Page 72 of Taken By Sin

“Dead serious.” He reaches for my hand, pulling me toward the aircraft. “You said you’d never been in one, so I figured why not?”

Before I can respond, the pilot greets us with a warm smile and helps me into one of the seats. The cabin smells faintly of leather and adventure, and the anticipation hums in my chest as Sin climbs in beside me. He secures my headset, his fingers brushing against my temple, and I catch the excitement in his eyes.

The blades begin to spin, the sound growing louder as the helicopter comes to life. I glance at Sin, his hand resting reassuringly on my knee, and I feel a rush of gratitude; not just for the experience but for the way he always seems to know how to surprise me in the best possible ways.

As we lift off, the ground falls away beneath us, and Portofino stretches out like a masterpiece.

The village, with its colorful houses and winding streets, looks even more magical from above. The coastline glitters in the soft morning light, the sea a perfect shade of blue that seems to stretch forever.

“Look at that,” I whisper, completely in awe.

Sin leans closer, his voice warm through the headset. “Worth getting up early for?”

I turn to face him, my heart full of adoration. “More than worth it.”

“I know this is a short trip, we’re leaving tomorrow. I wanted you to experience everything you possibly can." He smiles, his fingers lacing through mine as we soar higher, the world opening up below us in a way that feels impossibly vast and breathtakingly intimate all at once. “Once we land, we’re going on my father’s boat. I wanted you to see the beauty of this city from land, sea, and clouds.”

TWENTY-SEVEN

The yacht is massive, its sleek white hull gleaming under the midday sun as it bobs gently in the turquoise waters of Portofino’s harbor. From the moment we step onto the deck, it’s impossible not to feel the weight of its luxury—the polished teak floors, plush seating, and crew that moves efficiently like clockwork.

I take it all in, the sight almost overwhelming, but Sin seems at ease. His hand rests lightly on my back, guiding me toward the shaded seating area near the bow where his father is already waiting, a glass of something amber-colored in hand.

The sharp lines of his suit are gone, replaced by a crisp linen shirt and tailored shorts that somehow still carry an air of authority.

“Impressive, isn’t it?” Mr. Donati says, gesturing vaguely to the yacht around us as we approach.

“It’s beautiful,” I say honestly, my voice steady despite the unease that lingers from our earlier meeting.

“Only the best,” he replies, his tone clipped. “I assume you haven’t been on a vessel like this before.”

I pause, unsure if it’s a question or a statement, but Sin answers for me, his voice calm but firm. “Does it matter, Dad? She’s here now.”

Mr. Donati glances at him, an eyebrow raised, before taking a sip of his drink. “I was asking with curiosity, not judgment.”

The yacht begins to pull away from the dock, the gentle hum of the engines blending with the sound of waves lapping against the hull. I glance over the side, watching as the pastel-colored buildings of Portofino’s harbor grow smaller, replaced by the vast, open expanse of the Ligurian Sea.

Sin guides me to a seat, and I sink into the cushioned bench, grateful for his reassuring presence beside me. The breeze tugs at my hair, carrying with it the salty tang of the sea and the faint aroma of sunscreen.

“Would you like a drink?” Sin asks softly, his hand brushing against mine.

I nod, grateful for the distraction, and he steps away to speak with a crew member. For a moment, it’s just me and Mr. Donati, the tension between us as palpable as the sea breeze. He watches me carefully, his gaze sharp but unreadable.

“You know,” he says finally, his voice low, “Sin has always been… determined. Stubborn, even.”

I tilt my head slightly, meeting his gaze. “He’s passionate. He knows what he wants.” I don’t know where this conversation is going.

“I can see that.” He responds, “I want you to know, myharshness doesn’t come from anything to do with you, personally. I am a man who has suffered a great deal of loss, and I…” he hesitates, looking around his yacht, to Bria, to Sin. “None of this stuff matters to me; they are it. My family. I’m not sure how much Sin has told you about his mother, but we lost her in a violent, senseless way.” He pauses, gathering himself. “If something were to happen to them, there would be no use for me in this world. So please, accept my apology for yesterday. I see that you not only care for my son, but also Bria.”

He opened up to me. I’m nearly too stunned to speak.

“I do, I truly do. Thank you, Mr. Donati.” I smile at him earnestly. “I understand, and I do appreciate you opening up.”

Sin returns with two glasses of Prosecco, handing one to me before sitting down. “What are we talking about?” he asks, his eyes flicking between us.

“Just making conversation,” Mr. Donati says smoothly, lifting his glass in a faint toast. “To new experiences.”

Sin narrows his eyes slightly but clinks his glass against his father’s before turning back to me. “Let’s go up to the bow,” he suggests, his voice softer now. “The view’s better.”

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