Running From The Devil (Mafia Romance) Prt 2

 

Chapter 2

Ophelia POV

I didn’t sleep. I spent the whole night on the worn-out couch, an old thing we’d salvaged from the dump, like most of the furniture in this house. Everything came from Jones' Antique shop or was picked up second-hand. Even some of our clothes came from there.

Nothing in our home matched. The décor was chaotic—bright and vibrantly cheap. Like the mustard-yellow couch I was curled up on. Such a harsh color for a living room. But somehow, it fit us.

I was still in my dress from the night before. I hadn’t even thought about taking it off. After what happened, it felt pointless. Like I was clinging to the nightmare, trying to make sense of it through the fabric. Last night had to be a nightmare.

I hadn’t eaten. Why would I? All I wanted was to see if he was okay. Just to wish him a quick recovery, and maybe—somehow—runaway together. But we couldn’t. Joseph was in intensive care. Visitors weren’t allowed until 4 p.m.

“Are you okay, honey?” my mother asked gently, stepping into the room with a cup of coffee.

She placed it on the table in front of me, but I snatched it up immediately and took a careless sip. It burned, but I didn’t care.

My father still hadn’t explained anything.

All he’d said was, “I made a mistake, and I’m trying to fix it.”

The coffee only made my nerves worse. Overcooked and now caffeinated.

“Did he tell you anything?” I asked, finally sliding my aching feet out of the heels I hadn’t bothered to remove last night. Everything felt like a waste. The money I spent. The time I planned. The entire night. All ruined—by her, and by him. My father.

And if my mother didn’t help me make sense of any of it—if she didn’t at least try—I might just throw the hot coffee in her tired, expressionless face.

“He just got dressed and left for work,”

I caught myself before I threw the coffee in her face and carefully set the cup down on the creaky coffee table.

“He couldn’t even leave us something,” I muttered.

“All he said was that he’s going to fix it?” my mother echoed, lowering herself onto the edge of the table.

“I don’t like how none of this is going anywhere,” I said, “Do you know how long I’ve been suffering? How long I’ve been putting up with Wren?”

I couldn’t stand her morning farts. I couldn’t stand the smell of her awful onion feet. If pay for my father’s mistakes, I’d have to completely reset my life. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t stay here—stuck with them—for another three years.

I need my life back. I need to live. How could my father be so stupid?

“I know, sweetheart,” my mother said softly. “But we just have to trust that he’s fixing whatever it is.”

“I remember that woman mentioning some payment. Apparently, he owes her money. But for what? He can’t just leave without an explanation.”

“I tried to get something out of him,” my mother added, “but he just turned his back and walked away.”

“I shouldn’t even be involved in this, Mom.”

“We’re family.”

“Exactly. That’s why we stick together.” At that moment, Wren walked in, a cigarette dangling from her lips and a fresh cup of coffee in her hand. And that’s when I smelled it—the disgusting stench of smoke invading the already stuffy room. She had no manners about her smoking at all.

“Can’t you go outside with that?”

She shrugged, taking a drag and blowing the smoke into the stale air. “So fucking annoying,”

“What did you say?!”

“You’re fucking annoying!” I yelled. “Why don’t you just go live on the street, Wren? Because none of us can stand you. And with Dad having all these payments to deal with, you can’t even offer anything because you’re worthless.”

I was angry, hungry, and unfiltered like a wide hole strainer.

“Camry, get your daughter before I do,” Wren barked. “I don’t know who she thinks she’s talking to.”

“To you,” I spat,

“Please stop!” my mother’s voice rose, trembling with desperation. “We’re all confused and angry, but we are a family. We stick together.”

“No, we don’t, Mom,” I shot back. “I need to move on. But I can’t—because Dad’s mistake landed my boyfriend in the hospital.”

“We aren’t a family. It’s every person for themselves. I’m leaving at the end of the week, like I planned, and I’m not looking back. Whatever shit Dad got us into, I’m done.”

My mother looked at me—her face bashed with pain—before turning away. I could tell she was hurt. But I couldn’t stay. I just couldn't stay.

Wren stared at me, exhaling another cloud of smoke—the only thing she was good at: pumping smoke into the air and leaving behind ashes and dirty coffee mugs.

“You’re the worst, you know that,” she muttered before strutting away, her slides scraping against the floor.

“Fucking bitch,” I grumbled, grabbing the coffee and gulping it down.

What was I going to do now? My plans were unraveling, and I had no choice but to put them aside and think.

************

I hurried through the hospital corridors, my heart pounding as I approached Joseph’s room. I couldn’t wait to see him, to apologize properly. My stress had hit its peak, and tears blurred my vision. If Wren hadn’t claimed she could smell me, I’d probably still be in last night’s dress.

Stopping just outside the door, I noticed Joseph’s family had arrived. They were here, just to say they were present. Joseph didn’t have a good relationship with them, and he never let it bother him. Because we had a plan. We were going to college, build a future, and face life as a team.

Now, look at him. He was all bound up in bandages, staring off into space. I stepped into the room, and Joseph’s eyes immediately widened when he saw me.

“Hey—”

He shook his head, his gaze fast as a rat race, flickering to the bedside table. There, among a small bouquet of flowers, sat a ring box. I gasped and reached for it.

“Joseph,” I breathed.

Was he going to propose? We had never talked about marriage—not yet. We hadn’t reached that stage in our lives. But if he was somehow planning to propose last night, I wouldn’t have dared say no. In that moment, I imagined it—being engaged, knowing we were already a team.

I carefully opened the box. The ring gleamed—a genuine silver band that must have cost a fortune. I wiped away my tears as I held it in my hand.

“How much did this cost?” I asked softly, placing the flowers on the other bedside table. He shared the room with another patient, but their curtain was drawn, and only the faint hum of a machine filled the space.

He shook his head, unable to speak.

I sat down beside him, tears streaming down his face. I nodded, my voice steady despite the lump in my throat. “Of course I’ll marry you.”

But he kept shaking his head.

“What?” I asked, confused. I looked back down at the ring. “You brought this to propose to me last night, didn’t you? I’m so sorry for everything, my father… I think he ruined it all.”

He kept shaking his head, and I raised my voice, trying to explain, but he seemed like the last person who wanted to hear it.

“Fine. I’ll try it on,” I said, sliding the ring onto my finger. It definitely wasn’t the proposal he had planned, but it was still beautiful.

I looked at him. He was barely seeing out of one eye; the other was swollen shut. His head was wrapped tightly in white bandages. One arm was pinned to his chest, immobilized by bindings.

I smiled and held up the ring for him to see.

“Ophe—” he tried to call my name. I leaned in closer, bending down to hear him better. I caught the sound of him swallowing hard, trying to lubricate his dry throat.

“Do you want me to get the doctor?” I asked.

“I’m fine,” he croaked roughly. His weak hand reached out for mine. “That… that’s not mine.”

I blushed. “Is it the guy next door’s ring?” I looked down in disgust at the thought of wearing someone else’s ring.

But Joseph quickly calmed me, shaking his head with a faint smile.

“She told me to give it to you,” he said weakly. “I have to break up with you.”

His eyes fluttered shut, drowsiness creeping in. Whatever medication they’d given him was clearly starting to take effect.

What does he mean she gave it to me? Break up with me? I was hearing too many shocking things at once.

“What are you talking about? What happened last night?”

“I should be asking you the same thing.” His eyes opened, heavy and tired. “Some woman beat me so badly I pissed myself.” He coughed, clutching his chest. “She said you and she were together, and that ring she gave me was her way of proposing to you. She told me giving you the ring—beat up as it was—was a ‘gift.’”

“Listen to me, Joseph. Something crazy happened last night. I’ve never seen that green-eyed witch before in my life. This is all my father’s fault. He’s been gone all day and hasn’t come back with any explanation, I swear.”

He spoke slowly, struggling to find the words. “I can’t be with you.” He shook his head, despair in his eyes. “She’ll kill me.”

“You believe her?”

“Of course.” His eyes tried to widen—I think it was fear—but no matter what, he had been dealt the worst end of this fucked-up stick.

“I know what this looks like.”

“You and your family are involved in some deep shit, Ophelia. Some deep and terrible shit—and I got caught in it,”

I reached for his face, wanting to comfort him, but he turned his head, shaking it weakly. The gesture made me freeze mid-motion.

“I’m so sorry, Joseph,” I whispered. “I’m involved too, and I don’t have all the answers yet. But we love each other. We had a plan. I will get an explanation, I promise. We can still—”

“Just take the damn ring and go,”

“Joseph, please—”

I reached for his hand, but with what little strength he had left, he pushed mine away.

“Why are you doing this?” I asked, my voice rising with frustration. “I didn’t know what was going on either! This isn’t my fault. Sure, I didn’t get jumped in an alleyway, but I’m just as devastated as you are.”

He stayed silent, his gaze fixed on the wall.

I let out a shaky breath, grabbed the ring box from the bed, and stormed out of the room.

This wasn’t over. He was angry and needed space. I understood that. But we would talk again. We had to. He got attacked by a woman none of us knew—someone who wasn’t from town, someone who had just… appeared.

And speaking of appearing—there she was.

Down the hallway, her sleek black suit stood against the white hospital walls.
She was waiting for me.

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