Chapter Text
“Ms. Sweeney!” Matt Miller perked up immediately as the elevator slid open, revealing the fiery-haired woman, “You came! Thank god.” His accent greeted Amilia as she approached the group of leaders. Eddie Pryor’s dark eyes locked with stormy grey ones, contact unwavering until Amilia glanced away.
“Sorry, I’m late. My usual babysitter is sick and canceled at the last second. Where’s Leron?” With a manicured hand, she brushed an unruly strand of ginger hair behind her ear and glanced between the two men staring at her.
“It’s fine; nothing’s happening. Our gracious host has yet to arrive.” Eddie assured her, rolling his eyes while lifting his cup to his lips. Amilia squinted at him and studied the sharpness of his jaw, Roman nose, and high cheekbones. She had always been envious of his clear complexion, the softness of his skin visible from where she stood. The towering man pulled the drink away from his bow lips and shook the empty cup, ice rattling against the glass.
“Top me off. Top shelf scotch.” Edward’s eyes raked over Amilia’s body, taking in the satin skin-tight dress that hugged her curves—the blood-red fabric spilled at the thigh, exposing her plump legs clad in dark pantyhose. Given the opportunity, the famous wrestler had no doubt he could turn the small woman into putty in his palm if he wore her down far enough. How desperately Eddie wanted to be the purse dangling off her shoulder and resting against her hip.
Amilia, however, felt certain she’d never let anything happen between her and any coworker. Attachments like that in a business like the one Amilia had fallen back into was a recipe for disaster, and she knew it. Heart still aching with the loss of real, true love, Amilia wasn’t desperate to relive the experience.
The freckled-faced woman rolled her eyes and forced a smile, “Of course, sir. I'll get that right away, sir.” Then, the ginger woman excused herself. The party's chatter overwhelmed her as Amilia strolled to the stairs, gripping a handful of her dress's skirt and lifting it not to trip. With one hand on the banister and one hand full of satin red fabric, the woman climbed the steps.
Of course, maybe that fear of commitment and loss made the decision of coupling off with Josh Burke so easy. At that moment, when Leron slid the contract across the table, Amilia could see no better option. Now, she found herself in the limbo of being a celebrity girlfriend.
“Wow,” Amilia muttered to herself, eyes bouncing from the greenhouse entrance directly across from the stairs. She needed to retrieve something from the bar through the arch away to her left, but the moonlight beaming through the sunroof of the greenhouse distracted her from her thoughts and whatever Eddie had asked of her.
The humid air hit her as soon as the woman stepped inside, as well as the ten-degree increase. She inhaled the damp, earthy smell and grinned, strolling through the foliage. New flowers and vining plants littered the healthy and vibrant green surrounding the woman. She extended her hand and stroked the damp leaves of a purple flowering vine that climbed to the ceiling. The scent around them became lightly floral and soft. The ginger woman curled her palm around the blossoms and leaned in, inhaling the scent. It smelled like home. Suddenly, the tension in her shoulders settled, and Amilia found herself sighing contentedly. She trailed along the red rose bushes that lined the walls of glass. Their aromatic scent wafted through the air as Amilia strolled through the boxed foliage. The stars overhead struggled to shine through the city's light pollution, barely visible.
She crouched by flowering sweet peas and lifted the thick leaves, exposing a handful of painted stones. With a manicured hand, Amilia reached for one. In her palm sat a crudely painted daisy with ‘Luis’ painted on the back. The squatting woman flipped the stone a few times in her hands and smiled, putting it back and taking a different one out. Amilia stared down at a smiling face painted into the stone this time.
“Aw, Gino.” Amilia chuckled to herself and held the rock so she was eye-to-painted-eye with it, “It’s been a while, huh? How’s it—?”
Gunshots suddenly echoed from the penthouse, causing Amilia to jolt to her feet and knock a planter onto the floor. Sharp, blood-curdling screams ripped through the air. Her heart sank as she went to the door leading into the back into the chaos, slipping the stone into her purse that dangled at her side. As her hand hovered over the doorknob, more gunshots came from behind it. Her hand flinched away, eyes darting to the other door that led out into the rooftop patio. Inhaling through her nose, Amilia forced herself to flee to the rooftop, the roar of gunfire only growing louder.
Her feet carried her around a corner, and Amilia’s grey eyes widened, “W-Wait! Please!”
“Why should I?” The Saint thug aiming a pistol straight at Amilia’s head huffed, dark brown eyes narrowing at the redheaded. He watched as she quietly looked him over. They had no idea who the other was.
“I have a son! He’s a helpless baby,” Amilia answered half-honest. The young man visibly recoiled. “I’m all he has. Please don’t do this.”
“sh*t.” He muttered, lowering the gun, “O-Okay, just go.” The Saint looked over his shoulder and gestured with the gun for Amilia to move along. At that moment, a part of the ginger woman wanted to snatch the gun from the young man and fire the chamber into his skull. A deep instinct growled, hungry and unstated by a docile life.
“Thank you so much! T-Thank you!” Amilia stood from her kneeled position and hurried past the man, heart pounding hard in her ears. She choked back the urge to retaliate as another, more ancient instinct rattled her: loyalty to the Saints. The feeling caused her stomach to knot.
Once back inside, the redheaded woman studied the room she entered. The home gym. To her left was a large glass wall, exposing her to the carnage on the rooftop patio. Ahead of her led into the main living room, where the gunfire was the loudest. To her left, a closed door led to Leron’s home office. She had been here hundreds of times, and the penthouse’s layout was as familiar as her own home. Amilia had convinced herself that it was because Philippe got lonely in that big penthouse and liked Luis and herself's company. The idea of the older man’s ulterior motives stayed firmly in the back of her mind, and she tried to ignore the history embedded within the walls of the place.
Instead, Amilia stalked towards the closed door, ducking behind the bulky gym equipment. Once in front of it, the freckled-faced woman pushed open the door and quietly closed it behind her. She turned, pressed her back to the door, and met the familiar ones, staring back in shock.
“A-Ami?!” Shaundi stood from the desk chair, jaw agape at the ghost before her. Amilia swallowed nervously, glancing at the door across from her that would put her close enough to the elevator for an almost possible escape. She opened her mouth but had no words, absolutely nothing to say. With a hand still on the doorknob, Amilia considered fleeing until gunfire echoed from behind her.
“I—“ Amilia started, afraid to take her back from the door, “I can explain!” She forced herself to say as Shaundi walked around the desk and clutched a sizable pistol in her hand. She stared in shock, then grinned as if some master plan had formed in her head.
“Sit.” Shaundi gestured to the desk chair at the computer. Amilia slowly crossed the room and obliged, eyes never leaving Shaundi’s. The leather squeaked against the satin dress. “Explain how you’re not dead while you unlock this for me.”
“O-Okay…” Amilia chewed her bottom lip and positioned her fingers over the keyboard. She couldn’t believe how easy it felt to do what Shaundi asked. “You look great. I’m sorry about Johnny...”
“Mhmm, you too.” The brunette nodded coldly, “Explain.”
Amilia cleared her throat, “Well, the gist of it is, I had to fake my death to get out of Stilwater alive. Dane Vogul would’ve killed me, and honestly,” Amilia glanced away from Shaundi and to the screen, “I couldn’t realistically raise my son around someone like Beth.”
“So what, you work for Leron now?” Shaundi set the gun on the desk and sat on the corner. Amilia nodded.
“Yeah, sure…” The redheaded woman chuckled to herself, the old-school keyboard clacking away under her fingertips. The gunfire seemed to pulse and came in waves.
“Huh.” Shaundi smacked the tongue against her cheek. The brunette tried to formulate good questions as Amilia stood and offered the chair to Shaundi.
“There. I helped you; now you’re gonna help me, right?” Amilia leaned against the desk, watching closely as Shaundi settled into the leather seat. Shaundi chuckled. “I will literally get my head ripped off my body if anyone finds out I let you use this computer. I’m not exaggerating.”
“Fine.” Shaundi rolled her eyes but grinned. How happy she was that Ami was alive, not because she was glad her friend never died. No, Shaundi intended to use this to her advantage. “Can I ask you something first?”
“Please just let me leave,” Amilia stressed, swallowing the lump of anxiety forming in the back of her throat. Shaundi shook her head, “After.”
“Fine, what?” Amilia sighed and glanced between the pistol on the corner of the desk and the door. Survival or loyalty, which instinct would triumph?
“You keep up with the stuff happening with Carlos?” Shaundi asked and grinned as Amilia physically recoiled. The redheaded woman frowned and struggled to find words. She stood from the desk and shook her head. A sharp knife of emotion twisted between her ribs.
“No,” She lied.
“Shame. Your baby daddy’s been up to all kinds of stuff.” Shaundi stated bluntly, “Real shame, you seemed to have done great without us. According to this, Miss Head of Marketing..” Her eyes scanned the screen, taking in all of Amilia’s accomplishments.
“You know about Luis then, so let me leave.” Amilia groaned, frowning at her old friend until Shaundi nodded.
“Fine, as long as you stay out of the Saints way, I won’t tell anyone about you. Deal?” The brunette glanced up from the screen and grinned like a predator.
Amilia squinted at her; no other choice was present. “Deal.”
As Amilia slipped out the door, she immediately stalked down the stairs to the ‘basem*nt’ of the penthouse. Assuming that the safest way to escape was through the service elevator, the fiery-haired woman snuck down the marble stairs. The grey concrete walls, floors, and ceiling awoke a deep phobia in Amilia. Her breath shuttered as she moved forward, the gunfire fading.
Amilia turned a corner and came face to face with the barrel of a pistol. Flinching back in shock, then acting on instinct, the redheaded woman took the gun’s owner by the wrist and threw him onto the floor. The accent table and the decor lining shook from the force.
Carlos gasped, struggling to inhale as the ginger woman stood over him and gawked. If he would’ve been able to breathe correctly, he’d be gawking back.
As if history wanted to prove that it indeed repeated itself, the heavily tattooed man gripped his chest and desperately struggled to catch his breath. His toffee brown eyes studied the shocked storm-grey one staring back.
Above him stood the woman who had been plaguing his dreams and nightmares for the past four years, the woman whose death had left a gaping hole in his heart: Ami Chavez.
“I—“ Amilia opened her mouth to speak, wide eyes studying Carlos’s pained face, “I’m so sorry.” Her eyes bounced to the end of the hall as a small group busted through the door. In her haste to get home to Luis, she reached down and took the gun from Carlos’s hand. “I’m sorry.”
Amilia turned and sprinted down the hallway.
“sh*t! She threw you over on your ass, dude. Who was that?” Beth chuckled as she approached. Carlos ignored her, and a fire ignited inside him, and he jumped off the floor. He could still see the fiery-haired woman at the very end of the hall, standing at the opening elevator. Determination filled his chest like a bloodhound mad at the scent of a bloodied rabbit, and Carlos let out a sharp bark.
“Ami, stop!” The name boomed from him and echoed through the narrow cement hallway, causing the woman to look back and stare at the man she used to call home. Her eyes held the toffee brown ones boring into her, begging her not to go. When she did not move, he began to run towards her, legs carrying him in their own accord.
Amilia felt her stomach drop into her shoes as Carlos jumped off the floor and dashed in her direction, rapidly pressing the call button repeatedly. The door finally dinged and slid open, allowing Amilia to squeeze past the opening doors as Carlos came too close to her. She then jammed her finger in the button to shut the elevator door.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” She whispered as their eyes met in an intense and overwhelming gaze. “I’m so sorry, Carlos. You’ll understand. You have to...”
Carlos slammed his palms into the silver metal and stared at the closed elevator doors, heart hammering so hard that he shook. His name coated in that long-lost voice floated in his brain, the sound sweeter than he had remembered.
“Carlos! What the f*ck are you do—“ Beth yelled, chasing her lieutenant down. However, Carlos’s brain was churning so loudly that he only heard his own thoughts. Then, like a bolt of lightning, an idea shot through his head, eyes bouncing upward to the number above the elevator. Then, he turned and bolted through the stairwell door.
“Carlos!” Beth tossed her arms up, furrowing her brows at the blatant disrespect. The heavy metal door slammed shut, followed by the sound of feet slamming down the steps. The sound filled the narrow space like thunder as the man with one mission threw himself up the stairs.
Carlos puffed and gasped before the elevator, watching it slide open a second after his arrival. Amilia’s eyes widened; there was no time to react as Carlos entered the small space. Amilia trembled as the door slid shut behind him. She had seen the tabloids, the new articles, and all the scandals Carlos had participated in over the years. Aggravated assault, among other things, had become a recurring theme.
“I-I—“ Amilia pressed herself against the back wall as Carlos stepped closer again. “Please don’t—“ Tears began to well in her eyes, those grey stormy eyes that Carlos thought were gone forever. A piece of the shattered, unfillable void that loomed his chest returned to him, and it seemed his heart would mend itself together.
“It’s really you.” Carlos took her face in his palm, frowning as she flinched, “You’re— You…” He tilted her head, watching as she squeezed her eyes shut and swallowed audibly. The woman trembled as he brushed his thumb over her freckled cheek and the familiar scars he had once known so intimately. He thought maybe he had been dreaming before. But now, with the warmth of her face radiating through his hand and the tears dripping onto his hand. “Ami, you don’t know how happy—“
Before he could finish, Amilia pressed the barrel of his own pistol against his sternum and pushed him back with it.
“B-Back up,” She demanded, “Now.” Her eyes sharpened, grip still trembling as Carlos took a step back. They both seemed overwhelmed with questions, staring at each other in total bewilderment. Carlos had no choice but to obey.
“What..? Ami, what are you doing? I-It’s me, c’mon..” The toffee-eyed rockstar put his hands up, gaze bouncing from her eyes to the gun, his gun. She swallowed audibly and inhaled deeply through her nose. An unexpected and frightened sob forced itself from Amilia’s lips.
The terrified mother wanted one thing, “Get out of my way.”
“W-What?” Carlos’s bloodshot eyes bounced all over Amilia’s face, confusion and pain clear as day. That small shard of his heart struggled in his chest, wanting to break away. He saw her clearly: her pain and fear, the blood running down her arm and staining her satin dress. In her stormy eyes, Carlos couldn’t find any love or joy, only pain and swelling anger.
“Get out of my way and let me out, Carlos!” She whimpered with as much authority as she could manage and squeezed the grip tightly. “I’ve worked too hard to give Luis a good life, a safe life! The Saints won’t take me from him!” Carlos watched her, studied her tense position, and thought she resembled a terrified, cornered animal. He hated the way her eyes cautiously watched him.
“Luis? You kept the baby..?” He whispered as reality hit him, and he suddenly felt dizzy. He placed his hand over his mouth and stared at the floor.
“That was your plan, right? Bust here and take the place for yourselves. Kill everyone in the building?!” She hissed, worried she’d burst into sobs if she spoke louder. “You’re after Leron because of Johnny, right? Revenge, right?” She laughed, sniffling deeply while using the back of her hand to wipe her face. Carlos looked away in shame. That had been their whole plan.
“Ami, we didn’t know! We thought you were—“
“Dead? Yeah, that was the point.” Amilia snapped, “To keep sh*t like this from happening to me and my son!” Carlos stared at her, brain struggling to connect the dots of their situation. The phrase “my son” stung, now knowing that he had missed five years of not just Ami’s life but their son’s too. He turned around, and his finger hovered over the button panel.
“What are you doing?” Amilia whimpered.
“I’ll take you home, but you need to lower the gun, Ami. Deal?” Carlos glanced at her over his shoulder, those toffee-brown eyes sparking something inside Amilia that had long been dead. She swallowed the lump in her throat and slowly lowered the gun, holding it limply in one hand. The icy chill of logic that had filtered every action since her arrival loosened. An old, almost unrecognizable, warmth filled her chest.
“Y-You don’t need to.” The freckled-faced woman whispered, watching as Carlos nodded and pressed the button for the underground parking garage. Carlos cleared his throat and kept his back to Amilia. The silence suffocated the freckled woman, gripping her throat so tight that she might faint.
“So, you’re not dead.” Carlos finally sighed, not turning to look at Amilia, “And Luis isn’t either.” He felt his stomach churn, the last five years of hedonistic debauchery replaying in his head. The headlines she must’ve seen, the scandals.
“Nope..”
“Ami—
“My name is not Ami! For f*ck sake, my name is Amilia!” The ginger woman huffed, crossing her arms over her chest with a deep sigh of annoyance. Mostly, she felt angry with herself as her heart raced and her cheeks flushed. Carlos flinched back, Dane’s words echoing through his head. The rat-faced man had been the truth.
“I’m sorry.” The Burnett man mumbled with little confidence. “A-Amilia..” The name sat heavily on his tongue, dumbfounded that the name he had heard whispered through his career circle this whole time had been none other than his long-lost love.
“So Dane Vogul was telling the truth…” Carlos rubbed his face, sobering him thoroughly throughout the whole situation. “God, he was telling the truth.”
Amilia remained silent. The silence unsettled Carlos as the feeling of dropping Dane Vogul from one hundred stories high crept back in.
“You killed your dad.”
“You killed Dane Vogul.” Amilia retorted.
“How do you know about that?” Carlos huffed and turned completely. “We didn’t tell anyone about that.”
“Troy told me.” Amilia sighed, “Troy is the one who got me out of Stilwater.”
“He helped you fake your death?” Carlos added pointedly. Amilia rolled her eyes.
“Not like it was my master plan. I was told it was just going to be a ‘kidnapping,’” Amilia lifted a hand and made air quotes, “That I’d go back to Stilwater after… Well, after Beth got arrested again...”
“After the Saints got arrested, including me, you mean?” Carlos leaned back against the elevator wall and crossed his arms over his chest.
“Not you.” Amilia huffed, “Troy and I had a deal… Then someone followed us the night it was supposed to happen. Troy panicked, and things changed at the last second…” Amilia explained somberly, vividly remembering as Troy frantically threw prop blood over the whole room as another officer helped squeeze her through the side window. It had happened so fast that Amilia didn’t even realize what had happened until they landed in Steelport the following day.
Before Carlos could ask anything else, the doors slid open, and Amilia moved with purpose, only to find her arm caught in Carlos’s grasp.
“Wait.”
“Don’t—!” Amilia lifted her hand, ready to slap Carlos right in the face, “D-Don’t grab me like that.” She exhaled through her nose and lowered her hand. “Let go of me now.”
Carlos released her arm and watched as she stepped back. Her voice held much more authority now, her confidence as a leader returning as the toffee-brown-eyed man frowned deeply at her. Amilia thought it felt strange to see them in person again instead of through a screen.
“Don’t just run off again!” Carlos snapped, scowling at her. Carlos’s eyes dropped to the gun, clenched tightly in Amilia’s hand. She seemed to sense his gaze and lifted it to his eye level, no tremor in her hand this time.
“You think I’m letting the Saints use me for leverage in another gang war, then you’ve gotten even dumber than I thought.” Amilia snapped, far harsher than she meant, “I’ve got a baby to think about, so whatever plans Beth has for Leron, for the Syndicate, leave me the f*ck out of it.”
“Ami— Amilia,” Carlos corrected himself, “You don’t have to do this. It’s me,” He gently coaxed her with his hand outstretched, “You don’t have to be afraid of me; I—“ Carlos’s soft expression hardened as he inched close enough to smack the pistol out of Amilia’s hand into the ground. As the redheaded woman dove for the ground, her eyes focused on him. She didn’t notice as Carlos pulled the gun over with his foot. He watched as her hand moved to where the gun should’ve been and rubbed the empty space on the floor. The look in her eyes told him clearly that she would’ve shot him if it had been there. Her eyes bounced to Carlos’s feet, but the man bent down and picked it up before she could move.
The redhead expected to stare down the barrel again, but Carlos tucked the pistol into his waistband and stood there. His toffee-brown eyes studied them intensely, guilt and fury bubbling up in his stomach at Amilia’s scared expression.
“So, what now?” Amilia sighed, “You caught me.”
“What do you mean now what?” Carlos scoffed, “I’m obviously not going to kill you.” He shook his head, frustrated at the thought.
“What about Beth?” Amilia huffed back.
“She won’t kill you if she realizes you’re useful.”
“What if I’m not? What if I don’t want to be ‘useful’ to the Saints?” Amilia hissed, slowly standing while dusting her palms off. Carlos physically recoiled at her reaction, toffee-brown eyes bouncing all over her.
“Ami— Amilia.” Carlos corrected himself, “Just get in the f*cking car.”
