I smile mysteriously, opening the passenger door. “This is actually the smallest of the Toscano helicopters, only a two-seater.”
She paused, confused, “Where’s the pilot?”
Lifting her onto the seat and strapping her in, I lean in close. “I am.”
Her eyes are cartoonishly wide and it only makes me laugh again. “You have a license?”
“Of course.” I get in on my side and start the pre-flight check. “Since this is a shorter trip, I thought you might like to see the city from up close.”
“You really have a pilot’s license,” she asks urgently.
“Yes, baby, I do.” I wait until she’s put her headphones on and we can hear each other before I lift off. After a couple of minutes, she’s relaxing again.
“When did you get your helicopter pilot’s license,” she pursued, “isn’t the training really complicated?”
“It is more demanding than the certification to fly a plane,” I said.
“You know how to fly a plane, too?” she asks. “Of course. Of course, you do. Can I ask why?”
“Because we can never assume that our people can’t be compromised,” I said, checking my flight plan. “We always have to be able to get ourselves out of a situation.”
It’s quiet between us, only the crackle of the mic on our headsets. “You’re always on guard, aren’t you?” Cora asks, “You can never really relax.”
“There are ways to relax without letting down your guard,” I said, “sex, for instance.” That gets an elaborate eye-roll for the comment, though I know my sweet bride has been wondering why I haven’t been initiating sex. After that shitty encounter with Santos, I knew she would need some time to feel like she was back in control. She behaves the same during the day, pleasant and sweet, but she’s had nightmares nearly every night. I don’t think she remembers them the next morning, she’s always waking up with a determined smile.
“Oh, because during sex you’ve got some poor soul all tied up so you don’t have to worry?” As a snarky comment, it falls a little flat but I give her a filthy grin anyway. I intend to seduce my way back into my bride’s tight pussy tonight.
Ekaterina is already on her way to the helicopter pad when I land on top of Giovanni’s building in Manhattan. “Welcome!” she says happily, checking to see if Cora looks like she would like a hug before opening her arms wide.
“Thank you for having us,” Cora says warmly, hugging her back, “I’m assuming you got zero advance notice?”
“Well… I’m sure you know your husband can be impulsive,” Ekaterina says. She’s already got her arm linked with my wife’s and she’s leading her through the rooftop flower gardens and into the penthouse, where Giovanni is pouring drinks.
“Good to see you, brother,” he hands me a scotch, “how was the flight?”
“It was great, once my wife stopped silently freaking out and unclenched long enough to enjoy it,” I said, relishing the burn of the whiskey down my throat.
“Do you remember the ‘fun’ flight you took that model on when you got your license?” he reminded me, “It took the ground crew two days to clean up all the vomit.”
Shrugging, I watch my wife slowly warm up, smiling and nodding as Ekaterina is showing her around. “She was a model. She was going to throw up anyway. You know I handled this particular flight like I was carrying five hundred pounds of plastique. Gently. Very, very gently.”
“How is she doing?” Gio asked, his gaze following Cora and his wife.
“Better,” I said, “I discussed it with Dr. Longo and she said that, ironically, Cora is built for this life after being raised by her bastard father. She witnessed all the same things we did growing up, but unlike our parents, hers didn’t give a shit about her. The relief of seeing that motherfucker Santos getting his head blown right off his neck might have been oddly therapeutic.”
He’s side-eyeing me. “That sounds more like a response I’d hear from you.”
“Maybe I should have been a psychiatrist,” I said thoughtfully. He nearly chokes on his mouthful of Scotch and we join the ladies.
Cora…
Ekaterina and I decided a turn around the rooftop gardens was necessary after a spectacular meal from their Cuban chef. “You’re never going to live another happy day unless you can have hislechon asadodish, right?” She laughed. “I don’t want to tell you how many times I've begged for that for dinner.”
“Do you think I could take the rest of that home?” I asked, only half joking. “We could put it into a to-go bag?”
She smiled slyly. “I’ll see what I can do, we might have to pry it from Giovanni’s desperate grasp.”
“I’m sorry I never called you back,” I said softly.
