"I run with a powerful outfit. Partnerships. Logistics. High-stakes recovery." He paused, choosing his words the way men in this life always did. "The kind of work that keeps certain families very well protected."
"Must be pretty high-stakes if you're using jets like taxis," I muttered.
He laughed. "It's not that glamorous. But it gets the job done."
I studied him. "You're really not the skinny boy who used to cry when I scraped my knees."
"No," he said, then added, "and you're not the reckless girl who used to think love could fix everything."
That hit deep.
Silence again.
Until the door opened.
I looked over, confused.
A man stepped inside.
He was tall. Maybe 6'3. His suit looked like it cost more than a year of tributes from a mid-level capo. Sharp lines. Pressed cuffs. A heavy signet ring on his right hand that caught the cabin light.
He had dark eyes, full lashes, and skin that practically glowed under the cabin lights.
His hair was neatly styled. His jaw was carved like stone.
I couldn't look away.
The two soldiers flanking the cabin entrance straightened without being told. The air in the jet shifted, tightened, as if the pressurization had changed when he walked through the door.
"Uh…" I blinked.
Marco stood up. "Seraphina, I want you to meet someone."
The man stepped forward with calm, confident strides. He moved like a man who had never been denied entry to any room in his life.
"Dominic," Marco said. "This is my Don. My business partner."
Dominic gave me a slight nod. "Pleasure."
Even his voice sounded like it could buy you or bury you, and you wouldn't know which until it was too late.
I blinked again. My throat was suddenly dry. "Hi…"
Marco looked at me, then back at him. "And…" He hesitated. The knuckle of his right index finger cracked once, sharp, as if bracing for the blast radius. "He's also your husband-to-be."
I froze.
My ears rang. My heart stopped.
"What?" I whispered.
