Page 315 of Enigma: The Complete Collection
My lengthened steps to the rental car halted when my skin prickled with an awareness that I was being watched. When I lifted my gaze, the air was vehemently removed from my body. There standing before me was Ophelia. The first girl I ever loved.
As my heart thwacked against my chest, I scanned every detail of her face. She had the same turned-up nose, but her eyes were lighter than I remembered, her hair wavier, and the color of her skin a hue darker. But even with the small changes in her appearance, there was no way she could deny she was Ophelia.
“Isaac.”
She rushed toward me to throw her arms around my neck. When her familiar wild strawberry scent engulfed my nostrils, it was like the last six years had never happened. I was once again a college boy enjoying the thrill of the chase. Ophelia was the first girl to refuse my advances. It took me months of wooing before she agreed to go out with me.
I pulled her away from me to stare at her. My mind was spiraling, unable to grasp reality. I had wanted her to be alive for years, so when she stood in front of me, as beautiful as the day I first laid my eyes on her, I was speechless.
With a broad grin, she enclosed her hand over mine and guided us down the concrete sidewalk of the pharmacy. My brow arched when she took a left at the end of the path to follow it to a white cottage attached to the brick building. The inside of the house was basic but clean. The walls in the living area were white wood panels, and there was an open, brick fireplace in the middle.
Ophelia shrugged off her jacket before moving into the compact kitchen. As my eyes tracked her, they caught sight of a collection of photos on top of the fireplace. Pacing over, I picked up a photo of Ophelia with a small boy and a man with dark brown hair. My eyes scanned the young boy’s face, seeking any similarities to me. He had his mother’s light brown eyes, but no identifiable features of mine. Although my brother is proof you can never rely on appearance to clarify paternity.
My brows furrowed when Ophelia questioned, “Are you still friends with Cormack?” like we were long-lost friends reacquainting after an extended period of absence, instead of her rising from the ashes.
I placed the frame onto the mantle, then joined her in the kitchen. Her plump lips slumped when I failed to answer her question, but she hid it by gesturing for me to sit in one of the chairs around her four-seater dining table. I remained standing.
Her hand shook when she gave me a mug full of double-strength coffee, surprising me that she still remembered how I liked my brew. She sat in the chair closest to me while sipping on a mug of tea. I placed my untouched coffee onto the kitchen counter, too shocked that she was sitting in front of me, uninjured, unharmed, perfectly fine to drink.
Several uncomfortable minutes later, her large gulp was easily audible in the awkward silence. After placing her half-empty mug onto the chipped tabletop, her eyes lifted to mine. They were definitely lighter than I’d recalled.
“I was so angry after your fight with CJ that I made a stupid decision.”
I remained quiet, still perplexed and silently brooding.
“An FBI agent named Tobias had been undercover in our family for a few years. We’d discussed the possibility of him getting me out of that industry numerous times, but since there was no real threat to my safety, and I was an adult, we never had any reason to act on it. Until the night of the fight.”
My heart was beating wildly, but my composure didn’t allude to it.
“My father was furious. Not just because you beat his number one fighter and still refused to fight under him, but because I disgraced the family.”
My jaw muscle tensed as memories of that night ran through my head.
“I was approached by my father a few months before you and Cormack arrived at Buck’s Diner for dinner the night we met.”
When she turned her gaze to the tabletop, I placed my hand under her chin and hoisted her face high, wanting her to look at me while she explained how I was left carrying the burden of her death the past six years.
“He wanted me to date you, to force you to fight for him.”
The smallest grin carved on my mouth as I shook my head. Henry, Sr. was right all along. He always said Ophelia was a ruse by Col to get me to fight under his entity.
“But I refused.”
My eyes snapped to her, seeking any dishonesty in her statement. She was telling the truth.
“That’s why I denied every advance you made because I knew what he was planning to do. I convinced him you weren’t interested in me. After three months, he stopped asking about you. I assumed he had given up.” A smile curled on her lips. “But you didn’t give up so easily. You were so darn persistent.”
Air puffed out of my nostrils as I stifled a chuckle. Even back then, when I wanted something, I never gave up. It’s part of my stubborn nature.
“Someone in the family discovered we were dating and informed my father. Hence, the arrangement of the fight that night. I don’t know what transpired after you left the warehouse, but Tobias overheard something and advised me that the only way I could get out safely was if we staged an accident that very night.” She exhaled sharply. “Since CJ already had extensive injuries, it made the story of an accident even easier to cover up. I don’t know whose body was in the wreckage, Tobias never informed me, but I’ve never been approached by anyone from my old life.” Her eyes darted between mine. “Until now.”
I stayed quiet, my astuteness scattered and reeling out of control. My bewilderment increased when a screen door creaking opened shrilled into the room. A young boy entered a few moments later, his eager steps into the kitchen faltering when he noticed me in the room. He studied me with just as much interest as I assessed him. He had a lot of the Petretti genes in him, so I couldn’t tell if he were my son.
Ophelia jumped up from her chair and raced to the front door, where she greeted a gentleman with strands of silver streaks at the sides of his dark hair and a heavy set of wrinkles. He balked and took a step backward when he noticed me standing in the kitchen. He clearly knew who I was.
“Thank you, Anthony.” Ophelia snagged the child’s backpack from his hand before ushering him out onto the front patio.
His brows furrowed at her abruptness, but I missed what he said since my attention shifted to the small boy tugging on my trousers. “Who are you?”
