Chapter 11 Special Request

Jeremy

Victoria was more observant than I'd given her credit for.

"It doesn't matter if I meet someone, does it?" I said.

"The hell it doesn't. Jeremy, listen to me." Victoria moved closer, her voice dropping. "I don't care if you're fucking someone. I don't care if you're in love with someone. As long as you show up to these dinners, smile for the cameras, and go through with the wedding, you can do whatever—or whoever—you want."

"That's your solution? An open marriage?" I asked, surprised.

"That's reality. You think our parents had faithful marriages? You think any of these arranged couples actually love each other?" She took another drag. "We play the game publicly, we live our lives privately. That's the deal."

"And if I don't want that deal?"

Victoria's eyes hardened. "Then you're stupider than I thought. This arrangement protects both of us. I get my freedom, you get yours, and our families get their alliance. Everyone wins."

"Except we're lying to everyone. Including ourselves."

"Welcome to the mafia, sweetheart. Everything's a lie." She stubbed out her cigarette. "Look, I don't know who this girl is, and I don't want to know. But don't be an idiot about it. Don't fall in love. Don't get attached. And for God's sake, don't let it interfere with our arrangement."

"Why?" The question came out harsher than I intended. "What are you protecting, Victoria? What's so important about maintaining this facade?"

She looked away, and for just a moment, her mask slipped. I saw something vulnerable underneath—fear, maybe. Or desperation.

"That's none of your business," she said quietly.

"We're engaged. Supposedly."

"Exactly. Supposedly. Which means we don't owe each other explanations." She turned back to me, her armor firmly back in place. "I'm not asking about your mystery girl. Don't ask about my reasons. We have a deal, Jeremy. Don't fuck it up."

Before I could respond, the French doors opened. My father stepped out.

"There you are. We need you inside. Contracts are ready to review."

Victoria immediately transformed—slipping her hand into mine, leaning against my shoulder, the picture of adoring fiancée.

"Of course, Dominic," she said sweetly. "We were just talking about honeymoon destinations."

My father smiled approvingly. "Good. Come inside."

As we walked back in, Victoria's hand in mine, I felt the weight of the golden cage closing around me.

She was right about the arrangement. It made sense, strategically.

But she was mistaken about one thing.

I was already attached.

To a blind girl I'd rescued twice. Who'd slapped me when I crossed a line. Who was working at Crimson in those private rooms, vulnerable and alone.

Amelia.

I didn't even know her last name. Didn't know her story beyond the fragments I'd pieced together.

But I couldn't stop thinking about her.

And that was dangerous.

Because in my world, caring about someone meant they became leverage. Became a target. Became a weakness that enemies would exploit.

Antonio was right—I was too soft.

But maybe that wasn't the problem.

Maybe the problem was everyone else being too hard.

The meeting dragged on for another two hours.

Contracts. Territories. Revenue splits. The mechanics of joining two criminal empires.

My father and Antonio Castellano signed papers. Shook hands. Toasted to "new beginnings."

I smiled. Nodded. Played my part.

All while thinking about a girl who couldn't see me but had somehow seen through me better than anyone else ever had.

When the meeting finally ended and I escaped to my car, I pulled out my phone.

I shouldn't go back to Crimson. Shouldn't check on her. Shouldn't get more involved than I already was.

But my fingers were already typing a text to Marco: The girl from last night. Amelia. Is she okay?

The response came quickly: She's fine. She is working tonight. Why?

I stared at the message.

Why? Good question.

Because I couldn't stop thinking about how she'd felt in my arms. How she'd smelt like innocence in a world full of corruption. How she'd slapped me with a courage I'd never seen in someone so vulnerable.

Because I'd saved her twice and then abandoned her to this world.

Because something about her made me want to be better than what my family expected.

I deleted the text without sending a reply to Marco's question.

Instead, I told my driver, "Take me home."

I told my driver to take me home, not to Crimson. Not to her.

Home. Where I could sit in my study and pretend I wasn't thinking about the blind girl who'd somehow gotten under my skin.

Where I could prepare for tomorrow's meeting with my father and uncle, where they'd no doubt criticise every decision I'd made this week.

Where I could look at contracts and spreadsheets and legitimate business papers that covered up illegitimate business dealings.

The Santoro heir. The future boss.

Living in a golden cage, engaged to a woman who wanted nothing to do with me, surrounded by family who thought I was too weak to lead.

And for the first time in my life, I wondered if they were right.

Not because I wasn't ruthless enough.

But because I was starting to realise that ruthlessness wasn't strength.

It was just another kind of prison.

AMELIA

I was adjusting the new cane Marco had delivered when I heard the other girls in the hallway.

"Did you see him last night?" One of them said it, but not Jade – someone else's voice. "In room three?"

"That was Jeremy Santoro." Jade's voice was unmistakable. "The heir. The one who's supposed to marry Victoria Castellano."

My hands stilled on the cane.

Jeremy Santoro.

That was his name.

"He looked wrecked," the first girl continued. "Completely drunk."

"Yeah, well, I heard his engagement is basically a business deal. Victoria doesn't even want him."

"Who cares? He's gorgeous and rich. If he wants to spend his nights here drinking and paying for company, I'm volunteering."

Laughter.

"Good luck with that. You know he requested Amelia specifically for next time?"

My breath caught.

"What?" Jade's voice went sharp. "Why would he?"

"Marco said something happened last time. Whatever it was, Santoro wants her again."

"That's ridiculous. She probably just stood there like a scared rabbit."

"Apparently not. Marco said Santoro paid double the usual rate and left specific instructions. Next time he's here, send Amelia."

Then Jade's voice, dripping with venom: "We'll see about that."

Their footsteps faded down the hallway.

I sat on my bed, the cane forgotten in my hands, my mind racing.

Jeremy Santoro. The drunk customer. This was the same man who had kissed me earlier.

The man whose voice I'd recognised in the alley.

He'd requested me specifically.

He wanted to see me again.

And I had no idea if that was a good thing or the most dangerous thing that could possibly happen.

I hope this special attention that I am getting will not land me in trouble. Since my arrival, I have received threats and felt unwelcome.