Chapter 34 New Environment
AMELIA
The room was beautiful. I knew that even without being able to see it.
The bed was massive—I'd explored it carefully with my hands. King-sized, maybe larger. The mattress was soft, and the sheets were high thread count and smooth as water. There were at least six pillows.
The ensuite bathroom had a shower with multiple heads, a deep bathtub, and heated floors. Towels so thick and soft I wanted to wrap myself in them and disappear.
The closet—Nina had mentioned my small room at Crimson had a shallow alcove. This was a walk-in. With clothes already hanging. Expensive clothes, judging by the fabric. All in my size.
Antonio had prepared for me.
That thought made my skin crawl.
I sat on the edge of the enormous bed, my cane across my lap, and tried not to think about where I was.
The Santoro estate. Jeremy's home.
But Jeremy wasn't here. He was in Chicago. And I was here with his uncle, who'd threatened to kill him if I didn't cooperate.
Cooperate. What a pleasant word for "spying on the man who saved your life."
A knock on the door made me jump.
"Miss Amelia?" A woman's voice. Older. Formal. "I'm Maria, the head housekeeper. Mr. Antonio wanted me to check up on you. Make sure you have everything you need."
I stood and moved toward the door. "I'm fine. Thank you."
"Is the room acceptable?"
"It's... very nice."
"Good. Dinner is at seven. Mr Antonio expects you to join him in the dining room."
Expects. Not invites. Not requests, just demands.
"I don't know where the dining room is." I said, fiddling with my fingers.
"I'll come collect you at quarter to seven. Is there anything else you need in the meantime?"
Yes. I needed to be anywhere but here. I needed Jeremy to come home. I needed to wake up from this nightmare.
"No. Thank you."
Maria's footsteps retreated.
I went back to the bed, sat down, and tried to calm my racing heart.
It had been three hours since Antonio had brought me here. Three hours of being shown around by Maria—the layout of my room, the bathroom, the closet. Being told the rules.
Don't leave your room without permission.
Don't wander the house alone.
Don't speak to the other staff about why you're here.
Don't try to leave the estate.
Don't. Don't. Don't.
A prison with silk sheets and heated floors.
I lay back on the bed, my cane beside me, and stared at the ceiling I couldn't see.
What have I done?
At quarter to seven, Maria returned.
"Time for dinner, Miss Amelia."
She led me through the mansion. I tried to count turns and memorise the route, but the house was massive. Hallways that seemed to go on forever. Stairs—we went down two flights. More hallways.
Finally, we stopped.
"The dining room," Maria said. "Mr Antonio is already inside."
She opened a door. Guided me in.
"Amelia." Antonio's voice came from the far end of what sounded like a large room. "Come. Sit."
Maria led me to a chair and helped me sit. I heard her footsteps retreat, the door close.
I was alone with Antonio.
"The staff prepared something special for your first night," Antonio said. "Osso buco. My mother's recipe. You'll like it."
I didn't respond.
"Not hungry?" He asked and his voice was closer now. He'd moved and was coming toward my end of the table. "Or just nervous?"
"Both," I replied.
"Understandable." He said and a chair scraped—he was sitting next to me instead of at the far end. Close. Too close. "Let's talk about expectations, shall we?"
"What do you want from me?" I asked, now getting frustrated.
"Direct. I like that." I heard him pour something—wine, from the sound. "I want you to be comfortable here. Settle in. Get used to the house, the staff, and the routine."
"And then?"
"And then, when Jeremy returns from Chicago, you'll continue your relationship with him. Whatever that relationship is."
"There is no relationship. He's just—"
"Protecting you? Obsessing over you? Spending Family resources to keep you safe?" Antonio's hand touched my arm. "Don't lie to me, Amelia. I know my nephew. He doesn't do any of that unless someone matters to him."
"I don't know what I am to him."
"That makes two of us. Which is why you're here. To help me figure that out." His thumb stroked my arm. "When Jeremy visits you—and he will—you tell me what he says. His plans. His concerns. Whether he's focused on Family business or distracted by his feelings for you."
"And if he is distracted?"
"Then I'll know he's not fit to be heir. And I'll take steps to protect the Family." Antonio released my arm. "But that's not your concern. Your job is simple. Listen and report. Nothing more."
A door opened. Footsteps. The scent of rich food filled the air.
"Dinner is served," said Maria's voice.
She set plates down. Maria explained the arrangement of the food on my plate: osso buco was at six o'clock, risotto at three, and vegetables at nine.
Then she left.
"Eat," Antonio commanded.
I wasn't hungry. But I picked up my fork, found the risotto, and took a small bite.
It was delicious. I hated that it was delicious.
We ate in silence for several minutes. Then Antonio spoke again.
"Tell me about your time at Crimson. The private rooms. What did you hear?"
My hand tightened on my fork. "I don't remember much."
"Liar. You remember everything. Your kind always does—heightened senses to compensate for the blindness. Probably heard conversations the customers thought were private." He set down his fork. "I'm not asking you to betray anyone. Just curious what you picked up."
"I heard names. Business talk. Nothing specific."
"Names. Good. Which families?"
"Santoro. Volkov. Castellano. Morano." I set down my fork. "I wasn't listening for information. I was just trying to survive."
"Survival. Yes. You're good at that." Antonio stood. I heard him move behind my chair. "You survived the streets. Survived Crimson. Survived Miguel's assault. You're a survivor, Amelia. That's admirable."
His hands landed on my shoulders.
I froze.
"Relax," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. I'm just—" His thumbs pressed into the muscles of my shoulders, "—noting that you're very tense. Understandable, given everything you've been through."
"Please don't touch me."
"Please." He chuckled. "Such good manners. Jeremy taught you that, did he? How to ask nicely?" His grip tightened slightly. "Here's something Jeremy probably didn't teach you. In this house, I don't respond to 'please'. I respond to obedience."
"I'm not—"
"Not what? Not mine to command?" His voice dropped lower. "You're in my house now. Under my protection. Living in my guest room, eating my food, wearing clothes I provided. That makes you mine, Amelia. At least until Jeremy comes back to claim you."
"He'll come back."
"Will he? He hasn't called. Hasn't checked on you. Five days and not a word." Antonio's hands moved from my shoulders to my arms, pulling me to my feet. "For all you know, he's forgotten about you already."
"He hasn't—"
"Come with me." His hand gripped my elbow. His grip was firm but not painful.
"Where are we going?"
"The living room. I had a long day. I need to relax. And you're going to help me."
He pulled me toward a door. I had no choice but to follow, my cane tapping frantically as he moved too fast for me to orient myself.
Another hallway. Another room. I heard a door close behind us.
"Sit," Antonio commanded.
"Where?"
"On the couch. There." He pushed me down onto soft leather. "Good."
I heard him moving around. Ice clinking in a glass. Liquid pouring. The clink of a bottle being set down.
"I don't understand what you want," I said.
"Right now? I want you to massage my shoulders. They're killing me after sitting through three hours of boring meetings today."
My stomach dropped. "What?"
"You heard me. I'm going to lie down on this couch, and you're going to massage my shoulders. It's simple."
"No."
"No?" His voice was dangerous now. "Are we back to that again?"
"I'm not—I don't—"
"You don't what? Know how to give a massage? I'll teach you. It's not complicated." He moved closer. "Or are you refusing me?"
The threat hung in the air. Unspoken but clear.
Refuse me, and I make that call to Chicago.
"I don't want to," I whispered.
"I didn't ask what you wanted. I told you what you're going to do." His hand gripped my wrist. "Now. I'm going to lie down on this couch. And you're going to kneel beside it and massage my shoulders. If you do a good job, this stays simple. If you refuse—" He pulled me closer, his breath hot against my ear. "— I make a phone call, and Jeremy has an accident. Are we clear?"
Tears burnt behind my eyes. "Yes."
"Good girl."