Chapter 4: He Called Me Amelia

AMELIA

Every hour, at ten minutes to the hour, a guard passed the east wing door. I had known that rule since I was fifteen.

I pressed my back against the wood and counted. Eight minutes. The heavy boots would come, pause, and move on. Nobody ever opened a door in the east wing without Luca's permission.

"Sofia?" Luca mumbled again.

"Hush," I whispered, low and rough, so he would not know my voice.

"You are not wearing your lilies."

"I took them off."

"Why?"

"I wanted to be someone else tonight."

"Funny." He laughed weakly. "So did I."

I crossed the dark room. Before I sat, I slipped the silver compass down inside my dress, where the chain lay cold against my skin. Then I perched on the edge of the bed. His hand found my wrist, and he went very still.

"Your hands are small," he said.

"Yes."

"Sofia's hands are not small." His thumb moved across the scar on my palm and stopped. "What is this?"

"A scar."

"From what?"

"A broken plate. A long time ago."

His fingers tightened around mine. "I know that story."

"You are dizzy."

"Maybe." He let go. "Take off the mask."

"No."

"Why?"

"Because if you see me, you will stop."

"What if I want to stop?"

"Do you?"

A long pause hung in the heavy dark. His hand slid up from my wrist, his long fingers trailing a path of fire along my inner arm before cupping my cheek. "No."

I should have run. I should have said my own name. But he was warm and shaking and real, and in a few hours I would be gone.

"Sofia," he said slowly, his voice laced with the feverish haze of whatever had been slipped into his drink. "May I tell you something?"

"Yes."

"Everyone in this house lies to me." His thumb brushed my cheekbone, tracing the edge of the white silk mask. "My father lies. My aunt lies. The Capos smile and lie. I can count on one hand the people who do not."

"Who are they?"

"Rico. And a girl who cannot lie to save her life."

My breath caught in my throat. "What girl?"

"She says 'it is fine, I am used to it,' and her eyes say the opposite." His voice cracked slightly. "I never know what to do with her."

"What would you like to do?"

"Ask her what she wants." He swallowed, his gaze fixed on my shadowed lips. "And then give it to her."

My eyes burned behind the mask. "Maybe she does not know what she wants."

"Then I would wait." A faint smile touched his lips. "I am very good at waiting."

I could not speak. He leaned forward, his mouth finding mine in the dark. It was a slow, deep kiss that tasted of bitter liquor and pure desire. It was nothing like I had imagined; it was better and worse, because every part of it belonged to another woman's name.

"Are you afraid?" he murmured, his breath hot against my mouth.

"A little."

"Of me?"

"Of tomorrow."

"Tomorrow can wait."

His hands moved to my shoulders, careful and slow, finding the hidden fastener at the back of my gown. The zipper of my blue dress whispered open in the dark, the silk slipping down over my arms to pool at my waist.

"You are shaking," he said, his palms tracing the smooth curve of my ribs.

"So are you."

"I am a DeSanto. We do not shake."

"You are shaking."

"Then perhaps I am not a DeSanto tonight."

His broad hands pressed firmly into the small of my back, drawing me flush against his hard, heat-radiating chest. The sudden, intimate contact of skin against skin made my breath hitch. He leaned down, burying his mouth in the crook of my neck, kissing a searing path up to my jawline. Every touch sent a electric jolt straight through me.

He shifted, pulling me down with him onto the mattress. His large frame hovered over mine, his weight a heavy, grounding anchor in the dark. His hands slid beneath the fallen silk of my dress, his fingers gripping my hips, pulling my center tightly against the demanding ridge of his heat.

"Tell me something nobody knows about you," he rasped, his mouth lingering over my collarbone, his teeth grazing soft skin until I gasped aloud.

"I count the guards," I whispered, arching into his touch as his hand slid down the length of my thigh, gathering my skirt upward.

"Why?"

"So I always know when it is safe to move."

"That is the saddest thing I have ever heard."

His arms tightened around me, his fingers digging into my waist as he pressed himself against me with an urgent, relentless rhythm. The sheer sensation of him swept away every reservation I had ever carried. My fingers tangled in his dark hair, pulling him closer as his kisses turned fierce, possessive, and deep.

"Say something true," he growled against my throat, his hands molding my body to his, leaving no space between us.

"I am scared."

"Of what?"

"That I will wake up and this will be a dream."

"Then do not wake up."

After that, I stopped thinking about masks and mansions. I only knew the searing heat of his skin, the heavy rise and fall of his chest, and the way he held me like I was something he refused to lose. Somewhere in the dark, he murmured a name that was not mine, and for one stolen night, I let myself belong to him completely.

---

Gray light crept under the curtains.

Luca slept beside me, one heavy arm thrown across my waist, his breathing deep and even. The hard line of his jaw looked softer in sleep. The white mask lay discarded on the pillow.

"What have I done?" I whispered.

He did not move.

"You called for her, and I took it."

Nothing.

"You will wake up and hate me."

Nothing.

"If you ever see me again, pretend you do not know me."

Nothing.

"Please do not remember."

I slid out from under his arm, my legs trembling so violently I could barely stand. I zipped my dress, fished the compass out from inside it, and fastened it tightly at my throat. I set the mask on the dresser.

At the mirror, I saw a girl who had stolen one night.

"Goodbye, Luca," I whispered. "I love you. I have always loved you."

Outside, boots paused in the corridor and moved on. Ten to six. I had four minutes. I crossed to the door and wrapped my fingers around the handle.

"Amelia."

I froze.

His voice came from the bed, rough and half asleep. It was not slurred. It was not confused.

"Amelia. Wait."

I did not turn around. I could not. I pulled the door open and ran.

---

By seven o'clock, I had packed one bag. My hands would not stop shaking. I was folding my last sweater when the door opened without a knock.

"Amelia."

Luca stood in the doorway in yesterday's black shirt, his hair wild, his face gray. Behind him stood Rico Falco, tall and silent, with a shaved head, amber eyes, and a scar across his throat.

"Luca." My voice came out thin. "You should be in bed."

"I cannot lie down." He crossed the room and sat heavily on my narrow mattress. "Rico pulled the security footage."

"What footage?"

"Sofia left the gala an hour before I got sick." His jaw flexed. "She went out the side door. She never came upstairs."

My blood ran cold. "She left?"

"She left." He looked at his hands. "So the woman in my room was not her."

"Maybe someone else."

"Someone wearing her mask." His voice went flat and very quiet. "Someone who was waiting for me."

"Luca, you were drugged. You may have imagined..."

"I did not imagine it. I remember her." His eyes lifted. They were dark and raw. "I remember her hands, her voice. I remember that I felt safe."

My throat closed. "Safe?"

"For one night I felt safe, and she took it from me." He swallowed hard. "She drugged me, Amelia. Or she was working with whoever did."

Rico shifted by the door. "My men have checked the guest list twice, boss. Nobody matches."

"Check the staff." Luca did not look away from me. "Check the house. Check every room."

"You need Dr. Orlandi, boss."

"Later."

"Yes, boss."

Rico left. The door clicked shut. Luca and I were alone.

"In this family, drugging the heir is a death sentence," he said quietly. "My father will make sure of it."

I could not breathe. "Luca, what will you do when you find her?"

"I would ask her why."

"And then?"

"And then it will not be up to me." His jaw tightened. "I need your help." He took my hand, his fingers cold and trembling. "You see everything in this house. You notice what nobody else does. You are the only person I trust."

"Me?"

"Help me find her."

I looked at the man I loved. He had no idea he was holding the hand of the woman he was hunting.

"And when we do," Luca said softly, "I will not stop my father."