Running From The Devil (Mafia Romance) Prt 1

 Note: This book have a Book 2, called SILENT FLAMES

Chapter 1
Ophelia Nakita POV

The ponytail felt too high—honestly, it was. I could practically see it poking out above my forehead in my peripheral vision, casting a shadow over my already-worried, creased brow. A couple of rebellious strands that I’d yanked loose were now dangling over my face, one of which had just taken a dive into my appetizer soup.

Disgusted, I flung the green liquid off the ends of my hair. The little curl I had tortured with the flat iron on its highest heat setting was now limp—bone-straight and possibly fried. But tonight was worth the heat damage. I had to look good. I felt good—well, mostly. Nervous, yes, but still good.

I tucked one of the ruined strands behind my ear, leaned forward, and slid my phone to the edge of the table, turning on the screen with a hopeful swipe. Still no message from my boyfriend.

He wouldn’t stand me up. Not in front of my family. He wouldn’t dare.

Tonight was our night. It was too important for him to flake. I’d made all the arrangements—booked the family dinner package at the most expensive restaurant in town. I wasn’t rich, so every plate, every chair mattered. Especially the one sitting empty beside me. He was already missing out on the appetizer.

I was going to make this night happen. One way or another.

“So, darling, what are your plans now that you're off to college?” my father asked.

I barely heard him. My eyes were glued to my phone as I typed out another desperate message: If you're playing with me right now, we’re breaking up. As if that would make him materialize at the table.

Sighing, I finally turned the phone off and looked up at my family—two of my male cousins, one aunt, my mother and father... and the glaring absence of him.

“Yes… uh, what was the question again?” I asked, blinking. “Something about college?”

Joseph and I were both enrolling late, but it didn’t matter. They say it’s never too late to learn. So I was trying to believe that. Really trying.

I didn’t get to go to college like the typical kids—straight from high school, rolling into tertiary education with fresh notebooks and naïve optimism. Instead, I had to stay in town, hustle every day, juggle three jobs, cry my eyes out more times than I can count, and—regrettably—send bitter prayers toward my parents. It wasn’t really their fault they were poor. They could barely manage as it was.

Honestly, I’d say it all started in my grandfather’s time—back when you could buy a house for two dollars and start a company with five. But he was a lazy motherfucker. I know I shouldn’t hold onto the grudged, but I couldn’t help it.

I wanted to be like the regular kids. I wanted to start college at eighteen, not twenty-three. By now, I should’ve been planning my graduation, not my first semester.

“What are your plans for college?” my father asked again, snapping me back to the table.

“Study and get the degree,” I replied flatly. Simple enough. No frills, no fluff. I save the real, deeper conversations for my boyfriend, who also happened to be my only friend. Sure, I had a few girlfriends here and there, but they didn’t share my struggle. Talking to them felt like trying to communicate with aliens. They didn’t understand my life, and I didn’t understand theirs.

“I mean,” my father clarified, “what’s your real plan for making it through?”

“I’ve saved up a couple hundred dollars. My boyfriend and I are planning to rent a one-bedroom apartment. It’s already on layaway—we’ll finish the payment when we get there.”

He nodded, slowly. No judgment, no praise. Just a quiet kind of acceptance. Maybe that’s all I needed tonight.

My mother’s smile sparkled and full of pride. She didn’t have money to give, but she sure knew how to pour belief into me. And while I appreciated that… honestly, I didn’t want belief. I wanted a head start. I wanted them to pay my college tuition like other parents did. But instead, I got motivation and moral support. Her pale blue eyes were misted with joy, and so were everyone else’s around the table.

“With teamwork, we’ll make it through college, right?” I said. I wasn’t sure why I was even asking.

“Yeah—until he meets a prettier girl,” Aunt Wren chimed in without missing a knock.

I turned and looked at her. Joseph loved me. I gave her an easy smile. “He won’t,"

“You ever been to college, my dear?”

“I haven’t. And neither have you.” No one in our family had. That was the curse I wanted to break. All of us had just scraped by—working whatever jobs we could get, holding on to survival. I worked three jobs myself, and all three were soul-crushing in their own special way.

“Darling,” Aunt Wren said, “you don’t need a degree to know college girls are pretty, wild, and slutty. You think you can win just by being a slut?”

“I don’t think my boyfriend loves sluts,” my brows didn't hesitate to raise.

She laughed, digging into the old handbag she’d been carrying around for what felt like centuries. The straps were worn thin, the edges frayed, but she swore on her three deceased children that the bag matched every outfit. It was genuine black leather, sure, but by now it didn’t look the part. Honestly, the bag looked like it was begging for retirement.

She finally pulled out her cigarette. I knew she would. She loved to smoke. That’s why her croaker throat would probably never heal.

“Believe me,” she said, sticking the unlit cigarette between her lips, “boys don’t love sluts. They just like being entertained by one. Boys love hardworking idiots like you.”

“Wren, no need to be rude,” my mother tried to snapped.

Wren was my mother’s sister—the one she never got along with. But when Aunt Wren lost her house under... mysterious circumstances (too shameful for her to ever explain), my mother still took her in.

“My daughter is doing a lot more with her life than you ever did at her age,” Mom added, eyes narrowing. “And don’t you dare smoke that in here.”

Wren ignored her. She wittingly let the cigarette hang from her mouth, and with her fingers digging into that old, busted handbag, it was clear she was hunting for her lighter.

“I did what I could,” she muttered. “When I was her age, I already owned a house.”

Back when houses cost six dollars, I wanted to add, but I bit my tongue.

She found the lighter and waved it in the air, as if threatening to light up right there in the middle of the restaurant.

“Auntie, please don’t. If you light that, they’ll kick us out,”

My father sighed deeply. “Really, Wren? Darling, talk to your sister.”

“I am trying,” my mother said through clenched teeth.

Wren let out a raspy, guttural laugh. “You should’ve seen your faces. You really think I’m dumb enough to smoke in here? Can’t believe you all think so lowly of me.”

But the truth was, everyone did think lowly of her.

Wren wasn’t old—but she definitely wasn’t young either. She was young enough to work, to build herself back up. Yet when she moved in, she practically moved into my room and claimed half of my bed like she was settling in permanently. She’d declared, without shame, that this was her new way of life.

“Just go outside,” my mother shot firmly.

Wren fired her a glare but placed the cigarette and lighter down on the table. “I have my soup to finish.”

I turned my gaze toward the window. Not many people were passing by. The restaurant sat quietly on the edge of Orlando Avenue, tucked into its own little corner of the world. Though the street was calm, the restaurant itself was far from empty. It was one of those rare places that always had a crowd—thanks to its breathtaking view of the still lake. Whatever price they set, people paid it. The diners didn’t come for the food alone—they came to eat beside the dark, glassy lake, lit only by the shimmer of moonlight and the occasional hum of watersports in the distance.

Booking the reservation had been tough. They offered me limited dates for the family dinner package and the rest of the calendar was completely booked out. I was hoping for the night before I left for college, but instead, they gave me a week earlier. It wasn’t ideal, but I took it. It still felt special but just not quite the way I had imagined.

I pulled my phone closer, lighting up the screen again. Still no message. No update.

I glanced back out the window. If he were anywhere nearby, I’d spot him easily—tall and average body, with autumn-y brown hair that brushed his shoulders, striking dark grey eyes, and a warmth to his body even a suit couldn’t hide. That smile of his—wide, earnest, unforgettable—could light up the sidewalk from a mile away.

But there was none of that.

Just a couple of cars easing down the road. A few strangers casting quick glances inside. And beyond them, the lake sat still and endless, the moonlight touching its surface.

Where the fuck was he...

“He still hasn’t reached out?” my male cousin Cal asked.

“Nada,” I replied.

“Traffic?”

“Funny,” I said with a dry smile. “Dad, he doesn’t even drive.”

“I forgot you’ve got a broke boyfriend,” Wren chimed in. “Sweetie, go to college without him and find yourself a rich husband.”

“Real funny,” I muttered, rolling my eyes. “Let me just try calling him.”

I lifted the phone to my ear. It beeped immediately. “No answer. The phone seems to be out of service.”

“Broke and can’t even afford to keep his phone on,” Wren added, never missing a chance for a dig.

“Hold your horses. It’s probably just off, or accidentally put on airplane mode,” I said, defending him instinctively.

“If you say so.”

“The dinner will have to start soon, honey,” my mother reminded me gently.

“I know,” I said, sighing.

“Let me check again—” I lifted the phone back to my ear. My eyes stayed fixed on the window. A few men walked past outside, none of them him. Then a group came through the restaurant doors, but still no familiar face. I turned away just as the call ended with another beep.

“He’s not available,” I whispered. I swallowed my disappointment. “Fine. Call the waiter. Let’s start dinner.”

I quickly tapped out a message to Joseph: We’re starting without you. Maybe we can do our own little celebration later this week—we deserve it.

Sent.

Maybe that’s how it would have to be. Just him and me. Later.

The waiter approached our table, clearing the empty dishes before handing out the menus.

“No serving for this seat until he shows up,” I requested gently.

“Very well, ma’am. I’ll return in a few minutes to check in,” he said with a polite nod.

“Thank you.”

“He’ll probably just come later,” I said, trying not to sound too worried. My father gave me a small, reassuring smile.

I couldn’t help but keep my phone in my lap, glancing at it every few seconds. I didn’t want my parents to see just how disappointed I really was that Joseph hadn’t shown up on time. I already knew we were going to have an argument about it later and probably a bad one.

“So, tell us—”

The chair beside me scraped loudly against the floor. I turned with a smile, ready to greet him. “Joseph—” But the word died in my throat.

It wasn’t Joseph.

A woman I had never seen before sat down in his place. Her cloudy green eyes met mine for the briefest moment before sweeping across the rest of the table. “Good evening, to the lovely Nakita family,” she said with a serene smile.

Confusion spread across every face at the table—except my father’s. He looked paralyzed, a shadow of realization falling over him like a cold wind.

I didn’t wait for answers. I decided to get them myself.

“Excuse me... who are you?” I asked cautiously.

That’s when I noticed them—several men, silently surrounding our table. My chest tightened.

The woman smirked, resting one elbow on the table, her coiled fist propping up her chiseled face. As her jacket shifted, a glimpse of olive-toned skin peeked through.

“Your daddy can tell you,” she said, her voice laced with an unsettling calm. Then she leaned in slightly, her accent curling like hot paper around each word. “But I know so much about you.”

“Vincenzo…” my father called out, his voice cracking with a stutter. He was scared. Genuinely scared—of a woman.

But as I looked around the table and noticed the men standing behind us and guns discreetly pointed downward—I began to feel that same fear creeping up my spinal cord.

“Yes?” she replied, her tone taunting, almost sing-song. “Yes, Mr. Warwick?”

Her eyes were locked on me, as if daring me to run. I wanted to. Every instinct in me screamed to. But I couldn’t make sense of what was happening, and looking to my father for answers felt useless.

“I was trying to get to you…” he began.

She chuckled,

“He was trying to get to me,” she echoed mockingly.

“Well—through your managers,” my father added quickly,

She gently patted the side of my thigh under the table.

“You hear that, amoretta?” Her accent polished like new floor boards. “Your daddy was trying to reach out to me.”

I swallowed hard. She brushed away a single strand of hair that had fallen across her eye, tucking it smoothly into the jet-black waves cascading over her shoulders. She was striking. Olive skin, piercing green eyes, and that voice.

Rude. She was ruining my dinner. Our celebratory dinner.

I forced a polite smile.

“We’re actually in the middle of a family celebration. Maybe you and my father could discuss... whatever this is, another time?”

She bared her teeth. It was a smile—or maybe a grin—but something about it was twisted. Menacing. Still, her teeth were perfect, adding a strange allure to the grim expression on her face. Somehow, she was pulling off both terrifying and gorgeous at the same time.

She belonged in hell.

“Wow. A celebration,” she said smoothly. “How rude of you not to invite me. But I’m here now.”

She leaned in slightly.

“And I brought you a gift.”

I undertake a smile. “Oh really?”

I glanced at my father. The color had drained from his face—he already knew I wouldn’t like whatever gift she was about to offer.

Her green eyes pulled me in like a trap.

“What is it?”

“Telefono.”

She lifted her free hand, and one of the men beside her stepped forward and placed a phone into her palm.

“I met your boyfriend in an alley. Just down the road,” she said casually.

“Oh… really,” I answered weakly.

My eyes flicked to one of the guns. I couldn’t feel anything yet—not panic, not pain—but something told me. He was dead. Maybe not in that moment, but as good as. The men surrounding us weren’t here by chance. They knew my father. They knew me. And clearly, they knew Joseph.

All my plans—our plans—were collapsing in silence.

I had told Joseph once, I felt so burned out, so emotionally drained, that nothing seemed real anymore. I just wanted us to start college together. Work toward our goals. Build something. That’s when I’d finally breathe. That’s when I’d finally smile again. That’s when I’d feel again.

“Mhm,” she murmured, tilting her head. “He loves you. But not as much as I think I could love you.”

I didn’t answer. I just stared.

“Where is he?”

“One moment, amoretta. Don’t rush me. I mean, it’s not like I rushed your father about his payments.”

Payments?

What payments?

This shouldn’t have involved me. I wasn’t part of whatever mess this was. When I was working three jobs and holding my life together with sheer willpower, no one—not even my family—was involved. So why now?

She slid the phone across the table.

On the screen was Joseph—beaten, bruised, barely conscious. My breath hitched as I stared. My lips trembled. My eyes welled with tears.

“Don’t worry,” with a mock sweetness, she muttered, moving the phone from my eyes. I wanted to bring her hands back, to really stare and see if there was something off and maybe they have the wrong man.

“I’m not a monster.”

Then what was she? A fucking angel? Would an angel really come down to Earth just to beat one of God’s children senseless for no reason?

“He has a surprise for you,” she informed. “So I suggest you pay him a visit.”

“Where?” I asked, already dreading the answer.

“The hospital, of course,” she replied with a mock sweetness. “I told you—I’m not a monster. I only beat him badly enough to need a hospital.”

She reached out and took my hand.

“Don’t you dare touch my daughter!” my mother snapped. “Whatever business you have, leave her out of it.”

“We do have business,” the woman said. “And now it involves your daughter.”

“Me?” I asked, stunned.

She turned to face me.

“Go to the hospital. You have a few days to accept my offer. If you don’t…”

Her lips curled into something between a smile and a warning.

“I’ll come back and take you by force.”

With that, she stood and left, offering no further explanation.

But there was an explanation.

All eyes turned to my father.

And now, so did mine.

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