Odette / Ophelia's POV
The Rolls-Royce glides smoothly through the dark road, its headlights the only thing cutting through the night.
The driver is silent, ghostlike.
Raphael Blackwood sits beside me, looking every bit the powerful man in his late forties. I've sat across enough criminals and lunatics to judge the aura of the person next to me.
I'm still stunned that the real Ophelia from the novel managed to kill him so easily. I mean—this man is a goat, even if he was a trash father to Ophelia.
I'm dressed in black leather pants and a white tank top, a black leather jacket thrown over it. My hair is tied into a ponytail. Smoky eye makeup makes my hazel-green eyes stand out, maroon lips whisper danger, and my black boots make no sound when I walk.
Raphael cracks his neck, his voice controlled.
"How much do you know about the Five Gangs?"
My spine straightens. Even the phantom driver stiffens under his tone.
Calm down, Odet—no. Ophelia.
I'm Ophelia now.
This bastard is just another bastard.
"Five gangs combined. Four legends and one neutral," I reply evenly. "The Black Wolf sits at the top of the European and United States underworld.
The Red Fox, loyal right hand of the Black Wolf, controls a massive part of the Russian mafia.
The Black Widow is the most chaotic and violent, posing the greatest threat in the current volatile situation of Central Europe.
The Seven Crows—kings of the Italian mafia—are deeply involved in finance and illegal luxury auctions.
And the White Rose remains neutral, acting as mediator between the three power factions."
I conclude the messy power hierarchy calmly, logically—something the real Ophelia was never capable of. She had always been too eager to be liked by her family.
Raphael's eyes glint with interest, and something else—recognition. Admiration.
"And who runs all these gangs?" he asks calmly.
I lean back against the seat, hands resting in my lap, the contents of the novel replaying in my head like memories carved into my bones. The perks of having a photographic memory.
"The Seven Crows are the Italian Medici family. The Black Widow—the Central European Dimitri family. The Red Fox—the Russian Volkov family. The Black Wolf—the United States' Natheniel family. And the White Rose…" I pause and look at him. "Us. The British Blackwood family."
Raphael turns toward me, the corner of his lips twitching into a dangerous smirk—one that makes all my senses scream interest. A mistake I won't survive if I indulge.
"You know a lot."
"I'm going to marry into the Natheniel family," I shrug. "You can't expect the future Mafia Queen to be a dumb bitch."
Raphael laughs softly.
My eyes widen so much I think they might fall out.
Why the hell is this old man laughing like I cracked a joke?
Did my morning drama finally break him?
Unlikely. This man doesn't like me. I'm sure of it.
He nods anyway, shifting comfortably. "You're right. The future Mafia Queen can't be a dumb bitch. The Natheniel family—and the Black Wolf gang—are ruthless."
Ruthless? Sure. Still, they got destroyed by the real Ophelia and her little gang.
So… not that ruthless.
Unless there's something more underneath.
"Since you know enough," he continues, "let me be clear. Today's emergency White Rose meeting is because of you."
"Huh?" I raise an eyebrow. "What did I do?"
"You involved yourself with two heirs from opposing factions. You beat Vincent Dimitri and publicly proposed marriage to Kayros Natheniel."
His tone is calm—but his eyes sparkle with the kind of mischief I've seen in senior lawyers just before they dismantle an entire case.
The calm confidence of a puppet master.
"You're happy I caused chaos?"
He nods slowly, tapping his fingers against his knee. "Dimitri is furious. Natheniel is blindsided. Both my daughters are marrying into the same faction. That creates imbalance."
By same faction, he means Ivy marrying into the Volkov family—Natheniel's guard dogs—while I marry into Natheniel itself.
Of course it's a problem.
"Hmm," I nod. "The gang members must be anxious about how the others will react. What do you want me to do?"
"Find a solution."
My eyes narrow, lips parting in disbelief.
"Excuse me?" I throw my hands up. "Listen, Daddy, I have zero interest in fixing your mess."
"Stop calling me that," his jaw clenches. "You're twenty."
"So?" I shoot back. "You're forty-eight, Daddy."
Raphael glares, his eyes twitching.
"What's wrong with you?" he snaps. "Shouldn't you be excited that I'm giving you the chance to prove your worth?"
Oh. He wanted gratitude.
I almost spat in his face.
After what he did to Ophelia, he should be grateful I haven't buried him yet.
Instead, I lean closer, my voice calm, smooth, and terrifyingly confident.
"Daddy, the moment Kayros Natheniel accepted my proposal publicly, I became Natheniel."
Raphael's pupils dilate. He blinks rapidly.
"I can find a solution for the sake of the White Rose," I continue softly, smirking. "But wouldn't that make you indebted to the future Lady Natheniel?"
"You're arrogant and prideful," he growls.
"Aren't those the core Blackwood traits?" My smirk darkens.
My fingers curl into the leather seat as memories burn through me.
Chapter 22 of Eyes of Glacier.
Ophelia's first White Rose meeting.
The round table. The seven mob leaders.
They humiliated her—mocked her gender, her standing in the family, cursed her in French, thinking she didn't understand.
One of them touched her under the table.
She wanted to cry. She didn't dare given that risked her being hated more by her family.
Later, when she took over the Blackwood family, Vincent ordered those men killed. She believed it was vengeance.
It wasn't.
It was Vincent hollowing the White Rose from within.
But foolish Opehlia!
Pitiful.... Ophelia !
My lips twitch as a plan forms—sharp, elegant, vicious.
Raphael stiffens, like he's seen something he shouldn't have.
"You want balance," I say coolly. "Right?"
"Yes," he replies cautiously.
"The Medici family has a secret daughter."
Raphael snaps his head toward me so fast I worry about his neck.
"What?" His face drains. "How do you know that?"
I smirk. "Does it matter?"
He runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, shaken. "Who is she?"
My grin widens. "She lives under our roof."
He frowns. "Other than you and Ivy, there's only Rhys—"
His eyes widen. "Rhys's assistant."
"Correct. Sarah. The youngest, long-lost Medici daughter."
Ophelia only discovered the truth after killing her—an act that nearly got her executed by the Medici.
I won't make that mistake.
Raphael laughs—deep and loud. "So you want me to reunite the Medici with their princess?"
I snap my fingers. "Wrong."
"Then what?"
"I want Sarah to marry my brother. Then we introduce her to the Medici."
Power. Position. Gratitude.
And chaos—beautiful, irreversible chaos.
And my beautiful trap for Blackwood family.