Chapter 50 Crossing Path
AMELIA
The café was small but cosy. Alex guided me to a corner table and helped me sit.
"What do you drink?" he asked. "Coffee? Tea?"
"Coffee. With cream and sugar, please."
"Coming right up."
He left, and I sat there feeling—normal. Like a regular person on a regular coffee date with a regular guy.
Not like someone trapped in a mafia estate. Not like someone under constant protection. Not like someone whose entire life was controlled by men with guns and power.
Just Amelia. Having coffee with a friend.
Alex returned and set a cup in front of me. "Careful, it's hot."
I wrapped my hands around the cup and felt its warmth.
"So," Alex said, settling into his chair. "Personal maid. That's quite a career change from living alone in Brooklyn."
"The Brooklyn situation didn't work out. This opportunity came up, so I took it."
"And you like it? Working for the Santoros?"
Something in his tone made me hesitate. "It's fine. Secure. Safe."
"Safe is good. Especially in this city." He took a sip of his own coffee. "Though I have to say, working for a mafia family seems like an odd definition of safe."
I froze. "What do you mean?"
"Come on, Amelia. You're not naive. You know what the Santoros are. What they do."
"I know they're connected. But my employer is—he's not like that. He's—"
"Different?" Alex's voice held amusement. "They all say that. 'My guy is different. My guy is one of the good ones.' But in the end, they're all the same. Dangerous men doing dangerous things."
"You sound like you speak from experience."
"My family is in the same business. Different side, same world." He leaned back. "So trust me when I say—be careful. No matter how much your employer seems to care about you, at the end of the day, you're a tool. A pawn. Something to be used."
His words stung because part of me wondered if they were true.
Was I just a tool to Jeremy? A pawn in whatever game he was playing with Antonio?
"You're wrong," I said, but my voice lacked conviction.
"Am I? Then tell me—why does a Santoro heir need a blind personal maid? What's really going on?"
I opened my mouth to defend Jeremy, to explain—
But what could I say? That he was protecting me? That he'd traded territory for me? That he'd brought me to his home because he couldn't let me go?
All of that sounded like Alex was right. Like I was a pawn.
"It's complicated," I said finally.
"It always is." Alex's voice softened. "Look, I'm not trying to upset you. I'm just saying—be careful. Keep your guard up. Don't let anyone convince you that you owe them something just because they're protecting you."
"I don't," I said.
"You know what I think?" He leaned forward. I could hear his chair scraping against the floor. "I think you deserve better than being someone's protected possession. I think you deserve to make your own choices. To have your own life."
"And you're offering that?"
"I'm offering friendship. No strings. No protection. No obligations. Just two people who happen to keep running into each other, having coffee and conversation." A pause. "Is that so bad?"
It wasn't. It was actually nice.
"No," I admitted. "It's not bad."
"Good. So tell me—have you ever been to Coney Island?"
"What? No. Why?"
"Because I have a theory that you can't truly experience New York until you've stood on the beach and listened to the ocean. And I bet you've never done that."
"I haven't."
"Then we should fix that. Next week, maybe. I'll take you. No obligations, no pressure. Just two friends experiencing the city."
I should say no. Should tell him that Jeremy would never allow it. That I was supposed to stay in the wing, stay safe, and stay controlled.
But the thought of the beach—of feeling sand under my feet, hearing waves crash, feeling ocean breeze on my face—
"Maybe," I said.
"I'll take maybe. It's better than no."
He started telling me a story about the first time he'd been to Coney Island as a kid. How he'd gotten lost in the crowd, panicked, and ended up at a hot dog stand where a kind vendor had helped him find his parents.
"My father was furious," Alex said. "Not that I'd gotten lost, but that I'd accepted help from a stranger. He said, 'In our world, you trust no one. Everyone is either an ally to be used or an enemy to be eliminated. There is no kindness without agenda.'"
"That's bleak."
"That's reality. Or at least, that's what I was raised to believe." His voice changed and became lighter. "But you know what? That hot dog vendor didn't want anything from me. He was just a nice guy helping a scared kid. And I've never forgotten that. Sometimes people are just—people. No agenda. No angles. Just human."
"Is that what you are? Just human?"
"Trying to be. Despite my upbringing." He paused. "What about you, Amelia? Under all the protection and the complications—who are you?"
Before I could answer, I heard rapid footsteps approaching.
Heavy boots. Running.
"Amelia!" Luca's voice, sharp with panic.
I turned toward his voice. "Luca? I texted you—"
"You left the estate. Boss said not to leave the estate." He was breathing hard. "We need to go. Now."
"I was just having coffee—"
"I don't care. We're leaving." Luca's hand gripped my elbow. "Stand up."
"Wait—" Alex's voice, calm but firm. "She's not a prisoner. She's allowed to have coffee with a friend."
"You don't know what you're talking about," Luca said. "Amelia, now."
I stood, embarrassment flooding through me. "I'm sorry, Alex. I have to—"
"I understand. Work obligations." His voice held knowing amusement. "But Amelia—think about Coney Island. Think about making your own choices."
Luca pulled me toward the door.
As we left, I heard Alex call out, "It was wonderful to see you again, Amelia. I hope our paths cross again soon."
LUCA
I got her outside, my heart still racing.
Alexei Volkov. She'd been having coffee with Alexei fucking Volkov.
And she had no idea.
I pulled out my phone and opened the camera app.
Through the café window, I could still see them—well, I could see him. Alexei was watching us leave, a small smile on his face.
And earlier, when I'd first arrived—when Amelia had been laughing at something he'd said, her face bright and open in a way I'd never seen—
I'd taken a video. Just ten seconds. Just enough.
Jeremy needed to see this.
Needed to know that while he was in Chicago trying to protect her, she'd wandered off the estate and right into the hands of a Volkov.
I sent the video to Jeremy's phone with a single message:
Boss, we have a problem.
Then I guided Amelia back toward the estate, my mind already racing through what I'd have to explain when Jeremy called back.
How I'd lost her.
How she'd left with a Volkov.
How she'd been laughing. Smiling. Enjoying herself.
With the enemy.
This was bad.
This was very, very bad.
ALEXEI
I watched them leave through the café window.
Luca had looked panicked. Terrified.
Good.
He should be.
Because this was the second time I'd "accidentally" run into Amelia. The second time we'd had a friendly, innocent conversation.
The second time I'd planted seeds of doubt about her precious Santoro protector.
And next time—and there would be a next time—I'd water those seeds a little more.
Push a little harder.
Offer a little more freedom.
She stopped seeing Jeremy Santoro as her saviour and started seeing him as her captor.
Until she trusted me instead of him.
Until she became the leverage my father wanted.
I pulled out my phone and sent a message to Viktor:
Made contact again. She doesn't know who I am. Building trust. Will continue.
His response came immediately:
Good. Keep it friendly. Keep it innocent. Make her comfortable. We'll use her when the time is right.
I pocketed my phone and finished my coffee.
Amelia had no idea who I was.
No idea what I was planning.
No idea that every friendly word, every kind gesture, every moment of "normalcy" I offered her—
Was part of a larger game.
A game where she was the prize.
And I was going to win.