Chapter 47 Ren
Ren
I close the door to her bedroom and the click of the latch is quite loud in the quiet hallway. I don't walk away immediately, though. I stand there with my hand still resting on the cool metal of the handle. I stare at the dark wood of the door and I find myself pausing. I am not someone who hesitates. I make decisions and I execute them. But right now my feet feel heavy and my chest feels tighter than it should.
I can still see the way she looked when she finally opened that door. Her hair was a tangled mess and her eyes were bloodshot from hours of crying in the dark. She sounded so small and so tired. It was a version of Amelia Russo that I never expected to see. She is a captain who has survived so many things thrown at her and outran my best men. She is supposed to be unbreakable.
I think about the way she held my hand when I sat on the edge of her bed. She did it without thinking. It was an instinctive move for comfort and she gave it to a man who just spent the last six hours dismantling her life. I felt the heat of her palm against mine and I felt the way her fingers trembled before she squeezed back. That touch stays with me as I finally turn and walk toward the living room. It feels like a hot burn on my skin.
I walk to the floor to ceiling windows and look out at the sprawling lights of the city. I know that I caused every bit of the pain I just saw in that room. The warehouse was my stage. The fake files were my script. The humiliation she is feeling right now is a direct result of my orders. I knew it would hurt her pride but I did not expect her to break like that. I did not expect to see her sitting on the floor in the dark looking so broken.
I do not regret the plan. The plan was necessary to keep her away from the real shipments moving through the southern docks. It was a tactical move to protect my interests and to keep her alive. If she had found the real cargo she would be dead right now. I tell myself this over and over again but it does not stop the discomfort growing in my gut. I don't like what I saw in her eyes. I do not like the fact that her grief is starting to affect my focus. I don't like that version of Amelia I just witnessed.
I am a man who deals in cold realities. I should be satisfied that the bait worked. I should be happy that she is looking in the wrong direction. Instead I am standing in my own penthouse feeling like a traitor. She trusted me in that moment on the bed. She looked at me like I was the only thing keeping her from drowning whereas it is all my freaking fault. And she will never forgive me if she finds out. All hopes of speaking some sense into her when she finds out I am Ren Moretti just went down the drain.
I walk to the bar and pour myself a glass of bourbon. I don't turn on the lights. I prefer the dark right now. I take a long drink and let the burn settle in my throat. I am a must to her and I am a liar to the world. I have spent years perfecting the art of the mask but this one is starting to feel like it is fused to my skin.
I hear a faint sound from the hallway and I freeze. I wait to see if she is coming out of the room but the silence returns. She is likely asleep now. She is likely dreaming of catching a man who is currently drinking a glass bourbon ten feet away. The irony of the situation used to amuse me but tonight it just feels hollow.
I think about Sophia and the wedding and the families. I think about the empire I am supposed to be protecting. Everything I have built is based on the fact that I do not have weaknesses. But as I stare at the closed door of the guest room I realize that I have invited a wildfire into my home and I am no longer sure I want to put it out.
I set the glass down on the marble counter. I need to call Marco. I need to make sure the real shipment reached the border without any issues. I need to get back to being the Shadow. But as I reach for my phone I find myself looking back at the hallway one last time.
She is going to find out the truth eventually. A woman like Amelia does not stay blind for long. And when she realizes that the man who held her hand in the dark is the man she promised to destroy I know exactly what will happen. She will not cry then. She will not be tired. She will pick up her weapon and she will finish the job.
I walk to my office and shut the door. I sit behind my desk and pull up the security feeds for the city. I am back in control. But the warmth of her hand is still there and it is the most dangerous thing I have ever felt.
I leave the guest room and close the door with more force than necessary. I stand in the hallway for a count of five and wait for my pulse to settle. I do not like the way my chest feels tight or the way the air in this penthouse suddenly feels used up. I need to leave.
I walk to the master bedroom and grab a fresh jacket. I don't bother checking on Amelia again. I told her to sleep and I expect her to follow orders for once. I am annoyed at myself for the way I handled the last hour. Since when do I hand out soup and play therapist to the woman trying to destroy my life? She cried and she will survive. Soldiers cry and then they get back to the mud. It is not my job to hold her hand through the process.
I take the private elevator down to the garage. The silence of the car is a relief. I need distance from that room and I need distance from the smell of her soap. I am removing myself from the problem she is becoming before it starts to look like a weakness. Though, I have a feeling it already does.
I pull out of the garage and head toward the private clinic on the outskirts of the city. I need to get back to work and I need to see a face that does not make me want to lie to myself.
The hospital is exactly as I remember it. I hate the smell of antiseptic and the way the floors are polished to a blinding shine. Everything is too bright and too sterile. I hate the lack of control that hospitals represent. I walk past the nurses' station and ignore the curious looks. I don't like the way the soft soles of my shoes squeak on the linoleum. It is an irritant that matches my mood perfectly.
I reach the intensive care wing and nod to the two men standing guard outside the corner suite. They straighten up when they see me but I do not stop to talk. I push the door open and walk into the room. Matteo is lying in the bed with his leg elevated and a thick bandage wrapped around his shoulder. He looks like he was hit by a truck but he is staring at the ceiling with a look of pure boredom.
I don't bother to offer a greeting. I stand at the foot of the bed and conduct a silent assessment. His color is better than it was when he was rushed here. I honestly thought he was a goner. The machines around him are humming with a steady rhythm that tells me he is out of the woods. He turns his head and sees me. A slow and painful smirk spreads across his face.
"You look like hell, Ren," Matteo says. His voice is a gravelly whisper but the sarcasm is still fully intact. "Did you come here to finish the job or are you just checking to see if I am still taking up space?"
"I came to see if you were dead yet," I respond. I pull a chair over and sit down. I lean back and cross my legs. "Clearly the devil is not ready for the competition. You look pathetic in that gown."
Matteo lets out a short and dry laugh that turns into a wince. He clutches his side and waits for the pain to pass. "It is a fashion statement. I am bringing back the open-back look. I almost died for this organization and all I get is a critique of my wardrobe?"
"You almost died because you were slow," I say. I do not indulge his attempt at a guilt trip. "If you had moved three inches to the left we would not be having this conversation and I would be picking out a casket with decent lining."
"I am touched by your concern," Matteo says. He tries to sit up further but gives up after a second. "So give it to me straight. How did the warehouse move go? Did our little captain take the bait?"
"She took it," I say. I keep my voice flat and professional. "She spent three hours at the Northern docks chasing a dead end. She took a drive full of fake logs and she thinks she has enough to bury me."
Matteo grins and it looks genuinely demonic with the bruising on his face. "Beautiful. I wish I could have seen her face when she realized the 'high-value cargo' was a shipment of air filters. She must be furious."
"She is," I say. I think of the broken vase and the way she screamed at me to leave her alone. I push the thought away immediately. "She is currently back at the penthouse trying to find the leak. She will stay busy for a few days."
Matteo watches me for a long beat. His eyes are sharp despite the painkillers. He has known me since we were children and he can read the shifts in my silence better than anyone else. He shifts his weight and narrows his eyes at me.
"You seem distracted, Ren," he says. He is not joking anymore. "Something happened. You didn't come here at six in the morning just to tell me the plan worked. You could have done that over the phone or through one of the men."
"I needed air," I say. I deflect the comment and look at his chart at the end of the bed. "The penthouse is feeling too small."
"The penthouse is huge," Matteo counters. "It's Amelia, isn't it? Our guest is getting under your skin. Is she making things difficult?" He smirks. The son of a bitch.
"She is a guest, Matteo. Nothing more," I say. My reply is shorter and harsher than I intended. I stand up and walk to the window. I look out at the parking lot. "I am handling her. You should focus on walking without help before the end of the month."
"You are a terrible liar," Matteo says with a chuckle. "I can smell the trouble from here. Just remember who she is. She is a Russo. She is the enemy. Do not let the fact that she has a pretty face make you forget that she wants your head on a spike."
"I haven't forgotten anything," I say. I turn back to him and my expression is cold. "I know exactly who she is and I know exactly what I am doing. Don't worry about my guest. Worry about your physical therapy."
"I hope so." He shrugs a shoulder.
I check the hallway through the small window in the door. I call Marco and give him a list of new instructions for the perimeter guards. I double the security on the hospital wing and make sure the shift changes are randomized. I am back in control. I am the Shadow and I am making the moves.
I walk back to the bed and look at Matteo one last time. "Get some rest. I need you back on your feet before the shipment from the coast arrives."
"I'll be there," Matteo says. He pauses and looks at me with a serious expression. "Be careful, Ren. You came here to escape that girl and you haven't stopped thinking about her for a single second. That is how empires fall."
I don't answer him. I walk out of the room and close the door. His words echo in my head as I walk back down the polished hallway. He is right and it irritates me. I came here to reset and I came here to find my balance. But as I walk toward the exit I realize that I am still carrying the weight of her hand in mine.
I reach my car and sit in the driver's seat for a moment. I don't start the engine immediately. I look at my reflection in the rearview mirror and I don't recognize the man looking back. My eyes looked tired and heavy and maybe a little guilty if that makes any sense and I am such a liar to the only person who has looked at me like a person, not a boss, not a monster, a living, breathing, person. And the kiss.... Oh God, the kiss....
I start the car and pull out of the lot. I can't go back to the penthouse yet. I won't. I refuse to. I have more stops to make and more lies to tell. I need to make sure the fire I started stays contained. But deep down I know it is already too late.