26. West
Chapter 26
West
A s I open the car door for Amelia, Jackson remains stoic by the vehicle, dressed head to toe in black, and with an expression that is unreadable.
“Hello, Jackson,” Amelia says as she gets into the backseat.
“Welcome back, Miss Amelia.”
As I settle in beside her, she leans close, whispering, “He looks like he could be mafia himself.”
I can’t help but chuckle. “That’s the idea. But trust me, he’s on our side.”
The drive to the airport is quiet, tension thrumming beneath the surface. Amelia’s hand finds mine, her grip tight.
I give her a reassuring squeeze.
After we board my private jet and leave the coastline behind, I watch Amelia stare out the window for some time.
“Are you okay?” I ask, reaching across to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear.
She turns to me, a small smile playing on her lips. “Yeah, I think so. It’s just a lot to process.”
I nod, understanding. “We’ll figure it out together. Now why don’t you take a nap?”
Hours later, New York comes into view. Amelia’s grip on my hand tightens. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m glad to be going home.”
The word ‘home’ sends a warmth through my chest. I lean in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple. “Me too, princess. Me too.”
The clock on the wall ticks loudly, echoing the silence of my office. I lean back in my chair, swirling the ice cubes in my whiskey, watching them clink against the glass.
“Any word from O’Reilly?” I ask Callum, who stands near the door, arms crossed.
He shakes his head, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “Not yet.”
“No news is good news,” I reply, trying to sound more confident than I feel.
Callum shrugs. “Yeah.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other before glancing out the window. Where he stares into the dark night as he twirls his cell in his hand. “I’ll call and ask for an update.”
I nod, dismissing him with a wave of my hand as he heads out.
The door clicks shut behind him. Leaving me alone with my thoughts and the lingering tension that hangs in the air like smoke.
I take a long sip of whiskey, letting it burn down my throat. It’s late—too late for these worries—but sleep won’t come easily tonight.
Amelia is asleep in our bed, while I sit here, worrying about the threats lurking in the shadows. But until Vincenzo is dead, I can’t rest.
I push myself up from the desk and pace around the room, glancing at the framed photos on my wall. The one with my father, East and I. A reminder of better times.
And the more I look at it, the more my reasons for wanting to take over the business no longer seem right.
My phone buzzes on the desk and I grab it quickly, hoping it’s Callum with news that eases my mind. But it’s just a text from East replying to my earlier one:
Is everything okay? I thought you were on board.
I type back:
It’s not my priority anymore.
East: Pussy whipped!
Me: Whatever makes you feel better. Oh, who is Sloane fucking these days?
Petty, but that’ll have to do for now. I’ve paid a man to wipe another man out. It makes everything else seem trivial.
I return to my drink as footsteps approach. Callum turns into the doorway with a serious expression on his face.
“West,” he starts, drawing my full attention.
“What?” My heart races.
Callum’s face drains of color as he strides in. “West.” He takes a deep breath, and I brace myself because he’s now said my name twice.
“What happened?” I demand as my pulse quickens.
“It’s O’Reilly.” He gulps. “He’s dead. They found him in Boston.”
My stomach drops. “What the fuck do you mean, dead? How?”
Callum runs a hand through his hair, frustration etched on his features. “We don’t know yet. But it’s bad, man. There are whispers...it looks like a hit.”
I slam my glass down on the desk, the whiskey sloshing over the rim. “A hit? From whom? Nobody else has the balls to—”
“Vincenzo does,” he cuts in sharply, eyes narrowing at me.
The name lands heavily between us, like a rock dropped into still water. “No fucking way. O’Reilly told us he was the best.”
“We don’t have proof, but who else would it be? O’Reilly was digging around too much. He kidnapped his son.” Callum leans against the wall, his posture tense. “I just hope he didn’t speak before—”
“No,” I snap back at him. “He wouldn’t dare come for us.”
Callum shakes his head. “You know how they operate. If they think someone knows too much, then it’s always torture them first, find out what they know, and then kill them. If Vincenzo killed him, he knows about you.”
I rush to my feet, pacing the length of my office like a caged animal. “Fuck! We should never have met him. We should have remained incognito.”
“Trouble is, you don’t think like them.” Callum hesitates as he stares out of the window at the city night lights. “Hopefully, O’Reilly never left a trail that leads back to us.”
I laugh, though it’s hard. “Like you said, they torture first to get what they want and then kill.”
“The Irish community in Boston is vast,” Callum replies, trying to keep calm while I’m losing my mind. “And apparently, O’Reilly also left a trail of disgruntled Italians in his path.”
I growl under my breath, frustration boiling inside me like molten lava. I turn to look out the window for a moment, my mind racing. “I need to talk to Amelia,” I finally say, dread settling in my chest like a dropped anchor.
“West—”
“She needs to know,” I insist.
“You think she can handle this?” Callum challenges.
This is spiraling out of control faster than I can keep up with—and Amelia is caught right in the middle of it all.
“She can handle it,” I shoot back, my voice rising with panic and anger combined.
I stroke her hair, letting my fingers glide through the soft strands. The morning light spills into the room, casting a warm glow over Amelia’s sleeping form.
She stirs, turning on the mattress. Her lips part. I lean in and press a gentle kiss against them.
“Morning,” I whisper when her eyes flutter open.
She blinks sleepily, a smile creeping onto her face. “Morning.”
As she stretches, I can’t help but admire how beautiful she looks in the soft morning light. Even the shadows under her eyes from not sleeping since she ran are fading away.
“I have something to tell you,” I say, my voice steady but serious. “It’s not good news.”
Her brow furrows as she sits up, wrapping the sheets around her. “What is it?”
I take a breath, gathering my thoughts before laying it all out there. “You know I hired a man to take care of Vincenzo.”
Her expression shifts from curiosity to alarm in an instant. “Is Vincenzo dead?”
“No,” I say, keeping my tone even to not alarm her.
Panic flashes across her face as she pulls the sheets tighter around herself. “Then what is it?”
“The man I hired met his fate instead.”
“What?” Her voice rises an octave, fear in her eyes. “Did Vincenzo kill him?”
“Don’t panic.” The urgency creeps into my tone. “It’s just a setback. I’ll find someone else.”
She bites her lip, visibly struggling to process this new information. Finally, she looks away and murmurs, “That’s why I agreed to your deal.”
“What do you mean?”
“I needed one million dollars to have him killed. My father…”
I blow out a deep breath.
“My father gave me a number to call if something ever happened to him or Mom.” Her voice trembling. “A man who would keep me safe.”
“Why didn’t you call him?”
“I did call him, and he told me he did nothing unless he was paid one million dollars. And I thought I was going to inherit millions. Instead, I lost everything! My inheritance was gone; I couldn’t afford him!” Her eyes glisten with frustration and fear as she runs a hand through her hair.
“So you agreed to be my fiancée for one year to safeguard your future?” I laugh. “You were never planning to buy an apartment?”
She shakes her head. “Living in a safe world was more important to me than the apartment.” She meets my gaze with defiance burning behind those bright blue eyes. “Even if it meant living on the streets again.”
I’m in awe of her. She had everything once, and now she’s got nothing worse yet—a mafia don is searching the world for her. And not once did she grumble about anything at work in the past.
“What’s the name your father gave to you?” I ask, leaning closer.
“Lorenzo Mancini,” she replies, her voice steady despite the weight of the name. “He lives in Boston. I have his number.”
“You do?”
“My father wrote it on the back of one of the photos we retrieved from Felix’s apartment.”
I groan, running a hand through my hair. “That’s why you were so desperate to go back and get them.”
Her gaze is distant. “I always hoped one day…” Her voice trails off.
“What were you hoping for?” I press, wanting to pull her back into this moment with me.
“I could live a normal life,” she says. “I just needed enough money to pay someone to help me. But a million dollars isn’t easy to find.”
“Help you get rid of him?”
“Not only to get rid of Vincenzo for myself,” she murmurs. “But to make him admit what he did. That he killed my parents.”
The reality sinks in. Amelia is not only fighting for survival, but she is also fighting for justice. She wants revenge against a monster who had taken everything from her.
“You know I can keep you safe,” I insist, a fierce protectiveness surging through me.
I study her, searching for cracks in that resolve but finding none. She might be scared, but there’s fire behind those eyes that refuse to be extinguished.
“I know, but I’d prefer him to be killed.”
“Then find that photo.”
“He charges—”
“Get the photo.”
I watch her, the fight draining from her eyes like a slow air coming out of a tire until it’s flat.
She knew Lorenzo Mancini was her last hope—her only hope. I can see it in the way her shoulders sag, the way her breath catches just before she speaks.
“Do you really think he’ll kill him?” Amelia’s voice trembles, uncertainty creeping in.
I pull her close to me. “Your father believed he would.”
She bites her lip, glancing down at her hands as if they hold all the answers to this mess. The strength I admired just moments ago is fading, rapidly being replaced by doubt and fear.
“I know, but Mancini is Italian…and it feels like I’m asking a wolf to protect me from the bear,” she murmurs.
I reach out, tilting her chin up so our eyes meet. “I’ll have someone check him out before we talk to him.”
Her gaze softens before she says, “What if he refuses?”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself before answering. “Then we figure something else out together. But you have to try.”
“Okay.” I see that familiar flicker of determination spark back into her expression. It’s fleeting, like a flame igniting under the right conditions, then caught by the wind again.
“I need to do this,” she says finally, conviction building in her voice once more. “I can’t let my past define me.”
“Exactly,” I reply, my heart swelling with pride at her resilience.
“You have.”
“Sorry?” I reply.
“You’ve let your past define you.”
“About that,” I start, my voice low and serious. “If we’re moving on together, I have to tell you about her, Annika. But not just her, what happened to me when I was younger. How it defined me.”
She tilts her head, waiting for me to continue.
I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the confession. “I met her at the Omerta Academy.”
Amelia’s eyebrows raise, but she remains silent, encouraging me to go on.
“She was Russian, and her name was Annika. We were together for a year, but...” I pause. “She ended it because she had an arranged marriage to a Russian man. It broke Dom for years. Not me. You see, I was kidnapped when I was a young boy.”
“Kidnapped?” she whispers.
“I was eight,” I say, my voice growing distant as the memories surface. “A man grabbed me from outside our home. And he held me in a basement for five days.”
Amelia’s hand finds mine, squeezing gently.
“The bastard kept me tied to a chair, barely fed me. He’d call my father, making threats, demanding ten million dollars.” I clench my jaw. The fear from those days is still raw. “I remember the cold concrete floor, the smell of mold, his voice. Which was always angry, always threatening to kill me if my father didn’t pay.”
“Your father paid?” Amelia asks softly.
“Immediately. Didn’t even try to negotiate.” I run my thumb over her knuckles. “When he came to make the drop, the kidnapper got cocky. Started waving his gun around, bragging about how easy it was to take me and told him he wanted more money.”
“What happened?”
“My father shot him. Claimed self-defense when the police arrived.” I let out a hollow laugh. “Nobody questioned it. Rich man protecting his son—case closed.”
Amelia shifts closer, resting her head on my shoulder. “Your father must love you very much. To pay without hesitation like that. To kill him without hesitation.”
“Maybe.” I pause, considering her words. “Or perhaps he couldn’t stand the idea of looking weak. With my father, it’s hard to tell where love ends and pride begins.”
The warmth of her body against mine anchors me to the present, away from those dark memories of the basement.
“That’s why I struggle with him now,” I admit. “Everything’s about control with him. Even love comes with conditions. He’s never let me forget what he did for me. And the reason I used to pull back from…love. You never know when it’ll change.”
Amelia’s hand finds mine.
“Annika got closer than anyone, but I felt safe because of Dom. But after Annika left without a second thought, leaving Dom broken hearted,” I swallow. “I knew I never wanted to get involved with anyone again. That’s why I watched others at Club Elysium. It was my fix. It was safer that way.”
“Safer to not love?”
I nod.
Understanding dawns in Amelia’s eyes. She squeezes my hand.
I reach out, cupping her chin and tilting her face up so our eyes meet. The warmth in her gaze nearly undoes me. “Until You. The day I saw you walking across the beach.”
She gasps.
“I knew the moment you walked into my life that you were special.” Her breath catches, I continue, “I never thought I was capable of loving someone.”
She shakes a little, and her eyes glisten and she murmurs, “You love me?”
The words pulse between us, igniting something deep inside me. “I do.”
My heart races, thrumming like a drum in my chest as I lean closer.
She doesn’t pull away; instead, she inches closer, closing the gap between us with a sudden rush of desire.
I cup her face in my hands, and I can’t hold back any longer. I lean in, capturing her lips with mine.
The kiss starts gently, but it quickly deepens as we both lean into it. Her fingers grip my shoulders, curling into the fabric of my shirt as she pulls me closer still.
My mind races with thoughts of everything that has led us to this moment, but right now, none of that matters. All that exists is us.
She kisses me back. It’s fierce. Her lips move against mine, and it tells me more than words ever could.
I pull back just enough to meet her gaze again.
“I love you, too,” she says.
I smile. “Now get that photo so we can get on with our future.”
"Yes boss."