Chapter 11

Amelia's POV.

Two days passed in a blur of routine. Breakfast with Don Mateo. Long stretches of time alone in the penthouse. Marcus shadowing my every move like a second skin.

I should have felt suffocated, but instead I felt something else that I couldn't name.

Then the message came.

I was sitting in the living room, flipping through a magazine I wasn't reading, when my phone buzzed. The number was unknown, and for a second I considered ignoring it.

But I didn't.

I opened the message, and my breath caught.

"I have information about your kidnapping. Meet me at Rossi's on Fifth Street. 6 PM. Come alone."

My heart started pounding. I read the message three times, my fingers tightening around the phone.

This could be a trap. It probably was a trap. But the mention of my kidnapping made my stomach twist with curiosity.

What if they knew something I didn't?

What if this was the answer to the questions that had been gnawing at me since that night?

I knew I should ignore it. I knew I should tell Don Mateo or Marcus or anyone with a working sense of self-preservation.

But I also knew I wasn't going to.

When six o'clock came around, I waited until Marcus left to do his rounds. He always checked the perimeter at the same time every evening, a routine I had memorized without even trying.

The moment he disappeared around the corner, I slipped out through the side entrance. My heart was racing, my palms sweaty as I flagged down a cab.

"Rossi's on Fifth Street," I told the driver, my voice steadier than I felt.

The drive felt endless. Every stoplight made my anxiety spike. Every turn made me question what the hell I was doing.

But I didn't turn back.

When the cab pulled up in front of the small restaurant, I paid the driver and stepped out onto the sidewalk. The evening air was cool against my skin, but it did nothing to calm the heat building in my chest.

I pushed open the door and walked inside.

The restaurant was quiet, dimly lit, with only a handful of people scattered across the tables. My eyes scanned the room, searching for the person who had sent the message.

Then I saw him - Viktor.

He was sitting at a back table, his frame partially hidden in the shadows. The moment I recognized him, I stopped walking.

My stomach dropped.

What the hell was Viktor doing here?

He raised both hands slowly, palms up, like he was showing me he wasn't a threat. His voice was low when he spoke.

"Sit down, Amelia. Please."

I didn't move. My feet felt rooted to the floor, my mind racing with a thousand questions.

Viktor looked nothing like the last time I had seen him. He had bandages wrapped around his hands, thick and white, and a cut above his eye that was still healing. His face looked bruised, like someone had worked him over and left him to recover on his own.

My chest tightened.

"What happened to you?" I asked, my voice sharper than I intended.

"Sit down," he repeated, his tone softer now. "I'll explain everything."

I hesitated, my instincts screaming at me to turn around and leave. But curiosity won. It always did.

I crossed the room slowly and slid into the chair across from him. I didn't relax. My hands stayed folded in my lap, my shoulders tense.

Viktor watched me for a moment, then let out a slow breath.

"I'm not here to hurt you," he said quietly. "I just thought you deserved to know the truth."

"The truth about what?" I asked, my voice tight.

"About your husband."

My jaw clenched at the word. Husband. It still felt strange to hear someone call Mateo that.

"What about him?" I asked.

Viktor leaned back in his chair, wincing slightly like the movement hurt. He gestured to his bandaged hands.

"He paid me a visit," Viktor said. "After you became his wife."

My heart stuttered.

"What kind of visit?"

"Not a conversation," Viktor said, his voice flat. "A visit. The kind that comes with a message delivered through broken fingers."

I stared at him, my stomach twisting.

"He told me in very clear terms that I was never to contact you again. Never to attempt to see you. Never to even think about you," Viktor continued, his eyes locked on mine. "And if I did, the next visit wouldn't be so gentle."

My throat felt dry. I swallowed hard, trying to process what he was saying.

"Why are you telling me this?" I asked.

"Because you deserve to know exactly what kind of man you married," Viktor said. "And how far his reach goes."

I looked at him across the table, my chest tight. My mind was spinning, but I forced myself to stay calm.

"What do you expect me to do with that information?" I asked quietly.

Viktor said nothing. He just looked at me, his expression unreadable, like the answer was already written on my face.

I rose from the chair, my legs shaky but functional. I didn't say goodbye. I just turned and walked out of the restaurant.

The evening air hit me like a slap. I stood outside on the sidewalk, my breath coming in short bursts.

My mind was racing.

Mateo had gone to Viktor. He had broken his fingers. He had sent a message on my behalf without telling me.

I thought about the room tailored to my preferences. The guards arranged around my routine. The way he knew my tea, my clothes, my skincare products before I ever stepped foot in his home.

I thought about the man who chopped off fingers without flinching, who ran an empire built on fear and violence.

And then I thought about him sitting at the dinner table, asking me quietly if I had eaten. The way his voice softened when he called me Margherita. The way he looked at me like I mattered.

I didn't know whether to be grateful or afraid.

Maybe both.