Ophelia #3
David flashes me a dark glare. “The Crows will never die out. These boys will turn into ruthless killing machines. They will fly through the city, using fear to control. Every powerful person will have to answer to me as I threaten to expose their secrets. They want to stay at the top, remain in power? They better pay up and answer to their king.”
My stomach twists. What the fuck does this mean for Salvatore?
“Your boyfriend has a big choice to make. He will hand his business over to me, or he will bury your dead body if he refuses.”
Shivers rush through my spine, sending me back into that transient state where I feel like I’m floating, my body no longer mine.
My head turns fuzzy, consciousness slipping away.
I wanted to be loved, to be chosen by someone important, but I attached myself to the wrong person.
Salvatore values freedom above all else.
He keeps knives sheathed under his belt and isn’t afraid to use them.
He murdered his way up to the very top of the ladder and has a very long way to fall, as he said himself.
David is tampering with the ladder, and now Salvatore has a choice to make. He chooses me and falls, or he walks away with his business intact, his mafia secrets kept hidden.
“Come here,” says David, dragging me across the platform. “In here.”
He unlocks the old station house, the door groaning on old hinges. Dust enters my nostrils. I cough, sneezing as he pushes me inside.
There’s an old ticket office in the corner gathering dust, but the huge crow symbol plastered across the wall grabs my attention more.
“Welcome to the Crow’s den,” says David, dragging me in.
A trap door lifts, bodies appearing. Boys filter out holding weapons. They’re topless, black crow tattoos marked across their small chests. They have lean muscle, their bodies malnourished. I can see the look of starvation in their eyes as they pile out of the trap door, waiting to be fed.
I stumble back, my heart beating out of my chest, not out of fear, but something much worse. Pity.
Cuts and bruises line their entire body. They have been beaten, broken, but they don’t blame David. After all, he trained them. He saved them from misery, put roofs over their heads, gave them shelter…
I suppose an old festering station building is better than nothing.
“Relax, boys,” says David. “Ophelia is nobody important. The real fun will be arriving soon.”
I shuffle my weight onto the other foot, the unloved part of me taking David’s words to heart.
We’re all the same here. Even David. We all know how it feels to be lonely, to be betrayed by your own family, lied to.
If it wasn’t for my mother, I probably would have taken a similar route. We all need someone to look up to. Someone who has our back no matter what.
“I know quite a lot of you would like to see Salvatore Moretti dead, but I need you to hold fire. He has an important decision to make—” A phone rings, interrupting David.
He slips it from his pocket, a horrible smile crawling across his face when he checks the screen.
“Speak of the devil,” he says, taking the call.
“I was wondering when you would be ringing to enquire about your missing girlfriend.”
I hold my breath, trying hard to hear Salvatore on the other side of the phone.
“She’s right here, keeping me company. Don’t believe me? Very well.” David shoves the phone into my ear. “Any last words to Salvatore, sweetheart, before I set my Crows on you?”
“You lied to me.”
“Fuck, Phee,” is all he has to say. “I’m on my way to get you.”
“Here, I’ll send you the address,” says David, taking back the phone. “Drive safe.” He ends the call, returning the phone to his pocket after sending the address over.
Knots form in my stomach as I see thirty-something teenage boys lined up in front of me, each armed with a knife and gun.
“You don’t have to listen to him,” I spit out.
If I cared about my life, I would shut my mouth and comply. But what the fuck is the point? My mother is dead. My life has been built on lies. I’m only important when it’s convenient, and I have nothing else to lose.
Some of the boys smirk at one another, mocking me. They stand in their lines like soldiers, knife in their left hand, gun in their right, wearing black cargo pants and heavy boots.
Their stomachs are lean, their cheeks even more hollow than their eyes.
They’re only here because they think there is no better alternative.
“Innocent people have died, and you are responsible.”
“Nobody is innocent,” says one of the boys, reciting a line David must have ingrained into them.
“Death is already coming for us all. Why speed up the process?” I continue. “Families are grieving their loved ones.”
“Good,” says another. “More people need to learn what it feels like to have nothing.”
“Well said,” says David, praising his boy with a thumbs up. “Let’s get this party started, boys. I need zip ties and some duct tape to cover this one’s mouth before she makes all our ears bleed with her nonsense.”
My center of gravity changes as I sink closer to the earth, losing all hope.
You can’t save people who don’t want to be saved. If these teenage boys are stuck in their ways, I have no chance of influencing a forty-nine-year-old man.