Chapter 16 Amelia
Amelia
I freeze the moment I see them standing together.
Luca D’Angelo.
And the man beside him.
Tall. Relaxed. Too at ease for someone who just crossed onto restricted grounds without blinking. He looks around like he is touring a private estate, not a military base. Confidence rolls off him quietly. The dangerous kind. Not loud like Luca’s. Collected and measured.
I fold my arms.
Slowly.
“Do you want to explain,” I say calmly, “why a civilian just drove onto my base like he owns the place?”
The stranger smiles.
Not nervous. Not even guilty. Just entertained. Like this all some kind of show.
“Friend might be inaccurate,” he says. His accent is subtle but clear. Italian. One of us. “Business associate fits better.”
I shift my gaze to Luca.
He exhales like I have deeply inconvenienced him.
“Captain,” he says, easy as ever, “this is Matteo.”
“That answers exactly nothing,” I reply.
The stranger inclines his head. Polite. Intentional. “Matteo Rossi.”
Of course it is.
“And why,” I continue, “is Mr. Rossi walking around my base without clearance?”
Luca opens his mouth.
I lift a finger.
“Careful,” I say. “Because whatever you say next decides whether you leave calmly or in handcuffs.”
Matteo laughs.
Actually laughs.
“I like her,” he says to Luca. “She’s direct.”
Luca grins. “I warned you.”
I stare at them both.
This cannot be real.
“You think this is amusing,” I say.
“No,” Luca replies. “I think this is badly timed.”
“That is generous,” I snap.
Matteo’s eyes sweep the area. Observant and c.alculating.
“You run a disciplined unit,” he says. “Impressive.”
I step closer. Just enough.
“You are trespassing,” I say quietly. “You have ten seconds to explain before I make this official.”
He meets my stare without hesitation.
“I came to get him.”
My jaw tightens.
“Get him.”
“Yes.”
“This is not a pickup zone,” I say flatly.
Luca clears his throat. “Captain, I did mention I had something important today.”
“You said you had a company to run,” I shoot back. “Not a babysitter arriving at my gate.”
Matteo lifts a brow. “Babysitter wounds me.”
“Excellent,” I say. “Carry that pain elsewhere.”
Luca presses his lips together.
He is enjoying this far too much.
“I’m guessing,” I continue, “you failed to notify anyone before bringing a civilian onto military property.”
Matteo shrugs. “I assumed Luca would.”
I turn my stare on Luca.
He shrugs. “I forgot.”
I inhale.
Slowly.
“You forgot.”
“Yes.”
“You forgot to mention a civilian arrival onto a restricted base.”
“It slipped.”
I consider my life choices.
“Captain Russo,” Matteo says smoothly, “I will leave immediately if that helps.”
“You will,” I reply. “After you answer a few questions.”
His smile sharpens slightly. “Fair.”
I gesture toward the security booth. “Move.”
Luca follows without comment.
Good.
At the booth, I nod to the guard.
“Hold the gate.”
He hesitates. Looks between the men.
I glare.
“Yes, ma’am,” he says quickly.
I face Matteo again.
“You run a company?”
“Yes.”
“Name.”
A pause. Small but noticeable.
“Rossi Logistics.”
I file it away.
“And what does Rossi Logistics do?”
“Shipping. Trade.”
I tilt my head. “Vague answers make me itchy.”
“Most boring businesses are,” he replies.
“Illegal ones especially,” I mutter.
Luca coughs. “Captain.”
Ignored.
“Why is Luca D’Angelo important enough for this visit?”
Matteo glances at Luca. Then back at me.
"You know who he is right? Luca D'Angelo, Billionaire? Business Tycoon?" Matteo arches a brow.
"I'm aware of his position but that does not answer my question." I say dryly.
“He is terrible at planning.”
Luca smiles. “Uncalled for.”
“And,” Matteo adds, “he forgets rules exist.”
I snort before I can stop myself.
Luca’s eyes light up. “You laughed.”
“No,” I say quickly. “That was frustration escaping.”
Matteo studies me.
“You don’t trust him.”
“No.”
“You shouldn’t,” Luca adds.
I glare. “You are not participating.”
Matteo chuckles. “That tracks.”
I step back.
“This is how it goes,” I say. “You leave now. You do not return without clearance. And you do not interrupt my schedule again.”
Matteo nods. “Understood.”
I turn to Luca.
“And you,” I say quietly, “will explain everything. Slowly. Clearly AND Without sarcasm.”
He winces. “That last condition is harsh.”
“Try me.”
He exhales. “Matteo handles parts of my business.”
“Which business.”
“The dull one.”
I narrow my eyes.
“I told you,” I say, “this is not a place you treat casually.”
“I know.”
“And yet.”
“And yet,” he agrees.
Matteo steps back toward the gate. “I’ll leave you to it.”
“Wise,” I say.
He pauses.
“Captain Russo.”
“Yes.”
“Good luck.”
Then he’s gone.
The gate shuts.
Silence settles.
I face Luca.
“You,” I say, “are a logistical nightmare.”
He smiles. “You make it sound charming.”
“You break protocol.”
“Agree to disagree.”
“You attract attention.”
“it's not something I have control over.”
“I don’t care.”
He steps closer. “You care a little.”
I scoff. “Dream less.”
His smile softens. Just enough.
“You’re good,” he says. “You notice things.”
“Stop.”
“I mean it.”
“I said stop.”
He chuckles quietly.
“You don’t trust me.”
“No. And I never will and I don't care who you are or what you do.”
“Smart.”
I blink. “What.”
“Trust gets people hurt,” he says.
I step closer.
“You follow my rules,” I say. “Or you leave.”
He meets my gaze. Steady.
“For now.”
That word again.
I gesture toward the barracks. “Get ready. Tomorrow starts earlier.”
He salutes lazily. “Yes, Captain.”
He turns and leaves and I know he still has that stupidly infuriating smirk on his face.
XXXX
Later that evening, the barracks are quiet in the dangerous way. Lights are dim. Boots are kicked aside. Recruits lie half-asleep, bodies heavy, minds slowly drifting.
I am halfway through reviewing tomorrow’s schedule when the calm snaps.
A voice booms through the speakers.
“Everyone, formation outside. Now.”
The silence shatters.
Cots creak. Someone curses. Another groans. Metal lockers slam. Boots hit the floor in uneven rhythm.
Luca rolls off his cot like gravity personally offended him.
“This better be worth it,” he mutters, rubbing his face. “If it’s another speech about discipline, I’m faking a medical emergency.”
I am already moving, pulling on my jacket.
“Get up, D’Angelo,” I say without slowing. “Unless you want me dragging you by your ears.”
He grins lazily as he follows. “Promises, promises.”
Outside, floodlights snap on, bathing the yard in harsh white. The night air is cold. Sharp. It wakes everyone fully.
Recruits scramble into formation. Some are still buttoning jackets. Others are blinking like they have just been resurrected.
I take my place at the front. Spine straight. Face blank.
The Colonel steps forward.
His presence alone silences the murmurs.
“Tonight,” he says, voice calm and heavy, “we put your training to the test.”
A ripple runs through the line. Subtle and uneasy.
This is not scheduled. That alone makes my stomach tighten.
“You will be infiltrating a warehouse controlled by a Russian Mafia organization operating within Italian city limits,” he continues. “This is not a drill.”
My jaw sets.
Mafia.
I feel Luca stiffen beside me.
“The target is Krovavye Volki. The Blood Wolves.”
The name hangs in the air.
“Shit,” Luca mutters.
I turn my head slightly. “Something wrong, D’Angelo?”
He recovers fast. Too fast. A grin snaps back into place.
“Nothing,” he says. “Just thinking spaghetti and covert missions don’t mix well.”
I do not smile. I file it away.
The Colonel continues. “You will move in teams. Your objective is intel retrieval. If compromised, you neutralize threats and extract.”
Neutralize.
Not arrest.
Not detain.
My fingers curl in anticipation.
“Do not underestimate them,” the Colonel says. “Krovavye Volki is violent. Organized. And territorial. They are Russian, but they have deep roots here.”
Images flash through my head. Dark warehouses. Narrow corridors. Blind corners.
This is not training anymore.
Teams are assigned quickly.
I am placed in charge of Alpha team.
Of course I am.
And of course Luca is in my unit.
He catches my look and smiles like this is a date.
We gear up in silence.
Vests. Comms. Sidearms. Blades secured but not visible.
I check everyone twice.
When I reach Luca, I stop.
“You follow my lead,” I say quietly.
“Always do,” he replies.
I meet his eyes. “This is not a joke.”
Something flickers there. Gone fast.
“I know,” he says.
We load into unmarked vehicles.
The chaos of the raid begins as the transport vehicles screech to a halt outside the looming warehouse. I watch the recruits file out, faces tight with nerves and determination. Floodlights stab the darkness, throwing long, jagged shadows across the cracked asphalt. My heart thuds, but I push it down. I can’t afford hesitation—not now.
“Stick to your squads,” I bark, my voice cutting through the murmurs like a blade. “No one moves without my signal. And for the love of all that’s holy, don’t try to play hero.”
I catch Luca’s smirk out of the corner of my eye. His dark gaze glints with amusement, and a pinch of unease. “Define ‘hero,’ boss lady. Asking for a friend,” he says.
I give him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Hero, as in the first idiot to get himself shot. Got it?”
He throws his hands in mock surrender. “Crystal clear. I’ll try to keep my heroic tendencies in check.”
I roll my eyes. The recruits stifle nervous chuckles behind me. I don’t care. I can’t. I signal the group forward, leading us toward the warehouse. Every step deliberate, every movement calculated. I take point, eyes scanning, muscles coiled, senses alive.
Inside, the air is thick, almost heavy enough to taste. Silence presses against my ears like a living thing, waiting to be shattered. The recruits move in formation, weapons raised, eyes darting to every shadow. I keep my focus sharp. One wrong move and someone dies.
Luca hangs back, scanning as I do. Then I see them before anyone else can—Krovavye Volki’s enforcers, crouched behind stacks of crates, weapons glinting in the dim light.
My stomach twists. These aren’t just faceless Mafia thugs. These men are precise, trained killers. This is a fight we can lose in seconds.
“Contacts!” someone screams, and suddenly the world explodes.
Gunfire shreds the silence. The deafening roar of bullets fills my head. Recruits scatter, ducking behind whatever cover they can find. I dive behind a steel beam, pressing my body low. My hands are steady on my weapon as I bark orders.
“Alpha team! Cover the left flank! Suppressing fire, now!”
I watch Luca move like he’s dancing with danger. Bullets zip past him, close enough to singe the air. He fires back, but I notice—he’s missing on purpose.
“D’Angelo!” I yell, voice cutting through the chaos. “What the hell are you doing? You couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn!”
“Maybe I’m just warming up!” he calls back, ducking as a bullet whistles past his ear. “Give me a minute, Captain!”
I grit my teeth and push forward. I don’t have time to argue. The enforcers are regrouping, pushing back with terrifying precision. Bullets ping off metal and crack concrete. Smoke curls from crates hit by stray rounds, stinging my eyes.
“Left corridor, now!” I scream, sprinting low to the ground. My boots scrape concrete, sparks flying where rounds hit near me. I fire two precise shots—both men drop before they even know what hit them.
Luca slides past me like a shadow, smirking. “Nice shooting. Try not to kill them all without me noticing, yeah?”
“I’m multitasking,” I snap, rolling behind a crate. My heart hammers, adrenaline screaming. I count my team. One rookie is frozen mid-step, eyes wide. I yank him down behind cover, growling, “Move, or get yourself killed!”
A flash of movement catches my eye. Another enforcer, flanking from the right. My finger tightens on the trigger. I fire. He drops with a grunt, his weapon skidding across the concrete.
“Keep moving!” I yell. “Suppress them! Don’t give them breathing room!”
Bullets slam into the crate beside me. I smell smoke and gunpowder, taste it on my tongue. The recruits are scattered but alive, and I need them that way. I duck and fire again, scanning the shadows for the next threat.
Luca leans close, voice low but teasing, even in the middle of gunfire. “Ever think about how dramatic this all looks from the outside? ‘Warehouse raid, daring leader saves the day.’”
“Shut up,” I hiss. “And cover your six, for once.”
The enforcers push closer. Their coordination is frightening. One of my recruits goes down, screaming as a bullet grazes his shoulder. My stomach twists. I fire back, forcing my panic down into sharp focus.
“Covering fire!” I scream again. “Move! Move! MOVE!”
I dart forward, rolling low, boots scraping across concrete. I fire, three quick rounds. Two men drop silently, the third spins, surprised. I don’t wait. I motion to my team, guiding them, counting their movements, predicting the next strike.
Every sense is alive. Every heartbeat a drum in my chest. I can smell fear, my own and theirs. I can taste gunpowder. I can hear the whine of bullets inches from my ears. I am sharp, precise, deadly—and I am in control, even as chaos rips everything around me apart.
And I know—if I falter for one second, we all die.
I push forward anyway.
I do not wait for permission. I do not slow down.
The noise is everywhere. Gunfire. Shouting. Metal screaming as bullets tear into it. My boots hit the floor hard as I move between cover points, low and fast. I fire, reload, fire again. My arms burn. My lungs ache. I do not stop.
“Stay with me!” I shout, grabbing another recruit by the vest and hauling him forward. “Eyes up. Breathe.”
He nods too fast. Fear is written all over him.
Luca appears beside me again, calm as ever. Too calm. He fires twice. Both shots miss by inches.
I glare at him. “You’re doing this on purpose.”
He flashes a quick smile. “Relax. Everyone needs a hobby.”
“Your hobby is going to get someone killed,” I snap.
Before he can reply, a sharp crack echoes from above. My instincts scream.
Sniper.
“Down!” I shout.
The sound comes again. Louder. Closer.
I shove the recruit behind a crate and turn to fire toward the catwalk. I see movement. A shadow shifting. A muzzle flash.
I squeeze the trigger.
Too late.
The impact hits me hard in the side. It knocks the air from my lungs. For a second, I do not understand what happened. Then the heat spreads. Deep. Burning.
I stumble.
My weapon slips from my fingers and clatters to the floor.
I look down.
Red blooms across my uniform.
“Oh,” I breathe.
My legs give out. I hit the concrete on my knees, then my side. The floor is cold. Too cold. The noise around me dulls, like I am underwater.
“Amelia!” Luca shouts.
He is suddenly there, dropping beside me. His hands press against my side. Too much red. His face is no longer amused. No smirk. Just raw fear.
“Stay with me,” he says. His voice shakes. “Don’t you dare close your eyes.”
I want to answer. I try.
My mouth opens, but no sound comes out.
The warehouse lights blur. The gunfire fades into distant thunder. All I can feel is the warmth spilling from me onto the floor.
I think, briefly, that I should have listened to my own warning.
Don’t play hero.
Then everything goes dark.