Chapter 3 - Descent into the Capital
The turbulence lasted twenty agonizing minutes before the giant Boeing leveled out into smooth, high-altitude air. The captain’s voice crackled over the intercom, offering a smooth apology and promising an on-time arrival at Leonardo da Vinci–Fiumicino Airport in just under two hours.
In first class, the tension remained thick enough to cut with a scalpel.
Clare’s heart pounded against her ribs like a trapped bird. As soon as the seatbelt sign flickered off, she unbuckled with trembling hands and stood up. “I need to check on my daughter. She heard her screaming—she was terrified.”
Dante handed the sleeping infant gently back to Viktor, who took the baby with surprising tenderness, cradling him like fragile glass. Dante stood up, towering over Clare, his expression unyielding.
“Sit with her for ten minutes,” Dante instructed, his tone brooking no argument. “Calm her down. Then bring her up here.”
Clare bristled. “I’m not a prisoner, Mr. Moretti. I don't take orders.”
“It’s not an order, Clare. It’s an invitation,” Dante said quietly, his grey eyes softening just a fraction. “Your daughter was terrified in the dark. My son was terrified in his own skin. Neither of them should have to suffer because the world is chaotic. Bring her to first class. There’s enough space, and frankly, Leo likes the sound of your voice.”
Clare hesitated, her protective instincts warring with the exhaustion pulling at every muscle in her body. She looked at Dante’s face—etched with power, grief, and a sudden, quiet vulnerability—and nodded once.
When Clare parted the curtain and slipped back into premium economy, she found Maya huddled in her seat, clutching her stuffed rabbit so tightly the seams were straining, tears streaking her dusty cheeks.
“Mommy!” Maya sobbed, throwing her arms around Clare’s neck as soon as she reached the row. “The plane dropped! I thought we were falling!”
“I know, baby, I know, I’m right here,” Clare whispered fiercely, burying her face in Maya’s pale gold curls, rocking her back and forth just as she had done with Leo minutes before. “Mommy’s here. Nothing’s going to happen to us. I promise.”
It took a quarter of an hour of whispered reassurances, sips of ginger ale, and gentle songs before Maya’s breathing slowed and she wiped her eyes with the back of her sleeve.
“Can we go to sleep now?” Maya mumbled, yawning deeply.
“Actually, bug, we’re going on an adventure,” Clare said softly, lifting her daughter into her arms along with the diaper bag and the battered suitcase overhead. “Up front. There’s a very nice baby up there who wants to meet you.”
When Clare carried Maya through the curtain into first class, the entire atmosphere shifted.
Dante had cleared the adjacent oversized suite seat, laying out a plush cashmere blanket and a row of gourmet fruit plates from the first-class galley. Viktor stood guard near the galley door, nodding respectfully as Clare approached.
Maya’s eyes went wide as saucers as she took in the expansive leather seats, the polished wood trim, and most importantly, the baby sleeping peacefully in a custom bassinet beside Dante.
“Is that a king’s bed?” Maya whispered loudly, clutching Clare’s collar.
Dante let out a low, genuine chuckle—a sound that completely transformed his dangerous countenance into something remarkably warm. He crouched down to Maya’s eye level, ignoring the expensive tailoring of his trousers against the carpet.
“It’s close to a king’s bed, little one,” Dante said, his voice dropping into a gentle, mesmerizing register. “I’m Dante. And I think you’re Maya.”
Maya blinked, tilting her head. “How do you know my name?”
“Your mother told me,” Dante said smoothly, glancing up at Clare with a look that sent a warm, dangerous shiver straight down her spine. “And she told me you’re very brave. Would you like to see Leo? He sleeps a lot, but he likes company.”
Maya’s hesitation melted instantly. Within five minutes, the little girl was curled up on the wide ottoman across from Dante, happily sharing a strawberry tart while babbling quietly about her stuffed rabbit, completely oblivious to the fact that she was conversing with one of the most feared men in the European underworld.
Clare sat across from them, sipping a cup of steaming chamomile tea provided by a thoroughly reformed and polite flight attendant. She watched Dante interact with her daughter—listening with total, undivided attention as Maya explained the complex emotional life of a stuffed rabbit named Barnaby.
It was terrifying how naturally he fit into the picture. A man built for violence and boardrooms, sitting on a trans-Atlantic flight, listening to a three-year-old girl talk about toys.
“You’re good with her,” Clare noted quietly, her voice pitched so only he could hear.
Dante looked up from Maya, his grey eyes locking onto Clare’s. “Children don't lie, Clare. They don't have agendas. They just want to know if you’re safe to trust.”
“And am I?” Clare asked, her heart skipping a beat. “Safe to trust, I mean?”
May you like
Dante held her gaze for a long, heavy beat, the hum of the jet engines fading into the background.
“With my life,” Dante said softly. “And soon, you’ll realize that’s not a metaphor.”
