16. Ophelia
OPHELIA
Resigning would have been the sensible thing to do, but I walk into the evening memorial for Wilson the next day, still very much part of the business.
I stride into the lobby, my nostrils filling with the scent of lilies.
Co-workers gather around the memorial, paying their respects to Wilson. There’s a portrait of the man in the center of the display, tealight candles burning around it.
Behind the portrait are three tables full of white lilies. Co-workers make their way around the tables, writing messages on cards, tying them to the stems.
I stand back, admiring the memorial from a distance. Guilt strikes through my chest as I stare at the portrait. I never knew the guy, but he looked honest enough, just trying to get by like the rest of us in this city.
“He was the funniest guy I knew.” I overhear people saying.
“His death should be a wakeup call to us all,” says another. “We live life thinking tomorrow is guaranteed. But the future is uncertain. We have no idea what could be waiting for us around the corner.”
Salvatore Moretti is waiting around the corner if you make the wrong move.
I stare vacantly into space. I shouldn’t be here.
Wilson was murdered because he knew too much.
Hanging around here, paying tribute to his death, is heartless.
Unless I leave my boss for good, I’m just as evil as him.
I’m pretending to care about a cause. And all for what?
Because he said he doesn’t want to hurt me?
The tangy scent of lilies drifts through the lobby, turning me faint.
I watch tiny flames wiggle on tealight wicks, imagining a different reality where the entire building goes up in flames.
One wrong move and these tiny flames could turn huge.
All it takes is one person to act out. One person. One tealight.
Orange fills my vision as I stare ahead, the sounds of roaring flames drowning out all other sounds.
You can expose the truth and get burned in the process, or you can keep pretending.
My skin flushes, my breathing turning shallow as I feel flames racing across my skin.
I have to get the fuck out of here.
I turn around, making a beeline for the revolving doors.
Before I can reach the exit, a black figure blocks me off.
I glance up at the dark figure, like I’m in the presence of a raven, or rather, a crow.
Mr. Moretti’s emerald, green eyes find mine through the darkness.
His face softens, like he’s telling me everything will be okay.
Everything is not okay. I refuse to quit my job here because my serial killer boss says he doesn’t want to hurt me.
And in a world full of hurt, of people always letting you down, this feels real.
Like I finally mean something to someone.
“Ophelia.”
“I shouldn’t have come here.”
“This wasn’t my idea.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
Salvatore clenches his jaw, looking side-to-side, before pulling me away from the lobby. “Here,” he says, guiding me down a dark corridor, stopping me when we reach the elevators. He presses the call button. “We’ll talk in private.”
“We did enough of that yesterday morning.”
Salvatore ignores my comment, sliding into the elevator when it arrives. He ushers me in, selecting the button for the highest level.
After an awkward ride up, the elevator spits us out at the very top of the building
“Where are we going?” I ask, since he’s leading me away from our office.
“You’ll see.” Salvatore unlocks the door at the other end of the corridor, one I have never walked through.
I keep my distance, my pulse spiking as I wonder what could be on the other side of this door.
Salvatore cracks the door open, holding it open for me.
I flash him a glare, crossing the threshold. A strong gust of wind slaps me right across the face unexpectedly.
“Keep walking,” instructs Mr. Moretti, his voice deep and commanding.
Fuck. This cannot be good.
I shuffle closer toward the edge of the observatory. The floor is made entirely out of glass. One look down has my heart leaping right out of my chest as I realize how close I am to meeting my death. I would die from the fall alone.
Lights twinkle in the distance as traffic moves between buildings. From this height, everything looks insignificant. Forget about the type of car you drive, the clothes on your back. Everything loses value when a hundred stories up in the air, ready to meet your death.
Now I see why Wilson died because of a heart attack…
“You told me you weren't going to hurt me.”
“This won’t hurt,” says Salvatore, pulling me forward. He guides me to the edge, where a single pane of glass separates us from the night.
“Take a look at the city,” says Mr. Moretti. He stands behind me, not really giving me much option to turn around and leave.
Skyscrapers shoot into the sky in all directions, flashing red at the top to make pilots aware of their presence. Distant horns echo through the wind, sirens drifting away into the distance.
“Look down,” says Salvatore, lowering my head. “See how far the drop is.”
Fear grabs me with both hands, shaking me around. My pulse spikes, my head all over the place as I stare into darkness, measuring the distance of the fall.
“Falling is easy, sweetheart,” he says. “The hardest part is climbing.”
“What are you saying?” I ask, trying to keep my voice level.
Salvatore snakes his arms around my waist, keeping me locked in position. “Living on top of the world can be a very beautiful thing, until you realize how far you have to fall. Nothing is certain. Not even this glass under our feet.”
Great thing to say to a person who is terrified of heights.
I shuffle back, ready to get the fuck back inside, but Salvatore keeps a firm grip on my hips, keeping me in place.
“I didn’t want to make a fuss about Wilson,” he explains. “The dead don’t deserve a ceremony, but Robert insisted.”
“Robert?” I spin around, surprised. “He’s in on the murdering too?”
“Yes. He says I need to show people I care.”
“And do you?”
“No,” says Salvatore. “Since leaving the Crows all those years ago, I have never cared about anyone else.” He spins me around, forcing me to look at him. “And then I saw you.”
“Why do you care?” I ask, the wind blowing between us.
“Because you were like me when I was your age,” he says. “Lost souls float until they find something that sticks. And unfortunately, sweetheart, the thing you think feels like home is the thing you have to run far away from.”
I frown, reading Salvatore’s face like he is a complicated piece of literature. Every time you flick through the pages, you come away with a different interpretation, a different understanding, which makes you question what the book is really about.
“The Crows felt like home?”
“The organization gave me everything I thought I needed. When your life is empty, you become vulnerable, and the devil can smell vulnerability from miles away. He gives you everything you want, food, shelter, a warm bed to sleep in every night, in exchange for your soul. And, my sweet dear,” says Salvatore, squeezing my hand.
“Once you have sold your soul, you can never get it back. A piece of you dies the second you finally have everything you want. But it will never be enough, and you will ruin yourself and other people, all to hold onto things that were never meant to be yours in the first place.” Salvatore keeps staring at me, his gaze shifting as he gives me a firm warning.
“Please turn around now, sweetheart, before you can’t. ”
“Don’t project your life experiences onto me.”
“I see myself in you, and I know how this will end.” Salvatore peers over the edge. “You want to fall, too? Because the higher you climb, the harder you fall. And I’m not the man you want me to be.”
“No,” I say. “You’re exactly who I want you to be.” I shove Mr. Moretti off, walking away from the edge.
Wind blows between us, my hair lifting into the air, flying everywhere. I peel it away from my face, and Salvatore’s green eyes are the first thing I see when I reclaim my vision.
My vision is no longer turning orange as I picture flames, but bright green as I imagine what we could be together.
“You’re vulnerable, Ophelia.”
“I’m nothing.”
“You lost your mother. Three years is still recent.”
“And what would you know about family?”
“I don’t know anything about family,” says Salvatore. “At least in the blood-related way. They were taken from me, sent back to Italy, and I never saw them again.”
“You have all the money in the world, and you’re telling me you haven’t once tried to find them?
” I fold my arms over my chest, shivering from the cold winds.
“My mom is dead, but if there was a chance she was still out there, I would search every last corner of the world to reunite with her. We’re not the same. ”
“Not yet,” says Salvatore, stepping closer.
“The Crows made me into a ruined man. I cannot face my family after what I’ve done.
The person they think I am is not the person I have become.
It would be wrong and unfair to change the perception they have of me.
” Salvatore looks at me, a somber expression written across his face.
“That’s why I never reached out. And this is what I’m trying to fucking tell you, Ophelia.
Leave here. Turn your back on me, the Crows, all of it, before you lose yourself. ”
This bastard can’t force me to do anything. Unfortunately, the more he reveals about himself, the more invested I become…
And the more I feel like I’ve found what I have been searching for.
“I’m not leaving.”
For the briefest second, something softens in Salvatore’s gaze when I say that, but the grouchy version of him soon takes over. He works his throat, a hard muscle flexing in his jaw.
“Yes, you are, Ophelia.”
“No.”
All the lies and uncertainty recede as I stare at the man in front of me. Salvatore Moretti isn’t someone to fear. He’s someone to save.