Chapter 14
ALEX
I boarded an airplane that said Salvatore Global on the side in gold letters. I’d never flown private. Instead of rows of seats, there was a long, white leather bench on the left side and a square wooden table with four comfy chairs on the right. The bedroom was at the back.
I sat across from Marcello and dropped my messenger bag into the chair by the window. Cell phone in hand, his head was down, his long fingers racing across the keypad.
I clasped my shaky hands on my lap and stared out the window. Lights illuminated a path to the landing strip. Men in reflective vests were preparing for our takeoff. It was close to midnight, and at this hour, the events of the day were kicking my ass.
I raised my arms above my head and yawned. Falling asleep was not an option. Not when I didn’t trust my travel companion.
I fished my cell phone from my bag and typed a quick text to Luca. Of course, he did not answer.
A minute later, Marcello’s phone dinged. He shook his head, then held out his palm. “Give it to me.”
I rolled my eyes. “Nope.”
“Give me the phone, Alex.” He wiggled his fingers. “I’m not in the mood.”
“Let me guess. Luca didn’t like the message I sent him. Tell him I said to grow up and that the world doesn’t revolve around him.”
“You’ll get another phone,” he growled. “One that’s more secure.”
“I came with you willingly. You’re not getting my phone.”
“It’s for your protection. Hand it over.”
“Explain yourself.”
“Just trust me.”
I tipped my head back and laughed. “Like I would ever trust a Salvatore. You’re all pathological liars and psychopaths.”
He ripped the phone from my hand and turned it off. “I’ll get you another one with a new number.”
“Why do I need one?”
“I already told you.”
“What are you protecting me from? Your brother?”
Marcello scrubbed a hand at his jaw and sighed. “There are worse men in this world than Luca.”
Was Marcello not the man who’d been following me for weeks? I had assumed it was someone from their security firm. Luca was overprotective and possessive, but he would never hurt me. At least not physically.
Marcello focused on the runway as the plane took off. After we had been in the air for ten minutes, a pretty brunette appeared at our table. She smiled at Marcello and was wearing a knee-length navy blue skirt and a tight white blouse with the top three buttons open.
“Welcome back, Mr. Salvatore,” she cooed, pushing out her chest. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon.”
She bent down, her breasts spilling out from the near see-through blouse, giving him an excellent view.
Marcello’s heated gaze flicked to me and then to the flight attendant. “Change of plans.”
Her smile widened. “The usual?”
He looked at me. “What do you want to drink?”
The flight attendant pursed her lips.
“The most expensive alcohol you have on this plane. And make it a double.”
“I’ll check the liquor cabinet. Mr. Salvatore, the usual?”
He nodded, and then she headed down the aisle.
“You had sex with her,” I whispered. “Didn’t you? It’s so obvious.”
Unamused, he narrowed his eyes at me.
“I knew it.”
“Are you intentionally difficult? Or is this act just for me?”
“Little old me?” I gave him a shit-eating grin. “I wouldn’t dream of being difficult. I’m as sweet as a Georgia peach.”
He glowered at me.
“When can I shower?”
No answer.
I shook the plaster from my hair onto the table, earning a sneer from my captor. After hours of standing on a scaffolding ladder with my arms above my head, working on a fresco, my muscles ached, my hair was a mess, and my clothes smelled like chemicals.
“When we’re at a safe altitude, you can shower.”
The flight attendant reappeared with a glass of amber liquid and set it in front of Marcello, shaking her big tits in his face. “We have a bottle of Cheval Blanc from Mr. Salvatore’s private collection,” she told me. “But I’m afraid I can’t open it without his permission.”
I glanced across the table at Marcello.
“She’s referring to my father.”
I waggled my eyebrows at him. “Well, he’s not here. So, that makes you the boss. Can I have a glass of your dad’s fancy wine?”
A flash of either desire or anger flickered in his eyes as he studied my face. It was hard to tell with Marcello. Then, he said to the flight attendant, “Open it.”
She seemed surprised by his response, leaving our table without further instruction.
“You’re a pain in my ass,” he snapped.
“I’m not bad company. Maybe you’d see that if you stop acting like a jerk.”
His jaw tightened.
“Will my grandfather meet us at the airport?”
Dead silence.
“Why are you here instead of Pops?”
No response.
“What do you do for Salvatore Global?”
He tapped an onyx ring on the table. “You talk too much.”
“I’m just trying to make conversation with my kidnapper.”
“I didn’t kidnap you, Alex.”
“Kinda feels like you did.”
The flight attendant handed me a glass of red wine, looking at Marcello. “Can I get you anything else, Mr. Salvatore?”
He shook his head.
After she left, I laughed at her eagerness to please him. “Can I get you anything else, Mr. Salvatore?” I said under my breath and made a blowjob motion with my hand and mouth.
The corners of Marcello’s mouth lifted for a split second.
“Holy shit!” I threw out my hand. “Is that a smile?”
He pressed his lips together and glanced out the window, not the least bit entertained.
“You’re trying hard to ignore me. But I made you smile.”
His head snapped to me. “I wouldn’t get too comfortable with your kidnapper .”
“No, you’re my stalker.”
“Not quite.”
With an irritated sigh, I lifted the flap of my messenger bag and removed my sketch pad and a charcoal pencil.
Marcello’s gaze shifted to me briefly, and then he scrolled through his phone.
Studying his handsome face and the hardness of his jaw, I found my inspiration.
He didn’t know he was about to become my next subject.
I could still recall when his older brother allowed me to paint him. Like Luca, Marcello had pretty blue eyes that were so sad my chest ached. I wanted to know the reason for his loneliness.
Was it his job?
His family?
His mother?
He didn’t have a woman in his life. I’d never seen Marcello with a girl for more than a night. For whatever reason, I got jealous thinking of him with anyone else. The flight attendant was pissing me off, which was really fucking weird because I didn’t even like him.
Or did I?
Gripping the charcoal pencil, I flipped to a blank page and sketched the outline of his face.
Marcello’s profile was severe, with clean lines and sharp edges—perfect for me to draw.
He leaned forward, tapping a platinum ring on the table.
Black onyx chips formed a serpent shaped into an S. Luca wore the same one.
Marcello’s eyes widened on my sketch. “Is that me?”
A minute later, I finished the piece and shoved the book at him. “I’m calling this one Lonely Boy.”
“I’m not a boy.”
“But you’re lonely.”
He stared through me and then flung his hand toward the back of the plane. “Go take your shower.”
“An artist can see what people are too afraid to say aloud. They can capture what words can’t convey. You’re angry because it’s the truth.”
“You sound like my mother.”
“She was a smart woman.”
Evangeline Franco tragically passed away when Marcello was seven and Luca was nine.
She was one of the first artists I ever studied, and her work was featured in worldwide galleries.
Known for contemporary Art Deco, Evangeline used geometric lines, shapes, and colors of the 1920s and added a modern flare.
She was a genius.
I wanted to be just like her.
At the back of the plane, I plopped onto the oversized bed with fluffy pillows and unzipped my suitcase.
Sifting through my stuff, I found a pair of black leggings, a cream-colored tunic, and a few undergarments.
I stripped off my dirty jeans and threw them onto the floor.
With my clothes on the bed beside me, I laid back and stretched my arms above my head.
The plush mattress was so comfortable that I considered skipping the shower for a much-needed nap. I was so exhausted and desperate for sleep, but I knew I was in trouble when Marcello stormed down the aisle.
I sat up as he entered the bedroom and slammed the door.
“What the fuck are you doing?”
“Thinking about taking a nap.”
“The pilot can see your pussy from the cockpit. Put some fucking pants on.”
“Calm down, Marcello.”
He leaned against the door. “You’re lucky Luca isn’t here.”
“What a shame,” I deadpanned. “Speaking of the King of the Universe, when can I talk to him?”
His chest rose and fell as his eyes moved from my face to between my thighs. “When he gets home from Italy this weekend. He doesn’t have time to play games with you, so don’t even ask to call him again. The answer is no.”
“What the hell is going on?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
Nerves stirred in my belly, making me sick from all the dark thoughts swimming through my head. My grandfather was equally obtuse over the phone, careful not to share too much information.
“Marcello,” I groaned. “Please tell me what this is all about.”
“Get in the shower,” he said and closed the door behind him.