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"What?"
"I’m your one shot at making something of yourself, which is why you’re coming to LA with me."
8
Solene
I got on the flight with him to LA.
Not that there was ever any doubt I was going to do that. It was my dream come true. What I’ve wanted since I turned five and burst into song, which surprised my mother who promptly told me, no way, was I to sing in front of anyone else. Singing as a profession is right up there with prostitution, if you were to believe them. She'd already decided my future lay in becoming a compliant Mafia wife. A part of me resented being told that. I rebelled against it in my own way… Until my actions resulted in Declan's beating. I took that as a sign to give up on my dream and make my family happy instead. Meeting him again unleashed the real me—the part I’d subsumed for all these years.
Then, there’s the fact that Massimo and my brother Diego got into an altercation and Massimo shot him point blank. Y-e-a-p, that happened. I should be shocked. Only, growing up in the Mafia, death is no longer a stranger. Still, to see him crumple to the ground in front of my eyes was enough to convince me I had to get out of that place.
After Diego’s death, Massimo decided to marry Olivia, and make no mistake, I’m happy for the two of them. Going by how they couldn’t keep their gazes off each other throughout the wedding ceremony and reception, it was clear the two were destined to be together. They love each other and I’m not going to stand in their way.
As for me? My destiny is somewhere far from this place. Whether it's with Declan or not is something I'm going to find out. For the time being, he’s afforded me passage to a future I’ve dreamed of, and I’d be a fool not to accept it. I can’t wait to get away from my family and their underworld connections and start afresh. Moving to a country a continent away where no one knows me sounds perfect. We waited until the end of the ceremony, then Declan told me we were leaving. I was already packed and ready.
Now, I glance out the window of the private jet he ushered me onto. To think, I’ve never been on a plane before; but even with my limited experience, I can tell that my surroundings are plush. The carpet is thick, the fittings gleam, and the seats are covered in leather so soft, they seem to mold to my form.
Since boarding the plane, Declan hasn’t said a word. He’s in the seat next to me, despite the rest of the plane being empty. The heat of his body is a furnace that draws me in; that dark chocolate and coffee scent of his permeates my senses. He’s a large, solid presence—immovable, unshakable, and currently, asleep. He closed his eyes and seemed to drift off before the plane began its taxi.
I drag my gaze over the contours of his upper lip, which somehow, seems thinner and meaner than when I saw him last. Fine lines bracket his mouth. I can’t remember him having them. Of course, they only add to his presence, giving him a look of worldliness tinged with cynicism that lends him an air of tantalizing experience.
His neck is thicker, the veins more pronounced. Has he been working out? Duh, of course he has; he's a movie star. And it shows, given the outline of his pecs through the sweatshirt he changed into before we left.
His waist is definitely narrower, and his thighs—OMG, his thighs are more powerful, the muscles sturdier, like he’s been doing tons of squats or whatever it is men do to bulk up their lower body. As for the tent over his crotch, I swallow. Was that area so pronounced? I can’t remember. To be honest, there’s not much left of that young man I met on the beach in Naples. This one would have beaten the stuffing out of my brother's bodyguards. The man I remember has been replaced by an older, more mature man of the world who’s also famous. Good thing, too, or my brother might have recognized him.
"Wanna touch?"
"What?" I jerk my chin up and find those iridescent blue eyes fixed on me. This close, I can make out the dark center surrounding the pupil, which is almost as black. And the black striations of his irises, combined with the scar on his forehead, and those high cheekbones, lend him a chillingly mean appearance.
I swallow. This is Declan—the man who’d saved you from being assaulted, after all. He may pretend he’s changed, but surely, inside, he’s still the same man. The one you fantasized about all these years, under the covers with your fingers between your legs. Since every one of my spicy books was confiscated, the only thing I had left to go on was my imagination, and it’s amazing how creative one can get when left to one’s devices for so much of the day. I wrote out many of my thoughts… rambling lines and words that I strung together into tunes I hummed to myself in the privacy of my shower. If my mother or brother had caught me singing, they’d have punished the heck out of me. I wasn’t taking that chance, not after what happened that day with Declan.
I learned my lesson. I knew then, my fate was sealed, and it was futile to resist. I decided I was going to conform and follow the plan laid out for me by my family. I never thought things would change, that I’d have the chance to pursue the dream I had as a young girl. Not until Declan came back into my life.
Something sparked in me then. The ghost of that defiant girl I thought I’d banished forever emerged and insisted I follow my inclination. It was now or never. And with my brother gone, there was no one to hold me back. Sure, my mother wasn’t happy that I decided to leave, but without my brother’s support, and with Massimo taking over as head of the family, she couldn’t stop me. So here I am, enroute to LA with my childhood crush. Who hates me.
"My cock? Do you want to touch it? Isn’t that what you were thinking?" Declan drawls.
I gape, "Wh-what do you mean?"
He smirks, "You were staring at my crotch, and your thoughts were plainly written on your face."
"Was not."
His lips curl. "All your emotions are reflected on your features. You can’t hide what you’re feeling. Which is probably your only saving grace."
I firm my lips. "So, this is why you wanted me along? So I can become your personal punching bag?"
"Among other things," he drawls.
"Oh, my god, you don’t even have the decency to deny it?"
"Why should I? You’ll always get the unvarnished truth from me… babe."
I open my mouth to tell him off again, but what’s the point? With the mood he’s in, he’ll probably only turn it around and make it all my fault.
"You still didn’t answer the question."
