“We should really take trips more often,” Antonio mused, running a hand through his slick black hair. The motion made his muscles flex, the scorpion tattoo on his forearm shifting with the movement. He knew exactly what he was doing—showing off, even when there was no one to impress but me. 

I barely heard him. My focus was locked on the endless stretch of clouds outside the plane window, willing my stomach to settle. The slow, dipping motion of the aircraft made my nausea coil tighter, a dull ache pressing at the back of my throat. 

“We would’ve been just fine at home,” I muttered, dragging my gaze away from the window. “I don’t know why Martin insisted on this whole charade.” 

Antonio let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. “Maybe because we were all almost killed by the Irish? Really, Val. You’re being ridiculous.” 

I turned to him, narrowing my eyes. “And hiding in London is somehow the safer option? In case you forgot, it’s even closer to Ireland.” 

My voice dripped with sarcasm, but Antonio didn’t rise to it. He just leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, expression unreadable. 

I exhaled sharply, pressing my fingers to my temple. This wasn’t about safety. Not really. I knew Martin too well. He wasn’t just pulling me out of New York to protect me—he was pulling me out to control me. To make sure I didn’t do something reckless. 

If I was being honest with myself, Martin had every reason to worry. 

Because if it were up to me, I would’ve burned the Irish Mafia to the ground. And that would’ve been a mistake. A dangerous, reckless mistake. 

It was the right decision, darling. Martin didn’t want you getting hurt,” came a familiar voice—smooth, patient, and laced with just enough authority to make it clear she wasn’t asking for my approval. 

Before I could turn, a pale hand extended toward me, a small white pill resting in its palm. 

“For the motion sickness.” 

Martin's wife.

I hesitated for only a second before taking it, swallowing it dry. She knew me too well to expect a ‘thank you.’ 

Giselle had always been one of the few people I trusted. She was sharp, graceful, and knew exactly when to push and when to let things be. When I had married Luciano, the world around me had been cold, unwelcoming. I had been an outsider clawing my way into a den of wolves, but Giselle had been different. 

She had taken me under her wing, shown me the ropes—not just how to survive, but how to command respect. I had learned a lot from her. 

Including patience. 

Something I was struggling to find as she slid into the seat beside her daughter,Alicia.

There were times—though I’d never admit it—when I envied Alicia. 

She had never had to fight to be respected, never had to prove herself the way I had. She was born into this world with a silver spoon, her last name enough to shield her from the struggles I had endured. And yet, despite everything, I couldn’t bring myself to hate her. In another life, maybe we would have even been friends. 

Alicia must have caught me staring because she smirked, snapping her gum between her teeth. “What? You gonna tell me to stop chewing so loud now?” 

I rolled my eyes. “No, I was just wondering how much effort it actually takes to be this insufferable.” 

She grinned, completely unbothered. “Oh, sweetheart, I was born this way. Unlike you, I didn’t have to try so hard.” 

My jaw clenched. She hadn’t meant it cruelly, but the words still hit like a blade slipping between my ribs. Alicia had walked into this life effortlessly, while I had bled for every inch of ground I stood on. 

Giselle, ever the peacemaker, sighed and shook her head. “Enough, both of you. Alicia, stop provoking her. And Val, stop glaring like you’re plotting her murder.” 

Alicia snickered. “Please, if she wanted me dead, I’d be dead.” 

I huffed, shaking my head. “Don’t tempt me.” 

Alicia stretched lazily in her seat, her toned legs crossing as she tilted her head back against the plush leather. She looked entirely too comfortable for someone who had just been forced into hiding. 

Then, with a smirk, she turned to me, twirling a lock of her honey-blonde hair around one finger. “By the way…” she drawled, her voice dripping with amusement. “Where’s Damien sleeping? Please tell me it’s near my room.” 

I barely had time to react before she let out an exaggerated sigh, her manicured nails tapping against the rim of her champagne glass. 

“God, Val, that man is hot,” she groaned dramatically, stretching her arms over her head like a spoiled cat. “Like, really hot. I swear, if I don’t get laid soon, I might die.” 

Oh, no. 

Not Alicia. 

Not this bodyguard, too. 

A sharp heat curled in my chest, something uninvited and irrational, but unmistakable. My grip tightened around the armrest as I fought to keep my expression neutral. Jealousy? No. That was absurd. 

And yet—before I could stop myself, before I could even think it through—the words slipped out, sharper than I intended. 

“Damien will be in my room.” 

Silence. 

Antonio, mid-sip of his champagne, raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Alicia, however, grinned like she had just won something. She glanced toward Giselle, who simply shrugged and feigned disinterest. 

“Possessive much?” Alicia taunted, snapping her gum between her teeth, her blue eyes twinkling with amusement. “You already have Antonio, babe. That’s not fair.” 

“Alicia,” Giselle said sharply, her tone carrying the weight of a mother’s warning. 

I ignored them both. My attention had already shifted—my eyes darting across the cabin. 

To him. 

To Damien. 

His black hair was a perfect mess—effortless yet deliberate, framing his sharp features like it was meant to. His beard, just long enough to shadow his jawline, only made him look rougher, more dangerous. But right now, he wasn’t dangerous. Right now, he looked… mesmerized. 

His gaze was fixed on the window, lips slightly parted in an almost boyish smile, like a child seeing snow for the first time. 

I stood, ignoring the dizziness that threatened to pull me back down, and walked toward him. Slowly. Deliberately. 

When I reached his seat, I placed my hands on his shoulders, feeling the tension wound tight beneath my fingertips. 

“Jesus, Damien,” I murmured, pressing down lightly. “You’re coiled up like a cat ready to pounce.” 

He tensed for half a second at my touch—then exhaled, his muscles softening under my hands. I worked them gently over his shoulders, and little by little, I felt his anxiety ease. 

I slid into the seat beside him, watching his profile as he continued staring out the window. 

“First time on a plane?” I asked. 

He chuckled, a low, rich sound, but didn’t take his eyes off the sky. “Something like that.” 

A pause. A flicker of something in his expression—nostalgic, maybe even a little sad. 

“If my mother could see me now…” he started, then cut himself off. His jaw tightened, and whatever emotion had surfaced disappeared just as fast. 

I could’ve pressed. Asked. But I didn’t. 

Instead, I tilted my head. “Do you like it?” 

He finally looked at me, his dark eyes burning with something raw, something unguarded. 

“Like it?” He let out a breathless laugh, his voice a touch higher than usual. “Valentina, I *fucking adore* it.”

“You look like you’ve never seen the sky before.” I smiled, feeling something stir in me, like a flicker of warmth spreading through a frozen chest.

He met my eyes, his gaze steady and thoughtful, like the world outside had disappeared, leaving just the two of us suspended in time. “Well… I’ve never looked at it this way before, for sure.”

For a brief moment, it felt like we were two teenagers, sneaking away on a flight to somewhere far, far away from the mess of our lives.

“I’m glad I could give you your first plane ride, then,” I said, my voice lowering, flirting more than I intended. “And I plan on giving you plenty more first-time experiences.” I winked, letting the words hang in the air, feeling that familiar tension simmer between us.

His expression darkened, eyes softening just enough to show a hint of something unspoken. “Thank you. Though, I’m not exactly happy about the circumstances of this trip.”

I laughed softly, leaning back into the seat, my fingers idly brushing the edge of my drink. “Oh, enjoy it. Martin can be a little… overdramatic. All this ‘boo-hoo, let’s go to the safe house’ nonsense.” I made air quotes, trying to lighten the mood.

But his eyes didn’t waver, and there was something about his silence that made the air between us grow heavy. “Actually,” he said quietly, “I think it was a good call. That meeting… it was a trap. We’re lucky we got out alive.”

I paused, the humor draining from my voice. “I don’t deny that. But I would’ve been safer at home, handling my business there.”

“It’s just one week,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “Martin will sort it out.”

I sighed, letting my head fall back against the seat. “And what will I do in the meantime? Stare at the rainy weather? Sip tea and relax?”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made my chest tighten. “Yeah.”

I shook my head, looking out the window. “Fuck it, Damien. I’m never relaxed.”

He glanced at me, his lips curling into a playful smirk. “I can help you with that.”

My heart skipped a beat. I couldn’t tell if he was joking or if something deeper was lurking beneath his words. My eyes darted to him, searching his expression for any sign of what was really happening between us. Was he flirting with me? Had he crossed that professional boundary?

I leaned in slightly, lowering my voice just enough for him to hear. “What do you suggest?”

Without thinking, my fingers brushed against his hand, drawing slow, deliberate circles along his skin. It was instinctive, like I couldn't stop myself. My pulse quickened, but I didn't pull away. Instead, I let my fingers linger, waiting for his next move, curious how far he'd let this go.

His gaze dropped to my hand resting on his, his lips curling into a mischievous grin. His voice dropped lower, thick with intent. "Well," he began, the words hanging in the air like a challenge, "I think the best way to relax... is to lie back, close your eyes, and let someone take control. Stop worrying about everything... and just focus on what's right in front of you."

For a split second, my breath caught. The heat in my chest flared, and I fought to keep my pulse steady. Was he... suggesting what I thought he was suggesting? I quickly glanced up, searching his face, but his expression was calm, almost unreadable. He watched me with an intensity that sent a shiver down my spine.

I leaned in just slightly, my voice lowering to a whisper. "Take control, huh?" I teased, my lips curling into a grin. "I'm the kind of woman who enjoys being in control. I like obedience. So, what exactly did you mean by that?"

His eyes darkened for a moment, that dangerous gleam flashing. Then, his grin widened, and I could feel him enjoying this. He paused, letting the tension build, before speaking in a way that made my heart drop.

"Well, I meant someone should adjust your seat," he said casually, as if it were the most innocent suggestion in the world. "Make sure you're comfortable... you know, so you're not straining your back."

I froze. The anticipation I'd built up crumbled instantly. The warmth that had rushed to my face mixed with embarrassment. I had let my mind run wild, and he had... tricked me. What I thought was a dirty suggestion turned out to be nothing more than a seat adjustment. The realization hit me with full force, and I couldn't help but feel a little foolish.

Damien watched me closely, his eyes glinting with amusement. He knew exactly what had just happened. "Seems like you had a different idea in mind," he teased, his voice light, but the challenge still there.

I blinked, recovering quickly. "This is revenge for me teasing you in the office, isn't it?" The words slipped out, a grin tugging at the corner of my lips. I wasn’t going to let him win so easily.

He raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. "Oh, so you admit you teased me?" His tone was playful, but there was a deeper edge to it. Something darker.

I tilted my head, my gaze steady. "Did it work?" I couldn't help but ask, the smugness creeping into my voice. The tables had turned, and I knew it.

Damien shifted in his seat, his muscles tightening, his eyes darkening with desire. The tension between us thickened. But I wasn’t done yet.

I leaned back, deliberately cold and professional. "Well, you kinda did..." I said slowly, letting my gaze linger on him. "But we both know this is better kept professional, don’t we?"

My jaw tightened, a flicker of frustration crossing my face  "Yes, maybe... but do we really want this?"

Damien stood still, his body stiff, as if his mind was at war with itself. The air between us thickened with unspoken thoughts. What was he thinking? What battle was he fighting inside?

He smiled softly, but said nothing, his gaze heavy with something I couldn’t quite place.

Then, without warning, he brushed his fingers against mine, just a fleeting touch—almost accidental—but the contact sent a ripple through me. His fingers squeezed mine, briefly, before he pulled his hand away, resting it on his lap.

I watched him, trying to make sense of him, trying to understand this man who seemed like a riddle wrapped in mystery. And damn it, he was confusing. So infuriating.

Deep down, I knew the last thing I needed was to get tangled up with him—an affair with him would only bring chaos. But for the first time in what felt like forever, nothing else seemed to matter. The rules, the consequences... they all blurred at the edges of my mind.

I knew it was dangerous, allowing myself to even think about being vulnerable with him. There was too much risk. He might betray me. Hell, he could even kill me. He could be a mole, playing me like a fool.

But, somewhere underneath the steel walls I’d built around myself, I felt a flicker of longing. A tiny, dangerous spark of desire. I wanted him. For once, I wanted to let go and feel something again. To feel like a woman, not just a weapon or a leader.