God Of Vengeance (Kings Of Mafia)

My heart is beating wildly in my chest, dread coating my skin, and my nerves frayed from the interrogation I somehow survived.

The past forty minutes of sitting next to Damiano were the most unnerving of my life.

My hand still tingles from gripping his arm. I was so scared when the plane took off I didn’t realize I’d grabbed hold of him.

I can be glad I’m still alive after touching him without his permission.

The split second before I pulled my hand away, I felt his strength rippling beneath my fingertips.

Even where I’m sitting on the other side of the cabin, I can feel the violent energy coming from Damiano.

His refusal to answer my question makes me worry. It would be stupid to assume he took me for himself. He might have something worse planned for me.

Dio.

I suck in desperate breaths as a panic attack threatens to overwhelm me.

You’d think I’d be used to nerve-wracking situations after everything I’ve endured at the hands of my family, but sitting in a private jet with Damiano Falco and his men terrifies the living hell out of me.

Tension-filled minutes creep by slowly, a form of torture I’ve never experienced before.Content is © by NôvelDrama.Org.

I glance around the cabin, noticing most of the men are fast asleep. Including Damiano.

His guard, who’s seated next to him, is the only other person awake. Besides the flight crew, of course.

I take a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to ease my frail nerves. It’s of no use because my uncertain future keeps making fear shudder through me.

Maybe he’s taking me for someone else?

That’s if I’m even going to get married. He might have taken me for a completely different reason.

But what?

Even though the Cosa Nostra isn’t known for dealing in sex slavery, the terrifying thought still crosses my mind.

No, that’s not the reason.

He made me put on a blouse, and I overheard him tell his men not to look at me. That means my virtue is worth something to him.

Virgins sell for a lot.

I swallow hard on the terrifying thought as my eyes lock on the Capo dei Capi. Even though he seems to be sleeping, he still looks dangerous as hell.

There’s a frown between his eyebrows, and his mouth is set in a grim line.

I wonder whether he ever relaxes.

Is he capable of laughing?

The fleeting smirk I saw earlier pops into my mind. It was only for a second, but his face transformed from deadly to downright hot.

As I stare at Damiano, I take in his black hair, his features that could easily be carved from stone, and the dark bristles on his jaw.

My gaze lowers to his neck before drifting over his broad shoulders and down his muscled biceps.

When I see his forearms and the veins snaking beneath his skin, I feel a weird sensation in my stomach. It feels like something is twisting and turning in my abdomen, and as my eyes lock on his left hand, his ring finger bare, the sensation spreads to my chest.

When my eyes lift back to Damiano’s face and I see the grim lines pulling around his mouth, I shake my head.

Then I lock eyes with his guard, who’s watching me like a hawk.

He shakes his head slowly before murmuring, “Stop whatever you’re thinking.”

Crap.

I tear my eyes away from the guard’s and wrap my arms around myself.

I hope the man doesn’t think I was plotting to kill his boss.

At some point during the long flight, the flight attendant gives everyone food. Even though I’m not hungry, I eat some of the lamb shank and mashed potatoes because I have no idea when I’ll get food again.

After we’ve all had our meals, I notice Damiano and his guard are caught in a serious conversation.

I hope the guard doesn’t tell him I was staring at him while he was resting.

Lifting my hand, I wipe my fingers over my forehead, where a tension headache is forming.

I have no idea how long the flight is, and unable to sleep, I just sit and stare at nothing in particular. My thoughts are overwhelmed with everything that’s happened and my uncertain future.

My family probably only cares about what they might gain from Damiano taking me. They’re definitely not worried about my safety, and they sure as hell won’t miss me.

No one cares about what happens to me.

The thought makes a forlorn feeling ghost through my chest.

Lifting my chin, I suck in a deep breath while I forcefully squash the gloomy feeling.

I have myself.

I’ve survived beatings, starvation, and years of neglect. I’ll survive whatever lies in my future.

When the flight attendant announces that we’re landing in ten minutes, my stomach turns into a queasy mess.

Crap, I shouldn’t have eaten.

My hands grip the armrests tightly, my nails digging into the expensive leather as I try to brace myself.

“Come,” Damiano’s guard suddenly says as he unclips my seat belt.

Taking hold of my elbow, he helps me to my feet, and I’m once again steered to the seat beside Damiano.

As I quickly fasten the seat belt, Damiano places a paper bag on my lap.

“If you’re going to get sick, use the bag,” he mutters, his tone harsh.

“Thank you,” I reply.

Sitting next to Damiano makes me feel a hell of a lot more tense, and I clasp my hands together on my lap.

I’m confused as to why he wants me to sit beside him.

It’s probably to keep you close so you won’t try to make a run for it once the plane has landed.

Suddenly, the plane dips, and my stomach rolls with fear. I squeeze my eyes shut, and not caring whether Damiano will be angry, I grab hold of his arm.

This time, there’s no fabric, and I feel the heat of his skin.

The plane dips again, and I let out a squeak.

“Christ,” Damiano growls beside me. “Your nails are sharp.”

When he takes hold of my hand, my eyes fly open, and it’s to see him moving my hand to his.

For a moment, I forget about the plane.

I’m stunned out of my everloving mind when his fingers wrap tightly around mine, but then the plane shudders as it touches down on the runway. If it weren’t for the seat belt, I’d climb into Damiano’s lap for safety. Instead, I turn my head and press my face against his bicep, another squeak escaping my lips.

The aircraft slams on its brakes, and my body jolts from the force. My other hand grabs hold of Damiano’s bicep, and I press as close to him as the seat belt allows.

The plane slows down drastically, and the first thing I become aware of is the scent filling the air I breathe. It’s warm and manly, with notes of spice and something rich.

I can smell the power before I feel it beneath my hands.

Before Damiano can say anything, I yank away while my face goes up in flames.

“I apo–”

“Stop apologizing for something you intend on doing again,” he grumbles while unclipping his seat belt and climbing to his feet. “Come.”

Again? Does that mean he plans to take me somewhere else?

I quickly free myself from my seat belt and get up. Once again, Damiano’s guard takes hold of my arm and pulls me to the side so I’m out of his boss’ way.

Half the guards leave the plane while Damiano straightens his sleeves before shrugging on his jacket.

Only when one of the guards signals that it’s safe does Damiano head down the stairs.

I follow with his guard, and having the man’s hand on me, I mutter, “If you’re going to drag me around, I should at least know your name.”

“Carlo,” he murmurs. “I’m the head of security and Damiano’s second in charge.”

He must be just as dangerous as Damiano, if not more.

It’s much colder in New York than Palermo, and I shiver as I walk away from the private jet.

Reaching an SUV, I climb into the backseat with Damiano. He pulls his phone from his pocket and keeps busy replying to messages and emails.

When Carlo starts the engine, I glance at the dashboard and notice it’s nine pm. I forgot about the time difference between the two countries.

As we drive away from the airfield, I stare at the foreign landscape, or as much of it as I can see at night.

I wonder if I’ll be allowed to explore New York.

Probably not.

It feels like I’m being transported from one prison to another, and God only knows what my new warden will be like.