Page 81 of Enigma: The Final Chapter
“I was approached by my father a few months before you and Cormack arrived at Buck’s Diner for dinner the night we met.”
When she turned her gaze to the tabletop, I placed my hand under her chin and hoisted her face high, wanting her to look at me while she explained how I was left carrying the burden of her death the past six years.
“He wanted me to date you, to force you to fight for him.”
The smallest grin carved on my mouth as I shook my head. Henry, Sr. was right all along. He always said Ophelia was a ruse by Col to get me to fight under his entity.
“But I refused.”
My eyes snapped to her, seeking any dishonesty in her statement. She was telling the truth.
“That’s why I denied every advance you made because I knew what he was planning to do. I convinced him you weren’t interested in me. After three months, he stopped asking about you. I assumed he had given up.” A smile curled on her lips. “But you didn’t give up so easily. You were so darn persistent.”
Air puffed out of my nostrils as I stifled a chuckle. Even back then, when I wanted something, I never gave up. It’s part of my stubborn nature.
“Someone in the family discovered we were dating and informed my father. Hence, the arrangement of the fight that night. I don’t know what transpired after you left the warehouse, but Tobias overheard something and advised me that the only way I could get out safely was if we staged an accident that very night.” She exhaled sharply. “Since CJ already had extensive injuries, it made the story of an accident even easier to cover up. I don’t know whose body was in the wreckage, Tobias never informed me, but I’ve never been approached by anyone from my old life.” Her eyes darted between mine. “Until now.”
I stayed quiet, my astuteness scattered and reeling out of control. My bewilderment increased when a screen door creaking opened shrilled into the room. A young boy entered a few moments later, his eager steps into the kitchen faltering when he noticed me in the room. He studied me with just as much interest as I assessed him. He had a lot of the Petretti genes in him, so I couldn’t tell if he were my son.
Ophelia jumped up from her chair and raced to the front door, where she greeted a gentleman with strands of silver streaks at the sides of his dark hair and a heavy set of wrinkles. He balked and took a step backward when he noticed me standing in the kitchen. He clearly knew who I was.
“Thank you, Anthony.” Ophelia snagged the child’s backpack from his hand before ushering him out onto the front patio.
His brows furrowed at her abruptness, but I missed what he said since my attention shifted to the small boy tugging on my trousers. “Who are you?”
He gave me a stern look, impressing me with his gall. Most men quiver in their boots at the sight of me, but he stood his ground, determined to protect his mother from the stranger lurking in her kitchen.
“Isaac.” I offered him my hand to shake.
His stern scowl deepened before he accepted my offer. “Bobby.”
When he moved to the fridge to remove a carton of orange juice, Ophelia glided past me to aid him with filling a plastic cup before giving him two cookies out of a jar on the counter. Even though her composure didn’t allude to any discomfort, the tremor of her hands conveyed her deceit.
“You can take your snack to your room, Bobby, and watch some TV.”
Bobby stared at his mom, seemingly confused before he shrugged his shoulders and ambled into the hallway. Once he was no longer in earshot, I questioned, “You named him after your brother?”
When she nodded, my throat worked hard to swallow the lump formed there. “How did you hear about Roberto’s death if you have no connection to your previous life?”
“My husband was in law enforcement.” She cringes. “Isin law enforcement.”
My eyes shot down to her left hand, even knowing it was void of a wedding band as it was the first finger my eyes zoomed in on when she enclosed her hand around mine.
“We're separated.” Her right hand covered the missing ring on her left hand.
I jerked my head to the hallway Bobby walked down minutes ago. “Is he my son?” My tone was calm, even though I was anything but.
Ophelia’s eyes glossed over, but she held my gaze. “No. Bobby is only five. He's just tall for his age.”
An entanglement of emotions hit me at once. Relief. Unease. It all hit me. “I want a DNA test.”
Ophelia’s eyes darted between mine. Her lips moved, but no words came out of her mouth.
“You deceived me for years, so you can’t expect me just to take your word that he isn’t mine. That would be ludicrous.” My tone came out harsher than I anticipated.
My breath hitched when the image that had been haunting my dreams for the past six years emerged in front of my eyes. Ophelia was crying.
I seized her wrist and pulled her into my chest. Her sobs were quiet, but the dampness on my shirt was all the indication I needed to know she was still upset. My heart pummeled my chest for every silent tear that escaped her eyes.
