Chapter 37 Amelia

Chapter 37 Amelia
Amelia

The villa feels far too quiet now that the sound of Luca’s SUV has faded into the distance. I stand by the tall windows in the living area for a long time and watch the dust settle back onto the gravel road. The mountains look cold and indifferent under the moonlight. This kind of silence is torture for a soldier to handle because it feels like a void that needs to be filled with movement or a new set of orders. I was never built for sitting still in expensive rooms, and being sidelined in what feels like a luxury prison is starting to wear on my nerves.

I eventually look down at the handgun that Luca left on the side table for me. I pick it up and feel the familiar, comforting weight of the metal in my palm. It is a solid piece of machinery, so I release the magazine to check the rounds before sliding it back into place with a mechanical click. I spend the next few minutes field stripping the weapon on the mahogany coffee table as my fingers move by instinct alone. I clean the barrel and wipe down the slide with a cloth I found in the kitchen because doing something manual helps me think and keeps my mind centered.

Even though I am technically a guest here, I cannot help but feel like a ghost haunting these halls. I walk through the house to check the locks on the heavy wooden doors and scan the perimeter from the upstairs balcony. I find myself counting the exits and estimating the distance from the treeline to the front porch because these are habits I simply cannot turn off. It's ingrained in me. I spend my time assessing the angles for a potential sniper and looking for the best places for cover. The villa is undoubtedly beautiful, but to me, it is a tactical nightmare with far too much glass and not enough ways to escape.

I finally sit on the edge of the large bed and stare at the wall as my mind keeps drifting back to the failed mission. The disaster in the warehouse still tastes like copper in the back of my throat, and I am haunted by the fact that my unit is gone and my career is in limbo. I am supposed to be recovering from my injuries, but all I can really think about is the man who caused all of this destruction.

I can still feel the phantom pressure of Ren Moretti’s hands on me during our hand-to-hand combat in the warehouse. He moved with a fluid grace that should not be possible for a man of his size and strength. I am considered one of the best fighters in my division, but he seemed to counter every move I made with ease. He did not just beat me in that fight; he toyed with me as if I were a child. That humiliation is a physical weight in my chest that is almost as heavy as the betrayal I suffered when I returned home.

I remember the cold look on my father’s face when I reported back to the base. General Russo did not offer me any comfort after the ambush, but instead, he blamed me for the failure of the opera even when I tried to explain and eventually, offered a replacement for my position. I can still hear the ice in his voice when he told me my unit was being reassigned to someone else. He did not give my command to a stranger, but rather he gave it to my brother, Valentino. My own brother is now leading the men I trained and hunting the target that rightfully belongs to me. My father essentially erased my entire career with a single signature and handed the pen directly to his son.

The anger starts as a slow burn in my chest because I hate being helpless and I hate being told to rest while Valentino plays the hero with my mission. My father clearly thinks I am broken or that I am a liability because I let Moretti get close enough to touch me. He wants me to be a dutiful daughter who sits in a villa and waits for the men to finish the job, but he is completely wrong about my resolve.

I stand up and begin to pace the length of the bedroom as my mind starts working like a tactician again. If the military approach failed because of internal politics and my father’s lack of faith, then I need to change my entire strategy. Ren Moretti does not just live in the shadows; he lives in a world of immense influence and high finance. He is part of a complex system, and all systems have patterns that can be traced if you know where to look.

I think about the way he must operate his empire through various ports and trucking lines. He needs people who can move millions of dollars, drugs among other illegal things without triggering any alarms from the authorities. You do not find a man like that by looking in the woods or waiting for a General's permission to act. You find him by looking at the people who share his orbit and move in the same circles of wealth and power.

My thoughts naturally shift back to Luca as I lean against the doorframe. Luca is incredibly wealthy and well-connected, and he has access to resources that the military cannot touch. I have seen the way he carries himself with the air of someone who is used to giving orders and having them followed without question. He knows things about international business and logistics that are not found in any textbooks.

I do not suspect him of having any dark secrets, and to me, he is just a billionaire who enjoys his privacy. However, he is a billionaire with a massive network that could provide information Valentino and my father could never reach through official channels. If anyone knows someone who has dealt with the Moretti organization, it would be a man with Luca’s reach.

The idea takes root in my mind and feels like a solid plan for the first time. I do not need a platoon of soldiers to find a ghost when I can simply find a guide instead. Luca is the perfect candidate because he already trusts me and has shown that he is willing to protect me. If I can convince him to help me look into certain shipping routes or suspicious financial transfers, I might finally find a thread to pull. I am determined to find Moretti before Valentino even finds his trail.

I walk out onto the terrace and breathe in the cold mountain air to clear my head. My body still feels stiff, but the pain is manageable enough for me to start doing some light stretches. I test my weight on my injured side and feel a sharp, clean pain that hurts like a bitch. Good thing Luca isn't here to see me wince, I will never leave the villa. I do a few slow lunges and focus on my breathing because I need to be sharp and strong for when Luca returns.

A soldier needs a mission to stay sane, and Ren Moretti has become mine. I don't care that my father took my badge or that Valentino is currently sitting in my office. I am going to find that man and finish what I started. I am going to prove to General Russo that he picked the wrong child to lead this hunt.

I go back inside to find a notepad and a pen so I can start sketching out a rough map. I mark the major ports and write down the names of the shell companies I remember from the briefing files. I feel a sudden surge of confidence because I finally have a sense of direction again.

I imagine the conversation I will have with Luca and decide that I will be both sarcastic and charming to get what I want. I will make him think that helping me is his own idea because he seems like the kind of man who likes a challenge. I will offer him a partnership where he provides the access and I provide the expertise. It feels like a fair trade for both of us.

I look at the gun on the coffee table and watch the black metal gleam under the lamp light. I am not a victim in this story, but rather a predator who is just waiting for the right moment to strike. Ren Moretti thinks he is safe because he thinks he is invincible, and Valentino thinks he is the lead hunter because he has our father’s blessing. They are both incredibly wrong about the situation.

I feel a strange sense of excitement as I realize the hunt is back on. I am no longer just waiting for my wound to heal while I hide away. I am waiting for the opportunity to win this war. Luca is the key to everything I need, and I just need to convince him to open the door for me. I lie down on the bed and close my eyes without any fear. I don't dream of the ambush anymore, but instead, I dream of the look on Ren Moretti’s face when I finally find him. I am getting closer to the truth, and I can already feel it in my bones.

It takes a while before I sleep, but when I do, it is a deep and heavy one. My body clearly needed it more than my pride was willing to admit. When I open my eyes again, pale morning light is spilling through the tall windows and painting thin gold lines across the bedroom floor. For a moment I lie still and listen to the house. I hear silence. There are no engines outside. There are no voices or footsteps moving through the halls. I only hear the faint sound of wind brushing against the trees on the mountainside.

That means Luca is still gone.

I sit up slowly and swing my legs over the edge of the bed. My side immediately reminds me that I am not fully healed yet. The pain is sharp and immediate, but it fades into a dull ache after a few seconds. I press a hand against the bandage and take a slow breath through my nose. I look at the expensive furniture and the high ceiling.

"Fantastic," I mutter under my breath. "Just what I wanted. Another reminder that I got my ass handed to me."

I stand carefully and test my balance. My muscles feel stiff from sleeping too long in one position. I stretch my arms above my head and roll my shoulders back. The movement pulls at the healing wound and sends a sting across my ribs, but it is manageable.

I walk to the bathroom and splash cold water on my face. The woman staring back at me in the mirror looks tired but far from broken. My hair is a mess and there are faint shadows under my eyes. General Russo might think he benched me, but he is so wrong and I do plan to have my revenge for that but one thing at a time. I wipe my face with a towel and step back into the bedroom. The villa is still quiet. It is too quiet for my liking.

My eyes drift toward the handgun on the table where I left it last night. The black metal looks almost inviting in the morning light. I walk over and pick it up again. It is a habit I don't think I can ever get rid of, not even when I retire. It's comforting. I release the magazine and check the rounds once more before sliding it back into place. The click echoes softly through the room. My fingers move through the familiar motions of handling the weapon. I test the slide and feel the balance. Satisfied, I set it back down for now.

I step onto the terrace outside the bedroom and inhale the cold mountain air. The sun is just beginning to rise over the distant peaks. It turns the sky pale orange and silver. Mist hangs low between the trees like a thin veil. The view would probably make a poet cry, but all I see are blind spots. I lean against the railing and scan the property out of pure instinct. The gravel road leading up to the villa curves around the hill before disappearing into the trees. The treeline is dense and uneven. It is a perfect place for someone to hide.

My brain starts calculating distances automatically. It is two hundred meters to the first tree cluster. It is three hundred to the ridge line. I identify possible sniper positions along the slope. I shake my head slightly to clear the thoughts.

"Relax, Amelia," I tell myself quietly. "You are supposed to be resting."

Resting has never meant much to me. I can't seem to ever stay idle for so long. I'm itching for something to do.

With a sigh, I step back inside and close the terrace doors behind me. My muscles feel tight, so I drop to the floor and start stretching. I use slow movements and controlled breathing. I extend one leg and lean forward. I feel the pull along the back of my thigh. The movement tugs at my ribs again and I grit my teeth.

I transition into a slow set of pushups. My arms tremble slightly on the first few reps from stiffness. I lower myself carefully and push back up. I keep my core tight to avoid stressing the injury.

One.

Two.

Three.

By the tenth pushup, my breathing has deepened. The stiffness in my shoulders starts to fade. I stop at fifteen and sit back on my heels. I press a hand against my side.

"Okay," I whisper. "Maybe not twenty today."

I stand up and move into a few light shadow fighting drills in the living room. My movements are slower than usual, but the muscle memory is still there. I throw a jab, take a step back, and pivot. I imagine Ren Moretti standing in front of me again. He is tall and calm and annoyingly confident. I throw a quick combination into the empty air and stop abruptly when my ribs protest.

That fight still sits under my skin like a splinter.

He was too good. He had no hesitation and no wasted motion. Every counter he made was precise and effortless. I have lost fights before, but what bothers me is how easily he read me. It felt like he knew what I was going to do before I even did it.

I walk over to the coffee table and pick up the notepad I used last night. My rough map is still there. It is covered in circles and arrows. I sit down and grab the pen. If I cannot hunt him in the field right now, I can still hunt him on paper.

I draw a line between two of the ports I marked earlier. One of the company names catches my attention again. I remember seeing it during a mission briefing as a possible shell company used for cargo transfers.

I flip the page and start writing down everything I remember. I list dates, locations, and cargo manifests that looked slightly off. My memory is not perfect, but soldiers are trained to remember details that most people ignore.

An hour passes before I even notice.

The sun has risen higher now and the villa feels less like a haunted museum. Light spills across the living room floor and warms the stone walls. I lean back in the chair and rub my eyes. My notes are starting to form a pattern. It is not a clear one yet, but it is enough to keep my brain engaged.

"Alright, Moretti," I murmur quietly. "Let's see where you like to hide."

I stand and walk into the kitchen. The fridge is stocked with fresh fruit, cheese, eggs, and vegetables. I grab a bottle of water and an apple. As I chew the fruit, my mind drifts back to the conversation I plan to have with Luca when he returns.

He is going to resist at first. Men like him do not like getting involved in other people's problems unless there is something in it for them. Fortunately, I can make this interesting.

I finish the apple and toss the core into the trash. I head back to the living room to look at the map again. The more I look at it, the more convinced I become that I am on the right track.

Moretti might be a ghost, but he still has to move goods. He has to rely on real people and real businesses. Nobody operates an empire without leaving footprints somewhere.

I circle another port with the pen. This one sits along a busy trade route. It is too busy for anyone to notice if a few suspicious containers slip through the system.

"You're good," I admit quietly to the empty room. "But nobody is that perfect."

I look toward the large windows again. There is still no sign of Luca's SUV on the road. That means I still have time to plan. I want to make sure that when he finally walks through that door, I have an argument strong enough that he cannot refuse.

I tap the pen against the paper and allow a small smile to form on my face.

Valentino might be sitting in my office right now. My father might believe that I am out of the game. But neither of them knows what I am doing here.