Chapter 47 New Routine
AMELIA
The first morning, I woke disoriented.
The bed was too soft. The room is too quiet. The air smelt different—clean, expensive, like the kind of detergent that cost more than most people's weekly groceries.
Then I remembered.
The Santoro estate. Jeremy's wing. My new job.
My new life.
I sat up, felt for my cane beside the bed, and checked the clock on the nightstand. The one with Braille numbers that someone—Luca, probably—had thoughtfully provided.
6:15am.
Jeremy had told me yesterday that he usually woke at 6:30. Wanted coffee by 7:00. Breakfast by 7:30.
I had fifteen minutes to get ready before starting my first official day as his personal maid.
I moved through my morning routine quickly—shower in the bathroom across the hall, get dressed in the simple black dress and white apron that had been laid out in my closet, and pull my hair back into a neat ponytail.
I look professional and competent. Like a real employee.
At 6:45am, I made my way to Jeremy's room.
The hallway was twelve steps. I'd counted yesterday when he'd shown me around. His door was the third on the left.
I knocked softly. "Mr Santoro? It's Amelia."
"Come in."
I opened the door and stepped inside.
The room was massive—I could tell from the way sound travelled. High ceilings. Lots of space. The scent of his cologne hung in the air, mixed with something else. Leather, maybe. And coffee.
"Good morning," I said. "I'm here to—to start work. What would you like me to do first?"
"Coffee," he said. His voice came from the direction of what I assumed was a bathroom. "Kitchen is two doors down on the right. Coffee maker on the counter. Everything's labelled."
"I remember. You showed me yesterday."
"Right," he replied, then said, "Black. No sugar."
"I know." I answered too quickly.
He paused and asked. "How did you know?"
Because I'd paid attention. Because I'd noticed everything about him even when I shouldn't have.
"You told me," I lied. "Yesterday. When you were explaining my duties."
"Okay. I'll be out in ten minutes. First, I'll have coffee, and then I need my clothes laid out.
"Yes, sir."
I left, navigating the hallway with more confidence than I felt.
The kitchen was exactly where he'd said. Small and private—just for his wing, not the main family kitchens. The coffee maker had Braille labels. Coffee grounds in the canister to the left. Filters in the drawer below. The waterline is already filled.
I'd made coffee before. At St Mary's, in the group home kitchen. The apparatus was fancier equipment, but the principle was the same.
I measured grounds by feel—four scoops for a strong pot. Started the machine. I listened to the machine as it gurgled and hissed.
While it brewed, I found the cabinet with mugs. Selected one. I felt its weight, its quality. Expensive, like everything else here.
The coffee finished. I poured carefully, using my finger inside the rim to gauge when the cup was nearly full.
Black. No sugar. Just like I'd noticed that first night at Crimson when he'd been drinking whisky but had ordered coffee afterward.
I carried it back to his room and knocked again.
"Come in."
He was at his dresser, wearing slacks and an undershirt. I could hear the rustle of fabric and the sound of drawers opening and closing.
"Coffee," I said, staying near the door.
"Bring it here. Desk by the window."
I navigated carefully, found the desk, and set the cup down.
"Thank you." He moved closer—I could feel his presence, the warmth of him. "Your job for this morning—make my bed, lay out my clothes for the day, and gather laundry from the basket in the bathroom. Can you handle that?"
"Yes."
"Good. I'll be downstairs for breakfast. Take your time."
He left, and I was alone in his room.
Making the bed was straightforward. I'd done it a thousand times at St Mary's. Strip the sheets if they needed changing—these didn't; they still smelt clean. Smooth the covers. Arrange the pillows. Simple.
The closet was more complicated.
I opened it carefully and felt along the hanging clothes. They were organised—I could tell by the spacing and the way similar fabrics were grouped together. Suits on the left. Dress shirts in the middle. On the right, there are casual clothes.
Someone had added Braille labels to the hangers. Navy suit. Charcoal suit. Black suit. White shirt. Blue shirt.
Jeremy had done this. He either did it himself or had someone else do it for him.
So I could do this job. So I wouldn't fail.
I selected a charcoal suit—he had a meeting today; he'd mentioned it yesterday. Dark blue shirt. I located the tie rack and intuitively selected a burgundy tie.
Laid everything out on the chair by his dresser. Neat. Professional. This was the method a true personal maid would employ.
The laundry basket was in the bathroom. I sorted by fabric type and colour—whites, darks, delicates—the way I'd been taught in the group home. Practical skills for practical life.
I never imagined that I would be applying these practical skills to sort Jeremy Santoro's laundry.
I carried the sorted piles to the laundry room—one door past the kitchen. The laundry room is another space that has been labelled in Braille. Washer on the left, dryer on the right. Detergent pods in the cabinet above.
I started a load of darks, set the timer, and headed back to determine if Jeremy needed anything else.
JEREMY
I sat in the breakfast room in my wing, not the formal dining room, and tried to focus on the newspaper.
Amelia was upstairs. In my room. She was in my room, making my bed. Touching my things. Organising my space.
It should have felt invasive. Uncomfortable.
Instead, it felt—
Right. Natural. She seemed to fit right in.
Cristo, I was in trouble.
"Boss?" Luca appeared in the doorway. "Everything okay with the new arrangement?"
"Fine. Why?"
"Just checking. How's she handling the work?"
"Competently. Efficiently." I took a drink of coffee—still hot, perfectly brewed. "She's capable. More capable than people give her credit for."
"Good. And the trip tomorrow—are you still going?"
Tomorrow. The Chicago follow-up meetings. Two days of negotiations with potential partners. Important business that couldn't be postponed.
"Yes. I leave at 6am. You and Nico will stay here. Keep an eye on things."
"You mean keep an eye on her."
"I mean, keep an eye on everything. But yes—Amelia stays in my wing. Doesn't leave the estate and she doesn't interact with Antonio or anyone from the other wings. Clear?"
"Crystal." Luca pulled out a chair and sat. "Boss, can I ask you something?"
"No."
"Why bring her here? Really? The safe house was secure enough—"
"It wasn't. Victoria found it."
"Okay, but there are other properties. Other safe houses. Why bring her to the main estate where your father can see, where Antonio can monitor, and where everyone will ask questions?"
Because I needed her close. Because the thought of her being anywhere I couldn't protect her made my chest tight. Because having her in Brooklyn, forty minutes away, had made me restless and anxious and unable to focus.
"Because this is the most secure location," I said instead. "And because the employment cover makes sense. It's legitimate, documented, and defendable."
"And if your father asks why you hired a blind maid?"
"I'll tell him the truth—that she's capable, qualified, and needed a position. That it's an act of charity that reflects well on the Family." I set down my coffee cup. "He won't question it. Not publicly."
"And Antonio?"
Antonio does not have any influence over my decisions regarding household staff."
Luca nodded slowly. "Okay. Just be careful, boss. The more time she's here, the more people will notice. The more they'll talk."
"Let them talk."
"And if someone connects her to the blind girl Antonio had at the estate? If people realize she's the same person."
"Then I'll handle it." I stood. "I have to finish getting ready. Make sure the security protocols are updated for while I'm gone. No one enters my wing except you, Nico, and the main house staff I've approved."
"And Amelia?" Luca asked
"Amelia doesn't leave my wing. At all. Not until I'm back." I replied firmly.
"She won't like that." Luca tried to defend her.
"She doesn't have to like it. She just has to stay safe."