Ophelia #2
He went behind my back and confronted Aunt Viv?
I stare through the windows, contemplating everything. Lights roll past, not quite making it through the blacked-out windows. I will only ever see glimpses, never the whole truth. Even my own mother kept her journal entries from me, refusing to tell me about my own father.
She was heartbroken, still in love with a man who left without saying goodbye. And her own fucking sister staged it all.
I shut my eyes, thinking about Salvatore.
What did he do to extract the truth out of her?
Make her bleed? Chop off some fingers? A limb?
I saw the way he shot out of the elevator during the attack, knife at the ready like an extension of his arm.
Salvatore would be no one without killing, just an orphan.
“Tell him to leave her alone.”
“After she lied to you for years?” laughs David, turning at the next intersection, heading for the highway. “Vivian sold your parents and bought a gallery with the money. She should be punished.”
“Not everything has to end in death.”
“It does.” David’s cruel eyes cut through the rearview mirror. “And Salvatore thinks the same.”
“Salvatore would never hurt my family.”
“He would if they hurt you,” says David, merging onto the highway. “Which is why you come in handy. We kill two birds with one stone by keeping you quiet and forcing Salvatore to hand everything over.”
“Right, like you’re out of pocket from scamming people.” I glance through the window, seeing the sign pass for Brooklyn. “Where are we going?”
“I’ve answered enough questions for the time being,” says David.
“You’re the Crow leader, aren’t you?” I stare through the rearview mirror, watching the lines disappear between David’s brow, a horrible smile stretching across his face.
“Congratulations, you figured it out.”
“Why?”
“Like I already said—”
“You broke into my mother’s fucking unit, making us think my father was the fucking Reaper.”
“The Reaper?” cackles David, taking the next exit. “You gave me a name?
“It was Salvatore’s idea,” I mutter. “And you lied at the fundraiser.”
“Oh, Ophelia,” sighs David, exhaling a long breath. “You really think anyone in the audience cares about the attack? Wake up. People only care about themselves. The bigger the tragedy, the bigger the distraction. People have no idea what is really going on behind closed doors.”
“Do I get exclusive access behind those locked doors?”
David ignores my comment, moving on. “I’m in negotiations with the police. The Moretti Building Attack case will be closing soon.”
“Which you started and proceeded to raise money for.”
How fucked in the head is this guy?
“Never let them know your true colors,” says David, his leather-gloved hands sliding over the wheel.
“I like to play dangerous games, and I win the games each time. The vast majority of people like to play it safe, and when they have something to lose, they hide. Alas, hiding still makes a statement,” explains David.
“Your Aunt Vivian is lucky to have gotten this far.”
I press my temple into the side door, blowing out a long breath. City lights fade, darkness stretching in every direction as we head further away from the city, past neighborhoods until buildings become trees. They stand tall in the night, leaves blowing in the breeze.
My heart picks up in my chest, the reality of this situation dawning on me. I’m alone in a car with the new Crow leader, about to be used as leverage.
I glance into the front, trying to work out the logo on the steering wheel. I should have checked the car model before stepping in.
This man really knows how to break a person down, making them easy to manipulate.
“Why drop a note out of the car, indirectly telling me to stop searching?” I hold David’s gaze through the mirror. “Why bother sending me to a journalist? Why waste time breaking into my apartment, stealing my mother’s things, when you could have simply held a gun to my head?”
David frowns, watching me carefully through the mirror. “Who said I broke into your apartment?”
“Lying is better than murder, remember?”
“Yes,” says David. “But I would never lie to you.”
“Right, just the entire nation.”
“You saw an investigative journalist?”
He wasn’t the one who sent me there?
I glance at the steering wheel again, struggling to see the logo. “Move your hands.”
“Why? So this car veers over onto the train track? If you’re looking for a quick, painless death, you might be in luck.
My Crows don’t have the patience for slow, painful deaths.
They see someone they hate and pull the trigger, too reckless to take their time with anything and appreciate the art form.
” David consults the dashboard. “The Long Island Express should be passing in a few minutes. You should see how fast they fly.”
“What car is this?” I say, changing the topic.
“BMW Series One. Imported straight from Germany.”
“You happen to drive a black Toyota sedan?”
“I only drive German cars.”
I stare vacantly into space, my chest tightening as I wonder who could have been following me. Aunt Viv? Salvatore? This driver was warning me to stay away.
Both of these people would have a motive.
“Is there a problem, Miss Bennett?” asks David, the car rolling to a stop. He kills the engine, looking over his shoulder. “You look perplexed about something.”
“I’m perplexed about a lot of things.”
“Everything will make sense very soon when Salvatore’s empire is dismantled, and New York City belongs to me.”
“What?” I say, the seatbelt snapping back as I release the buckle.
“The Crows is how I build a lasting legacy.”
“As a philanthropist.”
“Power can only belong to one person, and at the moment, it is split. Salvatore will fall, and I will rise.” David pops open the car door, circling around the vehicle to grab my side.
I kick the door open before he can reach me, stumbling straight out of the car. I need to run, but I’m not sure where to go. There’s a train track in front of me, and the Long Island Express is meant to roll through any second.
I glance over my shoulder, legging it across the cracked train platform. An old building materializes up ahead, but David catches me before I can check it out.
“Nice try.”
Despair weighs heavy on my heart, pushing the organ all the way down into my stomach.
The fight leaves my body once again, and I crumble as David drags me back onto the platform.
The atmosphere is orange and hazy, one single light preventing the atmosphere from falling dark.
David pulls up his phone, a bright white light illuminating in front of me.
I stare into space, wondering how my life went from zero to a hundred, back to fucking zero again. Aunt Viv is the reason I never met my father, the reason I have spent countless years believing he was selfish.
A bird swoops low, landing on the railway. It pecks at something between the tracks. I stare at the bird, noting the jet-black color, the ragged edges of its wings. Small, but not to be underestimated.
It caws, flapping away.
A few moments later, the silence is broken as the sound of an engine crescendos, the noise growing louder until a train is shooting past, hot wind slapping me in the face, the platform shaking.
I stumble back, endless carriages rattling through the platform. The wind dies as soon as the final carriage leaves, and the train disappears back into the darkness.
“Impressive, isn’t it?” says David, holding me close. “The crow senses the danger before we even hear it coming.” He tucks his phone into his suit jacket, guiding me down the platform. “Crows are intelligent creatures. Small but mighty.”
“And what happens when these Crows grow up and become billionaire philanthropists like yourself?”