17. A Security Blanket
CHAPTER 17
A SECURITY BLANKET
I sabella
“It has to be here, damn it.” With my eyes still filled with tears from the lengthy family goodbyes at the airplane hangar, I rifle through my oversized tote in search of those blessed little white pills. The rumble of the jet engine picks up, taunting. Shit. Shit. I can’t fly without my Xanax.
“What are you looking for?”
The luxe cream interior and gold trimmings of Papà’s private jet all blur in the background as panic starts to set in. My heart launches into a mad drumbeat, thrumming against my ribs like a frantic prisoner rattling the bars of a cage. My breaths grow shallower, and my chest starts to heave from the effort.
“Isabella, cazzo , what’s wrong with you?” Firm hands clasp onto my shoulders, and the scene trembles for an instant before I focus on a pair of wary pitch orbs.
The jet lurches forward, and a scream sticks in my throat as I grit through the rush of anxiety. But somehow, I stay put, anchored by the beast of a man sprawled in the leather captain’s chair beside me.
“Isabella!” He shakes me again, and this time it’s forceful enough that instead of the paralyzing fear, I focus on that unshakeable gaze.
“My pills,” I murmur, nibbling on my bottom lip. “I can’t fly without them.”
The jet begins to move more quickly, the steady rumble growing louder by the second. “I hate to break it to you, principessa , but I think it’s too late for that. We’re going to be in the air in a second.”
My fingers latch onto Raf’s forearm, nails digging into his skin as we hurtle down the runway. “No, I can’t do this…”
“Let me get this straight, you don’t flinch about a shooting in the middle of Park Avenue, but you need medication for a flight?”
“Yes,” I grit out. “Now stop being an asshole and find my meds!”
“Isabella, look at me.” His big fingers clamp down on my chin forcing my eyes to meet his, which are steady and reassuring against the impending storm of panic. “You’re safe. Focus on my voice, all right? You don’t need pills. We’re going to get through this together.”
“I can’t?—”
“You can and you will.”
I nod, my breathing shallow and quick. Raffaele continues, his voice steady and soothing. “Let’s try to slow your breathing. Take a deep breath in with me, now.” He inhales deeply, holding his own breath, then exhales slowly. “And out.” His eyes hold mine, a silent promise of his weighty presence.
“Again, breathe in.” I follow, and this time it feels a bit easier, my initial gasps beginning to smooth out into longer, more controlled breaths. “And out. Good girl. That’s my good girl.” A wicked grin tips up the corners of his lips, but I ignore it because for the first time in years since I’ve been aboard an airplane without being heavily medicated, it doesn’t feel like my lungs are caving in. “Each breath in is calm, and each breath out lets go of the fear. You’ve got this, principessa .”
As the plane levels off, Raf keeps talking, his words a lifeline as we soar higher. “You’re much stronger than you give yourself credit for, Isabella. I’ve seen you handle situations that would break most people. This plane, this moment—it’s no different. You own this experience; it doesn’t own you.”
My breathing steadies gradually, the panic receding as his calm certainty fills the space around us. His typically imposing and overbearing demeanor now feels soothing, transforming the cramped jet into a sanctuary.
Finally, I manage a small, grateful smile despite how weird it feels. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you here.”
“Always.” An uncharacteristically gentle smile flashes across that scruffy jaw. “I’m here whenever you need me, no matter the situation or your opinion of me in the moment. It’s my duty to protect you, whatever the cost. Don’t forget that.” His words wrap around me like a security blanket, easing the last remnants of my anxiety.
I sit back in the leather chair, leaning on the headrest. My fingers are still curled around his forearm, but not squeezing quite so forcefully. I consider removing my hand, but the plane dips for an instant, and my fingers instinctively clamp tighter around his skin. Refusing to give into the fear, I attempt a distraction instead. “How did you learn to do that?”
“The breathing exercise?”
I nod as his eyes chase to mine.
“As you know, I served in Italian special forces for a few years before I got into private security. I found myself in some tense situations with my team, and it was a coping mechanism I learned from the start.”
I can’t imagine what sort of situations he was forced to endure. My knowledge of special forces extends to what I’ve seen on television shows. Not that my life has been a cakewalk either, but it must have been infinitely less stressful than running covert operations in foreign countries and putting your life at risk on a daily basis for fellow countrymen who don’t even know you exist.
“What was that like?” We have an eight-hour flight ahead of us, and I would much rather spend the time distracting myself than focusing on the fact that we’re flying over miles of endless ocean below.
“I’d rather not talk about it, if it’s all the same to you, principessa .” He leans against the headrest, closing his eyes.
I heave out a sigh, and my knee begins to bounce. The other bonus of the Xanax is that it knocks me out.
Raf’s head swivels in my direction, peeking through heavy lids. “What’s wrong now?”
“I can’t sleep.”
“It’s a red eye. You’re seriously not going to sleep the whole night?”
“Maybe a few hours, but I’m not tired yet.” I doubt I’ll sleep a wink, honestly. My insides are a twisted knot of excitement and anxiety. There is so much riding on this trip, I’m not sure I’ll ever relax. Not only do I have to prove myself as an intern, but also as a capable adult who can survive on my own. It’s all I’ve ever wanted, and now that I’m hours away from having it, I’m petrified.
“So what is it that you’d like to do?” he grumbles.
“Tell me about you, your family, your life? Anything really.” In the past few weeks we’ve spent together, I’ve realized I know little about the man who is glued to my ass twenty-four hours a day.
“There’s not much to tell.”
“Raf,” I whine.
“What? I’m not the biggest conversationalist.”
“Yeah, I got that.”
“And I don’t like to share. As I said before, it’s best to keep things professional.”
I roll my eyes. “So if you tell me about your parents or siblings that’s going to make it unprofessional somehow?”
“I’m not close with my family, okay? They’re nothing like yours… When I left, I didn’t have dozens of cousins, aunts and uncles filling up a hangar clamoring to say goodbye.” His eyes slide closed again, but this time it doesn’t feel like it’s from exhaustion, but rather a way to block something out.
“Okay, what about a significant other?”
His lids snap open, and he shoots me a murderous side-eye. “I told you before, I don’t do relationships.”
“Ever? Aren’t you like thirty-something? You’ve never had a girlfriend—or a boyfriend? I don’t want to assume?—”
He straightens in his seat, bristling. “ Cazzo , Isabella, yes, I have at some point in my life had a girlfriend, and just to clarify I am into women. And I just turned thirty not thirty-something.”
“There you go, you see? That’s sharing.” I toss him a smirk, and his dramatic eyeroll in return is everything.
“If you’re so into sharing, then why don’t you tell me something about yourself?”
“Well, you’ve spent the last month with me, so I’m fairly certain you already know a lot. Or you’re not as perceptive as you tout yourself to be.”
A chuckle escapes through the hard set of his jaw. “You’re right. I do know a lot about you. I know that your favorite coffee is a caramel macchiato with an extra shot of espresso and one pump of vanilla coupled with Nutella spread on pretty much anything, that you enjoy sunbathing on your balcony, that you text Serena every morning when you wake up, that you nibble on your bottom lip when you’re nervous and that the vein across your forehead pulses every time I call you principessa .” A wicked grin slashes across his face, and there’s nothing I want more than to rip it right off.
Just when I think he’s being semi-tolerable.
“Any idiot could have gleaned that information after a month attached to my ass.”
He inches closer, leaning across the arm rest so his breath mingles with my own. “Fine,” he grits out. “How about this then?” He lifts a finger. “Your eyes crinkle slightly at the corners when you truly smile, not the fake one you give when you want others to think you’re fine.” A second finger rises to meet the first. “You twist a lock of hair around your finger when you’re fully enrapt in one of those fantasy books you binge read.” Another finger. “Your lips pull into a pout when you’re unsure or hesitant about something.” The fourth finger pops up. “Your footsteps slow when you’re enjoying a moment, as if you’re trying to fully soak in your surroundings. You do it whenever we walk through Central Park or around the campus of NYU.” A fifth and final finger comes up between us. “And let’s not forget the faint scent of gardenias from your perfume that lingers even after you’ve left a room, and how it’s subtly different in the mornings compared to the evenings when it mixes with your delicate natural scent.”
With his free hand, he extends a long finger tipping up my chin so my jaw closes. I’m staring with my mouth hanging open like an idiot. Dio , I never realized he paid such close attention.
His grin grows wider as I continue to gape at him. “And that’s why I’m the best, principessa .”