I stop in the doorway, meeting her gaze without flinching. Wearily, we take each other’s measure. After a moment, she gestures to the seat across from her. "Sit, caro."
I do. Slowly. Never looking away from her.
Between us, the hum of the engines grows louder, and the plane begins to roll. I lean back in my seat, weighing my options, measuring distance, angles, timing. Looking around, I realize it’s just the two of us in the cabin. No guards. No witnesses.
She catches the shift in my posture and chuckles, the sound low and knowing. Casually, she moves her hand, an almost elegant gesture, and adjusts the clasp of her clutch, just enough to flash the black handle of a Magnum nestled inside.
She doesn’t bother to close the bag all the way.
Message received.
She’s too far for me to make a move without her putting a bullet in me first. And I have no doubt she would, calmly, cleanly, even if it meant the plane went down in flames around us.
By all accounts, she is one cold-blooded, iron-hearted… what?
Not a lady. Even though she pretends to be.
Not a queen. Even though she wants to be.
Not even a devil. Even though she wears temptation like perfume.
Something worse. She smiles like salvation, but every word she speaks is a knife. Aimed and on target.
She crosses her legs, one elegant heel swinging idly, and studies me like I’m a puzzle she already half-solved. "So," she begins, in a voice that drips with amusement, "let’s start simple. Why the hell did you want to break into Silvestre’s home? Were you coming after me?"
Interesting. The woman rumored to know everything has no clue why I was there, which means she doesn't know about Sophia either. I vow to keep it that way and meet her eyes, allowing a slow, mocking smile to tug at the corners of my mouth. "Would you like to think that?"
Her lips curve, but it’s not from pleasure. "Men have tried to come after me before. They’re not around anymore."
Maybe she thinks that’s supposed to scare me. It doesn’t. I realize that the woman across from me is more dangerous than many men I've encountered, but the fact that she saved me intrigues me. For now, I'm inclined to play her little game. "Maybe they just weren’t very good at it," I counter, leaning back as far as the seatbelt allows.
She tilts her head, considering. "Coming from someone who was captured, gift-wrapped, and delivered to me. Doesn’t say much for your skill, does it?"
"Depends on how you look at it," I reply, not showing that her knife hit right where she wanted it to. "Some cages are worth getting into… if you know how to get out."
Her eyes narrow just enough to let me know she knows I'm bluffing. "Careful, caro. Men who think they’re clever tend to end up disappointing me."
"Then I guess you’ll just have to wait and see if I’m the exception."
For a moment, neither of us speaks. The hum of the engines fills the space, and the air between us is tight with unspoken threats and curiosity. She’s the one who breaks the silence first. "Fine," she says, settling deeper into her seat, "tit for tat then. Why were you going to attack the Valverde family?"
I shake my head slowly. "Why did you save me?"
Her lips tighten, just a fraction. Another standoff. Willagainst will. Stubbornness pressed hard against stubbornness. Neither of us is willing to blink first.
Then she says it, soft, almost like a sigh. "Oh, Raffael."
My eyes snap to hers. "How do you know my name?"
She smiles like a cat with its paw on a mouse’s tail. "What? Raffael DeSantis? Head founder and CEO of Umbra Arcana? Raised by Giorgio and Lucia DeSantis?" The way she says my parents’ names makes the air feel heavier. She tilts her head and studies me like she’s peeling back layers. "Also… your last name is a lie, isn’t it?"
She doesn’t push—yet. She lets the words hang there, tempting me to bite. It's hard, but I wait. The plane begins to level out. A flight attendant appears and asks, "Would you care for something to drink?"
"Two Negronis. Strong," Margarita says before I can open my mouth, her gaze never leaves mine. She doesn’t ask what I want; she decides.
I let the order hang in the air for a beat, then stop the attendant with a raised hand. "Blue Label. On the rocks."
The attendant nods and slips away. Margarita chuckles, low and musical, like she’s genuinely amused. "Well, if we’re done with the power plays…"
