Chapter 3 - 30,00entures Above the AtlanticThe cabin of the private Gulfstream G650 looked less like an airplane and more like a luxury penthouse suspended in the stratosphere. Polished mahogany wood panels, cream-colored leather reclining seats, and crystal glassware lined the interior. It was dripping with obscene wealth, the kind of money that existed entirely outside the rules of normal society.
And I was sitting in the middle of it, wearing my favorite faded denim jacket and a pair of sneakers, staring blankly out the window at the endless expanse of black ocean below.
"Drink," a deep voice commanded.
I jumped slightly as Alessandro slid into the plush seat directly across from me. He had discarded his overcoat and suit jacket, leaving him in a crisp white dress shirt with the top two buttons undone, exposing the sun-bronzed skin of his throat. He handed me a crystal tumbler filled with sparkling water and a twist of lemon.
"I didn't agree to this," I muttered, refusing to look at the glass. "You kidnapped me with a first-class ticket and a veiled threat about a parking lot."
"I rescued you," Alessandro corrected smoothly, taking a slow sip of his own scotch. "My men intercepted two men lingering outside your apartment building twenty minutes after I left your café. Men carrying your photograph. They belonged to the Moretti syndicate. Do you know what the Morettis do to people who cross their path, Sophia?"
The chill in his voice wasn't theatrical; it was terrifyingly real. I swallowed hard, my anger faltering under the weight of sheer dread. "Why would the Morettis care about me?"
"Because they watched you in Central Park. They saw how I looked at you when I took my son back," Alessandro said, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made it difficult to breathe. "In my world, perception is reality. If my enemies believe you matter to me, you are a target. And the only way to keep you alive is to keep you where my eyes can see you."
"And what happens when you get tired of watching me?" I snapped, a sudden surge of adrenaline overriding my fear. "What happens when your enemies realize I'm just a pawn you dragged halfway across the world on a whim? Do I get discarded in an Italian alleyway?"
Before I could blink, Alessandro moved. In a blur of motion, he unbuckled, leaned across the narrow space between our seats, and gripped my chin with his warm, calloused fingers. His thumb brushed lightly over my lower lip, silencing me instantly. His touch was firm, authoritative, yet impossibly gentle.
"Listen to me very carefully, Sophia," he murmured, his face inches from mine. "You are never a pawn. You are the woman who brought my son back to me when the rest of the world walked away. You belong to my protection now. And no one—no one—touches what belongs to Alessandro Russo."
His breath smelled faintly of oak and expensive liquor. For a terrifying, breathless second, I didn't want him to let go. My body leaned into his touch, betraying every logical warning bell screaming in my head.
Suddenly, the cockpit door slid open, and Marco stepped into the cabin, breaking the spell.
"Boss," Marco said in rapid Italian, his face grim. "We have a secure communication from the estate in Tuscany. Someone has breached the outer perimeter."
Alessandro’s entire demeanor transformed in a fraction of a second. The brooding, magnetic man sitting in front of me vanished, replaced instantly by the ruthless mafia patriarch. His eyes turned black as midnight, cold and lethal.
May you like
He dropped his hand from my face, stood up tall, and pulled a heavy, silver-plated pistol from his shoulder holster, checking the chamber with practiced, terrifying ease.
"Prepare for descent," Alessandro told Marco, never breaking eye contact with me. "We are walking into a war zone."
