Page 60 of Of Vows and Betrayal

“You’ve done enough. I’m fine; I fixed my situation.”

“What did you do?”

“I’m marrying Dario Carmine.”

Father Hernandez’s gasp is audible through the confessional screen. “No, you can’t. That man is a monster.”

“I don’t have a choice,” I say, my voice barely above a whisper. “It’s the only way to protect my father and make up for the lives lost because of me.”

“Ophelia, there has to be another way. We can find another way.”

“There isn’t,” I say firmly. “Dario made it clear. It’s either I marry him, or my father pays the price.”

The priest’s voice trembles as he speaks. “I can’t let you do this. You’re sacrificing your life, your soul.”

“I’ve already lost my soul,” I reply bitterly. “This is just the final nail in the coffin.”

The silence that follows is heavy, oppressive. I can hear the soft rustling of Father Hernandez’s robes as he shifts uncomfortably.

“Ophelia, please reconsider. There are people who can help. The church can help.”

“No, Father,” I say, standing up. “I appreciate your concern, but this is my decision. It’s the only way to save my father and possibly even Javier. Please, just tell him to be careful.”

I push open the confessional door and step out. The guard who had been waiting in the pews watches me closely as I make my way to the exit.

As I walk down the aisle, the enormity of what I’m about to do settles over me like a shroud. I’m walking tomy doom, but it’s a doom I’ve chosen. For my father. For Javier. For the lives lost.

When I step outside, the harsh light of day feels like a slap in the face. The guard follows closely behind as I head to the car, waiting to take me back to my prison.

The reality of my fate crashes down on me, and I can’t hold back the tears any longer. They spill down my cheeks, hot and unchecked, as I climb into the back seat of the car.

Chapter 15

Javier

Ikneel at the front pew of San Miguel, my head bowed, hands clasped tightly together. The stained glass windows loom above, casting a kaleidoscope of muted colors onto the cold stone floor. The thick scent of incense mingles with the cold, damp air of the ancient church. I don’t believe in God, but here I am, praying to a deity I doubt exists.

“Are you enjoying this, torturing me?” I mutter, my voice barely a whisper. “Is this my punishment for turning my back on you?” The silence of the church feels mocking, pressing down on me like a physical weight.

I close my eyes tighter, memories flooding back—Ophelia’s laughter, the way her eyes sparkled when she looked at me, the warmth of her touch. I waited until this morning to see her, only to be turned away by the Bergotti guards. Calls unanswered, her phone offline, yet her necklace remains at her house. She wouldn’t leave without it.

Desperation gnaws at me. I remember the last time I felt this powerless—watching Paloma slipaway, unable to do anything but pray to a God who never answered. The same crushing helplessness fills my chest now, the weight of my failures pressing down on me.

A soft creak echoes through the empty nave, followed by the sound of steady footsteps approaching. The noise pulls me from the dark abyss of my thoughts, a brief distraction from my despair.

The footsteps stop beside me, and a familiar voice cuts through the silence.

“Javier, what are you doing here?”

I look up to see Tiago standing there, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Praying,” I reply, my voice hollow. “And it’s a church, isn’t everyone welcome?”

He nods, choosing his words carefully. “They are, but you told me to stay out of your life. Coming here defeats the purpose.”

I am still mad at him, furious even, and seeing him now fuels this anger. But I need him more, the comforting words of a friend driven by something other than anger and pain.

“And you don’t believe in God,” he adds, raising an eyebrow.

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