Chapter 28 Ren
Ren
I watch Matteo step closer, his movements precise and deliberate. Amelia lies on the bed, pale and tense, her body still trembling from the shock. She clutches the sheets, trying to hold herself together. I can see every muscle locked in resistance.
“You really think this will work?” she hisses, her voice sharp, weak, but full of fire. “You think I’m just going to let—”
“Don’t make this harder than it already is,” I interrupt, my tone firm.
Her glare meets mine. Even in this state, her defiance burns. I almost admire it. Almost.
Matteo moves in, the syringe in his hand. He keeps his movements calm. I know what he’s doing, and I know why. She is not to fight. She is not to resist. We have to move her out of this place without her putting herself in more danger or leaving evidence that could compromise her.
She notices him too late. Her eyes widen. She lifts a hand, tries to push him away, but her strength is fading fast. The needle goes in. The sedative flows into her veins.
Her body jerks once, a reflex. Her jaw tightens. Her fingers dig into the blanket.
“You’re making a huge mistake,” she spits at me. Her voice shakes, full of venom and frustration.
“I’m keeping you alive,” I say evenly. “This is for your own good. You’ll understand later. Even though you might end up hating me.”
Her eyes never leave mine. They burn with anger and hatred, but they begin to flicker. Her limbs grow heavy. She blinks, tries to focus, to fight the effect, but her strength isn’t enough.
Matteo steadies her shoulders, gently guiding her down into the bed. She resists weakly, a last burst of defiance, but it fades as the sedative spreads. Her head tilts to the side. Her glare softens into confusion, then dulls. Her hands loosen.
I see the hatred in her eyes one last time. I ignore it. I have to. It's all for her own good and safety.
I watch her eyelids flutter before they finally close. The fire in her hazel eyes is gone, replaced by the heavy, artificial sleep of the sedative. Her head lulls to the side. She looks peaceful now, which is a lie. There is nothing peaceful about the situation we are in.
Matteo steps back and rubs his thumb over the cap of the syringe. He looks at me, waiting for the next order. He knows I am on edge. He knows that every second we spend in this room is a second where we are exposed.
“Get the transport ready,” I say. My voice is low, barely a whisper. “I want the unmarked SUV. No lights. No official logs. Use the secondary service exit behind the kitchens.”
Matteo nods once. “What about the guards at the perimeter? They check every vehicle leaving the sector after midnight.”
“Tell them it is a sensitive medical transfer,” I reply. I look down at Amelia. Her breathing is shallow and rhythmic. “If they give you any trouble, tell them to call my direct line. I will handle the fallout. Just get her out of this building.”
“You are taking a big risk, Ren,” Matteo says. He sounds concerned, but he doesn't hesitate to move. “If the General finds out you drugged his daughter and moved her to an undisclosed location, there won't be a hole deep enough for you to hide in.”
“I'm not worried about the General, he after all doesn't give two shits about her. I'm more worried about the person that tried to kill her,” I mutter. “Go. Now.”
Matteo disappears through the door. I am alone with her. The room feels smaller than it did five minutes ago. The hum of the medical monitors is the only sound.
I walk over to the small cabinet in the corner and grab her personal belongings. I toss her phone and her watch into a lead-lined bag. I can't risk anyone tracking her signal.
I walk back to the bed. I look at her pale face. She is going to be furious when she wakes up. She might actually try to kill me. The thought brings a ghost of a smile to my face. At least if she is trying to kill me, she is alive to do it.
I check her pulse one last time. It is steady. I lean down, my face inches from hers.
“You have no idea what you’ve stepped into, Amelia,” I say quietly. “But I am not letting them take you. Not while I’m still breathing.”
I hear the faint sound of tires on gravel outside the window. That’s the signal. I wrap her in a heavy tactical blanket, tucking the edges in so she won't slip. I lift her into my arms. She is lighter than she looks, but her body is limp, making the weight awkward.
I exit the room and move down the hallway. I avoid the main elevators. I take the service stairs instead. My boots make no sound on the concrete. Every corner I turn, I expect to see a barrel of a gun. Every shadow feels like a person watching me.
I reach the loading dock. The SUV is idling, its tail lights dimmed. Matteo is at the wheel. He has the rear door open.
I slide her into the back seat and climb in beside her. I pull the door shut with a muffled thud.
“Move,” I command.
Matteo pulls away. We drive through the dark corridors of the base. The concrete walls seem to stretch on forever. We reach the first checkpoint. My heart beats a little faster. The guard approaches the window with a flashlight.
“Identity and clearance,” the guard says.
Matteo rolls down the window just enough to pass his ID. “Private D'Angelo detail. Medical transfer. Authorized by the medical wing.”
The guard shines his light into the back seat. I shift my position, blocking his view of Amelia’s face. I stare back at him, my expression cold and murderous.
“Is there a problem, Sergeant?” I ask. My voice is like ice.
The guard blinks. He recognizes me. He clears his throat and hands the ID back to Matteo.
“No problem. Proceed.”
The gate hums as it opens. We drive through. We are out.
The city of Verona is quiet at this hour. The streetlights reflect off the wet pavement. We stay off the main roads, sticking to the narrow alleys and backstreets. I keep my eyes on the mirrors. I am looking for a tail. I am looking for anyone who seems too interested in a black SUV.
“Where are we going?” Matteo asks. He keeps his eyes on the road.
“The safe house in the hills,” I say. “The one that isn't on the official registry. The one my father bought before the war.”
Matteo whistles softly. “That place hasn't been used in years. It’s a fortress.”
“That’s why we’re going there,” I reply. “It has its own power supply and a direct satellite link. If someone tries to hack the security there, I’ll know before they even reach the gate.”
Amelia stirs slightly in her sleep. Her hand brushes against my leg. I look down at her. She looks so small against the dark leather of the seat.
“You think it’s her father?” Matteo asks after a long silence.
“I think it’s someone who has everything to lose if she insists on staying,” I say. “The General probably has a lot of enemies. But he also has a lot of secrets. If Amelia found something she wasn't supposed to, he would protect the mission over his own blood. I’ve seen people like him do it before.”
“That’s cold,” Matteo says.
“That’s the Mafia,” I reply. “And that’s the military. They aren't as different as they like to pretend.”
We reach the outskirts of the city. The road begins to wind upward into the mountains. The trees become thicker, blocking out the light from the moon. I check the GPS. We are ten minutes away.
“Stop the car,” I say suddenly.
Matteo slams on the brakes. “What? What is it?”
“Switch the plates,” I say. “And wipe the tires. We’re crossing into the private sector.”
We both get out. The air is cold and crisp. It smells of pine and rain. We move quickly, changing the license plates to a set that belongs to a local vineyard. We use a chemical spray to mask the scent of the tires. It’s a standard protocol, but tonight it feels like a life-or-death necessity.
We get back in and continue the climb. The safe house appears out of the mist. It is a stone villa, old and imposing. It sits on the edge of a cliff, overlooking the valley below. There are no lights on in the windows. It looks abandoned.
I jump out and input the code into the gate. The heavy iron bars groan as they slide open. We drive up the gravel path and park in the hidden garage beneath the house.
I carry Amelia inside. The house is dusty and smells of old wood and lavender. I take her to the master bedroom on the second floor. I lay her down on the bed and pull the covers up to her chin.
I walk to the window and look out at the valley. I can see the lights of Verona in the distance. It looks so peaceful from up here. It’s a lie.
Matteo walks into the room. “The perimeter is set. The jammers are active. We’re dark.”
“Good,” I say. “Go get some rest, Matteo. I’ll take the first watch.”
“You sure, Ren? You’ve been awake for twenty hours.”
“I’m sure,” I say. I don't look away from the window. “I need to think.”
Matteo leaves. I pull a chair over to the side of the bed. I sit down and watch her breathe.
I think about the footage that was erased. I think about the master key. I think about the look in her eyes before the sedative took hold.
I lean back in the chair and close my eyes for a second.
I have a feeling that when she wakes up, the real war is going to start. And this time, I won't be able to hide behind a syringe.
I stay awake, watching the sun begin to crawl over the horizon. I wait for the storm to wake up. I wait for her.
The sun is halfway up when she finally moves.
It starts with her fingers, twitching against the linen. Then her brow tightens, knitting together as if she’s fighting a war in her sleep. I lean forward in the chair, watching the shallow rise and fall of her chest.
Her breathing hitches, turning ragged. She inhales sharply, a gasp for air like someone breaking the surface of deep water.
Her eyes snap open.
For a moment, she simply stares at the ceiling — hollow, disoriented, lost. Then her head turns with agonizing slowness, and her gaze locks onto mine. The confusion vanishes instantly, replaced by a cold, familiar fire.
The anger is back.
“You,” she rasps. Her voice is a jagged wreck.
“Good morning,” I reply, my tone level.
She tries to bolt upright, but she’s too fast for her own nervous system. Her body sways, and she white-knuckles the edge of the mattress to keep the room from spinning. The sedative is a lingering fog, but it’s lifting.
“What did you do?” she demands.
“I moved you.”
I can see the memories sharpening behind her eyes, clicking into place like tumblers in a lock. The civilian hospital. Her brother’s betrayal — the news of her unit's dissolution and her demotion. The desperate escape before discharge. The confrontation at the base. Her father’s hand across her face. The blackness. Then the military clinic, the hum of the IV, and the sudden, sickening crash when the line was compromised.
Her jaw sets. “You drugged me.”
“Yes.”
She scans the room, cataloging the details: the soaring windows, the reinforced stone walls, the heavy velvet curtains. She knows this isn't the base. It isn't a hospital.
“Where am I?”
“Somewhere safe.”
She swings her legs off the bed. The moment her feet hit the floor, her knees buckle. I’m up in a second, catching her by the arms before she hits the hardwood. She shoves at my chest, but her strength is a ghost of what it usually is.
“Don’t touch me,” she snaps.
“If I let go, you’ll fall.”
“Then let me fall.”
I hold her steady regardless. The hatred in her eyes is vivid, but I don't let go until I'm sure her legs will hold. When I finally step back, she straightens her spine, lifting her chin with a defiant grace.
“You had no right,” she says.
“You went into shock in a military clinic,” I counter. “Your IV was tampered with. That makes you a target. So permit me if I decided to take matters into my hands.”
“That could have been a medical error.”
“It wasn't.”
“You don’t know that.”
"I know enough.”
Her eyes narrow into slits. “No, you don't.”
“Whatever makes you sleep at night.”
She growls at me but I just smirk..
“I was cleared at the civilian hospital,” she says, her voice regaining its edge. “I was stable.”
“Until you decided to confront your father while recovering from a gunshot wound.”
Her gaze turns glacial. “Stay out of that.”
“You collapsed after he struck you. I carried you to the clinic. Hours later, someone altered your meds. That isn't a coincidence — it's an assassination attempt. Someone wanted you dead and probably still does.”
Silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.
“You were almost killed twice in twenty-four hours,” I continue. “Once during the raid, and once inside a 'secured' facility. My patience for your independence is at its limit.”
“I can handle myself.”
“I know you think you can.”
“I don't think,” she spits. “I know.”
“You were flatlining last night. Your knowledge didn't do much for your pulse.”
She doesn't argue the point. Instead, she looks toward the door.
“I’m leaving.”
“By all means. Try.”
She storms to the door and yanks it open. Matteo is standing in the hall, casually leaning against the opposite wall with a cup of coffee. He raises a brow.
“Morning,” he says.
She looks at him, then back at me, her eyes flashing. “Move him.”
Matteo glances at me for direction.
“Let her try,” I say.
He steps aside with a mocking sweep of his arm. She walks into the hallway, but stops after ten paces. Cameras track her every move. The exits are steel-reinforced, keypad-locked. She turns slowly, surveying the perimeter.
“What is this place?” she asks.
“A house.”
“This isn't a house. It’s a tomb.”
“It’s a fortress. There’s a difference.”
She walks back toward me, stopping inches from my space.
“You barely know me. You read some reports and watched some footage, and now you’re acting like some obsessed prick who thinks he owns the situation.”
I let out a short, dry scoff. “Obsessed? Don't flatter yourself. You’re just far too much fun to provoke, and I’m not ready to let my favorite distraction die yet.”
Her eyes flash. “This isn't a game.”
“I am painfully aware.”
“You sedated me. You kidnapped me. You locked me in a bunker.”
“Correct on all counts.”
“You don’t get to control me because someone tried to kill me.”
“I’m not controlling you. I’m removing the variable of your death from the equation.”
She studies me, searching for a crack in the mask.
“You cannot keep me here, Luca.”
“Watch me.”
“You really think this ends well for you?”
“It rarely does.”
She steps even closer, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. “Untie this mess right now. Take me back to the base. I have work to do.”
“You are not going back.”
“I am trying to keep you breathing,” I growl, matching her intensity.
“You don’t get to decide that!”
“I already did.”
The silence returns, heavier than before. She’s the first to break, turning away to sit on the edge of the bed. She presses her fingers to her temples, the weight of the situation finally sinking in.
“What do you think happened?” she asks quietly.
“I think someone didn’t want you waking up,” I reply.
“That’s an assumption.”
“It’s a logical one.”
“You saw the footage,” she says. “Tell me what you saw.”
“I didn't see anything. It was erased.”
“Erased?”
“Cleanly. No corruption, no glitch — someone removed the segment entirely.”
Her jaw tightens. “So you have no face to put to it.”
“None.”
“And no motive.”
“None.”
Silence stretches between us, sharp and heavy.
“That doesn’t give you the right to start pointing fingers,” she says.
“I’m not pointing,” I answer evenly. “I’m stating a fact. You were stable, then you weren’t, and the only proof of why vanished into a black hole.”
Her gaze hardens. “You’re implying it’s internal.”
“I’m saying it was someone with access.”
“That could mean half the command structure.”
“It narrows the field more than an outsider ever could.”
She exhales slowly, a ghost of a frustrated breath. “You still don’t know anything.”
“I know your heart stopped.”
Her eyes flick back to mine.
“That was enough.”
She stands again, her resolve hardening.
“If I’m stuck here, I’m not sitting idle. I want a laptop. A secure line. Access to the internal network.”
“No.”
Her head tilts. “Excuse me?”
“No direct access. You can review the intelligence I bring you.”
“I don’t work through a filter.”
“You do now.”
She steps into my shadow, her chin tilted up. “You want to protect me? Fine. But do not treat me like a liability. I am a fucking Captain!”
“You aren't a liability,” I say, my voice softening just a fraction. “You're the target.”
We hold the gaze, a silent battle of wills, until I finally nod. “You’ll get a terminal. It will be sandboxed, but it will
be yours.”
“And I stay inside the perimeter,” she grumbles.
“For now.”
“For now,” she repeats. Her expression settles into something unreadable. “If I find out you’re lying to me about any of this, Luca, I will end you.”
“I would expect nothing less.”
“Good,” she says. “Then we understand each other.”
Not even close. But it's a start.