Chapter 23 Amelia
Amelia
He closes the door gently behind him as if he is visiting a friend and not walking into the weakest moment of my life. The soft click echoes in my ears. I push myself higher against the pillows even though the movement pulls at my ribs and sends a sharp pain through my side. I refuse to look small in front of him.
Valentino Russo stands at the foot of my bed and looks at me the way a man studies a cracked mirror. He is tall, broad, perfectly put together in a dark suit that probably costs more than the hospital equipment keeping me stable. His black hair is slicked back neatly. His jaw is tense but controlled. His eyes move over my bandages, the IV line, the monitor beside me, and there is no concern in them. Just curiosity and satisfaction.
“So it is true,” he says, his voice smooth and low. “You finally fell.”
“I"m not dead,” I reply, dryly.
“No,” he says calmly. “But you are on the way there.”
He walks closer, slow and unhurried. Each step feels deliberate. He stops beside the bed and looks down at me. I hate that angle. I hate that he is standing and I am not.
“You should see yourself,” he continues. “Captain Amelia Russo, leader of the elite unit, reduced to hospital food and painkillers.” He raises his hands dramatically then drops them by his side, mischief twinkling in those dark eyes of his.
I hold his gaze. “If you came to laugh, you can save yourself the effort.”
He smiles but it is not a warm one. I don't think he has ever smiled warmly at me. “Oh, I'm definitely not laughing. I'm simply...... Observing and weighing everything.”
“Weighing what?”
“Your usefulness. The damage you caused,” he replies. “To yourself. To the family name, to the Italian army”
My fingers curl slightly into the sheets. I keep my expression neutral. He has the ability to notice the smallest reactions and I can't give him the joy of seeing me vulnerable.
“You look tense,” Valentino says, tilting his head with a lopsided grin. “Relax. I'm your brother. I'm not here to hurt you..... At least, not physically.”
“That has never been comforting.”
He lets out a quiet laugh and drags the visitor chair closer. He turns it around and rests his arms on the back, leaning forward slightly as if he is about to share a secret.
“Do you know what Father said when he heard about your...... Unfortunate circumstances?” he asks.
“I don't care.”
“He said he expected better from you.”
The words sting more than I allow to show.
“I was ambushed,” I say. “We had a leak. Someone warned the Russians before we got there. They were prepared.”
“Hmm... Excuses, excuses. You had poor control,” he corrects. “You let your targets breathe for too long. You gave them space. You thought you were smarter than them.”
“Stop talking.”
“You're an emotional one, aren't you?” He smirks
His voice remains calm, which makes it worse. I hate him. I hate everything about him. I hate him. I want him dead.
“You care too much about proving you can do this on your own,” he continues. “You built that unit like it was your personal project or toy. You refused help. You refused advice. And now you are here.”
“I did my job,” I say through steady breaths.
“You failed at it.”
The machine beside me continues to beep steadily. I focus on that sound so I do not focus on the anger rising in my chest.
“You think I don't see what this is?” I ask quietly.
“And what is this?” he replies.
“You have been waiting for me to slip. To fall. To make a mistake.”
He doesn't deny it. He only smiles slightly.
“I believe in results,” he says. “Not intentions. Intentions mean nothing if there are no results to back them up.”
He stands up and walks toward the window. He looks out over the city for a moment, hands behind his back. He looks every bit the clean military man my father has always wanted, something I could never achieve.
“Father has made a decision,” he says without turning around.
My stomach tightens. “What decision?”
He faces me again. “I am taking over your position.”
For a second, I think I misheard him. “You're joking.”
“Oh, far from it, little sis.”
“You cannot just walk in and take my command. There are procedures. It's not possible.” I refuse to believe him.
“I can,” he says. “And I will.”
I push myself up straighter despite the pain shooting through my side. “Father would never replace me without speaking to me. He owes me that much.”
Valentino tsks. “He doesn't need to and he owes you nothing.” Valentino replies. “You are not in a position to negotiate.”
My pulse starts to pound harder. “This is temporary. I am still recovering. I haven't even been here for twenty four hours”
“Too bad. Unfortunately for you, this is permanent.”
The word settles heavily in the air between us.
“Your unit is being dissolved,” he continues. “Officially, it will be called a restructuring. In reality, it is a replacement.”
“You're lying.”
“I am not.”
He steps closer again. “You have been weak, Amelia. You let the Mafia scums roam free under your watch. You made noise but no impact. You conducted operations that ended with you injured and them escaping. That is not strength. That is incompetence.”
I swallow the surge of anger. “You have no idea what it takes to lead them.”
“I know what it takes to win,” he replies. “And you do not have it.”
“You think you do?”
“I know I do.”
He looks at the bandage around my chest, then back at my face. “This is proof,” he says calmly. “A leader who cannot protect herself cannot protect her men.”
I feel my face grow colder, paler, but I refuse to look away.
“You should be ashamed,” he continues. “Ashamed that your title means nothing right now. Ashamed that your unit is being remembered for failure.”
“My men are loyal,” I say.
“They will be loyal to whoever commands them,” he replies. “Especially if that person shows strength.”
“And you think that is you.”
“Yes.”
His answer is immediate. No hesitation. No doubt.
“Father will be dissolving your unit,” he says. “A new one will be formed under my command. Tighter control. Better execution. Less emotion.”
My throat feels dry. “You are stealing what I built.”
“I am correcting what you built.”
Silence stretches between us. I feel the weight of every word pressing against my chest.
“You have been demoted,” Valentino says clearly.
The word hits harder than anything else he has said.
“Effective immediately,” he adds. “You will retain your rank within the structure, but you will no longer command the special unit.”
I feel the blood drain from my face before I can stop it. My hands tighten against the sheet to keep them from trembling.
“There it is,” he says softly. “You finally understand.”
“You think this is over?” I ask, forcing the words out steadily.
“For you, yes,” he replies. “For me, it is just beginning.”
He straightens his jacket and smooths down the fabric as if concluding a meeting.
“You should focus on healing,” he says. “Leave the real work to someone who is capable.”
I lift my chin and meet his eyes. “You are making a mistake.”
He smiles slowly, enjoying the moment. “No, Amelia. The mistake was giving you control in the first place.”
He walks to the door and pauses with his hand on the handle.
“You have been demoted," he repeats. "And if you even think of getting in my way, I'll forget we share blood. I will kill you, Amelia.” he adds, his voice calm and certain.
He opens the door and steps out without another glance.
The door slides shut, and the room returns to its quiet hum. The beeping of the machine continues. Footsteps pass outside. Somewhere down the hall, a nurse laughs softly.
I lie back against the pillow and stare at the ceiling again. My ribs ache. My shoulder burns. My head feels heavy.
Demoted.
My unit dissolved.
Valentino in command.
He thinks I am finished. He thinks this hospital bed defines me.
I close my eyes and breathe slowly, forcing my pulse to steady. Pain does not mean defeat. Being down does not mean being done.
He believes he has taken everything from me.
I can't wait to prove the bastard wrong.
I lie there for several minutes after Valentino leaves, staring at the ceiling as if it holds answers. My chest feels tight, not because of the bandages but because of the humiliation burning under my skin. Demoted. Replaced. Dissolved. The words repeat in my head until they stop sounding real.
Then something inside me shifts.
I push the blanket off slowly. The movement pulls at my ribs and I grit my teeth to keep from groaning. My shoulder throbs the moment I lift myself onto my elbows. I pause and breathe through it. If I wait for the pain to disappear, I will never move.
I swing my legs over the side of the bed. The floor feels cold against my bare feet. The room tilts slightly and I grab the edge of the mattress to steady myself. The machine beside me starts beeping faster. I reach over and pull the IV needle out of my hand. The sting makes me hiss, but I press a piece of tape over the small spot before it can bleed too much.
I cannot stay here.
Valentino thinks I will lie down and accept this. Father thinks I will read the official notice like a polite soldier and move on. They both forget who they raised.
I stand up fully and nearly fall back down. My vision blurs for a second. I close my eyes and wait until the dizziness fades. The hospital gown hangs loosely around me. I cannot walk out like this.
I open the door carefully and step into the hallway. The fluorescent lights are too bright. Nurses move past with files in their hands. No one expects a patient from this ward to be walking around alone. That works in my favor.
I keep my head down and move slowly along the wall. Every step sends a dull ache through my side. I force myself to walk normally. I cannot look suspicious.
At the end of the hall, I spot Matteo standing near the nurses’ station. He is leaning against the counter, speaking quietly to one of the staff. His back is partially turned toward me.
My heart jumps.
If he sees me, he will drag me back to bed himself.
I turn quickly into the nearest corridor and press myself against the wall. I breathe slowly and listen. Footsteps pass. A cart squeaks across the floor. I wait until I am sure he is not following before moving again.
I need clothes.
I spot a sign that reads Staff Changing Room. The door is slightly open. I glance around and slip inside.
The room is empty. Lockers line the walls. A laundry bin sits in one corner. On a bench near the lockers, there is a folded stack of casual clothes, probably belonging to one of the nurses.
I hesitate for a second, then push the guilt aside. I need them more than she does right now.
I change quickly, wincing as I pull the brown body hugging top over my head. The fabric presses against my bandaged shoulder and chest and I have to bite my lip to keep from crying out. I slide into the black baggy joggers and adjust them at my waist. They are a little loose but they will do.
On the floor near one of the lockers, I find a pair of boots. They are slightly bigger than my size, but manageable. I slip them on and tighten the laces as best as I can.
On a hook by the door, there is a face cap. I pull it low over my head and tuck my hair underneath it.
I look at myself in the mirror. Pale. Tired. Angry. I look nothing like a captain right now.
I crack the door open and peek outside. The hallway is clear. I step out and move toward the exit staircase instead of the main elevators. Elevators have cameras. Stairs are quieter.
Each step down sends a shock through my body. I grip the railing and move slowly. By the time I reach the ground floor, my breathing is heavier than I would like.
I glance toward the reception area. Matteo is not there.
I push through the emergency exit and step outside into the cool air.
I walk away from the hospital without looking back. Only when I reach the corner of the street do I allow myself to turn slightly and scan the entrance. No one is running after me. No one is calling my name.
I step to the curb and raise my hand as a cab approaches. It slows down and pulls over.
I open the back door and slide in carefully.
“Where to?” the driver asks, glancing at me in the rearview mirror.
“The army base,” I reply.
His eyebrows lift slightly. “That’s not a common destination.”
“I am aware.”
He studies me for a second longer. “You work there?”
“Yes.”
“Rough day?” he asks casually.
I look out the window. “Drive.”
He shrugs and pulls back into traffic. The city moves past in a blur of buildings and streetlights. Every bump in the road makes my side ache. I press my hand lightly against my ribs and focus on staying upright.
The driver tries again. “You look like you just got out of a fight.”
“I did.”
He lets out a low whistle. “Should I be worried?”
“Only if you are planning to attack me.”
He laughs awkwardly. When I do not smile, he goes quiet.
The rest of the ride passes in silence.
When we reach the gates of the army base, the guards recognize the car and step forward to inspect it. The driver glances at me nervously.
“You have money, right?” he asks.
I freeze for a second. I have no phone. No purse. Nothing.
“I do not,” I admit. “But you will be paid.”
He looks alarmed. “That is not very reassuring.”
“Wait here.”
I step out of the cab and walk toward the nearest officer standing by the gate. He stiffens slightly when he recognizes me.
“Captain,” he says quickly.
“I need you to pay the cab driver,” I tell him. “Add it to my account if necessary.”
He nods immediately. “Of course.”
He handles the payment while I turn and head toward the main building. My steps are not as steady as I pretend they are. The pain is sharper now. My vision flickers at the edges, but I keep moving.
I reach General Russo’s office door and do not bother knocking. I push it open and step inside.
He is standing behind his desk, reviewing documents. He looks up slowly.
His expression changes from irritation to surprise in a matter of seconds.
“What are you doing here?” he asks.
“I came to ask you a question,” I reply.
“You are supposed to be in the hospital.”
“And you were supposed to inform me before demoting me.”
His jaw tightens. “Lower your voice.”
“No.”
I step closer to the desk despite the weakness creeping into my legs.
“Why did you replace me with Valentino?” I demand. “Why did you dissolve my unit without speaking to me? And why did you not tell me he was returning from the States?”
“This is not the place for this conversation,” he says coldly.
“This is exactly the place.”
“You were injured because of your own poor judgment,” he replies sharply. “Your leadership was flawed.”
“You did not even give me the chance to defend myself.”
“I do not owe you explanations,” he snaps. “I owe this institution results.”
“And you think Valentino will give you that?”
“I know he will.”
Anger surges through me. “You humiliated me.”
“You embarrassed yourself.”
The words hit hard.
“I built that unit,” I say. “I trained them. I led them.”
“And you failed them,” he replies.
I slam my hand against his desk, ignoring the pain shooting up my arm. “You should have told me he was coming back.”
“I do not need to inform you of my decisions.”
“I am your daughter,” I say.
“You are my officer,” he corrects. “And right now, you are out of line.”
“I deserve respect.”
“You will respect my authority,” he says, his voice rising.
“I will not stand by while you hand everything to him.”
His face darkens. “If you do not leave this office immediately, I will have you forcibly removed.”
“Try,” I say.
The word is barely out of my mouth before his hand moves.
The slap comes hard and fast.
My head snaps to the side. A sharp ringing fills my ears. I taste blood instantly. It spills from my mouth and drops onto the polished floor.
The room spins. I struggle to focus on his face, but it blurs.
“You will not speak to me that way,” he says, his voice distant now.
I try to respond, but my legs give out. I reach for the desk, but my fingers miss.
The door bursts open.
Through the haze, I see a figure rushing in.
“Luca,” I whisper.
Then everything goes dark.