Page 66 of Of Vows and Betrayal

Javier

When I said things couldn’t get worse, I didn’t think the universe would take it as a challenge. The church, once a place of solace, now feels like a battlefield as I watch her father’s body hit the floor. I know we’ve reached the point of no return.

She won’t forgive me for this. Frozen for a second, I watch as she kneels by his side, soaking her ugly white dress in blood. It feels like a replay of my sins, except this time, I’m the one holding the metaphorical gun.

I expected to just take her with me and work things out between us. I never anticipated leaving this church with her unconscious in my arms, covered in her father’s blood, under the glare of the Gambinos.

I follow closely behind Lucchese, knowing it’s the safest way. My mind races as we step outside, the church’s ominous silence trailing us. A bodyguard waits by the car and opens the back door of Rafaele’s SUV.

“You said you would help.” I seethe as we settlein the back of the car.

Lucchese takes the seat across from me, arching an eyebrow as he looks from Ophelia’s limp form to me. “You’re breathing, and so is she. I consider that a successful mission.”

“Do you?” I look down at Ophelia. “Her father is dead, and she’s unconscious.”

“She was hysterical; it needed fixing. You’re welcome.”

The man is a fucking sociopath.

“What did you inject her with?” My voice trembles with barely controlled rage.

“It’s just pentobarbital. She should be out for about twelve hours,” he replies, tilting his head as if discussing the weather. “Maybe a little more? The dose was meant for a man.” His lips twist into a mocking grimace. “Oops.”

“Oops?” My grip tightens around Ophelia, my knuckles white with the effort not to lash out. I want nothing more than to wipe that smug look off his face, but her unconscious form anchors me. “Why do you even carry around pentobarbital?”

He leans back in his seat with a shrug. “I like to be prepared.”

I shake my head and look down at Ophelia, moving a strand of hair from her face. I wince at the sight of small blood specks on her beautiful skin and try to wipe them away with my shirtsleeve.

“She’ll never forgive me for this. She loved her father,” I say, more to myself than to him. Then I look up. “You could have kept him safe.”

He shakes his head. “No, Angelo Bergotti was never part of the deal. Do you even know how much power Ihad to exert just for us to walk out of that church alive?” Anger flashes in his eyes. “Try to be fucking grateful. Instead of whining like a little boy, try acting like a man!”

I tighten my hold on Ophelia, suddenly aware that I’ve metaphorically poked the bear by angering a sociopathic Mafia boss in an enclosed space.

“I’m powerful, but I’m not God, Javier. I can’t meddle in Mafia affairs. It’s an open secret that Angelo Bergotti was a dead man walking. Dario Carmine hates being undermined, and Bergotti did it far too often for his own good. I got you and the girl out and safe.”

I brush her cheek again. “I know.”

“Buy her some jewelry, designer clothes—whatever—it’ll help smooth things over.”

I snort, the absurdity of the suggestion almost making me laugh. “No, that’s not how she works. She’d see right through it.”

“I see you had to pick a difficult one. Well, good luck with that.” He looks at his watch and sighs. “I’ll leave you at your building. Do you need someone to bring your car back? I can have one of my men drop it off when he brings you the papers.”

“What papers?”

“The marriage certificate.”

Am I having a stroke? “Whose?”

“Yours!” He cocks his head to the side and sighs as if I’m the stupidest person he’s ever met. “You can’t trust a Gambino, especially not Carmine—he’s a snake. The moment he thinks the girl is no longer under my protection, he’ll take her out.It’s a matter of pride. Nobody leaves Dario Carmine hanging dry at the altar. The only way to protect her”—he taps his ring finger—”is marriage. This is the only way to make sure she’s safe. Well, maybe marrying me would be more efficient, but it would defeat the purpose, wouldn’t it?”

I glare at him before looking down at her. As absurd as it is, I can’t help but feel a thrill at calling her my wife, at having her belong to me officially.

I almost smile, but the sight of the blood on her dress sobers me up quickly.Except she’s not yours. She didn’t choose you and would never choose you again. This marriage is all smoke and mirrors.

“It’s not real,” I repeat out loud.

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