Chapter 14
Nina
With every step I take up the airstairs of the private jet, my anxiety increases and my stomach sinks.
Even though Georgi showed me tenderness after I bumped into the car door, I don’t trust him for one second.
He’s mafia. Men like him only know how to conquer and destroy. End of story.
Sure, he showed love to his sister, but even Boris was capable of feeling love for Tanya. It doesn’t mean shit to me.
“Nina,” Georgi’s voice pulls me out of my thoughts, and when my eyes focus, I find myself standing between four leather seats facing each other in pairs. He bends at the waist to look at my face, a worried expression tightening his features. “Are you okay?”
No. I haven’t been okay for nine years.
He guides me to a window seat, and when I sit down, he crouches in front of me. “You’re exhausted, mishle. You need to eat something and sleep.”
I do, but I’m not shutting an eye while I’m surrounded by the enemy.
When I don’t reply, he lets out a sigh and takes the seat on my left.
I keep my head down, conscious of all the other people finding their seats.
Suddenly, Georgi leans over me. The air is ripped from my lungs in a very loud squeak, and I turn my torso, trying to cover my daughter.
“I’m just helping with your seat belt,” Georgi says, his tone soft like it’s been whenever he talks to Simi.
“Oh…” I feel his hands brush over my abdomen as he fastens the belt, and I’m shocked when I feel a different kind of nervous. It’s not fear, but a quivering anticipation. Almost like a fluttering sensation.
My eyes dart to his face, and when mine lock with his hazel ones, a kaleidoscope of butterflies takes flight in my stomach. It’s so sudden and unexpected, I have no time to brace for it.
Caught completely off guard, I quickly turn my head away and stare out the oval window.
No, Nina. Just because he’s been kind to you and Simi and giving you false promises, doesn’t mean you can let down your guard.
As Mr. Torrisi and Raya sit down across from us, Simi stirs in my arms. My attention snaps to her, and when her eyelashes lift, and she sees me, a toothy smile appears.
“Mama.” She rubs the side of her face against my chest before sitting up. Her fingers begin to move, rubbing the silk, as she glances around the cabin, then she whisper-shrieks, “Are we flying?!”
“Not yet. The plane is about to take off,” I say, keeping my tone soft as well.
She leans forward and places her hand on Georgi’s forearm, then whispers to him, “We’re going to fly!”
He leans closer. “Why are we whispering?”
“So we don’t upset people,” she replies.
My heart constricts painfully in my chest.
Georgi moves his left arm, and I see the pain flash over his face as he brushes his palm over her braid, where some strands have come loose. “You don’t have to whisper, printsesa. No one will dare get upset with you.”
“Why?”
Georgi playfully boops the tip of her nose with his fingertip. “Because I say so.”
Simi looks at me, then loudly announces, “Mama, I need to pee-pee.”
“Softer, malka,” I hush her.
“But Georgi said I don’t have to whisper,” she argues as she begins to wiggle her body out of my hold to climb off my lap.
I help her to her feet before undoing my seat belt.
Simi doesn’t wait for me and darts away, but not looking where she’s going, her foot hits Mr. Torrisi’s shoe, and she trips.
Both Georgi and Mr. Torrisi react. Mr. Torrisi grabs hold of Simi while Georgi sucks in a sharp breath that has my eyes flitting between him and my daughter.
Simi pushes against Mr. Torrisi’s hands and worms out of his hold, her face going pale from fear.
I quickly take hold of her and lift her. Her arms shoot around my neck, and she holds onto me for dear life as I walk into the aisle and toward the sign that shows where the toilet is.
“Fuck, I’m bleeding again,” Georgi snaps.
I hear movement, and glancing over my shoulder, I see Raya, Mr. Torrisi, and Santino getting up.
There’s an urge to return to him so I can tend to his wound, but Simi comes first, and I hurry into the toilet. Shocked to see it’s a full bathroom with a shower, sink, and even a seat, I put Simi down and lower her sweatpants before helping her to sit on the toilet.
“I’m sorry, Mama,” she whispers while relieving her bladder.
“You didn’t do anything wrong, milo moe.”
When she’s done, we flush, and I pull up her pants before leading her to the sink. After washing our hands, I lift her into my arms, and as I open the door, I hear Georgi chuckle while saying, “Chill. It’s just a little blood. Jesus.”
“Little blood, my fucking ass,” Mr. Torrisi growls. “The stitches came loose.”
With Simi’s need taken care of, the urge to tend to Georgi overwhelms me, and I hurry down the aisle to get to him.
Raya and Mr. Torrisi are crowding Georgi, and Santino is crouched in the aisle, digging through a large first aid kit.
Georgi’s eyes latch onto me when I’m near, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “Don’t worry, my nurse is here, so you can all sit down.”
Mr. Torrisi moves toward me, and I take a step backward, lowering my head, but instead of interacting with me, he takes a seat by the other men who are sitting in the section near the front of the cabin.
Raya takes the seat her father sat in previously, and it gives me space to move. I set Simi down beside Georgi, then get to work.
The sleeve is rolled up to his elbow, his left forearm exposed. Santino gestures at the bag, then takes a step backward.
Seeing that everything I’ll need is in the first aid kit, I first clean the area around the wound. I’m careful as I remove the remainder of the old stitches.
After I push the suture thread through the eye of the needle, I glance at Simi. She’s rubbing the silk shirt between her fingers, her faced pressed against the oval window as she looks outside.
Concentrating on what I’m doing, I close the wound up and clean the area again before wrapping a bandage around Georgi’s forearm.
The moment I’m done and I begin to gather the supplies and soiled antiseptic wipes, Georgi says, “Leave it, Nina. Santino will take care of that. Come sit.”
I nod and straighten to my full height. For a rare moment, I glance down at Georgi, and noticing how pale he is, I look at the bag again and ask, “Is there anything in there for pain?”
“Yes.” Santino gestures to a selection I would’ve killed to have in the torture chamber.
Crouching again, I look at the pre-filled syringes before glancing up at Georgi. “Are you allergic to anything?”
He shakes his head. “Give me the morphine.”
That tells me how much pain he’s in, and I don’t hesitate for a second longer. I don’t think about the other people around us as I unbutton his shirt until I’m able to expose his shoulder. I wipe the site clean before I double-check the injection, then push the needle into his olive-toned skin.
Once I’m done, I press a cotton ball to catch any drops of blood.
My gaze lifts, and suddenly I find myself staring into Georgi’s eyes.
A smirk forms around his mouth, something cocky and playful, reminding me of our interaction in the hotel bar.
Even his tone is teasing as he says, “You take such good care of me, moeto hubavo mishle.”
My face warms up from hearing him call me his beautiful little mouse, and instantly feeling self-conscious and on guard, I yank away. I drop the cotton ball by the wipes and quickly take my seat, pulling Simi onto my lap.
“Can we take off?” a man asks from the front.
“Yes,” Georgi replies while fastening the buttons of his shirt again.
I put on the seat belt and hold Simi tight.
“Is the prince’s owie okay?” she whispers.
Georgi positions his elbow on the leather armrest between our seats and leans a little closer. “I’m more than okay. Your Mama took care of my owie, so you don’t have to worry.”
She looks at Georgi’s bandaged forearm, then at his face. Just as she’s about to say something else, the plane begins to move, and her gaze widens.
Neither of us has ever flown before, and I’m feeling very anxious, so it makes me worry about Simi.
When the aircraft lifts off the ground, my stomach drops horribly, and as we climb into the air, there’s a weird sensation in my throat and stomach.
Then it hits hard, and I feel terribly nauseated.
“Oh God,” I whisper, covering my mouth with my hand.
Georgi’s head snaps in my direction. “What?”
“I feel sick. I need to go to the toilet.”
“We can’t move around the cabin until the seatbelt sign is off.”
Raya leans a little forward. “Massage the pressure point just beneath your wrist.”
She indicates where on her own, but before I can move Simi so I can do it, Georgi takes hold of my arm and begins to massage the area in slow circular movements, the pressure firm but not hurting.
When I swallow hard, he keeps the pressure on the spot and leans his head down to catch my eyes. “Take deep breaths.”
I focus on filling my lungs with air, and when he begins to massage me again, I’m surprised when it actually takes the edge off the nausea.
Using his left hand, his palm settles on the side of my head, and he nudges me until my cheek is pressed against his bicep. “Get some rest, Nina,” he murmurs, his tone gentle.
I hold still, my free arm wrapped around my daughter, while Georgi continues to lessen the sick feeling rolling around in my stomach.
Then the impossible happens. One second, I’m adamant about staying awake for as long as I can, and the next, I jerk awake.
I have no idea what happened and instantly sit up, wrapping my arms tighter around Simi.
Raya isn’t in her seat, and a flight attendant is walking down the aisle. Only then do I realize the seat belt sign is off.
“Mama, can I color?” Simi asks.
Before I can tell her no, Georgi gets up and looks down at me. “Where’s her book?”
“In one of the bags.” I have no idea where they are. “But I have her crayons in my handbag. Is…is there any blank paper on board?” I hate asking, but I have no idea how long the flight is, and I can’t expect Simi to sit still. She won’t understand.
“I’ll find some.” He gestures to the flight attendant, and in a brisk tone, he orders, “Bring paper for the child to draw on.”
“Yes, sir.” She hurries away.
Georgi turns back to me, then suddenly reaches for Simi. When I cling to her, my eyes darting to him as anxiety shoots through me, he says, “I’m just moving her to the seat across from you. She can’t sit on your lap for the next ten hours.”
Reluctantly, I let go and watch as he moves my daughter to the other seat.
When he puts on her seat belt, she grins at him while happily kicking her legs.
He brushes his palm over her head, then glances at me. “Crayons?”
Right!
I pull my handbag out from where it’s squashed between the seat and my side and unzip it. Gathering all the crayons, I move forward to give them to Simi, but I’m stopped by the belt keeping me strapped to the seat.
Georgi takes hold of my hand and removes the crayons, then presses a button on Simi’s armrest. The lid of the polished wood console rises smoothly, revealing bottled water, a small crystal dish with a fitted lid filled with chocolate-covered almonds, and a pale box of pastel macarons that immediately catches Simi’s eye.
There’s also an empty pocket where he sets down the crayons so they won’t roll away.
Shit.
I quickly take off my seat belt, and as I scoot forward, Simi asks, “What’s that?”
“Macarons,” Georgi answers, crouching in front of her, and at the same time, blocking me. He opens the box, then says, “You can eat them.”
“Really?” Simi asks, her attention focused on Georgi.
“Yes.” He lifts his hand again and gently cups her cheek. “You can have anything you want, malkata mi printsesa.”
Seeing how her face lights up, a lump instantly forms in my throat, and I know I’ll pay whatever price I have to as long as she’s happy.
I remain tense on the edge of my seat as Simi leans closer, her eyes shining brilliantly while she decides which one to have. She picks up a yellow one, then sits back, and says, “It looks like the sun.”
“It does,” Georgi replies. “Taste it.”
When she takes a tiny bite, a dimple appears in her cheek as a full-blown smile spreads over her lips. “I like it.”
“I’m happy to hear that.” Georgi slowly gets up, and when he comes to sit down beside me, he gives me a smirk. “Relax, Nina.”
The flight attendant brings a notebook and gives it to Simi, then she looks at Georgi and me. “Would you like something to drink? Champagne?”
“You can’t drink alcohol,” I say before I can censor my tone so I don’t sound too worried.
“You heard my nurse. Just bring a coffee for me and tea for her.” His eyes flick to Simi, then he asks, “Would you like juice, printsesa?”
“Please,” she mumbles while helping herself to a pink macaron.
The moment the flight attendant walks away, Mr. Torrisi says, “It’s time we talk, son.”
“Sure.” Georgi relaxes while everyone else looks at him.
I scoot closer to the window and watch Simi as she picks up a crayon and starts to draw.