Chapter 41 The Other Family's Plan
Amelia
My blood went cold. "What family?" I asked, thinking about Jeremy.
"Does it matter?" His tone was light, teasing almost. "We're just two strangers who happened to meet on a street corner. No need for last names or affiliations."
He was right. But still—
"Thank you for helping me," I said carefully. "And for walking me home."
"Anytime." I heard him step back. "Take care, Amelia. And get that cane fixed. You deserve better than a bent weapon."
Then his footsteps retreated. Confident. Unhurried. The walk of someone used to owning whatever space he occupied.
I stood there for a moment, my hand on the building door, my heart beating faster than it should.
Alex.
A stranger who'd helped me without asking for anything in return. Who'd treated me like a person, not a victim. Who'd understood about running. About needing safety.
And who was almost certainly mafia.
'Don't be stupid,' I told myself. You just escaped one dangerous man. Don't go looking for another.
But as I climbed the stairs to my apartment, I couldn't shake the feeling of his voice. The warmth in it. The way he'd said my name.
The way I'd felt—for just a moment—like maybe not every man in this city wanted to control me.
Inside the apartment, I locked the door and set down my cane.
My hands were shaking slightly.
Not from fear. From something else. Something I hadn't felt in—
Had I ever felt this?
That flutter in my chest. That warmth. That curiosity about a stranger whose face I'd never see but whose voice had made me feel—
What? Safe? Intrigued? Attracted?
'Stop it,' I told myself again. You don't even know him. He's probably dangerous. Probably mafia. Probably—
But my traitorous heart kept replaying the conversation. The gentle way he'd returned my cane. The respect in his voice when he'd talked about me defending myself.
The fact that he hadn't pitied me for being blind. Hadn't treated me like I was broken or helpless.
Just... human.
I moved to the kitchen and poured water with hands that still trembled slightly.
This was ridiculous. I'd met a stranger for five minutes. He'd been polite. That was all.
There was no reason for this feeling. This flutter. This warmth.
Except—
Except for the first time in weeks, I'd talked to someone who didn't want anything from me. Who didn't see me as leverage or property or a problem to be solved.
Just Amelia. A person. A stranger on a street corner who'd needed help.
The phone rang, making me jump.
I found it on the counter and answered. "Hello?"
"Amelia. It's Luca." Jeremy's man. "Just checking in. Everything okay there?"
"Yes. Fine. I went for a walk earlier but I'm back now."
"A walk?" His voice sharpened. "Alone?"
"Yes. Just to the park and back. It was fine."
"Boss said you should stay inside. It's safer."
"I was careful. And I needed air." I tried to keep the defensiveness out of my voice. "I can't stay locked inside forever."
"No, but—" He sighed. "Look, just be careful, okay? The Volkov situation is heating up. We don't need you caught in the crossfire."
"I will. I promise."
"Good. Call if you need anything. And Amelia? Boss is coming back tomorrow. He wanted me to tell you."
Tomorrow. Jeremy would be back tomorrow.
"Okay. Thank you."
I hung up and stood in the kitchen, my mind spinning.
Jeremy is coming back. The man who'd saved me. Protected me. Given up something valuable to get me away from Antonio.
The man I still didn't understand. Didn't know what I was to him. Didn't know if I could trust these confusing feelings.
And Alex. The stranger. The man whose voice had made me feel something I couldn't name.
Two men. Two very different situations. Two very different feelings.
And me, standing in the middle, not understanding any of it.
I went to bed that night with my mind full of questions.
About Jeremy. About Alex. About what any of this meant.
But mostly about the flutter in my chest that wouldn't go away.
The feeling that maybe—just maybe—not every interaction with a man had to be about power. About control. About survival.
Maybe some could just be... human.
Even if it was dangerous to hope for that.
Even if it was stupid to let myself feel it.
I fell asleep thinking about a stranger's voice.
And woke up knowing I'd probably never see him again.
Not that "see" meant anything to me anyway.
But still.
Some part of me hoped our paths would cross again.
Even though I knew they shouldn't.
Even though I knew better.
Hope was a dangerous thing.
But I couldn't seem to help it.
ALEXEI
I walked back to my car, my mind replaying the conversation.
Amelia.
Blind. Beautiful. Strong enough to use a bent cane as a weapon.
She was a recent arrival in the neighbourhood. Running from someone.
Alone.
I pulled out my phone and dialled.
"Viktor." My father answered on the first ring. "Where are you?"
"Brooklyn. Marina district. I just met someone interesting."
"Interesting how?"
"A girl. Blind. Named Amelia. Staying alone in a safe house near the docks." I climbed into my car. "Ring any bells?"
A pause. "The Santoro girl. The one they've been hiding."
"Santoro?" My grip tightened on the phone. "You're sure?"
"Antonio mentioned her in our last meeting. Jeremy Santoro's weakness. The reason he agreed to give up the Brooklyn docks." Viktor's voice sharpened. "You talked to her?"
"Helped her pick up her cane. Had a brief conversation. She doesn't know who I am."
"Keep it that way. For now." I can hear papers rustling. "This could be useful. Very useful. If Jeremy's attached enough to trade territory for her—"
"She's not a weapon, Father." I said immediately.
"Everything's a weapon if you know how to use it," he said cruelly. "But I'm not asking you to hurt her. Just... get to know her. Befriend her. Find out what makes her valuable to the Santoros."
I should refuse. Should stay away from her. Should forget the way her voice had sounded—uncertain but trying to be strong.
But I found myself saying, "I'll see what I can do."
"Good boy. Report back when you know more."
He hung up.
I sat in my car, staring at the building where Amelia lived.
Jeremy Santoro's girl.
His weakness.
And I'd just made contact without even knowing it.
This should have felt like victory. Like opportunity.
Instead, it felt like a complication.
Because something about Amelia's voice—about the way she'd fought to sound confident even while disoriented—
I'd liked it.
And that was dangerous.
For both of us.