Chapter 42 Shadows
JEREMY
The Volkov situation had taken three days to resolve.
Three days of tense negotiations, strategic positioning, and barely avoided bloodshed over disputed territory near the ports. Viktor Volkov was testing boundaries, pushing into areas that had been neutral ground for years.
My father had sent me to handle it. Prove I could manage the business without getting distracted.
I was trying to focus on my tasks, but I couldn't stop thinking about the blind girl I had left alone in a safe house in Brooklyn.
Was she okay? Was she eating? Was she managing the apartment on her own? Had Antonio tried anything despite our deal?
I'd called Luca twice a day for updates.
"She's fine, boss. Quiet. Hasn't left the apartment."
Until yesterday.
"She went for a walk?" I'd said into the phone, my voice sharper than intended.
"Yeah, she went to the park and back. She was only gone an hour. Got back safe."
"I told her to stay inside." I said through gritted teeth.
"She said she needed air. I reminded her about the Volkov situation but—" Luca had hesitated. "Boss, she can't stay locked up forever. She's not a prisoner."
No. She wasn't a prisoner.
But she was vulnerable. And with the Volkovs circling, testing our defenses, looking for any weakness they could exploit—
The last thing I needed was Amelia becoming a target.
Now, finally, the Volkov situation was contained. Temporary truce. Boundaries re-established. I could go home.
Check on her. Make sure she was safe.
Make sure whatever I'd traded the Brooklyn docks for was worth it.
When my car arrived at the safe house, it was almost midnight. Quiet residential area. The street lamps were casting pools of yellow light. A few cars parked along the kerb.
And a shadow appeared.
The shadow hovered near the entrance to the safe house. Not moving, like someone walking. Moving like someone's watching.
"Stop the car," I said quietly.
My driver pulled over two buildings away.
I could see the figure now—male, medium build, dark clothing. Standing in the recessed doorway of the building next door. Perfect vantage point to watch the safe house entrance.
"Luca," I said into my phone. "You watching the safe house?"
"No, boss. You said you were handling it tonight."
"Did you put anyone else on surveillance?"
"No. Why?"
"Because someone's watching the building." I climbed out of the car. "Stay on the line."
I moved down the street, keeping to the shadows. The figure was focused on the safe house and had not noticed me yet.
he was either an amateur. Or arrogant.
I came up behind him, gun already drawn. I pressed the barrel against his spine.
"Don't move. Don't speak. Don't even breathe loud."
He froze.
"Hands where I can see them. Slowly."
He raised his hands. I patted him down quickly and found a phone, wallet, camera with telephoto lens, and gun in a shoulder holster.
Surveillance equipment. This wasn't a random person.
"Walk." I pressed the gun harder. "Toward the alley. Nice and slow."
He moved. He was wise enough not to attempt anything while I had a gun in my possession.
The alley was dark and empty. Perfect.
"Turn around."
He did. Young—maybe twenty-five. His forehead was permeated with nervous sweat. He was not trained in the military. Not mafia. Perhaps he was trained in private security.
"Who sent you?" I asked.
"I don't—"
I hit him. I didn't strike him hard enough to cause him unconsciousness. I only struck him with sufficient force to convey my message.
"Try again. Who sent you to watch that building?"
"I'm just doing a job, man. I don't want trouble—"
"You're already in trouble. The question is how much." I stepped closer. "That building you were watching? Someone under my protection lives there. This means that you have just made a very big mistake. So I'll ask one more time. "Who sent you?
"I can't—they'll—"
"I'll kill you right now if you don't answer." I raised my gun. "Three seconds. Three. Two—"
"Victoria!" He blurted. "Victoria Castellano! She hired me to watch the building and report who comes and goes. That's all I know, I swear!"
I lowered the gun slightly.
Victoria.
My fiancée.
My engagement to her resulted in a mutually beneficial arrangement for both our families. The arrangement was that we'd agreed to maintain publicly while privately living separate lives.
She had warned me months ago: "Don't become attached. Don't fall in love. Don't ruin this for both of us."
Cristo!
She'd heard something. Heard rumours. And now she was checking if I'd done exactly what she'd warned me not to do.
"Why does Victoria want to know who comes and goes?" I asked, already knowing the answer.
"I don't know! She instructed me to observe, take photos, and report any activity. She didn't say why!" His words tumbled out fast, desperate. "I'm just a PI, man. She hired me three days ago. This is my second night watching. I haven't seen anything, other than some blind girl coming and going. That's it!"
Blind girl.
He'd seen Amelia.
He could have informed Victoria about the presence of a blind girl at the safe house.
And Victoria would know. Would connect the dots. Would realise I'd hidden someone here.
She would think I was breaking our agreement.
"Your phone," I said. "Unlock it."
He did, hands shaking.
I scrolled through his messages. Sure enough—reports to a number saved as "V.C."
"The subject observed leaving the building at 3 p.m. Female, approximately 18-20, blind, white cane. Walked to the park, returned one hour later. Alone."
"There has been no additional activity." "The building appears to have a single occupant."
The building has been under surveillance for three days. Victoria knew Amelia was here. Victoria understood that I was there to protect someone.
I deleted the messages. Then the contact. Then his recent photos—several of the building, one blurry shot of Amelia leaving.
"Here's what's going to happen," I said. "You're going to stop watching this building. You're going to tell Victoria the job is done, that there's nothing to report. And you're never going to mention what you saw here again."
"She'll want her final report—"
"Tell her whoever was here moved out. Tell her it was nothing. I don't care what you tell her." I lowered the gun to his leg. "But if you keep watching, if you send her any more information, if you tell anyone else about what you've seen—this bullet goes in your knee. Understood?"
"Yes! I understand!" he said, shaking.
"Good." I stepped back, then reconsidered. "Actually—"
I shot him in the thigh.
He screamed and collapsed, clutching his leg.
"That's for taking photos of someone under my protection without permission," I said over his screams. "Next time someone hires you to spy on a Santoro, you decline the job."
I walked away, leaving him bleeding. Not lethal. Just painful. Just enough to make sure he remembered.
I dialled Luca's number. Luca's voice came through my phone. "Boss? What happened?"
"Call an ambulance for the alley behind the safe house. Anonymous tip. Gunshot wound to the leg." I climbed back in my car. "And get me Victoria Castellano's number. I need to talk to her. Tonight."