I can’t keep the sarcasm from my voice.
I have no intention of calling him or his brothers. In fact, I have no intention of seeing any of them ever again after we get off this plane. Except for maybe the occasional obligatory event that Luna invites me to sometime in the future. But I don’t bother saying that as I slip my phone back into my purse and zip it closed.
Intentionally avoiding his gaze and pretending like he isn’t there, I turn my attention back to the window. It looks like final preparations are being made, and we’ll soon be on our way. Which only makes my anxiety spike back into overdrive.
“Hey.”
I glance in his direction. He’s sitting opposite me like a sinful king, effortlessly at ease and yet oozing a powerful menace that scares the crap out of me because I know where it comes from. This man is a criminal. He’s probably killed many times over. And he’ll do it again. He’d murder me without a second thought.
“What do you want?” I ask coolly.
Maybe I should find my AirPods and start an audiobook. Listening to a British accent bring a handsome, arrogant duke to life certainly holds some appeal. At least then I won’t be forced to converse with Alessio.
“You a nervous flyer?”
The anxiety returns, threatening to crush me. Before I can help it, I’m picturing the inside of the plane. My dad’s plane. The one I flew on so many times before that awful day. The one I should have been on, except for the fact that I’d come downwith a terrible cold and decided to stay behind. For a long time afterward, the guilt I had wrestled with had been enough to drown me.
Why had I lived? Why hadn’t I been on the plane with them?
“Isla?”
Alessio’s voice is sharp, commanding attention, and it cuts through my turbulent thoughts.
“Something like that,” I manage, answering him by summoning all the willpower I have.
I feel his stare on me, but I can’t look at him. I don’t want him to see what I’m feeling reflected in my expression, in my eyes. So I keep staring at the tarmac, where a pair of men in reflective gear are waving batons to direct the aircraft. We start moving, and my panic increases accordingly.
Part of me wants to tear out of my seat and demand to be let off the plane, even though I know I can’t do that. I need to get back to the States. I’m doing this for Luna.
Alessio gets up and walks toward the front of the plane. I exhale slowly, relieved that he’s decided to leave me alone. Hopefully, he’ll stay up there with his brothers, and they can continue plotting out their organized crime empire while we’re at thirty thousand feet. But it also feels strangely empty without his large body taking up the space opposite mine, encroaching on my territory with his long legs and big feet in his expensive Italian leather shoes.
I focus on breathing while the plane continues to roll, getting us into position for takeoff. The pilot comes on the intercom and announces that we should be ready to go in about five minutes. Five minutes, and then a four-hour flight back to the city and Luna’s new penthouse, where I’ll be spending the next two weeks.
I can do this.
A shadow falls over me, and I look up to discover Alessio is back. He has a wineglass in hand, which he offers me. “Here. It’s pinot grigio. It might calm some of your nerves.”
“It’s morning.”
“Who gives a fuck?”
His response is typical. I guess a man who plays by his own rules doesn’t believe in them. I don’t think a glass of wine is going to help, but I’m oddly touched that he’s making an effort.
“Thanks,” I say reluctantly and take the glass from him.
Our fingers brush on the stem, and for a brief, wild moment, awareness zings through me, potent as the rush of adrenaline on a roller coaster.
“No need to thank me. If you lose your shit and try to jump out a door, Luna and Priest will kill me.”
His expression is impassive. Fine. He’s not just being nice. He’s got an ulterior motive. But somehow, I’m still kind of touched that he noticed and cared enough to fetch me a glass of wine.
“I won’t jump out a door,” I say, because I can’t promise that I won’t lose my shit.
I should have changed my flight and traveled commercial. The trouble with that was I didn’t really have the money to pay the exorbitant difference for the new flight at the last minute. Not that I don’t have the funds—the trust from my parents, after all the red tape was settled, left me set. But I’ve never touched the money. I just can’t bring myself to do it.
“Drink,” he commands, folding himself back into the seat opposite mine.
“I thought you and your brothers were having a business meeting.”
