Chapter 79 Crossing Boundaries
ISABELLA MORANO
After Enzo left, I turned back to Roberto.
"He heard us," I said quietly. "He knows something."
"He heard fragments of a conversation. That's all." Roberto moved back to his desk. Calm. Unconcerned. "He doesn't know anything specific."
"He'll investigate. You know he will. He's curious. Persistent. He won't let this go—"
"Then I'll handle it. If Enzo starts asking questions, I'll shut it down." Roberto sat down and returned to his paperwork. "The baby is dead, Isabella. She's been dead for eighteen years. There's nothing to find."
"You don't know that. You don't know if she—"
"She was blind. Abandoned on the streets. No one would have taken her in. She died. That's the reality." He looked up at me. Cold. Final. "And you need to accept it. Stop torturing yourself with false hope. Stop keeping that blanket. Stop wondering. She's gone."
"She was our daughter—"
"She was a liability. A weakness. And I did what was necessary to protect this family." He turned back to his paperwork. "Now leave. I have work to do."
I left. Went to my private study. Locked the door.
I retrieved the box that I had concealed in the back of my closet.
Inside was a small pink blanket. Soft. Worn. The one I'd wrapped her in the night Antonio had taken her from me.
The night he'd driven away with my newborn daughter and come back hours later, alone, saying it was done. She was gone. No one would find her. No one would know.
I'd hated him for it. Still hated him for it.
But I'd been too weak to stop him. I was too terrified to retaliate. I was too broken by grief to do anything but survive.
For eighteen years, I'd wondered. I fervently hoped that she had managed to survive in some way. I had hoped someone had found her. That she was out there somewhere—
Alive.
And now Enzo knew. Or suspected. Or was starting to ask questions.
Maybe—maybe he could find what I never could.
Maybe he could find her.
My daughter.
My baby girl.
I wish she were still alive.
Please, God, let her be alive.
AMELIA
The shooting range was becoming familiar. Comfortable, even.
I'd met Alex at the coffee shop at eleven, just like we'd planned. He'd driven us to the private range. Set up the targets with their audio markers.
And for the past two hours, I'd been shooting.
"That's fifteen out of twenty," Alex said, sounding impressed. "Amelia, you're getting really good at this. Your proficiency surpasses that of most sighted beginners.
Pride warmed my chest. "Really?"
"Really. Your aim is solid. Your stance is perfect. And you're not flinching anymore when you pull the trigger." He moved closer. "Try the twenty-yard target now. Higher frequency tone."
I listened. Found the sound. Aimed and fired.
"Hit. Dead centre." Alex laughed. "You're a natural."
I smiled. This felt good. Powerful. It felt as though I had acquired a genuine asset.
This skill was independent of Jeremy, his protection, or anyone else.
I could protect myself now. I had the ability to defend myself if necessary.
"Let's do a few more rounds, then we'll wrap up," Alex said. "You've been at this for two hours. Your arms must be tired."
They were. But I didn't want to stop. Didn't want this session to end.
After acquiring all the necessary knowledge, I would no longer require Alex's help.
Wouldn't need these secret meetings. These lies. This whole complicated arrangement.
I'd have what I wanted. The skill. The knowledge. The power.
And I could go back to Jeremy with a clear conscience.
We finished another thirty rounds. By the end, I was hitting the targets more often than I missed.
"That's enough for today," Alex said. "You're getting tired. "I don't want you to develop bad habits due to fatigue."
"Okay." I lowered the gun. "Same time next week?"
He pauses. "Actually—I think you might be done. With the basic training, I mean. You've got the fundamentals down. You can shoot accurately. You understand safety and handling." He took the gun from me. "Unless you want to keep practising? Work on more advanced techniques?"
"No. I think—I think I'm good. This is what I needed." I turned toward where his voice was. "Thank you, Alex. For teaching me. For being patient. Thank you for treating me like I was capable.
"You are capable. More than capable." His voice was warm. Genuine. "Amelia, you're one of the strongest people I've met. Don't let anyone make you feel otherwise."
"Thank you."
"Go change. I'll pack up the equipment. Then I'll drive you back."
I made my way to the small bathroom facility at the range. Found the door. Went inside.
I changed out of the practical clothes I had worn for the shoot. Back into my regular dress. This was the same outfit I had on when I left the estate.
The bathroom was small. Cold. I could hear water dripping from a leaky faucet somewhere.
I pulled my dress over my head. Adjusted it. Reached for my jacket—
The door opened.
"Alex? "I turned toward the sound. "I'm not done changing."
I can hear his footsteps getting close.
"I know." His voice was different. Lower. Rougher. "Amelia—"
"What are you?" I asked, turning around to sense him.
His hands were on my waist. Pulling me toward him.
"Alex, what are you doing?"
"I can't stop thinking about you." His breath was hot against my face. "I can't stop thinking about you every time I see you." Every time we're together. I—"
His arms wrapped around me. A hug. Except it wasn't.
Because his hands were moving. Sliding up my sides. Finding—
My breasts.
"Alex, stop."
"Your nipples are so hard." His thumbs brushed over them through my dress. "God, Amelia."
They were hard. Still sensitive from last night. From Jeremy's mouth. Jeremy's teeth. Jeremy's teeth, after receiving hours of attention, had become tender and responsive.
And now Alex was touching them. Rubbing them. He was forcing them to respond in ways I didn't want them to.
My body reacted. Traitor. Melting into the touch even as my mind screamed wrong, wrong, wrong.'
"You like that," Alex murmured. "I can tell. You're—"
"Stop." The word came out weak. Breathy.
He didn't stop. Kept rubbing. Kept touching. His body pressed against mine. I could feel his arousal. Hard against my hip.
"Amelia, I've wanted to do this for weeks. Wanted to touch you. Taste you. Show you what it could be like with someone who—"
My mind cleared and snapped back into focus.
This wasn't Jeremy. This was Alex. Alexei Volkov. The enemy.
And he was touching me without permission. Taking advantage. He was crossing lines without my permission.
I pulled back my leg and kicked. Hard. Right where I knew it would hurt most.
He gasped. Stumbled back. "What the—"
"Don't touch me." My voice was steel now. Cold. "Don't ever touch me like that again."
"Amelia, I'm sorry. I just—you were melting into it. I thought you wanted—"
"I don't care what you thought. I didn't give you permission." I grabbed my jacket and pulled it on. "That was assault, Alex. You walked in while I was changing. You touched me without consent. You—" I stopped. Took a breath. "If you ever do that again, I will tell Jeremy. And you know what he'll do to you."
Silence. Then he said, "I'm sorry. God, I'm so sorry. I don't know what came over me. I just—you're so beautiful and I've wanted you for so long and—"
"I don't want to hear it." I moved toward where I thought the door was. Found it. "Take me back to the city. Now. And we're done. No more lessons. No more meetings. We're done."
"Amelia, please."
"I said we're done."
I walked out of the bathroom. Found my way back to his car. Stood beside it. Waiting.
A minute later, Alex appeared. He was quiet, ashamed, maybe. Or angry. I couldn't tell and didn't care.
He unlocked the car. I climbed in.
We drove back in complete silence.