Chapter 31 The Quiet Company
JEREMY
She looked scared.
That was my first thought when Amelia walked into room three. Amelia looked scared but was trying to hide it; her chin was up, and her hand was white-knuckled on her cane.
"Close the door," I said.
She did, then stood there, waiting.
I was sitting in the same leather chair as before. The same chair I'd passed out in two weeks ago after kissing her.
I'd already poured myself a whisky. Already taken two drinks. The bottle sat on the table beside me.
"Sit," I said, gesturing to the couch across from me.
She moved carefully, navigating by memory and sound. Found the couch. Sat on the edge, her posture rigid.
Silence stretched between us.
"You wanted to see me?" she finally asked, her voice quiet.
"Yes."
"Why?"
Good question. Why had I come here? Why had I asked for her?
Because I'd just killed a man and needed to remind myself why.
Because Antonio's words had burrowed under my skin, and I needed to see if he was right about me being too attached.
After a night filled with violence, bloodshed, and Family politics, I needed something real. Something honest. I wanted something that was free from calculation, power plays, and death.
"I wanted to check on you," I said instead. "Make sure you are settling in."
"I'm fine."
"Are you?" I asked.
She was silent for a moment before she spoke again. "I have a room. It's nice. Much nicer than before. Thank you for that."
"You don't sound grateful."
"I am grateful. I'm also confused." Her hands tightened on her cane. "Why are you doing this? The room, the protection, having Miguel—" She stopped. "Nina told me he's dead."
"He is."
"Because of me."
"Because of his choices. He tried to assault you. Tried to sell you to the Volkovs for information. Those were his decisions, not yours."
"But if I hadn't been there—"
"Then he would have found another way to pay his debts. Another girl to hurt. Another scheme that would have ended badly." I took another drink. "Don't take responsibility for his actions."
She was quiet again.
I studied her in the dim light. She looked exhausted. Dark circles under her eyes, visible even from here. Her hair was pulled back in a simple ponytail, her clothes casual—jeans and a sweater that made her look younger than eighteen.
"Are the other girls bothering you?" I asked.
"No. They're scared of me now. Or scared of you."
"Good. Fear keeps you safe."
"Does it? Or does it just make me more isolated?" She turned her head toward me, those unfocused eyes somehow still managing to feel like they were looking right through me. "I'm trapped here. Although I am in a nice room with nice things, I still feel trapped. And I don't understand why."
"You're not trapped. You're protected."
"What's the difference?" she asked.
"One keeps you alive. The other kills you slowly." I said and set down my glass. "The Volkovs know about you now. Know that Miguel was trying to get information from you. Even though he failed, they know you heard things at Crimson. Things that could be valuable. Things worth paying for."
"I won't tell anyone anything."
"I know. But they don't know that. Which means if you're out there, unprotected, they might decide to test your loyalty. And their methods of testing are a lot less pleasant than Miguel's."
She paled. "So I'm stuck here."
"Temporarily. Until I figure out something better."
"Like what?"
"I don't know yet." The truth. "But I'm working on it."
Another silence. This silence lasted longer than the previous one.
"Is that all you wanted?" she asked finally. "To tell me I'm stuck here?"
No. That wasn't all. But I didn't know how to explain the rest.
How I'd needed to see her. How, after everything tonight, she was the only thing that felt real.
How Antonio's words about getting attached had been eating at me, and I'd needed to see if he was right.
He was. I knew he was. But I couldn't seem to care.
"I'm leaving for Chicago this afternoon," I said instead. "For business. I'll be gone a few days. Maybe a week."
"Okay."
"Marco will watch over you while I'm gone. If anyone causes you any trouble—absolutely anyone—please inform him right away.
"I will."
"And Amelia—" I leaned forward. "Don't leave, Crimson. Stay here, regardless of the circumstances. This applies even if Elena calls or if the situation appears urgent. You stay here. Understood?"
"Yes."
I should send her away now. She should be allowed to return to sleep. I should stop dragging her into my complicated, violent world.
But I didn't.
"Stay," I said quietly.
"What?"
"Just—stay. Sit there. You don't have to talk. Just—" I stopped. How could I explain? "I've had a long night. I need to wind down before my flight. Your company helps."
"My company?" she asked, confused.
"Yes."
"You want me to just... sit here?"
"Yes.Stay here until I fall asleep. Then you can go."
She looked uncertain. Confused. "That's all?"
"That's all."
"You're not going to—"
"No. I'm not going to touch you. Not going to kiss you. I just want you to sit there. Keep me company. That's it."
The silence stretched.
Then she nodded slowly. "Okay."
I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes.
The whisky hummed pleasantly in my veins. The exhaustion from the long night pulled at me.
And across the room, Amelia sat on the couch. Just existing. Just being present.
It shouldn't have helped.
But it did.
"Thank you," I said quietly.
"For what?"
"For being here. For not asking questions. For—" I stopped. "Just thank you."
I heard her shift on the couch, getting more comfortable.
Minutes passed. The alcohol and exhaustion were winning.
"Jeremy?" Her voice was soft.
"Yeah?"
"Chicago. Is it dangerous?"
"Everything I do is dangerous."
"Will you be careful?"
The question surprised me. "Why do you care?"
"I don't know." She sounded as confused as I felt. "But I do."
I opened my eyes and looked at her through the dim light.
She was worried about me. This girl I barely knew, whom I'd kissed without permission, whom I'd sent back to the place where she'd been hurt—she was worried about my safety.
"I'll be careful," I said.
"Good."
My eyes closed again.
I could hear her breathing. Steady. Calm. Real.
Antonio was right. I was getting attached.
And I didn't care anymore.
The last thing I thought before sleep took me was that when I got back from Chicago, I needed to figure out a permanent solution.
Because keeping Amelia at Crimson wasn't sustainable.
And letting her go wasn't an option.
This meant I needed to find a third option.
I needed to find a third choice that would keep her safe without making her feel trapped.
One that let me protect her without destroying us both.
I'd figure it out in Chicago.
Or I'd die trying.
AMELIA
I sat on the couch and listened to Jeremy Santoro fall asleep.
His breathing evened out. Deepened. The occasional slight snore could be heard.
I should leave. He'd said I could once he was asleep.
But I didn't.
I sat there in the quiet room, listening to him breathe, and tried to understand what was happening.
This was the dangerous man who had killed for me. Who'd set me up in a private room. Who'd just asked me to sit with him while he slept.
It didn't make sense.
None of it made sense.
But sitting here, in the quiet, it felt—
It felt safe.
Even though I knew it wasn't.
Even though I knew caring about Jeremy Santoro was probably the most dangerous thing I could do.
I stayed.
Just a little longer.
Just until I was sure he was really asleep.
Just until I could figure out what any of this meant.
Outside, the city was waking up.
Inside room three, a killer slept.
And I sat watching over him.
Despite my inability to see, I remained vigilant.