Page 8 of His Tesoro

“Not quite the traditional way to carry the bride over a threshold,” Sofiya quipped as we entered the plane.

I placed her in a seat and fixed her with a stern expression. “This marriage is an alliance between our families. Nothing more. You are not my bride. I expect you to behave in a manner befitting your position, but do not expect a real marriage from me. Understand?”

Hurt flashed across Sofiya’s face, her expressive eyes giving away everything she was feeling. Doubt filled me again about how she could possibly survive this life. The criminal underworld would chew her up and spit her out.

“Okay,” she said softly. “Are we… I mean… Will we live together?”

I cleared my throat and adjusted my cufflinks. “Of course. We will present a strong marriage to the outside world. In private, we will have separate lives.” I forced myself to turn away and took a seat across the aisle from her.

Romeo sprawled in the seat beside me, still wearing a sly smile that set me on edge, and Angelo sat down next to Sofiya, crowding her against the window.

“Are you nervous?” I overheard him say.

“A little,” Sofiya responded. “It’s safe, right?” She covered her cheeks with her hands. “Sorry, that’s a stupid question.”

“It’s perfectly safe, bella. The flight’s just over two hours, so not very long.”

I huffed and pulled my phone back out, randomly scrolling through my messages. “Is everything prepared for this meeting?” I asked Romeo.

“This incredibly non-urgent meeting with an arms supplier that I could go to without you, or that we could reschedule? Yeah, I think we’re all set,” he said dryly.

I scowled. “Now is not the time to sit back and relax. The Albanians are pushing in. We need to be on alert.”

“Whatever you say,” Romeo said, sitting back in his seat and closing his eyes.

I resisted the urge to shoot him. He was being way too fucking smug, and I wasn’t even sure about what. But I didn’t like it.

The flight attendant returned to inform us we were ready to take off. Her red dress was low-cut, showing off her large tits, and the indecent skirt left her long, tan legs on display. I’d fucked her in the bedroom at the back of the plane last month, and the hungry way she was looking at me told me she wanted a repeat experience. But now I couldn’t remember what I’d found attractive about her.

The plane started moving, and I had to force my eyes to remain on my phone instead of letting them drift to my new wife.

“Pull all her medical records, anything you can find about her,” I said quietly to Romeo. “I want to know everything about her and this fucking family. Rustik may have proposed this alliance, but giving us this daughter was a slight. He wants the upper hand and I won’t fucking let him get it.”

He nodded, pulling out his phone. For as much as Romeo annoyed me, there was no one I trusted more.

As the plane lifted off the ground, Sofiya let out a little gasp. I couldn’t stop myself from looking over at her. She gripped the armrests as she stared out the window, her lips parted. The evening sunlight hit the window, bouncing off her golden hair and making her look like an angel.

If she was an angel, I was the devil. And we would never belong together.

Once we were in the air, I headed to the back to make some work calls.

6

SOFIYA

Mila and I spent countless hours dreaming of everything we wanted to do in the outside world—the destinations we wanted to travel to and what we wanted to do when we got there. We’d called it our Dream List, and I could already check off my first item: flying on a plane.

Of course, I’d never expected to be on a private plane with wide, soft seats and a flight attendant bringing snacks and champagne. I gave her a quick smile as I took a package of warm chocolate chip cookies. She was gorgeous, her dress highlighting her curves, and I felt a flash of jealousy, especially when I saw how her gaze lingered on Matteo.

I tried to focus on how exciting it was to be above the clouds, to see the sunset paint the sky in oranges and pinks as we hurtled towards our destination, but there was a hard lump in my throat. My new husband had made clear I would never complete several items on my list—being loved, creating a happy home for children.

It had been childish to even put them on there. What woman in my world ever got happiness? We learned to live without it. The unlucky ones ended up like my mother—empty shells, destroyed by cruel husbands. The fortunate ones with absent husbands spent their days looking after kids, shopping, and complaining to friends.

Matteo was brusque and serious, but there weren’t signs yet that he was cruel. He hadn’t commented on my wheelchair, hadn’t called me a “waste of space” like my father had when he saw me using it this morning. Matteo had even carried me up to the plane, his touch gentle, instead of forcing me to scoot up the stairs on my butt.

I wished I could have met my husband on a better health day, but I’d woken up this morning, like I had too many mornings lately, with my knees and hips ready to give out at any moment. Would Matteo have been interested in a real marriage with me if I were prettier or skinnier or less damaged?

“What do you think of flying?” Angelo asked, breaking me out of my melancholic thoughts.

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