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In the aftermath of their neglect, Amelia had stepped in to pick up the pieces. To make sure that Issy had a meal to eat after school, did her homework on time. That clothes were washed and bills were paid. She’d had to wrestle money for food from their mother before she could spend it on whatever drug she could find to fill the hole left by her husband’s death. And in those horrible early years it had only been the idea of retribution against the Rossis that had kept her and Issy going. It had been her suggestion—their plan of vengeance—and they had clung to it like a lifeline. But she couldn’t hide from the truth any more. Page after page in that horrible file had peeled back the scales from her eyes and she had seen. Seen more than she’d ever wanted to.
It hadnevercrossed her mind that her father had been corrupt. Never. By the time Thomas Seymore lost his company she had been only fifteen years old. She’d been to his office only twice, his talk of work so boring when her life was full of the exclusive private school she and Issy had attended, piano lessons, ballet, the occasional horse-riding lesson. Until it had been snatched away from her, she had lived a life of blissful ignorance, never truly understanding the depth of her privilege. And when it had been snatched away? She’d known exactly who had been responsible. The two men who had visited with her father that Sunday afternoon.
Just like every week, Issy had prepared the vegetables while she’d made the Yorkshire pudding. The small glass of wine they’d been allowed with the meal had tasted rich and decadent and naughty. And when it had been interrupted, Amelia and Issy had listened at the doorway to their father’s office, giggling at the handsome Italian men meeting so importantly with their father. Until the conversation had become harsh and angry.
You are done, old man. Finished. You will never work in this industry again. And if you even think to try, we will make sure that you will regret it.
Everything you thought you had—it’s ours now and there is not a thing you can do about it. Any pathetic attempt to crawl back into this industry will be met with swift and significant reprisal. Know that and choose not to test us.
When they had left, Thomas Seymore had looked up to find the eyes of his wife and children on him, having heard the entire exchange. For a man whose pride and standing was everything, the two youths Alessandro and Gianni had been had struck their mark.
Only now, lying there cocooned in luxury once again, the words took on a different meaning—and rather than sheer hatred towards Alessandro and Gianni, Amelia now tossed and turned in the wake their accusations and taunts left behind them. Instead of arrogance and venomous poison, she heard the quake of injustice. Her father had conned them into buying land he knew they’d never be able to build on. He’d not simply seen them as soft targets, he’d purposefully set out to bribe an official to make it happen. How many other times had he done something like that? How many other people had he scammed and conned?
And...Oh, God. Firstview. The Aurora project. Issy!
A sob rose to her lips and she tried to cover her mouth with her hand.
‘Amelia...’
Her sob turned into a cry of alarm. She hadn’t realised she wasn’t alone and the thought that Alessandro had witnessed her pain made her feel vulnerable and exposed in a way she’d never experienced before.
‘I’m sorry... It’s okay,you’reokay,’ Alessandro said, his tone unusually gentle and careful.
She inhaled a shaky breath and turned to find him sitting in a chair in the corner of a room she didn’t recognise. He looked...terrible. His shirt was undone at the collar, sleeves rolled back and there wasn’t an inch of clothing that wasn’t creased or crumpled in some way. The stubble she remembered had morphed into something much more substantial—the beard lending him even more of a forbidding appearance.
‘Where am I?’ she asked, trying to sit up. Hand out in a gesture for her to stop, he took a breath—nearly as shaken as her own.
‘In my home.’
‘Not the pool house?’
He shook his head once.
Taking a quick assessment, she realised she was no longer in the business suit she’d worn before. She shot him a look full of accusation and the hand he’d held out shot up in surrender.
‘Not me,’ he said simply.
‘Then who?’ she growled.
‘My doctor.’
She frowned. She remembered standing from the table, the shock loosening her fingers on the file, the paper dropping and a look of alarm so stark in his eyes that she felt genuinely scared but she didn’t know what for and then...
‘I fainted,’ she remembered. ‘You called a doctor?’
‘Of course,’ he replied, outraged by her surprise—as if she’d accused him of breaking the Geneva Convention. She swallowed, her throat painfully dry. Alessandro must have noticed as he stood from the chair and brought her a glass of water. She had to crane her neck to look up at him, and he stared at a spot beside her on the bed as if not wanting to make eye contact. ‘Can you...?’
She nodded, levering herself up against the headboard. She took the glass from his hands, careful not to make contact. She didn’t know if that might send her back into a faint.
A knock on the door drew her attention to a little old man with deeply tanned skin and a shock of white hair.
‘Ahh, you are awake. Marvellous,’ he pronounced, as if she knew exactly who he was and why he would think it was marvellous. ‘Alessandro, if you would?’ The old man gestured for him to leave and Amelia held her breath. This was her chance! She needed to get out of here.
Once Alessandro left, she took a breath and turned to the old man. ‘I’ve been kidnapped. I’m being held against my will,’ she whispered urgently.
‘I know, dear,’ he said, sitting on the bed beside her, picking up her hand and patting it gently. ‘Alessandro explained everything.’
‘Wait, what?’ she asked, confused by a response that was entirely the opposite of what she’d been expecting.
