He closes the lid of his laptop, tucks it into the leather bag beside him, then watches me with that same unreadable steadiness, as if the morning hadn’t started with blood on his hands and ended with my life in ruins.As if this is nothing more than the next item on his agenda.
We drop the final few feet.Then the skids hit the landing pad with a jolt that travels through the frame and into my bones.The vibration shifts as the pilot throttles back.Dust surges upward in violent spirals outside the windows.
Before the blades have even slowed, the men inside the cabin move.
One soldier rises immediately, already reaching for the door.Another slings his weapon forward and steps out first, boots hitting the stone as he sweeps the perimeter in a practiced arc.The rest follow in a tight sequence that feels rehearsed down to the second.
By the time the door is pulled wide, the landing pad is already secured.
Dante pockets his phone and stands in one smooth movement, the low ceiling forcing him to incline his head slightly as he moves toward me.The space inside the helicopter seems to contract around him, as if the aircraft itself recognizes who’s in charge now that we’ve landed.
The door opens fully.
Noise and heat rush in together.
The wind from the blades whips through the cabin, tugging loose strands of hair across my face and sending the fabric of my dress fluttering helplessly around my legs.Dust skates across the stone outside in pale bursts of sunlight and limestone.
Dante steps down first and sweeps the terraces and perimeter walls with the same quiet authority he brings to everything else.The guards I noticed from the air shift subtly as he appears, tightening their positions along the property line.
Only after that quick survey does he turn back toward the helicopter.
Toward me.
For the first time since the wedding ended, something almost human flickers through his expression.
Not softness.
But something close to consideration.
He reaches up, one hand braced on the doorframe while the other slides around my waist.
The movement is decisive and surprisingly careful.
Before I can protest—or even brace myself—he lifts me cleanly from the seat and swings me down onto the landing pad as if the complicated sweep of silk and lace wrapped around my legs weighs nothing at all.
My heels touch limestone.
His hand remains at my elbow, steadying me for a fraction longer than strictly necessary.
Then he releases me.
The helicopter lifts away behind us almost immediately, the roar of the blades swelling again as the aircraft climbs back into the sky.Wind tears across the landing pad in its wake before fading into the distance, leaving the hilltop abruptly, almost eerily quiet.
Dante doesn’t speak.
He simply closes his fingers around my elbow and guides me toward the villa.
Not roughly.
Not gently either.
Just firmly enough to make it clear that this part of the day—like every other part of it—belongs to him.
Our footsteps carry across the broad limestone terrace as we cross toward the house.
The villa looms larger now, pale limestone walls glowing beneath the late morning sun.The infinity pool flashes blue to our left, its glassy surface spilling toward the vineyards below like a second sky.
Up close, the security presence is impossible to ignore.
