Page 74 of Of Vows and Betrayal

“It may not go the way you want,” Derek says carefully.

“I’ll climb that gate if I have to.” I glance up, assessing the wrought iron bars. “I need to get in. I need to speak with whoever.”

Minutes pass like hours, and the tension is palpable. Finally, the guard returns, his expression unreadable. With a heavy sigh, he presses the button, and the gate groans open.

At the front of the house, my cousin Fabrizio stands on the steps in mourning attire, his face solemn. His brows furrow as I step out of the car, disapproval clear—whether at my visit or my outfit, I can’t tell.

“Go back home, Ophelia,” Fabrizio orders, his voice cold and unyielding.

“Thisismy home,” I retort, my voice shaking but resolute.

He sighs, glancing at Derek in the car. “Wait here,” he says, jerking his head toward the house.

I follow him as quickly as I can, the slick marble floor causing my sock-clad feet to slip and slide with every hurried step.

When we reach the office, it’s like being punched in the stomach. It is like it always was, my father’s cigars still permeating the air.

“Sit,” he orders as he takes his seat in my father’s chair.

“You took my father’s place pretty fast.”

“What did you expect? Thefamigliato crumble? Sorry to disappoint.”

“I never wanted my father to die.” My voice cracks as my fingers trace the desk’s edge. “I never wanted any of this.”

He sighs, leaning back in his seat. “I like you, Ophelia. I do. I get it; you were thrown into a world you knew nothing about, but it doesn’t matter.”

I look at him before blinking quickly, my eyes burning with unshed tears. “What do you mean it doesn’t matter?”

“It means,” he says, his voice softening slightly, “that intentions don’t change outcomes. Thefamigliahas to move on, and so do you. You can’t stay here.”

I shake my head, feeling like I’m trapped in a nightmare. “What about Dario? He killed my father.”

He sighs. “Dario did what he always wanted to do—Uncle Angelo…” He trails off, and I know there’s a lot he’s not telling me. “You’re lucky to be alive. You’re lucky all your friends are still alive, and you only owe it to Lucchese’s goodwill.”

“I don’t know Lucchese.”

“You don’t, but your husband does. Be grateful.”

“What I—” I freeze as his words register. “What did you say?” My heart pounds in my chest, each beat louder than the last.

“Ophelia, frankly, I have no time for any theatrics. I?—”

“I don’t have a husband.” I shake my head, wondering if I ended up marrying Dario. If I did, I’ll stab him tonight.

He picks up an envelope on the desk and retrieves the documents, his lips curling into a sneer as he throws them my way. “I told you I don’t have time for lies and theatrics. It may have worked on your father but not on me.”

I take the papers with shaky hands. A marriage certificate dated the day before my father’s death between Javier Manuel Vargas and Ophelia Marie Bergotti, and a wedding picture of Javier and me at city hall, kissing.

I snort, throwing the documents back at him. “This is fake. I never married him, and his name is not even that, apparently.”

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear you say that because this piece of paper is the only thing that’s keeping you alive. And not only you,” he continues quickly as if he already knows I don’t really care about my own survival right now. “The man in that car, the priest, your baker friend… When we clean up, we clean up well. And also, fuck, be a woman with a purpose—at least people now think of you with a certain respect. At least you have some loyalty, even if it’s not to us. Don’t become the stupid girl who betrayed her blood for a pretty face.”

“Fabrizio,” I begin.

He stands up, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. “You have to go now. I’ve shown you far more considerationthan you were owed,” he says, shuffling through papers on his desk. “I have funerals to finalize.”

“When is it?”

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