Chapter 5 - Turbulence Over the AtlanticThe private Gulfstream jet cut through the turbulent midnight clouds at thirty-five thousand feet, bound for Zurich. Inside the cabin, luxury reigned supreme with leather recliners, polished oak accents, and crystal decanters. But the atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife.
I sat by the window, staring down at the endless black expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. The revelations about my father had shattered the fragile foundation of my entire existence. Eleven years of sacrificing my youth, my education, and my body to keep my mother alive—all because a coward chose greed over his own family.
The cabin door slid open, and Dominic stepped in, holding a steaming cup of black coffee. He sat down in the seat across from me, studying my profile in the dim cabin lighting.
"You're unusually quiet," Dominic noted. "Most people would be terrified of leaving the country with a mafia boss."
"I'm not terrified of you, Dominic," I said quietly, turning my head to look at him. "I'm terrified of what I'm going to do to my father when I find him."
Dominic's lips curved into a faint, appreciative smile. "Good. Anger is a better weapon than grief. Use it."
Suddenly, the jet gave a violent, stomach-dropping lurch. The overhead emergency lights flickered from white to harsh red, and a piercing alarm wailed through the cabin. Viktor burst into the room, his face pale and dripping with sweat.
"Boss! We have a severe mechanical failure!" Viktor shouted over the screaming wind. "The hydraulics are completely shot, and radar shows we're losing altitude fast. Someone tampered with the fuel lines before takeoff in Chicago!"
"Who had access to the tarmac?" Dominic demanded, standing up instantly, his aura of absolute command returning.
"Agent Miller," I realized aloud, my heart freezing. "The FBI agent Marcus was leaking to. He knew we were flying out tonight. This isn't a mechanical failure—it's an assassination attempt."
The jet banked violently to the left, sending loose items crashing against the cabin walls. Smoke began to billow from the cockpit ventilation shafts.
"The parachutes!" Viktor yelled, rushing toward the storage locker. "There are only two high-altitude rigs left in the emergency hatch!"
Dominic looked at the two parachutes, then down at me. Without a single second of hesitation, he grabbed one rig and shoved it into my arms, strapping the harness tightly across my chest.
"Put it on," Dominic ordered fiercely.
"There's only two! What about you and Viktor?" I shouted over the deafening roar of the failing engines.
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"I didn't survive twenty years at the top of the Chicago underworld to die in a burning metal tube," Dominic snarled, grabbing my collar and pulling me toward the emergency exit ramp that Viktor was desperately trying to unlock. "You're going to Zurich, Avery. Because whether you like it or not, your bloodline is tied to mine now."
With a deafening explosion, the main cabin door blew outward into the freezing, high-altitude gale, and the dark, terrifying abyss of the Atlantic rushed up to meet us.
