Ophelia
Sun streams through the window the following morning. I wink open an eye, seeing Salvatore sleeping beside me.
I did exactly what I told myself I could never do…
I fell asleep in my boss’s arms. And now I’m on track to falling hopelessly in love.
I sit up in bed, watching sunlight spill over the city. It lands on Salvatore’s back. He sleeps face down, arms crossed over the pillow.
I take this opportunity to admire his back and all the muscles. Scars line his skin, along with many other tattoos, these ones not as faded as the crow.
I trail my finger over each of them, paying close attention to the MORETTI tattoo marked across his skin in bold, black capital letters.
There’s a knife tattoo on his arm, a snake wrapped around the blade. The word ‘INVINCIBLE’ is carved at the bottom.
“That tickles,” grumbles Salvatore, rousing from sleep.
“Why do you have so many tattoos?”
“Decoration.”
I prefer his face like this when he has just woken up. It’s less billionaire, more human, and the more layers I peel back, the more I feel myself falling.
Salvatore consults his watch on the bedside. “Fuck,” he grumbles, his voice scratching against his throat. “My men are coming over in ten.”
“Your men?”
“Mafia meeting.”
Terrific.
“I need you to take notes,” Salvatore says, rising from the bed, completely fucking naked.
Sure… I can take notes… of how incredible last night was.
“Ophelia,” he says, urging me out of bed. “Get dressed.”
“It’s Phee.”
Salvatore forgets about the rest of his shirt buttons, turning around to face me. He stares right at me for a beat, keeping quiet.
Great. He knows what this means as well as me. We have officially crossed that line, and that means things are about to get complicated.
But every time I look at his face, all outside noise disappears.
Perhaps love is quite simple. It’s humans that make it complicated.
I take a quick shower, throw on some semi-professional clothes, and make coffee while Salvatore welcomes the six men into the room.
One of those men is Robert.
“Ophelia’s apartment was broken into last night, so she will be staying with me for the time being,” he explains.
Robert tosses Salvatore a questioning look, lowering his voice. “How much did you tell her?”
“Oh, I told him enough,” I interject, placing the coffee pot on the table. “And to address the elephant in the room, you can trust me to keep quiet about your business.”
“Of course,” says Robert. “Because you signed the non-disclosure.”
“No. Because they’re in love,” counters another. “And when you love someone, you promise to take their secrets to the grave. Of course, love is temporary.” The man flashes me a scornful look. “Make her sign the non-disclosure just in case.”
“That won’t be necessary,” says Salvatore, sitting at the head of the table.
“Now, gentlemen, have we finished fluffing around? It’s time we discuss matters that actually concern you.
” A thick silence drifts across the table as Salvatore nets his hands, addressing everyone.
“Good. I called you here this morning to update you on the Crows.
We finally have a lead on who the new leader could be.
To make this simple, let's call this person the Reaper.”
“Ben would be more fitting,” I offer.
All six men turn and face me.
“What is she talking about?”
Salvatore flashes me a concerned glance, clearing his throat. “Last night at the fundraising event, I was approached by David Hale. He told me that he broke into the self-storage unit.”
“Philanthropists do all kinds of shit and call it charitable,” spits one of the men. “Tell him to fuck off and mind his own business.”
“David is a former Crow, like myself and Robert. He wants to put this to bed as much as we do.”
“Breaking in is messy.”
“Indeed, which is why I refuse to send people over there myself. Lenny lost his life.”
“No,” interjects Robert. “Somebody killed him in the hospital…”
Typical.
“Wasn’t me,” I confess, holding up my hands.
“No,” says Salvatore. “It was the Reaper.”
Robert furls his lip, looking like he wants to strangle his older cousin. “That’s it? You’re gonna let this slide just because she—”
“Ophelia has been digging into Crow information because her family are loosely tied to the organization,” explains Salvatore. “The unit used to belong to Ophelia’s late mother.”
“And what was inside?”
“Not much, just old journals about her failed relationship. There’s a photograph of the man.”
“Let me guess—he was a crow?”
“Yes,” says Robert. “And his name was Ben.” He clenches his jaw, drawing the same conclusion. “He would have a motive.”
“What are we waiting for?” says another. “Let’s kill him.”
I sink a little into the chair. Part of me wants to meet my father first, at least hear him out, but why should I give him the time of day when he abandoned me and my mom?
These men are right. He needs to be killed before any more innocent people pay the price.
Salvatore turns to me. “Do you remember the license plate for the black sedan?”
I scribble it down on the paper, tearing the sheet off the pad, sliding it over.
“Good,” says Salvatore, flipping the page around. “I want everyone to keep their eyes out for this license plate. In the meantime, I need us on guard. Lorenzo—monitor our bank accounts.”
I scribble down meeting notes, keeping my eye on Salvatore as he speaks to his men with conviction.
“Robert—hire guards to watch the Moretti Global building. Cops are still sniffing. I need the guards to be careful.”
“The police will be wrapping this up in a few days, moving onto something bigger,” says the man at the far end of the table, helping himself to coffee. “Cases turn cold after a few days. We shouldn’t worry about the police too much.”
I frown, staring at the coffee pot as the man pours himself a cup, thinking about Aunt Viv. “I think the police might actually solve this case.”
A few of the men exchange a look. “Okay, optimism.”
Salvatore flashes them a scolding glare. “Mock my assistant again and I’ll put you on the Reaper’s radar myself.” He turns and faces me. “Please speak, Miss Bennett.”
Back to being his assistant now that we have company?
“The Crows were broken up by the police once before. If they strip-search the memorial attackers, find the tattoos, they’ll recognize the markings and be able to dismantle them again.”
Deep lines appear between Salvatore’s brows as he watches me. “The Crows were never broken up. Who told you this information?”
There it is—confirmation that Aunt Viv has been lying.
And still, I choose to cover for her.
“Um, the journalist I told you about.”
“Then he was lying. The Crows faded out when their leader died.” Salvatore sips coffee, setting the empty espresso cup down on the table. “We are done here, gentleman. If you hear any new information, report to me immediately.”
I finish scribbling down notes as the men disperse. Salvatore sees them out, Robert the last to leave.
“You say Ophelia is staying here as a guest?” I overhear him say to Salvatore
“Yes.”
“Funny. The guest bedroom is empty.”
I watch Robert flash his cousin a glare before taking his leave.
Salvatore grinds his jaw, staring into space as the door slams shut.
“Trouble in paradise?”
“There is no such thing as paradise.”
I pick up Salvatore’s empty cup, staring at the grains of coffee left at the bottom. Aunt Viv might be good at reading coffee granules, but she’s terrible at telling me the truth.
“Add less water next time,” says Salvatore, striding over to the table. “I like my coffee strong, same as my women.”
“Right, because there are multiple of those.”
“No, sweetheart, there is only you, which is why my men can never know the true extent of our relationship.”
“They don’t seem like the loving type.”
“Love is a man’s greatest downfall, sweetheart.”
“And yet here you are, kissing me on the lips like it means something.”
“It means more than you’ll ever know.”
My heart leaps out of my chest, motivating me from the table. Time to put my best foot forward.
I have an aunt to confront, and a murderer to stick up for.
“Where the hell are you going?” says Salvatore, following me into the bedroom as I rifle through my bag, changing outfits.
“Shopping.”
If visiting an art gallery comes under that bracket…
“In the middle of a crisis?”
“Retail therapy can solve a lot of problems.”
“Going outside puts you in danger.”
“I’m walking down Fifth Avenue, not an abandoned side street. Relax.” I stand up, wafting hair away from my face. “I’ll be back in a couple hours.”
“You lied to me,” is the first thing I say when I burst into Aunt Viv’s art gallery.
She turns around, mortified, not because I know the truth, but because her client is hearing all of this.
“Mrs. Harrison,” she says in a cordial tone. “Will you give me five minutes?”
The woman turns her nose up at the oil panting. “Of course,” she says, slipping her purse into her bag.
I glance at Aunt Viv across the gallery, storming toward her.
“Let’s go somewhere quiet,” she says, sliding her hand across my lower back and leading me behind the desk, into the lunchroom.
I dump my bag on the couch, the smell of tea leaves and lies filling my nose.
“You told me the police broke up the Crows,” I say, jogging her memory. “But you were lying. Of course you were. I had to squeeze the truth out of you, but you weren’t even telling me the truth.”
“Phee,” begins Aunt Viv, taking a seat opposite me. Pain cuts across her brow, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find the words.
I’ll find them for her.
“You should have told me the truth about the Crows.”
“Some of it is the truth.”
“Sure, except for the part about my father.”
Aunt Viv rises in her seat, inhaling a shaky breath. “Have you seen him?”
“What?” I burst, a tear streaking down my cheek. She has basically confirmed everything. He is living in this city, leading a second generation of Crows.