

“The judge is not coming for you,” says Dario, cutting me off with a cold sneer.

“He’s coming for me,” my father interjects, his voice heavy with resignation.

“I—” I shake my head, trying to clear the confusion fogging my brain. None of this makes any sense. “Why?”

“He brought a traitor into this house. He made us lose over seven million dollars,” Dario states, his voice dripping with disdain.

“Traitor?” I echo, my mind struggling to process his words.

“You, Ophelia.”

I sit down in shock, my legs giving out beneath me. “Dad, tell him he’s wrong!” I plead, my voice breaking.

“Where did you buy this boat, Ophelia?” he asks, pointing at the model on his desk, his voice a chilling monotone that sends a fresh wave of anxiety through me.

“What?” I blink, thrown off by the sudden change in topic.

“Where did you buy it?” he repeats, his voice now carrying a cold edge he’s never used with me before.

“Why?” I stammer, my heart racing.

He fists his hand and slams it on the boat. I gasp as it shatters into small bits, revealing some electronic components. Tiny wires and circuits spill out, glinting ominously under the office lights.

“This is why.” I see droplets of blood on the light leather mat where the sharp fragments have cut his hand.

“I’m not—” I start, but my words falter, drowned by the cold, hard reality setting in. This is what Javier gave me.MyJavier.

“I—”

“How long have you known?” my father insists, and there’s pain in his eyes despite the cold, accusatory tone.

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