Salvatore
I forget how stressful my lifestyle can be, and now it’s rubbing off on Ophelia.
I stand on the other side of the locked door, running a hand through my hair.
David has an interesting taste in fashion, but why shop in the middle of the day when we both have work to do?
If I find out he’s been stalking my Ophelia, he can eat my fucking fist. I don’t care who he is. If he wants to live to see another day, he will leave Ophelia out of this mess.
“I’ll be upstairs,” I say to Ophelia, getting David on the phone as soon as I make it up to the master bedroom.
“Ophelia knows how to use her mouth, doesn’t she?” he chuckles on the receiving end.
“You were following her. Stop it.”
“You can thank me later.”
“I’ll be thanking you over your fucking dead body.”
“That’s if the Crows don’t get to us first. I’m doing you a huge favor. Ophelia doesn’t know the first thing about our lives, about what we have been through. She sees innocent people dying and panics like the rest of them. Panicking is messy. I’ll rein her in if you don’t.”
“We can trust Ophelia.”
“Why?” scoffs David. “Because she loves you. Screw your head back on and think about this rationally. We could lose everything, our businesses, money.”
“I agree, we have a very long way to fall. But your focus should be on destroying the new Crow leader, not stalking my assistant.”
“You’re lucky I stepped in, otherwise things would have gone incredibly south. Gossip spreads like Chinese whispers. Promises are empty. Ophelia might think she’s telling her friend things in confidence, but when people have nothing to lose, they push boundaries. Rumors spread like wildfire.”
I rake a hand through my hair, done with David’s bullshit.
“Leave Ophelia out of your shit. This is my final warning. You already broke into her mother’s unit and stole priceless information, now you’re following her around Fifth Avenue, wasting your time trying to catch her out.
Do something more useful, otherwise my knife will be going in your throat. ”
“Threats, Salvatore,” chuckles David. “You’re already growing weak.”
“What business do you have with Ophelia’s aunt?”
“Vivian Bennett has her own secrets, and they might be darker than ours.”
“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?”
“Why don’t you ask her?” suggests David. “She can lie to her own family, but will she lie to you when a gun is being pointed at her head?”
I rake a hand through my hair. Ophelia would fucking kill me if I brought her aunt into this. She lied to protect her family, but what about herself?
“I’m not putting a gun to an innocent woman’s head.”
“Suit yourself,” says David.
“You know what Vivian did. Tell me.”
“Drop Ophelia and I might think about telling you.”
I hang up, launching my phone across the room.
Ophelia would never forgive me if I approached her aunt with violence, but what other fucking choice do I have? She said it herself. Innocent people are dying, and while we’re sitting here working out the puzzle, the Reaper is taking advantage of our ignorance, using it to buy himself more time.
If Vivian knows where this man is hiding, she needs to fucking tell me so we can end this.
I grind my jaw. David knows something. Why the fuck is he playing me?
I retrieve my phone from the floor, shooting him a message.
ME: I need those journals.
The answers are in there. And if David refuses to hand them over, I know the truth.
I head downstairs, knocking on the bathroom door, checking on Ophelia. “You feeling any better?”
“I’m about to take a shower.”
“Great. I’m heading out if you need anything.”
“Where are you going?” she asks, her voice cracking with disappointment.
I grind my jaw. Lying to Ophelia is wrong, but very fucking necessary.
She can spend the rest of her life hating me, never wanting to see me again.
As long as she survives this mess, I don’t care what happens.
Her survival is the most important thing to me right now.
Ophelia has her entire future ahead of her.
Me on the other hand? I’m already falling, already slipping back into that helpless state.
I was never meant to be this powerful. I overrode the system and built my own success by taking away other people’s, and for that, I deserve to die.
If I can sacrifice my life for Ophelia’s, I’ll die a happy man.
“I have a meeting with my men,” I say through the door. Pain strikes my chest as I realize this could be the last time I ever speak to her.
My hand ghosts over the doorknob, itching to twist the lock and walk into the bathroom, planting one final kiss to her lips.
I’m confronting her aunt, finding out the truth, and walking straight into the Crows’ lair. Time is of the essence. If David wants to waste his time playing games, so be it. He can fall.
“Can you get me some Tylenol?” she says.
“Sure.” I fight to keep my voice level, releasing the doorknob before turning on my heel and leaving. “I’ll see you later.”
She’ll never forgive me for what I’m about to do, but I refuse to let the Reaper fly for another day. Young boys are falling each day, and this city is becoming a breeding ground for chaos. I must end the cycle before it begins anew, and I must save what little innocence is left in the world.
I grab my keys and head out, typing Vivian Bennett’s name into my phone. She owns a luxurious art studio here in the city, receiving countless reviews from positive customers.
I pinch the screen, zooming in on a photograph. Late-forties. Interesting appearance. She wears crystal earrings, and the elephant-print fabric woven around her body makes her look like she should be in Bali on a spiritual retreat, not here in New York.
Her paintings go for thousands a piece, and she doesn’t even design them herself.
I scroll through pages of obnoxious art, taking a quick look at her website as I ride in the elevator.
When the doors slide open, I tuck the phone into my pocket, ghosting a finger over my knife. I must tread with caution. Police are roaming the streets. If I’m caught with this knife, I lose everything.
I pause outside of the apartment block, ringing for a car.
I recite the address to the driver as I hop in the back.
“Fine art?” he laughs from the front. “I never knew you were interested.”
“I’m not,” I grumble, shoving my phone back into my pocket. “But the woman looks like she has a fair few secrets shoved up her sleeves.”
“Secrets?” says the man, glancing through the rearview mirror. “About what exactly?”
“Who fucking knows these days?” I shrug. “The vast majority of people in this city are hiding something.” I continue watching the driver through the rearview mirror as he focuses on the road, wondering if he has any connections to the Crows.
After ten minutes of me watching the city pass by, I pop open the door, hand my driver the cash and put my best foot forward.
The sign on the art gallery door reads open, so I take that as my invitation to walk straight in.
“Afternoon, sir,” says my target, twirling around in woven fabric, looking exactly like her picture online.
Vivian angles her head to the side, her crystal earrings wiggling with each small movement. “Mr. Moretti,” she begins, swallowing thickly. “How may I help you?”
I glance around the room, noting the art and the ridiculous price tags attached. “I’m wondering if you can help me.”
“Oh,” says Vivian, stepping in. “What kind of thing are you looking for?” The small tremor in her lip tells me she knows exactly who I am, why I’m really here.
I stare deep into her eyes, seeing the fear underneath. “Close the gallery.”
“Y-yes,” she stutters, stumbling over to the entrance, flipping the sign. “Sir, if there is anything I can—”
“Close the blinds.”
Aunt Viv glances over her shoulder, the fear now visible in her eyes as she obeys.
The room turns dark, shadows passing on her face as she turns around to meet my gaze.
Better rip off the band aid and get this over with.
I remove the knife from my belt, the silver blade catching the faded light.
“You are quite a troubled woman, aren’t you, Vivian?”
“What do you want?” She raises her hands into the air, walking over to her paintings. “I can give you an oil painting.”
“I want the truth.”
She trembles, folding her arms across her chest.
“Hands back up.” I flick my knife into the air, stepping in.
“Tell me where Ben is hiding, or I stick this knife straight into your chest and tell the cops it was suicide. Guilt swallows us whole in the end, and you have been battling with this emotion for a while.” I turn my head to the side, assessing her.
“Crystals won’t save you, Vivian, but the truth might. ”
“I don’t know where Ben is,” she sobs, hands shaking as she holds them in the air.
“What?”
“I’m telling the truth. I was approached a long time ago by someone.”
“Who?”
“Renato Vieri.”
I clench the knife harder, hearing her out. “What did he want?”
“Ben was trying to escape the Crows,” she explains. “For a while, he was successful. He ran away, started seeing my sister Elanor. He wanted to turn over a new leaf, start a family.”
“And then what happened?”
Vivian grinds her jaw, looking away. “I’m leaving my art class one night when I realize I’m being followed.
The man approaches me with kindness. He tells me he knows how it feels to be second best, to be seen as the failure of the family.
” Vivian shifts, watching my knife. “He assures me that I am not a failure. That I can be powerful.” Vivian stares at the tip of the knife, eyes turning vacant as she recounts the memory.
“I knew where Ben was hiding. I exposed his location for money.”
“How much?”
Vivian scoffs, dropping her hands in defeat, gesturing to her surroundings. “Enough to build a life for myself.”
“And what happened to Ben?”
“I never found out, but the Crows took him. Two days later, Elanor falls into my arms, heartbroken, sobbing, saying Ben left without saying goodbye.”
“He’s still alive?”
Vivian shrugs. “I have no idea. But my sister was distraught. Ben promised her the world, and then he took it away from her.”
“No.” I feel Ophelia’s hurt like it is my own. “You did.”
Vivian swipes tears away from her eyes, the fear replaced by something harder.
“What the fuck was I supposed to do?” she scoffs, anger creeping into her voice.
“Elanor had everything. She was the perfect child, adored by my parents. Elanor this. Elanor that. Elanor could do no wrong. She was hard-working, everything I was not in the eyes of my parents.”
Vivian shakes her head. “Do you know how long it takes to create art? I sacrificed sleep, I skipped school and failed all of my subjects because I wanted to pursue art. Elanor was Little Miss Perfect. She ripped my artwork to shreds over an argument, and my parents still took her side. She cries and the world stops to comfort her. But me? I cry and I’m seen as weak, pathetic.
A waste of space. ‘Cry over something real, Vivian. Get a real job. Art will never pay the bills.’”
Vivian takes off into the room, grabbing a painting, lifting it into the air.
“Shove this sixty-thousand-dollar oil painting up your ass.” She launches it across the room, pacing through the room.
“I traded my sister’s heart for freedom.
I proved my parents wrong, becoming everything they never thought I would become.
I made more in a day than Elanor made in a month.
People started seeing me as someone important.
” Vivian crosses her arms over her chest, narrowing her eyes down on me. “You’re the same as me.”
“No, I’m not. I sacrificed myself for this life. You sacrificed your family.”
Vivian laughs hysterically, earrings swinging around. “Innocent people are dying, and you pile up the dead bodies, building yourself a throne.”
I clench my jaw, tempted to shove this knife into her heart and get this over with. I have the perfect alibi. Guilt is the number one cause of death, and Vivian has been trying to escape its prison for years.
But for Ophelia’s sake, I shove the knife back under my belt. “Tell me who the new Crow leader is.”
“This person is not her father.”
“Digging yourself a deeper grave here.”
Vivian shrugs hopelessly, dropping her shoulders. “The past finds its way to us in the end.”
“Yes, and I’m willing to let the past eat me alive. Ophelia’s life is at risk, no thanks to you.”
“You’re lying.”
“Am I?” I take a step closer. “Your lies are the reason Phee is in trouble.”
“I was protecting her.”
“No, you were protecting yourself.”
“I love Phee.”
“But not unconditionally. Telling Phee the truth would have kept her out of trouble. You sent her on a wild goose chase to her fucking death.”
“I never intended that to happen.”
“No,” I say, heading to the door. “Why would you, when you have art to sell and a reputation to uphold?” I tug the blinds open, sunlight streaming into the room. Vivian has definitely seen better days, her face a work of art in itself as she glares at me with pity, tears streaming down her face.
I tug the door open, taking my leave.
My phone lights up with a text message.
DAVID: There’s nothing important in the journals. I’ll hold onto them. In the meantime, control your woman before I control her for you.