Chapter 12 No Show

AMELIA

I spent the entire day preparing for something I wasn't sure I wanted to happen.

Nina had come to my room in the afternoon with instructions: "Room three again tonight. The same customer requested for you specifically. Be ready by nine."

My stomach was knotted up.

Jeremy Santoro wanted to see me again.

He was the man who had saved me. The man who'd kissed me. The mafia's heir is rumoured to be engaged to someone else.

Part of me was terrified. What if he remembered everything this time? What if he was upset about the slap? What if he expected... more than I was willing to give?

But another part—a part I would rather not examine too closely—felt something else. Curiosity, maybe. Or that dangerous flutter that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with the memory of his hands on my face, his voice rough in my ear.

'Stop it,' I told myself firmly. He's a customer. That's all.

Nina returned at eight-thirty to help me with makeup and hair again.

"You're lucky," she said as she worked. "Santoro tips well. And he's not..." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "He's not like some of the others. Won't hurt you."

"How do you know?"

"I've seen him here before. Always polite. Pays for privacy more than anything else. You'll be fine."

Her reassurance didn't calm the nervous energy thrumming through me.

By nine o'clock, I was dressed in another fitted black dress and heels that were slightly lower than last time (a small mercy) and standing in room three.

Waiting.

The room smelled like whiskey—probably from two nights ago when he'd been here last. I could hear the faint jazz music Marco always played in the private rooms and the distant sound of voices from the main bar.

Nine fifteen.

I shifted my weight, my new cane resting against my leg. Marco had delivered it this afternoon—a proper white mobility cane, lightweight aluminium with a red tip. It felt like an old friend in my hand.

Nine-thirty.

The door hadn't opened.

Maybe he was just late. Maybe he had been delayed by activities typical of mafia heirs. Business meetings. Family obligations.

Nine forty-five.

My palms were sweating.

Ten o'clock.

The door finally opened, but it wasn't him.

"Amelia?" Nina's voice. "You can go. He's not coming."

The relief that flooded through me was immediate and confusing.

He wasn't coming.

I was safe.

But underneath the relief was something else—a hollow feeling I didn't want to name. Disappointment? Rejection?

'Don't be stupid,' I told myself. You should be glad he's not here.

"Okay," I said quietly, picking up my cane.

Nina led me out into the hallway. As we emerged, I heard them—the other girls, clustered near the bar entrance.

"Well?" Jade's voice rang out. "How was the big important customer?"

"He didn't show," Nina said flatly.

Laughter erupted.

"Of course he didn't," Jade crowed. "He probably remembered how disastrous she was the last time and changed his mind."

"Maybe he realised he'd rather have someone who actually knows what she's doing," another girl added.

"Poor Amelia. All dressed up with nowhere to go."

More laughter.

Heat crawled up my neck. I stood there, gripping my cane, feeling their eyes on me even though I couldn't see their faces.

"That's enough," Nina said sharply. "Get back to work. All of you."

Despite the grumbling, the voices gradually faded away. Their footsteps retreating.

Nina's hand touched my elbow. "Ignore them. Come on."

She guided me back toward the stairs, but I could still hear whispers behind us. I could still feel the weight of their mockery.

She's not good enough. He didn't want her. She failed.

By the time we reached my room, my hands were shaking.

"You okay?" Nina asked.

"Fine," I lied.

"Get some rest. Tomorrow's another day."

The door closed behind her, and I was alone.

I sat on the bed, still in the dress, in the heels, and tried to sort through the tangle of emotions in my chest.

Relief. Disappointment. Humiliation. Anger.

He hadn't shown up.

Jeremy Santoro had specifically requested me, made me wait for over an hour, and then just... didn't come.

And now everyone knew.

Everyone had watched me fail.

'It doesn't matter,' I told myself. You don't even want to see him again. This is better.

But the hollow feeling wouldn't go away.

JEREMY

I sat in my study with a glass of whisky I wasn't drinking and stared at the clock.

Nine-thirty.

She was probably in room three right now. Waiting.

I'd told Marco to book the room. Had requested her specifically. Had every intention of going.

And then I'd sit here instead.

'Don't be an idiot about it,' Victoria's words echoed in my mind. Don't fall in love. Don't get attached.

She was right. Getting involved with Amelia was the worst possible decision I could make.

She was vulnerable. She was forced to work at Crimson because she had no other options. The power dynamic was all wrong—she couldn't exactly say no to me even if she wanted to.

And I was engaged. I have family obligations. I was supposed to be proving myself worthy of leading the Santoros, not chasing after a blind girl I'd met during a gang war.

I needed to forget about her.

I needed to concentrate on my business, my family, and the responsibilities that came with my birth.

I checked the clock; it's 10 o'clock.

She'd been waiting an hour now. Would Marco tell her I wasn't coming? Would she be relieved?

Or would she feel rejected?

'It doesn't matter what she feels,' I told myself harshly. This is for the best.

I finally picked up the whisky and drank.

But all I could taste was regret.

AMELIA

The next morning, I woke with a new resolve.

Screw Jeremy Santoro. Screw Jade and her cruel friends. Screw everyone who thought I was weak or helpless or pathetic.

I was done being a victim.

I got dressed carefully—jeans and a t-shirt I'd managed to buy with my first small advance from Marco. Then I grabbed my cane and headed downstairs.

It was mid-morning, and the bar was in its usual half-awake state. A few staff members are cleaning up from the night before and doing prep work for the evening ahead.

I heard voices near the storage hallway—Jade and two others.

"...can't believe Marco's still keeping her on," Jade was saying. "She's useless."

"Give it time. She'll wash out soon enough."

''I want it sooner,'' Jade said with frustration.

They were right in the path I needed to take to get to the bathroom.

Perfect.

I moved forward confidently, my cane swinging in wide arcs the way I'd been taught—a proper sweeping motion that would detect obstacles.

Including people.

"Oh, it's her," one of the girls muttered.

I kept walking, my cane swinging naturally.

Left. Right. Left. Right.

Thwack.

The cane connected solidly with something—someone's shin, based on the sharp intake of breath.

"Ow! What the—"

"Oh!" I stopped immediately, my expression concerned. "I'm so sorry! Is someone there?"

"You hit me!" Jade's voice was sharp with pain and anger.

"I did? I'm sorry, I didn't realise anyone was standing there. My cane usually picks up obstacles but..." I let my voice trail off, appropriately apologetic.

"You did that on purpose!"

"On purpose?" I tilted my head, confused. "How would I even know where you were standing? I'm blind."

There was silence. The other girls didn't know what to say.

"I'm truly sorry," I repeated, laying it on thick. "I'm still getting used to navigating the space. I should have been more careful."

"Damn right, you should have," Jade hissed. But there was nothing she could do. Nothing she could accuse me of that wouldn't sound ridiculous.

How do you prove a blind girl hit you on purpose?

"I'll be more careful," I said sweetly. "Excuse me, I need to get past."

They moved aside—I could hear the shuffle of footsteps. I walked past them, my cane tapping innocently along the floor.

Behind me, I heard whispered conversation. Jade's frustrated muttering. Someone was asking if she was okay.

I smiled.

The cane wasn't just for navigation after all.