Chapter 60 Victoria's visit
AMELIA
I felt the moment Jeremy fell asleep.
His breathing evened out. His hand on mine went slack. His body relaxed into the mattress.
I should leave. I should return to my room to rest. And I should pretend this never happened.
But I stayed anyway.
I placed a hand on his chest. I could feel the rhythm of his heartbeat. His warmth and presence were palpable.
We'd kissed.
And he'd said that, he has wanted me for a long time. He wants me now and always.
He'd said that out loud.
Drunk, yes. But drunk words were sober thoughts, right?
Or was that just my wishful thinking?
I sat there in the darkness, feeling his chest rise and fall under my palm.
Tomorrow, everything would change, and he'd remember this.
We would have to confront the feelings we experienced.
But for now—
For now, I could sit here. I could sit here alone, in the darkness. With my hand on his chest. And pretend that this was simple.
That a blind girl and a mafia heir could somehow make sense together.
Even though we both knew it didn't.
Even though we both knew this was impossible.
His hand moved; even in sleep, he found mine. Laced our fingers together.
I held on.
For just a little longer.
Before tomorrow came, and complicated everything.
JEREMY
I woke to sunlight streaming through my window and a pounding headache.
Whisky. Right. I'd drunk too much at Crimson.
I sat up slowly, pressed my fingers to my temples, and tried to piece together last night.
The bar. Amelia sitting on the couch, miserable. Nina is keeping her company. We took a drive home together. Luca and Nico are helping me to bed—
And then.
Amelia.
My eyes snapped open fully as the memories came flooding back.
Amelia was checking on me. My hand caught her wrist. I gently pulled her close.
Kissing her.
Christ.
I'd kissed her.
And she'd kissed me back.
I looked at the bed beside me—empty now, but I could still feel the ghost of her presence. Could still remember the taste of her lips. The softness of her skin under my palm. The way she'd gasped when I'd touched her.
And the way she'd stopped me. Gently but firmly. She made it clear that she wanted me to be sober.
Tomorrow we can talk. When you're sober, we can continue our conversation. When you recall this information, it will be more meaningful.
I remembered. I cherished every detail and every touch. Every word I'd said.
I have longed for you for an extended period. I want you now. Always want you.
God, I'd actually said that out loud.
But I'd meant it.
Still meant it.
The fog of alcohol had lifted, and the truth was still there, crystal clear:
I wanted Amelia. Had wanted her for weeks. Maybe longer.
And last night, she'd wanted me back.
I checked the clock. 6:45am.
It still early. Good. Amelia would still be asleep—or maybe just waking. I had time to shower, clear my head, and figure out what to say.
Figure out how to tell her that last night wasn't just a drunk impulse. That I'd meant every word.
That whatever this was between us—I wanted to stop running from it.
I showered quickly, the hot water helping with the headache. I got dressed. Made coffee.
My hands were shaking slightly as I poured it.
This was unprecedented. Uncharted territory.
I'd never felt this way about anyone. Never wanted someone so much; it made logical decisions impossible. Never—
The doorbell rang.
I frowned. Who the hell was visiting at 7am?
I walked to the east wing entrance, opened the door—
Victoria Castellano stood there, perfectly dressed despite the early hour, looking annoyed.
"Victoria? What are you doing here?"
"We need to talk." She pushed past me into the entrance hall. "About your blind maid."
My stomach dropped. "What about her?"
"I've been hearing things, Jeremy—rumours about you bringing her to Crimson last night. About her living in your personal wing. "She turned to face me," she said, referring to your presence at the café with her. Or rather, it was about her being at a café with Alexei Volkov while you were in Chicago.
Cristo. Of course she'd heard. Victoria had sources everywhere.
"It's not what you think."
"Isn't it?" She crossed her arms. "Because from where I'm standing, it looks exactly like what I warned you about. You're getting attached. Compromising yourself. "Are you risking our arrangement for a girl you are trying to protect?"
"Keep your voice down," I said quietly. "She might hear you."
"Oh, so she's here? She's under your wing, right? Right now?" Victoria's eyes narrowed. "Jeremy, what are you doing?"
"I'm protecting someone who needs protection. That's all."
"That's not all and we both know it." She stepped closer. "I saw the video, Jeremy. The one your man sent you. By the way you reacted—rushing back from Chicago, shooting my investigation—that's not just protection. That's obsession."
I didn't answer.
"I'm not judging you," Victoria continued, her voice softening slightly. "I understand. God knows I understand what it's like to care about someone you shouldn't. But Jeremy—you need to be smart about this. Our families are watching. Your father is asking questions. Antonio is spreading rumours that you're compromised."
"Antonio can—"
"Antonio can destroy you if you give him ammunition. And this girl? She's ammunition. "The blind girl who lives in your personal wing, goes to bars with you, and has coffee with the Volkovs—" Victoria shook her head. "You're making yourself vulnerable. And in our world, vulnerability gets people killed."
She was right. I knew she was right.
But I didn't care.
"I'm handling it," I said.
"Are you? From my perspective, you seem to be spiralling out of control. And if you spiral, our arrangement collapses. Which means I lose Matteo and you lose—" She gestured vaguely. "—whatever this girl is to you."
"Her name is Amelia."
"I don't care what her name is. I care that she's becoming a liability that threatens everything we've built."
Anger flared hot in my chest. "She's not a liability."
"Then what is she? Your maid? Please. No one believes that. Your girlfriend? Even worse, that gives your father grounds to dissolve our engagement, which exposes both of us. Your—what? Your obsession? Your weakness?" Victoria's voice hardened. "Figure it out, Jeremy. Fast. Because right now, you're playing a dangerous game, and you don't even know the rules."
"I know the rules—"
"Do you? Because here's what I see: You traded the Brooklyn docks to get her away from Antonio. You moved her into your personal wing. You flew home early from Chicago because she had coffee with someone. You took her to Crimson last night—in public, where people saw her." Victoria stepped closer. "You're acting like a man in love, Jeremy. And love makes you predictable. Controllable, and weak."
"I'm not—" I tried to defend, then stopped.
Was I?
In love?
The word hit me like a physical blow.
Love.