The hallway was even more imposing up close. Door after door. Soft lighting. Expensive stillness. Her heels sounded too loud against the floor, so she slowed without meaning to.
One of the doors near the end was slightly open.
She pushed it
The room beyond made her stop.
Leather seating. Dark wood. Display walls lined with weapons arranged with the precision of museum pieces. Rifles, pistols, blades, polished and ordered as if they belonged to a private collection, not a life.
Her breath caught.
This wasn't a random storage room. It was curated. Controlled. Personal.
She stepped inside, then noticed another door farther in, almost hidden within the wall paneling.
That was when she heard it.
A voice.
Male. Low. Tight with fear.
She moved before she could think better of it.
The hidden door opened just enough for her to see through.
The air changed immediately. Colder. Heavier.
A man was tied to a chair.
Wrists bound. Head lowered. Another man stood off to the side, still and waiting. Marco stood in front of the restrained man, jacket gone, sleeves pushed back slightly, one hand braced against a table.
The room was so quiet it felt deliberate.
"Talk."
The word was not loud.
The man in the chair shook his head weakly. "I didn't—I swear, I didn't—"
Marco moved so suddenly Amelia flinched.
A chair crashed sideways.
The sharp sound cracked through the room.
That was the break.
Not shouting. Not chaos.
Just something tightly controlled snapping loose for one second.
Then stillness again.
Marco straightened slowly. Ran a hand over his jaw once. Stepped closer to the bound man.
"You don't get this wrong by accident."
Quiet.
Deadly.
The man started shaking harder. "I didn't sell anything. I didn't."
Marco grabbed his jaw and forced his head up.
Not wild. Not frantic.
Just enough.
"You were given a route."
Silence.
"You chose to sell it."
Amelia couldn't breathe.
Her body locked in place, every muscle tensed as if moving might make a sound.
Marco let go and stepped back.
Then he reached for the gun.
That was when he saw her.
It wasn't immediate.
Just a pause.
His head turned slightly.
His eyes landed on her.
And stilled.
Amelia's stomach dropped.
Her body went rigid.
Because this time there was no mistaking it.
The anger was still there.
Not loud. Not uncontrolled.
But sitting just beneath the surface, tight and dangerous.
She could see it in his jaw. In the way his hand tightened slightly around the gun. In the way his eyes did not soften.
Did not shift.
Did not look away.
Her breath caught.
Every instinct in her body screamed at her to move. To step back. To shut the door. To pretend she had never seen any of this.
She didn't.
She couldn't.
Because of the way he was looking at her.
Not surprised.
Not questioning.
Annoyed. Interrupted. Angry.
Her throat went dry.
Her pulse spiked.
And for the first time, not on the plane, not in the car, not even when he paid those hospital bills, she felt it clearly.
Sharp. Unavoidable.
Who the hell is this man?
She shouldn't have opened that door.
And the way he was looking at her—
she knew he was thinking the same thing.
⸻
Amelia didn't move.
She couldn't.
The door was still slightly open, her hand still resting against it, her body locked in place as his eyes stayed on hers.
The gun was still in his hand.
The room still smelled faintly of metal and something heavier she didn't want to name.
For a second—
nothing happened.
No one spoke.
No one moved.
Then Marco shifted.
Not toward her.
Away.
He handed the gun to one of the men beside him without looking.
"Take him out."
His voice was quiet.
Flat.
Controlled.
The men moved immediately.
The chair scraped against the floor. The restrained man struggled weakly, his voice breaking into something desperate, something pleading.
Amelia's chest tightened.
She stepped back instinctively.
The door opened wider behind her.
She didn't mean to do that.
Didn't mean to make it obvious—
But it was too late.
The man was dragged past her.
Close enough that she could see his face.
Fear.
Real.
Unfiltered.
Gone in seconds as they pulled him down the hallway and out of sight.
The sound of movement faded.
Then silence again.
He hadn't followed them.
Marco was still inside the room.
And now—
so was she.