Chapter 33 Amelia
Amelia
The floor of the car is cold against my cheek. I can feel the vibration of the engine through the metal. My head is spinning from the flash-bang. My ears are ringing with a high-pitched hum. I try to move my hands but a heavy boot presses down on my shoulder.
"Stay down, Captain," a man says. His voice is a low growl.
"Go to hell," I spit. I try to twist my body. I try to throw him off.
The man laughs. It is a dry and hollow sound. He reaches down and grabs a handful of my hair. He yanks my head back and I see his face. He is wearing a black balaclava. His eyes are cold and empty.
"You have a lot of spirit for a woman in a silk slip," he says.
"You have a lot of nerve for a man who needs five friends to kidnap one girl," I retort. I ignore the pain in my scalp. "Does the Minister pay you extra for the masks or are you just that ugly?"
He doesn't answer. He slams my head back down against the floor. I see stars. The car swerves sharply. I feel the weight of the men shifting as we take a corner at high speed. We are moving so fast, I can hear the wind whistling past the doors.
The car suddenly screeches to a halt. The doors fly open. I am dragged out by my armpits. My feet scrape against the gravel of a dark parking garage. I look around. I see the silver sedan. I see a white van waiting with its engine idling.
"Switch cars!" someone yells.
I don't make it easy for them. I plant my feet and lunge forward. I headbutt the man holding my right arm and I feel the crunch of his nose against my skull. He screams and lets go. I swing my free arm and catch the second man in the throat. He stumbles back.
I try to run for the exit. I am half-naked and barefoot but I don't care. I just need space and a weapon.
"Get her!"
A heavy weight hits me from behind. I am tackled to the concrete. Two men pile on top of me. I fight like a wild animal. I bite. I scratch. I kick. I hear one of them curse as my teeth sink into his forearm.
"She's a feral bitch!" the man screams.
He hits me across the face. My lip splits. The taste of copper fills my mouth. I don't stop. I keep cursing them. I tell them exactly what Luca is going to do to them. I tell them how I am going to watch them bleed.
"Keep your mouth shut," a man says. He pulls out a roll of heavy silver duct tape.
"Make me, you coward," I snarl.
He doesn't hesitate. He wraps the tape around my head. He covers my mouth. The sticky adhesive burns my skin. I try to scream but the sound is trapped in my throat. I can only make muffled grunts.
They lift me up. My hands are yanked behind my back. They use zip ties. They pull them so tight the plastic cuts into my wrists. I feel the blood start to trickle down my palms. They toss me into the back of the white van.
One man stays with me. He is holding a small medical kit. He looks at me with a bored expression.
"You're making this very difficult, Captain," he says. "We just need you to be quiet for a little while."
He pulls out a syringe and flicks the glass. A tiny drop of clear liquid beads at the tip of the needle.
I struggle against the zip ties. I kick the side of the van. I want to make as much noise as possible. I want Luca to hear me even from miles away, even though I know that's not possible.
"Hold her down," the man says.
Two more men climb into the back. They pin my legs. They hold my head against the floor. I look at the needle. I feel a surge of pure terror. I have survived combat. I have survived interrogation. But the thought of losing control of my own mind is worse than death.
"This will help you relax," the man whispers.
He drives the needle into my thigh. I feel a sharp sting. Then I feel the cold rush of the serum entering my veins.
The effect is almost instant. The edges of my vision start to fray. The world begins to tilt. The sounds of the van become muffled and distant. It feels like I am sinking into a pool of warm oil. My muscles go limp. My head falls to the side.
I try to stay awake. I try to focus on the pain in my wrists. I need the pain to keep me grounded. But the grogginess is a heavy blanket and it pulls me down.
"There we go," the man says. He sounds like he is speaking from the end of a long tunnel. "Sweet dreams, Captain."
I am dragged out of the van a long time later. I don't know how much time has passed. The world is a blur of grey light and shadows. I am carried into a building. I hear the sound of a heavy door creaking open. I smell rust and stagnant water.
They drop me into a wooden chair. I can't hold my head up. It lolls onto my chest. I feel them cutting the zip ties only to replace them with thick rope. They tie my waist to the chair then they tie my ankles to the legs.
I am a prisoner in a tomb of my own body.
A hand reaches out and rips the tape from my mouth. The pain is sharp. It brings a second of clarity. I look up and notice that I am in a warehouse. It is cold. There is a single lightbulb hanging from the ceiling.
A man stands in front of me. He is the one who spoke on the phone. He is holding a gun. He looks at me and smiles.
"Welcome back to reality, Captain," he says.
I try to speak. My tongue feels like it is made of lead. I manage to get out one word.
"Luca."
"He's not coming for you," the man says. "He's a businessman. He's going to trade you for a piece of paper. You're just an asset to him."
"You... don't... know him," I rasp.
"I know men like him," the man says. He leans in close. He smells like cheap cigarettes. "They always choose the money. They always choose the power."
He reaches out and slaps me across the face. It isn't a hard hit, but it stings. It is meant to humiliate me.
"I'm going to enjoy breaking you," he whispers.
I don't look away. I look right into his eyes. I find a tiny spark of the Captain buried under the fog of the drugs.
"He's coming," I say. My voice is stronger now. "And when he gets here, I'm going to ask him to let me be the one who kills you."
The man laughs and raises his hand again. But then the sound of a distant explosion echoes through the building. The floor shakes. The man freezes and looks toward the door.
I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
"Told you," I whisper.
The door to the room vanishes in a cloud of smoke and fire. A figure steps through the haze. He is covered in blood and carrying a rifle.
It is Luca.
He doesn't look at the men. He doesn't look at the room. He looks directly at me.
The man holding me grabs my hair and pulls his gun. He is screaming something. I don't listen. I just watch Luca. I watch the way he moves. I watch the way he raises his weapon.
"You're late," I say.
"I had to find a parking spot," Luca says.
The world goes quiet. Everything stops. I see the man's finger move on the trigger. I see Luca's eyes turn into ice.
The sound of the gunshot is deafening in the small room. It is a single, sharp crack that echoes off the rusted metal walls. I don't even have time to flinch. I feel the wind of the bullet as it passes inches from my ear. The man holding my hair suddenly lets go. His grip vanishes.
I watch him fall. It happens in slow motion. There is a perfect, dark hole right between his eyes. He doesn't make a sound. He just collapses like a puppet with its strings cut. His body hits the concrete floor with a heavy thud. His blood begins to pool around his head, spreading toward the legs of my chair.
I am still vibrating from the serum. My heart is trying to leap out of my chest. I stare at the body for a second before I look up.
Luca is moving before the shell casing even hits the floor. He drops the rifle and pulls a knife from his belt. He reaches me in three long strides. He doesn't look at the other bodies in the room. He only looks at me. His face is a mask of pure, unadulterated rage.
"Amelia," he says. His voice is a low, jagged sound.
He slices through the ropes around my wrists with one fluid motion. He does the same for my ankles. The sudden release of pressure makes my blood sting as it rushes back into my hands. I try to stand up, but my legs are still like jelly from the drugs. I stumble forward.
Luca catches me. He wraps his arms around me and pulls me against his chest. He is wearing a tactical vest. It is hard and cold against my skin. He smells like sweat and expensive cologne and something metallic. He is shaking, it is a slight tremor, but I feel it through his grip.
"I've got you," he whispers.
He pulls back just enough to look at my face. He reaches out with a gloved hand and cups my jaw. His thumb brushes over the swelling on my cheek. He sees the handprint. He sees the dark purple bruise forming where the man slapped me. Then his gaze drops to my mouth. He sees the split lip and the dried blood on my chin.
A low, guttural growl rips from his throat. It is the sound of an animal. It is a sound of someone who is ready to tear the world apart to settle a score.
"I'm fine," I say. My voice is raspy and weak. I try to pull myself together. I try to find the Captain again. I need that confidence right now.
"You don't look fine," he counters. His eyes are burning. He looks at the dead man on the floor. He looks like he wants to kill him again. "He touched you. He dared to put his hands on you."
"He's dead now, Luca. You made sure of that," I say. I grab his forearms to steady myself. "We need to go. There might be more of them."
"Let them come," Luca says. He sounds like he hopes they do.
He reaches down and sweeps me up into his arms. I want to protest. I want to tell him I can walk. But the room is spinning and I don't think I can make it two steps without falling. I lean my head against his shoulder. I close my eyes. I am exhausted. The adrenaline is fading and the weight of the serum is pulling me back down into the fog.
"Stay with me, Amelia," he says. He is walking fast. I hear his boots crunching over broken glass. "Don't you dare fall asleep on me."
"I'm just... resting my eyes," I mumble. "Your jacket is comfortable."
"It's a tactical vest, you stubborn woman," he says. I can hear a tiny bit of the sarcasm returning to his voice. It makes me feel safer.
He carries me out of the warehouse. The cool night air hits my face again. It helps clear the smoke from my lungs. I hear the sound of a car engine idling nearby. Luca tosses me into the passenger seat of a silver car. He doesn't bother with a seatbelt. He just makes sure I'm inside.
He jumps into the driver's seat and speeds away.
"Where are we going?" I ask. I watch the blurred trees pass the window.
"Back to the house," he says. "My doctor is already waiting. Matteo is securing the perimeter. No one is getting within a mile of you ever again."
"I don't need a doctor," I say. I try to sit up straighter. "I just need a shower and a real gun. And maybe some pants."
Luca glances at me. His expression softens for a fraction of a second. "You're still wearing my jacket. Technically, you're dressed."
"It's three sizes too big," I remind him.
"It suits you," he says.
He reaches over and takes my hand. He squeezes it tight. His hand is still covered in the blood of the men he killed to get to me but I don't pull away. I squeeze back.
"You came alone," I say. It is a statement, not a question.
"I told you," he says. "I don't like it when people touch what is mine. And I don't share my revenge."
"I'm not yours, Luca D'Angelo," I say. But there is no bite in it.
"We'll argue about that when you can stand on your own two feet," he says.
The car speeds through the gates of his estate. The guards bow as we pass. Luca doesn't stop. He drives right up to the front doors. He is out of the car and at my door before I can even reach for the handle.
He carries me inside. The house is bright. It is warm. It feels like a different planet than the warehouse. Matteo is standing in the foyer. He looks relieved to see us. A strange look for someone who always looks like he has something stuck up his ass.
"Is she okay?" Matteo asks.
"Get the doctor to my room," Luca says. He doesn't stop walking. "And tell the kitchen to make something hot. Now."
"On it, Boss," Matteo says.
Luca carries me up the stairs. He takes me to his room, not mine. He sets me down on the edge of a massive bed. The sheets are dark silk. The room smells like him. It is quiet and private.
He kneels on the floor between my knees. He starts to unlace my boots. He does it gently. He is being so careful it almost hurts.
"Luca," I say.
He looks up. The rage is still there, simmering just below the surface. But when he looks at me, it is tempered by something else. It is a look of pure, raw intensity.
"You're safe now," he says. "I promise."
I look at him. I see the billionaire. I see the killer. I see the man who just risked everything for a girl he barely knows. I reach out and touch the cut on his forehead.
"You're bleeding," I whisper.
"It's nothing," he says.
He leans forward and presses his forehead against mine. I can feel his breath on my lips. My heart starts to race for a completely different reason. The sarcasm is gone. The fight is gone. There is only the heat between us.
"I'm going to kill every single person who had a hand in this," he whispers against my skin. "I'm going to make them scream for mercy."
"Save some for me," I say.
Luca smiles. It is a dark, dangerous thing. He reaches up and traces the bruise on my cheek.
"That's my girl," he says.
He pulls back and stands up as the door opens. The doctor walks in. Luca steps back, but he doesn't leave. He stands by the window, watching me like a hawk. He looks like he is ready to pounce on the doctor if he even breathes on me wrong.
I lie back against the pillows. I am safe. I am warm. But as I watch Luca staring out at the dark hills of Verona, I know that the night is far from over. This wasn't just a kidnapping. It was a declaration of war.
And I have a feeling Luca D'Angelo is about to show the world exactly how he wins.
The doctor is a small man with glasses and very cold hands. He works quickly. He doesn't ask questions about the blood on Luca's shirt or the fact that I am sitting in a master suite wearing a jacket almost three sizes too big. He peels back the silk of my slip and sighs. The white bandage on my side is soaked through with red.
"The struggle was too much for the internal sutures," the doctor says. He looks at the tray of instruments he set on the nightstand. "Your stitches have opened. I need to redo them now. You are lucky the serum didn't cause a seizure on top of the physical trauma."
I grit my teeth as he begins. The local anesthetic stings, but it is nothing compared to the deep, pulling ache in my side. Luca doesn't move. He stays by the window. He is a dark silhouette against the moonlight. He watches every move the doctor makes.
"She needs plenty of rest," the doctor says after he finished. He tapes a fresh bandage over my skin. "She has barely recovered from the initial surgery. This gunshot wound is far from healing. If she continues to strain herself, she will lose the use of those abdominal muscles permanently. Do you understand, Mr. D'Angelo?"
"I understand," Luca says. His voice is flat.
The doctor packs his bag. He looks at Luca as if waiting for a polite thank you or a walk to the door. Luca doesn't give it. He just nods once. The doctor takes the hint and leaves the room quietly. The door clicks shut. The silence that follows is heavy.
I look around the room. It is massive. The ceiling is high with dark wood beams. The furniture is heavy and expensive. There are tall windows that lead out to a balcony. This isn't the guest wing of the estate. This isn't the gilded cage where he locked me up.
"Where are we, Luca?" I ask. My voice is still a bit scratchy. "This isn't the same house. This isn't that deserted area."
Luca finally turns away from the window. He walks toward the bed. "This is my personal house. My private residence. No one knows the location except Matteo and a few select men. You are safe here."
I look at the dark silk pillows behind me. I look at the size of the bed. It is built for a king. "You brought me to your room? Your actual bedroom?"
"It is the most secure room in the house," he says. He sits on the edge of the mattress. He doesn't touch me, but I can feel the weight of him. "And I don't plan on letting you out of my sight for a while."
"I'm not a child, Luca," I say. I try to sit up, but the new stitches pull sharply. I wince. "And I'm not one of your assets to be tucked away in a safe."
"Tonight proved otherwise," he says. He looks at my split lip. His jaw tightens. "They found us on the bridge. They knew exactly where to strike. Verona is no longer safe for you. The people who kidnapped you and whoever they were working with are getting desperate."
"So what is the plan?" I ask. "Are you going to keep me in this bed until I grow old?"
"No," Luca says. "I'm taking you out of the city. Tomorrow morning, we leave for a villa in the north. It is remote. It has a medical suite and a full security team. You will stay there until you are fully recovered."
I feel a spark of anger. It burns through the lingering fog of the drugs. "No. I'm not going anywhere."
"Amelia, don't be difficult," he says. His tone is patronizing.
"I'm not being difficult. I'm being a soldier," I snap. I point a finger at him. "I have a life. I have a mission. I need to find out who ordered that hit. I need to get back to my unit. I am not hiding in some villa while you play hero."
Luca leans in closer. He places his hands on either side of my hips. He looms over me. "Look at yourself. You can't even stand up. You almost died tonight. If they keep coming after me, they will keep using you. You'll never recover. You'll never be able to get back to who you were before the gunshot."
"I don't care," I say. I glare at him. "I'd rather die on my feet than live in your shadow."
"You say that now," Luca says. His voice is a low, dangerous growl. "But you won't say it when your wound becomes septic. You won't say it when you realize you've lost your strength for good because you were too stubborn to rest. I am trying to save your life, Amelia. Again."
"And I'm telling you that I didn't ask you to!" I shout. I ignore the pain in my side. "You think you can control everything. You think you can just buy people and move them around like chess pieces. I am not a piece on your board, Luca D'Angelo!"
"You became a piece the moment I pulled you out of that clinic!" he roars back.
He stands up and paces the room. He looks like a caged tiger. He runs a hand through his dark hair. He is genuinely frustrated. I've never seen him lose his cool like this. It makes me feel a strange sense of satisfaction.
"You are so focused on your pride that you can't see the reality," he says. He stops and looks at me. "They want you. They want you because you are the only leverage they have against me. If you stay in Verona, you are a walking target. Is that what you want? To be a liability?"
"I am not a liability," I hiss.
"Then act like a professional," he says. "A professional knows when to retreat. A professional knows when a battle is lost so they can win the war. You stay here, you die. It is that simple."
"I've survived worse than a few mercenaries," I say.
"Not in this condition," Luca says. He walks back to the bed. He looks down at me. His expression is cold. "I'm not asking for your permission, Amelia. I am telling you what is going to happen. We leave at dawn."
"I won't go," I say. I cross my arms.
"Then I will carry you," he says. "And I will lock the door of that villa until you learn to listen to reason."
"You're a jerk," I say.
"I don't care, as long as it means keeping you alive." he counters.
He turns to walk toward the bathroom. He starts to unbutton his shirt. I watch the muscles of his back move under the light. He is covered in bruises. He has a long scratch across his shoulder blade. He fought for me. He bled for me. The thought makes my chest tighten in a way that has nothing to do with my wound.
"Luca," I call out.
He stops. He doesn't turn around. "What?"
"Why does it matter so much to you?" I ask. "If I'm just an asset. If I'm just leverage. Why not just give them what they want and let me go?"
Luca stays still for a long time. The only sound in the room is the ticking of a clock on the mantel. He finally turns his head. He looks at me over his shoulder. His eyes are unreadable.
"Because I've spent my whole life making sure no one takes anything from me," he says. "And I've decided that you are the one thing I'm never letting go of."
He steps into the bathroom and shuts the door. I hear the sound of the shower starting. I lie back against the pillows. My head is throbbing. My side is stinging. I am trapped in a room with a man who is as dangerous as he is beautiful.
I look at the nightstand. There is a small, silver key sitting next to the doctor's discarded bandages. It must have fallen out of Luca's pocket during the rush. I reach out and grab it. It is cold and heavy.
I look at the door. I look at the window. I am a Captain. I don't wait for permission.
I force myself to swing my legs over the side of the bed. The pain is a white-hot knife in my gut. I gasp. I hold my breath until the world stops spinning. I stand up. My vision blurs, but I find my balance.
I move toward the closet. I need clothes. I need to get out of here before dawn. I find a pair of his sweatpants and a t-shirt. I pull them on with trembling hands, adjusting them so then don't fall off.
I walk toward the door. I put the key in the lock. It turns with a satisfying click.
I step out into the hallway. It is dark. I move toward the back stairs. Every step is agony. I reach the bottom floor. I see the light from the kitchen. Matteo is sitting at the table. He is cleaning his gun. He hasn't seen me yet.
I slip past the kitchen and toward the side exit. I reach the door. I pull it open and step into the cool night air.
I start to run toward the tree line. I don't know where I'm going. I just know I have to move.
Suddenly, a red laser dot appears on my chest. It stays perfectly still, right over my heart.
I freeze. I look up.
A figure is standing on the balcony above me. He isn't holding a gun. He is holding a remote.
"I told you I have a full security team, Amelia," Luca's voice echoes from the darkness above. "And I told you that you aren't leaving."
He presses a button on the remote.
The ground beneath my feet suddenly gives way. I don't fall into a pit. I fall into a net that snaps shut with a violent jerk. I am pulled upward, dangling ten feet in the air like a caught fish.
Luca walks to the edge of the balcony. He is wearing a robe now. He looks down at me. He isn't angry. He looks bored.
"You really are a stubborn woman," he says.
He turns and walks back into the house.
I struggle against the net. It is made of high-tensile wire. The more I move, the tighter it gets. I am stuck and helpless.
Ten minutes later, the net is lowered. Matteo is the one who lets me out. He doesn't say a word. He just points toward the back door. I walk back into the house, my head held high despite the fact that I am covered in grass and humiliated.
Luca is waiting in the master bedroom. He is sitting in a leather chair, reading a leather-bound book as if nothing happened. I sit back on the edge of the bed and glare at him. My side is throbbing, my lip is fat, and I am currently wearing a t-shirt of his that could double as a tent. I look like a disaster, yet he is standing there looking like he just stepped off a yacht.
"I am not going to a villa, Luca," I say, crossing my arms. "It sounds like a reality show for retired socialites. What’s next? Are we going to bake bread and learn to paint?"
Luca stops reading and looks at me over his shoulder. He actually has the nerve to look amused. "I don't know, Amelia. You could use a hobby. Being a human target clearly isn't working out for your complexion."
"My complexion is fine," I snap, though I can feel the bruise on my cheek pulsing. "And for the record, I hit three of them before the flash-bang went off. I’m an overachiever."
"You’re a headache," he counters. He walks back over and stands between my knees again. He doesn't say anything for a second. He just reaches out and gently tucks a stray strand of hair behind my ear. The sudden tenderness is more jarring than the kidnapping.
"Fine," I sigh, looking up at him. "I’ll go to the villa. But only if there is a shooting range. And if you stop calling me 'Captain' like it’s a pet name."
Luca leans down until our noses are almost touching. That dark, dangerous smirk returns. "I’ll think about the range. But as for the name? I think I'll keep it. It reminds me that even when you're tied to a chair, you still think you're the one in charge."
"I am the one in charge," I whisper.
"Of course you are," he murmurs. He leans in and presses a very light, very careful kiss to the corner of my uninjured mouth. It’s cheesy. It’s annoying. And my heart does a stupid little flip that I am definitely going to ignore.
He pulls back and winks. "Now go to sleep, Captain. We have a very long, very romantic kidnapping to get to in the morning."
I roll my eyes and flop back onto the silk pillows. "I hate you."
"I know," he says, switching off the light. "It’s the best part of my day."