Chapter 34 Amelia
Amelia
I shriek the second the room plunges into darkness. It is an undignified sound. It is definitely not the sound a Captain of the Italian Army makes. But the darkness makes the room feel smaller. It makes the bed feel like a vast, silk ocean where I am drowning next to a shark. I can hear his breathing. It is slow and steady. My mind starts to wander to places it has no business being. I think about the heat of his body. I think about the way his muscles felt under my hands when I pushed him.
"Turn on the light!" I yell. I am staring intensely at the ceiling even though I can't see it.
Luca grumbles. I hear the rustle of the sheets as he settles into the expensive mattress. "Go to sleep, Amelia. It is late. It has been a very long night. In a few hours, it will be daybreak and we have a long drive ahead of us."
"I don't care what time it is," I snap. I am clutching the duvet up to my chin. "I cannot sleep in the dark. Not like this."
"You have slept in trenches," he says. His voice is muffled by a pillow. "You have slept in moving planes. You can sleep in a five-star master suite."
"That was different," I insist. "I am telling you to turn on the light. That is an order."
Luca ignores me. He stays perfectly still. I keep talking. I tell him about the security risks of a dark room. I tell him about my personal preferences. I keep going until I am sure he is annoyed. I can be very persistent when I want to be.
He lets out a long, dramatic sigh. Suddenly, the lamp on the nightstand flickers to life. The warm glow fills the room. I blink against the brightness. Luca is sitting up now. He is leaning against the headboard with his arms crossed over his bare chest. He looks at me with an arched brow.
"Have you never slept on the same bed with a man, Captain?" he asks. There is a hint of a smile on his face that I want to slap off.
"That is different," I say. I try to sound professional despite the fact that I am wearing his oversized shirt. "You are my recruit. Or you were. This is completely wrong. It is a violation of protocol."
"Amelia," he says. He says my name like a warning. He sits up fully. "This is not the base. This is my house. Here, I am just Luca D'Angelo. I am not your recruit. I am not your junior. And you are just Amelia Russo. You are not my superior. Whatever crazy idea you have in your head, dead it right now."
"I don't have any crazy ideas!" I snap. I can feel my face turning a deep shade of red. It is a betrayal of my own skin. "I am thinking about logistics. I am thinking about safety."
"Hmm," Luca smirks. He looks at me like he can see right through my skin. "Of course. Safety is definitely why your heart is beating so fast I can hear it from here."
"It is the adrenaline from the kidnapping," I lie.
"Sure it is," he says.
Suddenly, he moves. He is so fast I don't have time to react. He lunges across the bed and pins me beneath him. I shriek again. This time it is louder. He has his hands on either side of my head. He is hovering just inches above me. His weight is a heavy, warm pressure. I am trapped between the mattress and the most dangerous man I have ever met.
"Let go of me!" I say. I try to squirm, but he is like a mountain of muscle.
"You wanted the light on so you could see me, right?" he asks. He is grinning now. It is a flirty, wicked look. "Well, here I am. Take a good look, Captain. Does this look like a junior officer to you?"
"Get off, Luca," I breathe. My lungs feel tight.
"You're very bossy for someone who is currently a prisoner of my hospitality," he whispers. He leans down until his lips are grazing my ear. "Are you still worried about protocol? Or are you worried that you actually like this?"
"I hate this," I say. But I don't move. I can't move.
"Liar," he murmurs.
He pulls back to look me in the eye. He stays there for a long moment. The playfulness is still there, but there is something else underneath it. It is that hunger again. It is the same look he had in the club. My heart is doing laps in my chest. I want to push him away and I want to pull him closer.
He lets out a small laugh and rolls off me. He settles back onto his side of the bed. He looks completely relaxed while I am a total mess.
"Go to sleep, Amelia," he says. He reaches out and turns the light off again. "And if you say one more word about protocol, I am going to find a much more creative way to keep you quiet."
I lie there in the dark. My skin is tingling where he touched me. I don't say another word. I just stare into the blackness and try to remember how to breathe.
I lie there in the dark. My skin is tingling where he touched me. I don’t say another word. I just stare into the blackness and try to remember how to breathe. The rest of the night is a blur of shallow sleep and strange dreams. Every time I drift off, I see the muzzle flash from the warehouse. I feel the cold metal of the floor. But then, I feel the heat beside me. It is a steady, radiating warmth that keeps the nightmares at bay. I find myself gravitating toward it in my sleep. I am a soldier who usually sleeps with one eye open. Tonight, I am just a woman trying to stay warm.
I wake up slowly. The room is still dim, but the first hint of grey light is peeking through the heavy velvet curtains. I feel heavy. I feel soft. I realize I am pressed firmly against a wall of solid muscle. My back is flush against Luca’s chest. His arm is draped over my waist. His hand is resting heavy on my hip. We are spooning. It is the most domestic and terrifying thing I have ever experienced.
I start to shift. I try to slide away without waking the giant. That is when I feel it. Something hard is poking me right in the small of my back. I am still half-asleep and groggy from the lingering effects of the serum. I grumble under my breath. I instinctively wiggle my hips to find a more comfortable position. I rub my butt hard against the intrusion. I am just trying to push it away so I can sleep more.
A low, vibrating groan rumbles through the chest pressed against my back. It is a sound that makes the hair on my arms stand up.
"Don't start something you can't finish, Captain," Luca mutters.
His voice is deep and thick with sleep. It is a gravelly sound that vibrates right through my spine. For a split second, the tone of it strikes a chord in my memory. It sounds so familiar. It sounds like someone I should know. But then reality hits me like a bucket of ice water. I realize exactly what it is I was just rubbing against.
I squeal. It is a high-pitched, panicked sound. I scramble out of his grip and practically tumble off the side of the bed. My feet hit the plush carpet and I don't look back. I bolt for the bathroom. I slam the door and lock it. I lean my forehead against the cold wood and try to get my heart to stop trying to escape my ribcage.
I splash cold water on my face. My reflection looks like a mess. My lip is still swollen. The bruise on my cheek is a deep, ugly purple. I take a quick shower. I am careful not to soak the fresh bandages. The hot water helps. When I step back into the bedroom, Luca is already up. He is fully dressed in a dark tactical sweater and cargo pants. He looks ready for business.
"We leave in ten minutes," he says. He doesn't mention the morning wake-up call.
"I have a problem," I say. I gesture to the silk slip I am holding. It is torn and completely ruined. "I don't have any clothes. I am not traveling across Italy in a shredded nightgown and a tactical vest."
"You'll get new clothes when we get to our destination," Luca says. He doesn't even look up from his watch.
"So what am I supposed to wear to leave?" I ask. I put my hands on my hips.
"Last time I checked, my wardrobe is very much filled with clothes," Luca murmurs.
"Your clothes!" I point out. "I am half your size, Luca. I'll look like I'm wearing a tent."
"If that bothers you so much, you can decide to travel naked," he says. He leans back against the dresser and crosses his arms. "I really wouldn't mind the view. It would certainly make the drive more interesting."
"Fucking son of a bitch," I hiss.
I stomp past him and into the walk-in wardrobe. It is the size of a small apartment. I find a pair of black drawstring joggers. I pull the strings until they stay on my hips. I grab a thick black hoodie. It smells like him. I roll up the sleeves so I can actually see my hands. I look like a kid who broke into her father's closet.
We head down the back stairs. Matteo is waiting by the side exit. He hands Luca a set of keys. The SUV is waiting. Luca gets into the driver's seat and I climb into the passenger side. As we pull out of the driveway, I look back at the house.
The journey starts in silence. We leave the city behind and head toward the winding roads of the north. The scenery changes from stone buildings to towering pines. I find myself fighting to stay awake. My head keeps nodding. Every time I snap my eyes open, I see Luca watching me from the corner of his eye.
"Stop doing that, Amelia," he says. His voice is calm. "Just sleep. You need it. Your body is still fighting the drugs and the injury. Fighting me is one thing, but don't fight your own recovery."
"I need to be alert," I mumble.
"You need to be healed," he counters. "I’m driving. Matteo’s team is ahead of us. You’re safe. Just close your eyes."
I want to argue, but the exhaustion is a physical weight. I eventually give in. I lean my head against the window and let the hum of the engine pull me under. I sleep for hours. When I finally wake up, the air is much colder.
We pull through a set of massive iron gates hidden behind a dense line of trees. The villa comes into view. It is stunning. It is made of ancient stone and glass. It sits on the edge of a cliff overlooking a sapphire lake. It looks like something out of a dream.
Matteo vanishes as soon as we park. He gives us a nod and disappears toward a side building, likely to check the security feeds. He is clearly giving us space. I step out of the car and winced as the mountain air hits my lungs. It is crisp and clean.
"I know you're a billionaire, but how rich are you?" I ask jokingly. I am gawking at the design of the place. The architecture is a mix of old-world Italian charm and ultra-modern luxury.
Luca smirks as he grabs our small bag from the back. "Rich enough to ensure no one finds us here. Rich enough to make sure you have everything you need to get better."
He leads me inside. The interior is even more impressive. Polished marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows that show off the Alps. I feel small in the hoodie, standing in the middle of such a massive space.
"This is your 'safe house'?" I ask. I run a hand over a velvet sofa. "Most people use a basement or a bunker."
"I prefer a view," Luca says. He walks closer to me. The playfulness leaves his face. He looks at me with a serious intensity. "You look tired again. Let’s get you settled."
He takes me to a room that overlooks the lake. It is quiet. It is peaceful. For the first time since the hospital, the constant buzzing of danger in the back of my head starts to fade. I turn to him, wanting to say thank you, but the words catch in my throat. He is standing by the door, watching me.
"Rest, Amelia," he says softly. "The world can wait."
XXXX
The villa is too quiet. I stand by the floor to ceiling window in my room and watch the sun dip behind the jagged peaks of the Alps. The sky is a bruised shade of purple and orange. Below the cliff, the lake is a sheet of dark glass. It is beautiful. It is also a massive distraction. I am a Captain in the Italian Army. I should be looking for exits. I should be mapping the perimeter. Instead, I am standing here in a hoodie that reaches my knees and smelling like Luca’s expensive soap.
A soft knock at the door makes me jump. I turn around and see a woman in a neat grey uniform. She looks to be in her fifties. She has her hair pulled back in a tight bun.
"The Master has requested your presence for dinner, Signorina," she says. Her voice is kind but formal. "The table is set on the terrace."
"Tell the Master I’ll be there when I find where he hid my dignity," I mutter.
The maid offers a small, polite smile. She clearly knows how to handle Luca’s guests. She bows her head and retreats. I sigh and pull the sleeves of the hoodie up to my elbows. I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the darkened glass. I look like a lost teenager. My lip is still a bit crusty and my cheek is a colorful map of trauma. I square my shoulders and walk out of the room.
The hallway is lined with original oil paintings. I pass a gardener through a side window who is meticulously trimming a hedge even as the light fades. This place is a well oiled machine. Everything is perfect. It makes me want to break something just to see if the staff would even blink.
I find the terrace. It is a stone platform that seems to hang over the edge of the world. A small table is set for two. There are candles flickering in glass hurricanes. Luca is already there. He has changed into a fresh white shirt. He has the sleeves rolled up. He is pouring wine into two crystal glasses. He looks far too relaxed for a man who killed four people yesterday.
"You're late," he says. He doesn't look up. "I was beginning to think you’d tried to scale the cliff in your joggers."
"The joggers are a bit loose for rock climbing," I say. I sit down in the chair opposite him. "And I wasn't late. I was savoring the silence before you started talking."
Luca sets the bottle down and slides a glass toward me. "Drink. It’s from a vineyard three valleys over. It’s better than the rot they serve at the mess hall."
"I like the rot," I say. I take a sip anyway. It is delicious. I hate that it is delicious. "So, do you have a cook for every day of the week, or does one person just slave away over your truffle pasta full time?"
"Sofia has been with my family for twenty years," Luca says. He leans back and watches me. "She doesn't slave. She creates mouth watering masterpieces. You should try the appetizer. It’s octopus."
"I’m not eating anything that has more legs than I do," I retort. I pick up a piece of crusty bread instead.
We eat in silence for a few minutes. The only sound is the wind whistling through the pines and the distant cry of a mountain bird. A waiter appears out of the shadows. He places plates of sea bass in front of us. He vanishes before I can even say thank you. It is eerie how invisible the help is here.
"You're staring at the woods again," Luca says. He is cutting into his fish with surgical precision. "There are no snipers out there, Amelia. Matteo has the perimeter locked down. You can actually eat without checking your six."
"It’s a hard habit to break," I say. I poke at my fish. "Especially when I’m having dinner with a man who thinks he owns me. Why the mountain top, Luca? Is the city too small for your ego?"
"The city is loud," he says. He looks up and his eyes catch the candlelight. "Up here, I can hear myself think. And I can make sure you don't do anything stupid while your stitches are still fresh."
"I already told you I’m not a child," I snap. "I don't need a babysitter in a tailored shirt."
He doesn't say anything, he just reaches out and catches my hand before I can pull it away. His fingers are warm and his grip is steady. "You are still pale, Amelia. Your body is screaming for rest. Why do you fight everything so hard?"
"Because if I stop fighting, I’m just a girl with a hole in her side and no unit," I whisper. The honesty slips out before I can stop it. I yank my hand back and take a large gulp of wine. "Don't get emotional on me, D'Angelo. It doesn't suit the billionaire aesthetic."
Luca smirks. The tension breaks just a little. "The aesthetic is whatever I decide it is. Tomorrow, the gardener is bringing up some herbs for your tea. It’ll help with the inflammation."
"Oh, wonderful," I say with heavy sarcasm. "I’ve gone from a Captain to a woman who drinks herbal tea in the Alps. My father would be so proud."
"Your father is a fool," Luca says. His voice is suddenly serious. "He traded a lion for a seat at a table that is already crumbling. He doesn't deserve your loyalty."
"He's still my father," I say. I look down at my plate. "And you’re still a man I barely know. You talk about truth, but you live in a house full of shadows. Who are you, really?"
Luca leans forward. He rests his chin on his hand. "I’m the man who is keeping you alive. For now, that should be enough. The rest of the world can stay down in the valley."
"You’re very dramatic," I say. I find myself smiling despite the annoyance. "Do you practice these lines in the mirror?"
"Only on Tuesdays," he says.
The dinner continues. We trade barbs back and forth. He tells me about the history of the villa. I tell him about the time I got lost in a jungle exercise and had to eat a lizard. He looks horrified. I feel a sense of triumph. For a few hours, the danger feels miles away.
But as the night grows colder, I feel the weight of the day hitting me. My head feels heavy. The wine is making my limbs feel like lead. Luca notices. He stands up and walks around the table. He doesn't ask. He just slides an arm under my knees and another behind my back.
"Hey!" I protest.
"The stairs are steep," he says. He carries me toward the glass doors. "And I’m not calling the doctor back because you tripped over your own feet."
"I have feet of steel," I mumble. I lean my head against his shoulder. He smells like the mountain air and the wine.
He carries me up to the master suite. He sets me down on the edge of the bed. The maid has already turned down the covers. There is a carafe of water and a small bottle of pills on the nightstand.
"Sleep," Luca says. He stands over me. He looks like he wants to say more, but he stops himself.
"Are you staying?" I ask. I hate how small my voice sounds.
Luca looks at the bed. He looks at me. He shakes his head. "No. I have work to do with Matteo. I’ll be in the study down the hall. If you need anything, press the button on the phone."
"I won't need anything," I say.
"I know," he says. He leans down and kisses my forehead. It is a quick, dry touch. "Goodnight, Captain."
He walks out and shuts the door. I lie back and listen to the silence. I am in a palace. I am safe. But as I close my eyes, I can't help but wonder what exactly he is talking about with Matteo.
I hear his footsteps fade down the long, carpeted hallway. The heavy oak door remains shut, and for the first time in what feels like years, the silence of the villa isn't a threat. It is a blanket. I lie back against the silk pillows, staring up at the dark wood beams of the ceiling. My body feels like it is made of lead. The wine has smoothed over the sharpest edges of my pain, leaving behind a dull, manageable thrum.
I should be suspicious. I should be looking for a way out or at least a way to contact the outside world. But as I breathe in the scent of the room, cedar, old stone, and the faint lingering trace of Luca’s cologne, my eyelids grow too heavy to fight. The Captain in me wants to stand guard, but the woman in me is simply too exhausted to keep the walls up.
I adjust the oversized hoodie, pulling the hem down over my knees, and curl onto my side. The bed is vast, but it doesn't feel empty. It feels safe. I listen to the distant whistle of the wind against the mountain peaks and the faint, rhythmic ticking of a clock somewhere in the suite. It is the most peace I have had since before the gunshot changed everything.
I don't think about my brother, Valentino. I don't think about my father or my lost unit. I just think about the way Luca looked in the candlelight, and the strange, terrifying warmth of his hand on mine. Before I can even formulate a sarcastic remark to tell him off in my head, sleep claims me. It is deep, dreamless, and for once, I don't wake up reaching for a weapon.
The morning light is what finally breaks the spell. It is a sharp, crystalline white that floods the room, bouncing off the polished marble floors. I blink my eyes open, feeling more rested than I have in weeks. My side still stings when I move, but the feverish haze of the serum is completely gone. I feel clear. I feel alert.
I sit up and notice a small tray on the nightstand. There is a single white rose in a glass vase, a cup of steaming herbal tea, and a folded note. I pick up the paper. The handwriting is bold and elegant.
Eat. The gardener says the air is good for the lungs today. Don’t try to escape through the window; the drop is longer than it looks.
I snort and take a sip of the tea. It tastes like mint and honey. It is annoying how well he knows what I need. I set the cup down and look toward the balcony. The glass doors are slightly ajar, letting in a breeze that smells of pine and melting snow.
I slide out of bed, moving more gingerly this time. I find a pair of soft wool slippers left by the rug and make my way to the balcony. The view is even more breathtaking in the daylight. The lake below is a brilliant turquoise, and the mountains look like they were carved out of diamonds.
I see Luca down on the lower lawn. He is talking to the gardener, pointing toward a row of flowering shrubs. He is wearing a simple black sweater and jeans. He looks like a man who has never held a gun in his life. He looks like he belongs here, among the beauty and the quiet.
He happens to look up. He sees me standing on the balcony in his giant hoodie, my hair a mess and my face still bruised. He doesn't wave. He just offers a slow, knowing smirk and raises a hand in a mock salute.
"Morning, Captain!" he calls out. His voice carries easily in the thin air. "Did you survive the night without court-martialing the pillows?"
"The pillows were cooperative," I shout back, leaning against the stone railing. "But I’m still considering a formal complaint about the tea. It’s too healthy."
"I'll tell the cook to add some lead shavings next time," he retorts. "Come down whenever you’re done admiring yourself. Breakfast is in the conservatory."
I watch him turn back to the gardener. My chest feels tight again, but it isn't the wound this time. It is something far more complicated. I turn back into the room, ready to face whatever version of the truth Luca D'Angelo decides to show me today.