Running From The Devil (Mafia Romance) Prt 3

 

Chapter 3
Ophelia POV

What was I doing?

My legs moved on their own, carrying me straight toward her. But what did I actually know about this woman? Her first impression was pure mad mayhem. And in the eight hours since we met, my life had only skyrocketed further downhill.

None of it made sense. Not to me.

For starters, it looked like I’d have to kiss college goodbye. I still had a down payment left to make, and while I had some money floating around in the bank, I couldn’t make it alone—not without my boyfriend. The same boyfriend who just claimed he was breaking up with me.

Well, I wasn’t going to accept that breakup.

Vincenzo smirked at the end of the hallway, her hands casually tucked into the pockets of her deviled suit, as if she hadn’t just wrecked my entire life. She stood there, poised and patient, waiting for me to come to her.

But what the hell was I even supposed to say? “Oh, fuck off with your proposal”?

Honestly, I shouldn’t even be anywhere near her without my family around. This was dangerous. I paused in my tracks, glancing both ways at the intersection of the hospital hallway. The exit signs glowed softly in either direction, and I spotted the elevators to my left.

Vincenzo raised one perfectly sculpted brow.

I smirked. Then, slow and with care I lifted my middle finger in the air and turned on my heel—heading for the elevator without another glance.

I didn’t stop until I was inside. I looked back once, almost expecting her to still be standing at the end of the hallway, but she wasn’t there.

That unsettled me more than if she had been.

I stared down at the ring box in my hand. I really should’ve just given this back to her.

What kind of twisted proposal was this anyway?

“Oh, I egoistically beat your boyfriend within an inch of his life and gave him the ring to pass on to you. Will you marry me?”

Yeah, maybe if this were a movie. Or if my boyfriend had been a total douchebag.

Before last night, my life was already a nightmare and just not the kind anyone would line up to watch. And yet, I’d been living it for three years.

It all started when Wren, my two cousins, and my barely-communicative uncle moved in. We were stuffed into a four-bedroom house my father had hustled hard to afford. It wasn’t glamorous. The décor was outdated—or nonexistent—but before the relatives arrived, life had actually been… good.

I had my own room. My own space. My own style, aesthetics, and peace. It was like a retreat from the rest of the house. My little sanctuary.

Then Wren lost her home. Let it slide right into foreclosure without lifting a finger. And somehow, I ended up not just sharing my room, but also my bed. She made herself at home without shame—like her rancid morning farts and foul breath weren’t absolute war crimes. It was like she enjoyed making me miserable.

Now, just when I was about to leap over one hurdle—college—I was slammed face-first into another.

I glanced down at the ring again, plucking it from the little nest in the box. It was beautiful and expensive. Whoever this Vincenzo woman was, she looked rich.

Really rich.

The elevator suddenly dinged loudly, startling me and practically shoving me out as the doors opened. I flinched and stumbled into the hallway.

I offered a polite smile at the front desk. “Is he holding up?”

It was ridiculous how much I wanted to explain—how he’d dumped me and how, somehow, all of this was really my fault. Well, my father’s fault. But I doubted she wanted to hear my life story, especially not the cursed chapters.

I tilted my head slightly. “He seemed to be recovering quickly. I left him resting.”

“He’ll need it,”

Then her eyes flicked to the ring on my finger, her brows arching. “Did he propose? Probably not the best timing, huh?”

“Definitely not the best time,” I muttered.

“So… you said yes?”

“Yeah, I guess.”

Without waiting for a reply, I turned and walked off rudely.

As I dragged my feet toward the exit, I came to a sudden stop. There she was again. The Italian woman. Vincenzo, leaning composedly against what had to be her car—of course illegally parked in the no-parking zone. I prayed someone would tow it.

She smirked, her gaze sliding down to the ring. “So, I see you accepted my hand in marriage?”

There was no escaping her, was there?

I stomped down all twenty flights of stairs—my exasperation vibrating in every step—only to stop on the last one, just below her. But even there, she still stood taller once she pushed off the car and stood on her own. I’d always had enough height to admire my legs in the mirror, but standing in front of her, I wished I were taller. Just tall enough to bite her smug head off.

I bet if she weren’t tall, she wouldn’t be such a goddamn dick.

I shoved the ring toward her. “I think this belongs to you.”

The weak sunlight filtered through the sky, catching the glossy black of her hair. But it was her eyes—those foggy green eyes—that truly lit up.

“No,” she said flatly.

“No?” I echoed.

“No.”

“Non?” I repeated, mockingly.

Apparently, she didn’t understand what no meant. “Yeah—no. As in, no, I will not accept your hand in marriage. Bye.”

“I think you don’t have a choice.” Her hands slid casually into her pockets again.

“I don’t even know you.”

“Vincenzo D’Amico,” she replied smoothly. “The very woman you met last night. The one who beat the hell out of the boy who’s been bothering my wife.”

“Excuse me?” I blinked. “Are you an idiot?”

She raised a brow, and somehow, the sunlight deepened its shadow, making her expression even more unreadable. She didn’t respond.

“Sorry,” I muttered. I don’t know why I apologized—she certainly hadn’t. “You probably didn’t know because, well, you’re stupid. You beat up my boyfriend. Not just some random guy. You knew who he was, and that’s why you did it.”

She smiled. The sun loved her—bathed her in light, like it had picked a favorite. Her olive skin seemed to absorb it effortlessly. Meanwhile, my skin just felt burnt.

“You are going to accept my hand in marriage, I suggest you start packing.”

The only place I planned to pack for was college.

“Can you just tell me what this is even about? Last night you mentioned payments.”

“Ah,” she said, eyes narrowing. “So, your father’s still keeping you in the dark.”

“Yep. Classic.”

“He’s probably the better one to explain just how badly you’re trapped.”

“Wait—am I the payment?”

She laughed, “Oh no, my Amoretta. You’re worth far more than that. You have no price. None whatsoever.”

“Then you don’t need me,” I said. “So, my father owes you something—great. You got your payment. We’re done.”

Her smirk beefed up, like a fed cow. “He owes me everything. And that includes you.”

“Normally, I wouldn’t discuss business with you. But you seem sensible. Maybe next time, beat some sense into your papi.”

Tempting. But slapping my father probably wasn’t the wisest move—no matter how much I wanted to.

I shoved the ring at her again. “My answer still stands.”

“Your answer isn’t valid,”

“Oh, is that how it works in Italy? Nobody’s answer means shit? Well, over here in America, we’ve got free speech. Freedom to do whatever the fuck we want.”

Her mouth slowly parted in mock shock. “I didn’t know my wife had such a potty mouth. Looks like I’ll have to fix that.”

I barked a laugh. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck off.”

She grinned. “That’s a lot of spankings from my belt. Better get your ass ready to be lit up.”

I rolled my eyes. “Bye.”

“Don’t you want to know your departure date?”

I paused. “Departure date?”

“For leaving the U.S., of course.”

I blinked. “I’m not leaving my country.”

“The end of the week,”

That was the same time I was supposed to leave for college. But with Joseph in the hospital, everything was already on pause. I needed him to recover. I needed him not to walk away from us. We had plans.

I stiffened. “No. Didn’t you hear what I said?”

She smiled. “I’ll see you then. Or… who knows—maybe even sooner.”

With that, she disappeared into her car. I stood there watching as it rolled into the flow of steady traffic, her presence vanishing like a bad dream or a curse.

I glanced down at the ring, still nestled in the box. I begged her to take it back, had I? She’d left it with me. That made it mine, didn’t it?

I smirked as an idea crept into my mind.

Turning down the block, I walked the extra few blocks with a renewed sense of purpose. I didn’t know exactly how much my father owed Vincenzo, but if this ring cost even a fraction of what it looked like it did, it had to be worth something substantial. Maybe even enough to buy my life back.

A grin tugged at the corner of my mouth when I saw the red neon OPEN sign flickering over the pawn shop window. It’s not like I was stealing from her. She hadn’t accepted it back. Legally speaking, that made it mine and I could do whatever the fuck I wanted with it.

“Sup, stranger,” I greeted the man behind the counter—grumpy old Gamps.

I knew him because of his wife, Marvelina, who was the complete opposite of him: warm, sweet, and fantastic with customers. The two of them were staples in the neighborhood potlucks. She made the best classic lasagna and her signature blue lemonade? Legendary.

He looked up from his counter, unimpressed as always. “Well, hello to you too. What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at work—taking orders?”

He meant the weekend waitressing job I had at the local dine-in pizza place. One of three jobs I’d juggled over the past few years. But I’d quit them all. Every single one. Tossed all three aprons down like I was flipping off the universe.

For a moment, I’d actually believed life was about to start being good.

“Nah. Rest day,” I lied, casually eyeing the cluttered pawn shop. The place had everything you could think of and a few things you definitely wouldn’t. I paused beside a vintage bicycle, spinning its dusty wheel.

“How much for this?” I asked.

“You planning to buy it and ride it to work?”

“No,” I deadpanned.

“Then don’t ask about the price.”

I smirked and strolled toward the counter. “Where’s your wife?”

“Where she should be. Home, in the kitchen making my dinner,” he said, grunting like a man straight out of a black-and-white sitcom.

I laughed. “Does she know that’s what you’re saying about her?”

I leaned my elbow on the glass display counter. He’d told me not to do that—three separate times on three separate visits. I just liked pushing buttons.

I’d only been in here a few times, always for the same reason, to pawn something right after my birthday. Usually two days after, when the guilt hadn’t fully set in yet. Specifically, the dainty gold bracelet my grandmother gave me every year without fail.

Real gold. Easy money.

Two hundred bucks, straight into my savings.

She had memory problems—not full-blown amnesia, but just enough to forget she’d already gifted me the same exact bracelet five years in a row. I still had two stashed away for when money got really tight.

My mom always looked at me with this cloud of disappointment when I sold them off. Said it wasn’t right. Said it felt like stealing.

But I called it what it really was: hustle. Unethical hustle, maybe, but still hustle. I was practically robbing my grandma with a smile and a hug.

Every year I’d smile sweetly accepting the gift.

And every year, I’d sell it.

Every year, I’d feel a little worse about it.

But I always pawned it anyway.

Gamps rolled up his newspaper and swatted my arm with it. I jerked back, laughing.

“What do you have for me today? Another one of those birthday bracelet?”

“Not my birthday,” I said, smirking. “I’m here to give you the most valuable piece of diamond you’ve ever laid your grumpy old eyes on.”

With a dramatic flair, I popped open the ring box and tilted it toward him.

He gasped. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

“Pretty, huh?” I grinned.

He reached beneath the counter and pulled out his ancient magnifying glass—rusty, chipped, and held together by nostalgia. I leaned in beside him, both of us silently mesmerized as the diamond caught the light and shimmered like it had something to prove.

“It’s beautiful,” we whispered at the same time.

“How much?” I asked, eyes still fixed on it.

“You mean, how much is it worth?” he questioned, already moving to his workbench.

He settled onto his squeaky stool and flipped on a small blue light, laying the ring beneath it. The glow washed over the diamond like moonlight on water. I noticed the faint whir of his dusty old computer as it booted up, the screen flickering as the scanner digitized the ring.

I bet someone pawned that clunky machine years ago and just never came back for it.

“So?” I pressed.

He paused, glancing at me sideways. “Where’d you get something like this?”

I blinked. “In the alley. Just up the road. You know, the one that faces the Monplier Saltwater Lake.” I delivered the lie without flinching.

He raised a brow but didn’t press it. Not yet, anyway.

His eyes narrowed as if trying to mentally reconstruct the logic—or lack thereof—of someone misplacing a multimillion-dollar ring in a random alleyway.

“Cut me some slack,” I groaned, knowing full well my story didn’t hold water.

“I mean, someone lost this? When?”

“Come on, Gamps. How the hell am I supposed to know? I was in the alley, I saw the damn thing, and I picked it up.”

“In the alley doing what, exactly?”

I rolled my eyes. “Getting tongued by my boyfriend. Jesus. Can you just give me a damn price?”

He sighed through his nose and muttered, “Alright, I’ll cut you a price.”

He tapped away at his ancient keyboard, searching through listings. A few moments passed before he tilted the screen toward me. “Blue jade diamond engagement ring. Estimated market value: three million.”

My heart dropped. Three million. Fuck. For a second, I didn’t want to sell it. Something that rare, that expensive—it felt like owning a whole different life in a box.

“I’ll have to get rid of it,”

“How?”

“Scrap it. Sell it off in pieces. Someone’s definitely looking for this thing if it’s worth that much.”

“They probably are,” I agreed. “But I make money, you make a ton of money. We both win, right?”

I grinned. “So what’s your offer?”

“Two-fifty.”

My jaw dropped. “Are you fucking crazy?”

“Thousand,” he clarified. “Sorry.”

Oh. That changed things. Not as crazy. Still not fair, but livable. It was a minimal fraction of what the ring was worth, but it was still a hell of a lot of money. Enough to maybe pay off Vincenzo. To buy my way out of this mess. Technically, I was working smarter.

I smirked. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

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