Chapter 52 Rush Back Home
Jeremy
I grabbed my phone and booked the next flight to New York. I chartered a private jet—faster than commercial. I'd be home in three hours instead of six.
I had three hours until I could confront her. Ask her how she knew Alexei Volkov. Ask her what they'd talked about. Ask her—
Ask her if she liked him.
If she'd rather be with someone normal. Someone who wasn't neck-deep in violence and family politics. Someone who could take her for coffee without it being a security risk.
Someone who could make her laugh like that.
I packed my bag mechanically. Called my assistant to arrange the jet. Called my driver to have a car waiting at the airport.
All the while, my mind played the video on repeat.
Her laugh. Her smile. Her ease.
With him.
The door to my hotel room closed behind me with a sharp click.
I was going home.
And when I got there—
When I got there, I was going to make sure Amelia understood exactly how dangerous her "friend" Alex really was.
And if some part of me wanted to make sure she understood that I was the one protecting her, that I was the one who'd given up territory for her, that I was the one who mattered—
Well.
That was just security, too.
Nothing more.
AMELIA
I sat in my room, my phone clutched in my hand, and listened to Luca's footsteps pacing outside my door.
He'd barely spoken to me on the walk back from the café. He just gripped my elbow, marched me through the estate gates, and up to the wing, where he told me to stay in my room.
Like I was being punished.
For what? For having coffee with a friend?
I'd texted Luca. I'd tried to call him. It wasn't my fault he'd been on another call and hadn't seen my messages.
And Alex had been nice. Normal. The first person in weeks who'd treated me like a regular person instead of a problem to be solved.
Why was that so wrong?
My phone buzzed. A text.
I activated the text-to-speech function.
"This is Alex. I got your number from the café receipt—hope that's okay. I just wanted to ensure that you returned safely. Your friend seemed upset."
I should delete it. Should ignore it. Should do what I was told and cut off contact with someone Jeremy would probably disapprove of.
But.
Alex had been kind. Alex had brought a smile to my face. He had offered me something I hadn't felt in so long—normalcy.
My thumbs hovered over the keyboard.
Then I typed: "I'm okay. Thanks for the coffee. Sorry I had to leave so quickly."
I sent the message before I had a chance to reconsider.
His response came immediately.
"No problem. The offer for Coney Island still stands. Whenever you feel ready to experience being a normal person for a few hours, let me know.
A normal person.
God, I wanted that.
I started to type a response—
My door burst open.
"Amelia." Luca's voice. Hard. "Give me your phone."
"What? Why?"
"Because I said so. Phone. Now."
"No. This is my personal—"
"Boss's orders. Until he gets back, you don't have phone privileges."
"That's ridiculous—"
"I don't care if it's ridiculous. Give me the phone or I take it by force."
I clutched it tighter. "When did Jeremy give this order?"
"About twenty minutes ago. When I called to tell him you'd snuck off the estate to have coffee with a stranger."
"I didn't sneak—"
Luca interrupted me. "You left without permission. You left with someone you don't know. You put yourself in danger." Luca stepped closer. "And boss is pissed. So unless you want to worsen it when he gets home, give me the fucking phone."
When he gets home.
My stomach dropped. "He's coming back? Tonight?"
"Midnight flight. He'll be here by 1am." Luca held out his hand. "Phone, Amelia."
Jeremy was coming home early.
Could this be because of me?
Because I'd had coffee with Alex.
I handed over the phone, my hands shaking.
Luca took it and pocketed it. "Stay in this room. Don't come out until the boss gets here and decides what to do with you."
He left, locking the door from the outside.
I heard his footsteps retreat. Heard him talking to Nico in low voices.
"—video sent him over the edge—"
"—never seen him this angry—"
"—Volkov, of all people—"
Volkov?
What did that mean?
I sat on my bed, my mind racing.
Jeremy was coming home. Angry. Because I'd had coffee with Alex.
Alex, who apparently was connected to something called Volkov.
Alex, who'd been lovely. So normal.
What had I got myself into?
And why did the thought of facing Jeremy's anger make my chest tight with something that wasn't quite fear?
Something that felt almost like anticipation.
Like part of me wanted to see him. Wanted to face whatever this was.
Wanted to know why he cared so much.
I lay back on the bed and waited.
For midnight. For Jeremy. For answers.
I was looking forward to whatever came next.
I heard the car pull up at 1:17am.
I knew because I'd been lying awake, staring at the ceiling I couldn't see, listening to the clock tick away the minutes since Luca had locked me in my room.
The engine cut off. Car door opened. Closed. The sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the gravel.
Jeremy.
My heart hammered against my ribs.
He was home. And he was angry.
He was angry enough to fly home early. Angry enough to have Luca confiscate my phone. Angry enough that even Nico had sounded nervous when I'd heard him talking to Luca earlier.
I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed. Waited.
His footsteps entered the building. He entered through the east wing entrance. I could track his movement through the hallway with a sound.
He was coming closer.
He was approaching from the kitchen. Past the living area.
Heading toward my room.
I stood, smoothed down my clothes—I was still dressed, hadn't been able to sleep—and braced myself.
The footsteps stopped.
Right outside my door.
I held my breath.
Silence.
Then—his footsteps moved away. Toward his room. His door opened, then closed.
He hadn't even knocked.
I stood there, confused. Hurt. Not understanding.
Wasn't he going to confront me? Yell at me? Demand explanations about Alex?
I heard water running. The shower. He was cleaning up?
I moved to my door and tried the handle. The door was still locked from the outside.
So I waited.
Fifteen minutes passed. Twenty. The shower stopped. I heard movement in his room. Drawers opening. Closet doors.
He was changing clothes.
Any minute now, he'd come talk to me. Unlock my door. Demand answers.
Any minute.
More footsteps. The footsteps were making their way back down the hallway.
I stood by my door, waiting for him to unlock it.
But the footsteps passed by. He was heading away from my room.
what! I was speechless.