Page 86 of Brutal Vows

For the next half an hour, all he does is teach me how to build the gun, load the bullets, break it down, repeat, repeat, repeat.

“We’re not going to have time to practice.”

“It’s okay.” I sink onto the bed, exhausted. “It won’t come to this. I trust Masha. And she needs the money we’re bringing. She wouldn’t jeopardize her chance to finally be free of all of this.”

“You really trust her?” he asks as our eyes lock.

“Yes. But I get why you don’t. You don’t know her like I do.”

“No.”

He stifles a yawn and takes the gun from me, breaks it into components, and places them back in their slots. Then he takes the bullets and puts them in his suitcase he’ll check on our commercial flights.

“Are you going to have a real gun?” I ask. “This seems too much like a toy to me.”

“Still deadly,” he warns me. “Yes. Ben has arranged something for me. We’ll get it at a location just outside the airport in Saint Petersburg.”

It grows quiet between us. This room, the hum of the jet engines, the enclosed space. We haven’t slowed down like this in days.

Luca has packed my things again and now my cabin bag is on the floor. He still has his back to me, but I watch him peel off his shirt.

“I’m going to shower,” he states.

“Okay.”

I bite my lip. I showered just before we left for the airport, not knowing we were going to have these facilities on the plane. Now he’s walking to the en suite, his naked chest a temptation, his unblemished skin almost too pure for a man with his background. I want to touch it, caress the muscles on his arms, his shoulders, run my fingers down the valley of his spine.

He doesn’t look back and disappears into the bathroom. There’s another washroom outside the bedroom for other passengers, so I go and brush my teeth there. I haven’t bothered to put on make-up in ages, so there’s not much else to do. The shower is still running when I return, and I put on my nightgown in privacy I don’t want. I get into bed and am staring at the ceiling when Luca walks back in.

We haven’t talked about sharing a bed, but we’re married and this is the only bed. I don’t want him to sleep on a seat in the cabin. There’s space and this is so comfortable.

Where would we be now if it weren’t for Zoe? If things just kept going that night when he lifted me onto the piano in frustration? But then, we wouldn’t be in this situation at all if it weren’t for Zoe. We wouldn’t even be married. I hatched these plans and look where they got me.

Luca comes to stand on his side of the bed in briefs, still towel-drying his hair. I seem to sink into the mattress with desire at the way he’s staring at me, his gaze soft, tired.

“You mind?” he asks, indicating the bed.

“No, of course not,” I whisper back.

He switches the light off and the towel drops to the floor, then the sheets rustle as he gets in. The intoxicating scent from his shower drifts over, and I turn to face him as my hand inches toward him of its own accord, but not touching him.

My eyes adjust to the dark, and there’s still enough light to study his profile. Then I feel it, the soft caress of his hand as it reaches for mine. He runs his thumb over my knuckles, so in tune with me somehow, despite everything. And perhaps because of this, I’ve never felt closer to a man in my life.

“Luca,” I whisper, my voice catching. “I’m scared,” I confess. “I’m so scared I can hardly breathe.”

“I know. Come here.”

He shifts across to me and gathers me into the safety of his arms, where I settle, warm against his chest, still damp from his shower.

“It’s going to be okay,” he says. “We’ve done everything we could to make this go smoothly.”

And yet, it may not be enough.

41

LUCA

She clings to me and I get her fear. I’m going through the same. For me, it’s the fear of the unknown. For her, it’s the fear of what she knows. These people. The Bratva. Russia. This should petrify me, but I’ve deep-dived into this and I’m not coming up for air yet.