NICOLO
What. The. Fuck. Was. That?
This is already going off the course I had in mind when I agreed to this shitshow.
“Boss?” Beast’s voice crackles over the phone.
Breathing in, I answer him. “What is it, Beast?”
“There’s been some issues with the Castello. Electricity went out for a couple of hours. An electrician was brought over and fixed it, but it’s not a one and done. He said that the whole Castello needs electrical renovations. The wires are apparently in desperate need of replacing. And the electricity will go out again at some point.”
My fingers drag across my throat, slow and firm, back and forth. It’s not a nervous tic. It’s containment. The only physical outlet I allow myself while my voice stays calm and clinical on the line. The pressure centers me. Because if I don’t touch something, I might break something.
“Leave it for now. We’ll be landing in about eight hours. I expect the rooms to be ready and everyone to be at the entrance of the castle.”
“Everything will be exactly how you want it, boss.”
I end the call, slipping my phone back into my breast pocket. Heading back into the main cabin, I settle back into my seat across from the little problem I have to take care of for the next couple of weeks at minimum. Picking up the laptop from the floor, I set it back in front of me, this time on the pull-out side table.
I drag my fingers along the sharp line of my jaw, slow and rough. The stubble catches beneath my palm, a rasp of friction that does nothing to quiet my thoughts. I keep moving my hand anyway—back and forth. Again. Again.
The laptop screen in front of me is open to three different contracts, two flagged messages from New York, and a list of names that need decisions.
But none of it sticks. None of it matters.
Because she’s here. Still. Curled up in the chair across from like this is her personal lounge, legs folded, Kindle glowing softly in her hands. Her bottom lip is caught between her teeth, and she shifts every few seconds—subtle, thoughtless,addictive.I don’t even think she knows she’s doing it.
I move my hand again—rub harder this time, down the line of my neck, then back up across my jaw. Not because it itches. Because I need the sensation. Because the heat beneath my collar hasn’t cooled since she landed in my lap like she belonged there.
She hasn’t looked at me since I walked back in. Smart girl.
But that only makes it worse.
I glance back at the screen and try to refocus. There’s work to do. People waiting on orders. Deadlines. Numbers.
I run the largest security companies across three continents, and somehow, right now, my biggest threat is wearing a damn pink romper and pretending not to notice me. Another reason I stay as far as fucking possible from women who intrigue me. Ineed to get work done and I’m sitting here staring at a woman young enough to be my daughter.
The thought snaps me out of whatever weird spell she put me under and my fingers fly over the keyboard. I cross off three out of the five urgent matters I needed to get done when she speaks up.
“Are you not going to talk to me? I’m bored.”
Clenching my jaw, I keep my eyes trained on the laptop screen. “I’m not here to entertain you. And I don’t want to talk.”
I hear her inhale. Clicking over to my messages, I play an audio recording sent by one of my vice presidents.
“We need you to get on a call on the eighteenth of next month. One of the big accounts seems displeased with their security details.”
I quickly type out a message to my assistant to get in contact with Andrew Grande and to make sure to get the file of the client for me to go over before the end of this week.
Little Folonari seems to have had enough of my presence because she stands. “You said there’s a bed back there?”
Without looking up, I respond, “There is.”
She makes a sound at the back of her throat and drops the Kindle on her seat before heading toward the back. The door clicks shut, and silence settles in the cabin again. Heavy. Still.
I exhale through my nose and go back to typing the last two instructions to my assistant, then flag a security report from London and reply to Dante about the intel leak in Sicily. The cabin is exactly how I want it: empty, quiet and still.
Because that’s how I travel. Alone. No bodyguards, and no flight attendants. The only disturbance in that routine is the young woman who’s in the back. But she’s just a means to an end, and that’s exactly how she’ll stay.
