Page 71 of Mafia Don's Secret Heir
The flight attendant greets us with a professional smile. Her navy uniform is pressed to perfection, her hair coiled into a neat bun.
“Welcome aboard, Mr. Salvatore. Your suite is prepared.”
I give her a curt nod.
Leo bounds ahead, his tiny hand gripping Valentina’s. His excitement at stepping into the business-class cabin is obvious, his small voice brimming with questions about the reclining seats and the shimmering mood lighting.
“It’s a big plane, Mommy!” he exclaims, craning his neck to take it all in.
Valentina smiles. Her hand lingers protectively on his shoulder as we reach our section—a private suite shielded by frosted glass partitions, the kind of luxury reserved for those who can afford it without blinking.
The seats are plush, upholstered in buttery leather. Valentina gently nudges Leo into his seat, helping him with the seatbelt as I lower myself into the chair opposite them.
“Would you like something to drink before takeoff?” the hostess asks, appearing at my side.
“Espresso,” I reply, glancing at Valentina.
“Just water for me,” she says quietly, smoothing a hand over her dress.
Leo is already preoccupied with the entertainment system, his small fingers tapping eagerly at the touchscreen. For a moment, it’s almost surreal—this domestic tableau, so far removed from the chaos and violence of my world.
The attendant returns with our drinks just as the plane begins taxiing down the runway. I take a sip of the espresso, letting the bitterness ground me, while Valentina stares out the window, her expression distant.
Once we’re airborne and the seatbelt signs dim, Leo’s energy begins to wane. Valentina leans down to tuck a blanket around him, her touch tender and motherly. Within minutes, he’s fast asleep, his soft breaths audible in the quiet cabin.
She straightens, glancing at me across the suite, her gaze lingering. There’s something raw in her eyes, something she’s trying to hide but can’t.
“I’m going to freshen up,” she says finally.
Then, she looks at me directly, and her next words hit with the force of a command.
“Come with me.”
I don’t hesitate.
The restroom is small but luxurious, the kind of space designed to impress even at forty thousand feet. Valentina moves ahead of me, her steps measured, her posture stiff.
When I step inside and close the door, the lock clicks softly into place.
She’s turned away, her hands braced on the marble counter. The dim lighting highlights the curve of her neck, the tension in her shoulders. For a moment, I do nothing but watch her.
“Valentina,” I murmur, my voice low, dangerous.
She turns slowly, her gaze meeting mine with that same defiance. Do I love it? Do I hate it? I don’t know. I can’t think straight.
“This is madness,” she murmurs.
“Madness,” I echo, reaching out to touch her. My fingers brush her wrist, then slide up to her elbow, the tension in her body vibrating under my touch.
Her breath hitches as I pull her closer, my hand finding its place on her hip. The fabric of her dress is soft beneath my fingers.
“This life isn’t safe,” she whispers, but her hands betray her, clutching the front of my shirt like a lifeline.
“Safety is an illusion,” I say, my voice rough. “You think leaving me will give you peace? I’ve let you run once, Valentina. Never again.”
Her lips part, a retort forming, but I don’t let her speak. I lower my mouth to hers, capturing her words in a kiss.
Her resistance melts almost instantly, her fingers tangling in my hair as she leans into me.
