Chapter 14 Amelia
"That can't be possible!" I suddenly blurt, forgetting where I am. "Shit," I mutter under my breath, and instantly feel every eye in the room on me.
"What can't be possible, Captain Russo?" General Russo asks, his voice calm, but there’s ice in it. His eyes narrow, cold and sharp, like a blade slicing through ms.
I straighten, trying to force myself to breathe steady. "I… I apologize for speaking out of turn, General, but Mr. D’Angelo is a civilian and not fit to be in the army."
"And why do you say so?"
I can feel my teeth grinding. I have to choose my words carefully. I want to scream, Look at him! Designer clothes, perfect hair, smug smirk, screams rich hot kid! But I swallow it. I force myself to remain calm. "He's…" I pause. Searching for the right word to use. I hesitate for a while.
"He's one of the richest men in the city. He owns a huge company. He has bodyguards—highly trained bodyguards. I see no reason why he should join the army in the first place. He doesn’t even look like someone who can do half the things we do here."
I want to spit the last part out, but I hold it in. I lie like it’s nothing, even though I know he looks like he could probably take everyone in this room down before they even blink.
"The army isn’t the place for him, General."
Luca tilts his head slightly, examining me like I’m some puzzle. His gaze is sharp, heated and teasing. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t need to. The smirk alone is enough to make my stomach clench.
"And one more thing," I blurt before I lose my nerve. "My unit is responsible for catching Ren Moretti, who is known to be ruthless, violent, and—" I swallow. "—dangerous. He shouldn’t be on my team. I can’t focus on catching Ren while also making sure that the Italian prince doesn’t get shot in the head."
"Captain!" General Russo snaps, his tone slicing through the air. His eyes bore into mine. "Mr. D’Angelo spoke to the superiors and they agreed to have him enlisted. Moreover, Mr. D’Angelo here has a personal vendetta with Ren Moretti."
I open my mouth. I want to argue, to throw sarcasm like knives. More like bribed his way here, I think bitterly. My lips tighten. I watch the way Luca’s mouth curls up in amusement, like he’s reading my every thought, like he’s already winning.
"Did he even take any exams, General? What are his capabilities? Can he fight? What exactly can he do apart from looking rich?" I whisper silently, but the words taste like venom on my tongue.
"As his Captain, it's your job to train him and ensure he doesn’t get shot in the head."
My mouth opens, closes. A retort is on the tip of my tongue, but I’ve seen this glare before. After all, I've been on the receiving end of it countless times. I back down.
"The decision is final. You’re all dismissed!"
The other officers file out, murmuring. Whispers, glances, eyes flicking to Luca and then to me. Relief floods me. Finally, the room empties. Just him and me.
I stare at him. He leans casually against the wall, one hand in his pocket, the other brushing his suit jacket. That infuriating smirk doesn’t leave his face.
"You look… surprised," he says, voice smooth. Calm. But there’s a razor-sharp edge underneath, like he knows exactly how much I’m hating this moment and enjoying it.
"You have no idea," I snap, my tone sharper than I meant.
He laughs quietly, a low, amused sound. It makes my teeth ache. "And yet here you are. Stuck with me."
I cross my arms, chest tight, heart racing. "Don’t get too comfortable," I warn. "I’m the one in charge here. Understand?"
He straightens, takes a slow step toward me. His gaze pins me like he’s looking straight into my soul. "Oh, I understand. But I’ve never been much for following orders."
I bristle. "This isn’t a game."
He smirks wider. "Everything’s a game, Captain Russo. And I don't like to lose."
I want to hit him. Hard. Instead, I clench my fists and take a step closer. I lower my voice, lethal calm. "You’ll follow my lead. You get me killed, you’re out. You get the unit killed, you’re out. You touch a hair on Ren Moretti’s head without my say, you won’t live to regret it."
His smirk doesn’t falter. It grows. "Damn. You’re fiery."
I glare. "I’m not ‘fiery.’ I’m your superior. Remember that."
He tilts his head. "Superior, huh? Sounds lonely at the top."
"Don’t tempt me," I warn. "Because I will make you regret it."
There’s a pause. Tension so thick it presses against my skin. His smirk fades just slightly, replaced by something darker, almost… calculating.
"Fine," he says finally. "I’ll play by your rules. For now."
I don’t trust him. Not for a second. Every instinct screams danger. But for now, he’s my problem. And I have no choice.
I glance at the door, feeling the weight of the mission pressing down. Ren Moretti isn’t waiting for us. He’s out there, probably already plotting.
And I can’t afford mistakes. Not mine. Not his.
I turn back to Luca. He meets my gaze, smirk returning like it’s a shield.
This is going to be a huge pain.
And I don’t know if I’m ready for it.
The next morning, the training field buzzes with activity, the air heavy with the scent of sweat, mud, and anticipation. Recruits are already lining up, stretching, bouncing lightly on their feet, rolling their shoulders, shaking out tension. Their eyes track every movement, wary and eager, as if waiting for me to snap. I walk among them, clipboard in hand, boots crunching against the gravel, and just like that, the chatter dies. My presence silences the field without a single word.
Luca is already there, standing slightly apart, blending in effortlessly despite his size. His posture is relaxed, almost lazy, yet his eyes follow me constantly, unblinking. The smirk on his face is infuriating.
I take a deep breath and raise my voice, cutting through the morning air. "All right, recruits. Today we’re covering endurance, strategy, and combat. You will be pushed to your limits, and I don’t care if you’re tired, sore, or feel like quitting. Out there, weakness gets you killed. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, ma’am!" the recruits shout, loud and sharp.
Luca leans slightly toward the recruit next to him, voice low, smooth. "She woke up on the wrong side of the bed today."
I snap my head toward him, my hazel eyes narrow, cutting. "D’Angelo, did you have something to add?"
He straightens, hands raised slightly, innocent as a cat caught in the act. "Not at all, ma’am. Just admiring your… motivational techniques."
A few recruits snicker. I don’t need words to shut them down. I glare, and the laughter dies instantly. Silence falls, thick and tense.
"Good," I say, clipped. "Then let’s see if your stamina matches your sarcasm. Take point on the obstacle course."
Luca tilts his head, smirk widening like he’s savoring a private joke. "Anything for you, ma’am."
The recruits murmur, half impressed, half wary, as he jogs to the front. The obstacle course sprawls before us like a battlefield: ropes hang, walls jut at sharp angles, mud pits glisten, tires lie in wait, ready to trip the careless. It’s designed to crush the unprepared, to weed out weakness.
I blow the whistle and mutter under my breath, "Let’s see how smooth you are after this."
Luca moves like a shadow in motion. Every jump, every swing, every landing is perfect. His body bends and flows with the course, ropes snapping under his hands, mud splashing beneath him, yet he doesn’t falter. He scales the walls like they’re nothing, lands from swings with flawless balance, every motion precise and controlled. By the time he reaches the finish line, most of the recruits are still floundering halfway through.
I scowl, my competitive spirit flaring. I stride to him, hands on my hips. "Impressive," I admit, grudging.
He shrugs, casual, infuriating. "What can I say? I like to make an impression."
I cross my arms, lips tightening. "Let’s see how you fare in hand-to-hand combat. Maybe one of your peers can humble you."
His eyes gleam, a mixture of amusement and challenge. "Humble me? Sounds like a challenge."
"It is," I reply, tone daring, eyes sharp.
The recruits form a circle. I call the pairs, letting them match up and spar, testing each other. Luca watches with mild interest, leaning against a training dummy, arms crossed. Calm. Calculating. Annoyingly at ease.
"D’Angelo, you’re with Jenkins," I say.
A stocky recruit steps forward, cracking his knuckles. "Let’s see how fast that mouth of yours runs when you’re on the ground."
Luca smirks, tilting his head. "Let’s."
The fight is brutal but quick. Jenkins lunges, reckless, aiming to overwhelm. Luca sidesteps, his movements smooth and precise. He uses Jenkins’ momentum against him, flipping him onto the mat with perfect technique. Jenkins groans, winded but unhurt, looking both furious and impressed.
I narrow my eyes. "Again," I command.
This time, Luca doesn’t even let Jenkins close in. He ducks under a punch, sweeps Jenkins’ legs, and pins him with a knee to the chest, holding him firmly yet controlled.
"That all you got?" Luca asks, voice mocking but calm, like he’s playing a game I didn’t know the rules to.
"Enough!" I bark, stepping forward. "D’Angelo, you’re up against me."
The circle tightens around us, excitement and tension buzzing like electricity. Every recruit leans in, eyes wide. Even the air feels charged, heavy with anticipation.
Luca straightens, smirk fading into something sharper. "You sure about that, ma’am?"
"Afraid to lose?" I challenge, stepping into the circle, muscles tense, every nerve alert.
He chuckles, low and confident. "Not exactly."
We square off. His eyes never leave mine, dark and calculating. My pulse spikes, adrenaline surging. I strike first—fast, precise, testing him. He dodges, fluid, countering but always careful, controlled. Pulling his strikes just enough to avoid injury.
"You’re holding back," I accuse, blocking a punch aimed at my shoulder.
"Wouldn’t want to embarrass my instructor," he replies smoothly, ducking under my next attack with the ease of someone who’s done this a thousand times.
I grit my teeth, stepping in close. I sweep his legs out from under him, sending him crashing to the dirt. Before he can recover, I press a knee to his chest, pin his wrist. My chest heaves, sweat running down my temple.
The recruits erupt into cheers and laughter. I hear someone mutter, "He’s fast, but she’s… she’s on another level."
Luca lies beneath me, chest rising and falling steadily, that maddening grin back in place. "Looks like you win, Captain."
I pull back, rising, chest tight with exertion and frustration. "Don’t get comfortable."
He stands, brushing dirt off effortlessly. "Comfortable isn’t really my style," he says, voice low, smooth. "I like being challenged."
I cross my arms, studying him, heart still hammering. "Challenge? This isn’t a game, Luca."
"Everything’s a game," he replies, smirking, "until someone loses."
I feel a spark—annoyance, curiosity, maybe something darker. I clench my fists. "Out there, you’re not just risking yourself. You’re risking my unit. My people."
He nods slightly, eyes serious for a fraction of a second before the grin returns. "I understand. For now."
"Good," I say, still standing, still tense. "Because one mistake… one lapse, and I won’t hesitate."
He tilts his head, amused. "I wouldn’t expect anything less."
The recruits shift, some still gawking, some scribbling mental notes. I take a deep breath, letting the adrenaline fade just slightly.
"Next drill," I announce, voice steady and authoritative. "Team strategy. You will form units, plan your approach, and execute a mock extraction. Speed, coordination, thinking on your feet—no excuses."
Luca steps beside me, towering, calm, smirk never leaving. "Planning with you?" he asks.
"Pay attention," I snap. "Or you’ll be the first one out."
His grin spreads wider. "I was hoping you’d say that."
I stare at him, jaw tight, fingers curling into fists at my sides.
“I need you to take this seriously, D’Angelo,” I snap. My voice cuts through the field, sharp and unforgiving. “You have no idea what you signed up for. Ren Moretti is not a headline. He is not a rumor. He is not some exciting challenge you can brag about at dinner parties.”
I step closer, lowering my voice, forcing him to listen.
“He will destroy you. Slowly. Methodically. And he will enjoy it. Ren Moretti will have your guts ripped out from your stomach and he will shove them down your throat till you choke on them. Do you understand?”
Luca frowns, just slightly. It is the first crack in that smug mask. “Is he really that vicious?” he asks. “Because choking on my own guts isn’t an image I want in my head.”
I sigh, dragging a hand down my face. “Trust me. That image is still the mild version.”
He studies me now, really studies me. The joking edge dulls, replaced by something else. Curious and alert.
“Why exactly are you here?” I ask quietly. “Don’t you have board meetings to attend? Money to make? People to fire?”
“My company can survive without me.”
I let out a short laugh. Bitter. “Must be nice.”
He shrugs. “Perks of being competent.”
I roll my eyes. “Unbelievable.”
Then I look at him again. Really look. The way his jaw tightens. The way his eyes darken when I say Ren’s name.
“What did Ren do to you?” I ask.
He doesn’t answer right away.
For once, he doesn’t smirk.
“It’s personal.”
That single sentence lands heavy. Too heavy. I don’t like it. Personal vendettas get people killed. Emotions cloud judgment. Revenge makes soldiers sloppy.
“Well,” I say, voice cold, “let’s hope you won’t let your feelings get in the way. Because if you do, I will kill you.”
He snorts. Actually snorts. “You can try.”
I glare at him. “That wasn’t a joke.”
“Neither was my answer.”
For a moment, we just stare at each other. The noise of the training field fades. Recruits shouting. Boots hitting dirt. Whistles blowing. None of it matters.
Just him.
Just me.
And the war neither of us is admitting we’re already in.
“Listen carefully,” I say. “Out there, you don’t move unless I say move. You don’t shoot unless I say shoot. You don’t chase Ren unless I give the order. I don’t care how personal this is for you.”
He tilts his head. “And if I disagree?”
“Then you die,” I say flatly. “Or worse. You get someone else killed. And I will never forgive you for that.”
His gaze sharpens. “You care about your people.”
“I do.”
“Good,” he says quietly. “So do I.”
I scoff. “You don’t even know them.”
“I will.”
That annoys me more than it should.
I turn on my heel. “Back to formation. Both of you,” I bark at the recruits still lingering nearby. “Break time is over.”
They scatter instantly.
I walk toward the tactical zone, expecting Luca to follow. He does. Of course he does. Close enough that I can feel his presence like pressure against my spine.
“You always threaten your trainees?” he asks.
“Only the ones who deserve it.”
“So just me.”
“Yes.”
He chuckles. “I’m honored.”
I stop abruptly. He almost runs into me.
“Do you enjoy pushing people's buttons?” I ask.
“I enjoy seeing how far I can push before someone snaps.”
“Well,” I say, turning slowly, “keep pushing and you’ll find out exactly where that line is.”
His smile turns dangerous. “I think I already crossed it.”
“Good,” I reply. “That means you’re paying attention!”
We reach the map table. I spread the layout across the surface. Buildings. Entry points. Extraction zones.
“This is a mock extraction,” I say. “But don’t get comfortable. Ren will not just sit by to be ambushed.”
Luca leans over the table. “He won’t expect me.”
“No,” I agree. “And that’s the only reason you’re still standing here.”
He looks at me sideways. “You really hate this.”
“I hate unpredictability.”
“Funny,” he says. “I thrive on it.”
I meet his gaze. “That’s exactly the problem.”
He grins. “Admit it. Without me, this would be boring.”
"You only just got here, D'Angelo. Don't be so full of yourself."
He leans closer, eyes bright with mischief.
“Give it a week, Captain.”
I scoff. “If you survive the week, I’ll be impressed.”
He taps the table once, smug. “If I don’t?”
I don’t even blink. “Then I’ll finally get some peace.”