Chapter 21
SAbrINA
The moment the car door shut behind me, regret clawed at my chest.
This was just a ride to the airport. No more dangerous than stepping into an Uber. If only I believed that.
The air turned colder as Sebastian slipped in from the other side. A gust of misty rain followed him before the door closed with a soft thud. He rapped his knuckles against the roof, and the car rolled forward.
I stared out the rain-streaked window, which blurred the usually vibrant city into a dreary watercolor.
It was hard not to find Paris a little depressing when it rained.
Outside the usually bustling cafes, the iron bistro tables were empty, their plastic wicker chairs stacked under the pulled-in awnings. Parisians with umbrellas and tourists caught without one hurried past one another with hunched shoulders, mindful of the slick pavement.
I pressed my fingertips to the cold glass, gazing at the city, a magical world I wasn’t ready to leave.
I loved being in Paris.
I loved Europe and longed to see more of it.
In a way, I was proving my mother right. Returning to the safety of her home because the big bad world got too scary for me.
A warm hand pressed down on my thigh.
Until that moment, I hadn’t realized how badly I’d been shaking my leg.
I stared at Sebastian’s hand, a testament to strength and control.
His olive skin, warm and sun-kissed, carried subtle undertones of gold and bronze. The veins wound beneath the surface, a faint, steady pulse of life beneath his skin. Faint calluses roughened his palms and fingertips.
I could still feel them against my skin from this morning.
“Talk to me, dolcezza.”
I turned to look at him. His eyes were unreadable. Although he leaned back in his seat, there was no mistaking the tense readiness to his form, as if he were waiting for me to suddenly jump out of the car while it still moved.
He was right to worry.
The thought had crossed my mind.
He was a dark star, consuming everything unfortunate enough to drift into his gravitational pull.
I broke eye contact. “Nothing. I’m just sad to leave.”
His thumb stroked the side of my thigh. “It doesn’t have to be that way.”
While I might have been uncertain about leaving Europe, I was still steadfast in my refusal to work for him.
I shifted my leg away from his touch. “Yes, it does.”
We drove on in silence for some time as the dim lights of Paris receded into the distance.
When we approached the Charles de Gaulle Airport, I checked my phone to see what terminal I would need. “I’m flying United out of Terminal One.”
The Mercedes breezed past the terminal exit.
I twisted in my seat to stare out the back window. “That was my terminal.”
“When is your flight?”
I bit my lip. My first impulse was to lie to him, but then I thought better of it. “I don’t have one. Yet. I have an open-ended ticket. There are constant flights to New York.”
He nodded.
“My terminal?”
He turned and smiled. It did not reach his eyes. “If you don’t have a dedicated flight, then there is no harm in us talking further.”
A massive barbed-wire gate slowly opened after a pair of security guards armed with AK-47s waved our car forward.
I reached out to clutch the car door handle as I stared at the lock. “Where are you taking me?”
“This is the VIP terminal dedicated to private planes.”
Another pair of guards pushed open the metal doors to a hangar on the left. Warm light spilled out onto the black tarmac, revealing a massive Boeing 787 Dreamliner. But it was unlike any plane I’d ever seen.
Painted an intimidating matte black, it looked like something out of a James Bond movie.
On the side was the familiar Diamanti family crest. A gold dragon with a crown and a unicorn stood on either side of a shield, above which a glowing blue diamond sparkled.
Below the crest, the inscription of the infamous family motto read:
Crede nullis. Vince omnes.
Trust none. Conquer all.
The House of Diamanti was notorious for its motto, often quoted in headlines whenever their immense wealth and power drew scrutiny.
As I stared in horrified awe, I whispered, “What am I doing here?”
“I want to talk. We’ll do so on my plane.”
I snapped my head to the right to stare at him as I gestured to the plane. “There isn’t a chance in hell I’m getting on that…on that…Bond villain plane!”
His driver opened his door.
Sebastian stepped out and adjusted his coat, buttoning it in front as he waved the driver off and circled around to open my door.
He extended his arm with his palm up. “Sabrina, get out of the car, sweetheart.”
I crossed my arms over my chest. “This is a trick.”
He placed his forearm against the opening and leaned down. “There are some important gentlemen arriving to do business with me. Because of various international customs laws, we need to complete the diamond exchange on board my private plane. There is no trick.”
As he spoke, two black Range Rovers pulled into the hangar. Four men dressed in dark suits, with silver briefcases handcuffed to their wrists, alighted.
A security guard approached the car. “Signore Diamanti, the men are here to—”
“They can wait.” Sebastian kept his gaze focused on me.
The four men gathered in a group, shifting their weight from side to side as they checked their phones. They clearly weren’t used to waiting.
“I thought you said they were important.”
“They are…but you are more important.”
“So you’re just going to make them wait?”
His voice held a hint of amusement. “Strictly speaking, you’re making them wait.”
I twisted the Bvlgari rose-gold ring around my finger. The people-pleaser in me hated keeping anyone waiting, even complete strangers.
“But why do I have to get on the plane too?”
“Because I’m not leaving you alone in the back of a fucking car without my protection.”
Part of me wanted to ask why I would need protection, but another part was too afraid to know the answer. With a sigh, I got out of the car. “Fine, but after this, I want to go back to Terminal One.”
Sebastian placed a hand at my lower back and guided me toward the plane. The touch was light but firm, an unspoken command wrapped in a veneer of politeness. I climbed the narrow boarding stairs, clinging to the rail as my nerves mounted.
A male flight attendant greeted us at the entrance with champagne. “Welcome aboard, Signore Diamanti, Signora Badalamenti.”
Sebastian took one glass and handed it to me. He then shrugged out of his coat and placed it over the attendant’s extended arm. “Thank you, Oliver. Is the conference room prepared for our guests?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Very good. Escort them aboard by the rear entrance while I get Signora Badalamenti settled.”
I followed him past the reception area into a cozy lounge decorated in chocolate brown, bronze, and cream. If I hadn’t known we were on a plane, I’d have thought I was in some lavish penthouse. Marble sculptures accented the sleek furniture—a Roman bust, a headless torso, and an elegant hand.
Sebastian motioned for me to sit on the U-shaped sofa. I perched on the edge, unsure how to relax amidst such opulence. The cashmere upholstery was impossibly soft under my fingertips, its luxury almost absurd.
Worried I might spill, I clutched my champagne flute with both hands. Just for good measure, I straightened my back.
Sebastian stood over me. “Are you comfortable?”
Not even close. “Yes, thank you.”
Sebastian placed a hand on the back of the sofa, leaning down until his lips hovered near my ear. “Dolcezza, when I’m done with my business, I’m going to fuck you on this sofa. So enjoy your champagne. And don’t worry about spilling it.”
Heat rushed to my face as I stared at him, words failing me.
“You can’t just say things like that to me,” I finally managed.
He smirked, brushing a stray lock of hair behind my ear. “And why not, if it’s the truth?”
“This is why I can’t work for you!” I gestured wildly, the motion causing champagne to fizz over the rim of my glass. “Oh my God!”
Before I could wipe it away, Sebastian caught my wrist. His gaze locked on mine as he leaned in, his tongue sweeping over my skin to capture the drops of champagne.
I forgot how to breathe.
He straightened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “I’ll lick the rest when I return.”
Too stunned to speak, I watched him stride toward the conference room, leaving me alone in the luxurious lounge with my racing thoughts.
With a tilt of the flute, I gulped the remaining champagne, wriggling my nose as the bubbles tickled it. After slamming the glass on the coffee table, I shoved my blazer sleeve down over my wrist, as if I could somehow wipe away the sensation of his tongue on my skin.
He wanted to have sex with me. Again.
I barely survived the first time.
If he brought me to my knees fully clothed in a shower, what would he do on a sofa…or, worse, a bed? These posh private planes always had beds.
A man in a chef’s coat approached with Oliver trailing behind, carrying a three-tiered crystal tray. “Good afternoon, Signora Badalamenti. My name is Chef Alessio Conti.” He gestured behind him. “And I believe you have met my associate, Oliver. We have the pleasure of serving you today.”
Oliver nodded as he placed the crystal tray within reach of me on the table, followed by a small plate, polished silver, and a linen napkin.
Chef Conti gestured to the hors d’oeuvres.
“Before the first course, we have a selection of hors d’oeuvres for you.
A creamy burrata with a drizzle of truffle oil served on a toasted crostini.
Lightly fried crab and ricotta zucchini blossoms. We get the blossoms year-round from an organic hothouse farm just outside of Rome.
And finally, some lobster arancini seasoned with saffron and served with a lemon aioli.
They pair especially well with the Dom Pérignon. May Oliver get you another glass?”
I covered the top of the flute with my palm. “No, thank you.”
Oliver stepped forward and gestured toward the diamond-patterned lattice wall behind me. “Can I interest you in a different drink? We have a fully stocked bar in the dining area.”
I shook my head. “No. I’ve had enough.”
The chef stepped closer. “May I fix you a plate?”
Overwhelmed, I shook my head. “I’m fine. I’m not that hungry.”
Chef Conti and Oliver exchanged a look of concern before turning back to me. “Apologies. We are under very strict instructions from Signore Diamanti. He is concerned you have not eaten enough today. If nothing here appeals to you, I can prepare something else.”
Unless he'd prepared all this in advance, just assuming I’d accompany him?
Dammit.
After snatching an arancini ball from the tray, I shoved the whole thing into my mouth.
Talking around the savory lobster bite, I said, “Satisfied?”
They both bowed and left silently, slowly backing out of the room as if they were afraid to turn their backs on me.
I stared at the exit sign, its red neon glow pulsing.
Just below it, a security guard loomed, his tailored suit doing little to hide the bulge of a gun at his hip.
Running wasn’t an option—I wouldn’t make it two steps past him.
Sebastian was always five moves ahead, his plans an intricate spider’s web.
There was no way he hadn’t instructed his staff to keep me contained onboard the plane until he decided to deal with me.
The guard’s eyes locked on mine, sharp and assessing. My pulse spiked. Panicked, I looked away, focusing on the band of my ring, twisting it.
I hated feeling powerless, waiting for Sebastian to make the next move.
My skin prickled, and a suffocating sense of inevitability settled over my chest.
Whatever Sebastian had planned, I knew one thing: I wasn’t going to like it.