Page 35 of Silent Vows

“Yours,” I agree, working at his belt. “All yours.”

The bathroom is impossibly small, all chrome and luxury finishes, but we make it work. Every touch feels amplified by adrenaline and fear, by the knowledge that we might not get another chance. His hands are everywhere, leaving fire in their wake. When he enters me in one powerful thrust, my head falls back against the wall.

“Look at me,” he demands, and I do. In the soft lighting, his eyes are almost black with desire, focused entirely on me, like I’m the only thing grounding him to this moment. His hand braces against the wall for leverage while his other palm digs into my hip, guiding me as he moves, each thrust erasing the shadows of fear and danger that linger around us, leaving only this—us, here, now.

The rhythm between us becomes a frantic, desperate dance, driven by the need to feel something real, something certain. His body is relentless, and mine answers, matching each movement with rising intensity, with a hunger I can’t contain. As the tension crests, pleasure sears through me, and I bite down on his shoulder, stifling my cries as I shatter around him. Moments later, he follows, his own release tearing through him as he murmurs my name—a reverent promise that echoes in the stillness.

As we’re straightening our clothes, his eyes catch mine in the mirror. “Do you have any idea how dangerous you are to me?”

Before I can ask what he means, the pilot’s voice crackles over the intercom: “Sir, we have a problem. Air traffic control is ordering us to turn back. They’re saying?—”

The rest is lost as the jet suddenly banks hard left, throwing me into Matteo. His arms lock around me protectively as oxygen masks drop from the ceiling like suspended question marks. The luxury cabin transforms instantly into a scene from my worst nightmares.

“Carmine,” Matteo growls, reaching for his phone as we head back to our seats. He pulls me into his lap and his body is tense under mine, coiled like a predator ready to strike. “He’s got people in the control tower.”

My heart hammers against my ribs. Just when I thought we were safe, just when I was letting myself believe in our future…“Can they force us to land?”

“They can try.” He hits a number on speed dial, his other arm still locked around me as the plane shudders through another turn. “Antonio? Plan B. Now.”

Through the window, I see something that makes my blood run cold. Two military jets pull alongside us, close enough that I can make out the pilots in their cockpits. The morning sun glints off their wings like knives, and I’m hit with the sudden, terrifying understanding that my uncle’s reach extends far beyond what we imagined.

The jet banks again, harder this time. My stomach lurches as we drop altitude, the clouds rushing past our windows at sickening speed. Alarms start blaring through the cabin—high-pitched, urgent sounds that make my pulse spike. The flight attendant straps herself in, her previously unflappable demeanor finally showing cracks of concern.

Matteo’s earlier words echo in my mind.“Love makes you vulnerable. Gets people killed.”But as I feel his heart racing in time with mine, his arms still holding me close despite his injured shoulder, I know it’s too late for either of us to protect ourselves from that particular danger.

“Hold on to me,” Matteo murmurs in my ear as the jet begins another sharp turn. His voice is steady despite the chaos, an anchor in the storm. “And whatever happens next, remember—we’re in this together.”

I grip his shirt, breathing in his scent as the plane shudders around us. The military jets are still there, boxing us in like predators herding prey. One tilts its wings—a warning or a threat, I’m not sure which. The gesture makes everything suddenly, terrifyingly real.

My father is dead. My mother is dead. My uncle wants to kill me on my honeymoon. And now we might die in a forced landing, shot down by military jets over New York airspace. Theabsurdity of it all hits me, and I have to swallow a hysterical laugh.

Warning lights flash red across the cabin as we continue to lose altitude. Through the windows, I watch the clouds thin out, revealing glimpses of the landscape below. We’re over water now—the dark expanse of the Atlantic stretching endlessly ahead. Each moment brings us closer to whatever Carmine has planned, each mile marking our countdown to either escape or disaster.

“I won’t let them take you,” Matteo says against my hair, and even now, even here, I believe him. Whatever happens next, whatever my uncle has planned, we’ll face it together.

I just pray we both live long enough to see tomorrow.

The cabin pressure changes suddenly, making my ears pop. More alarms join the chorus, creating a symphony of danger that sets my teeth on edge. The flight attendant’s voice comes over the intercom, cool and professional despite the situation: “Please secure your oxygen masks and brace for potential rapid descent.”

“Matteo?” I hate how small my voice sounds, but fear claws at my throat as the military jets edge closer. Their missiles are clearly visible now, a deadly promise of what could happen if we don’t comply.

“Trust me,” he says, but his eyes are on his phone, reading something that makes his jaw clench. His arms tighten around me as the plane banks again, this time so sharply that loose items slide across the cabin floor.

A crackle of static fills the cabin, followed by a voice I recognize. My uncle. “Isabella,” Carmine’s voice comes through the speakers, dripping with false concern. “Be reasonable. Let the plane land. We just want to talk.”

Like he “just wanted to talk” to my mother? Rage burns through my fear, hot and clarifying. This man—this monsterwearing my uncle’s face—killed my parents, tried to kill my husband, and now thinks he can force me to land and what? Trust him?

“Your father was weak,” Carmine continues when we don’t respond. “Your mother was foolish. Don’t make their mistakes.”

Matteo’s phone buzzes again. Whatever he reads this time makes his eyes glitter dangerously. “Hold on tight,piccola,” he murmurs. “And whatever happens, don’t let go.”

The military jets suddenly break formation, one peeling left while the other drops below us. The move feels choreographed, practiced—like they’re executing a plan they’ve trained for. My eye catches details even through my fear: the way sunlight glints off their weapons, how they mirror each other’s movements with deadly precision.

“They’re boxing us in,” Matteo says, his voice tight. “Forcing us toward Kennedy.”

Where Carmine probably waits. Where an “accident” can be arranged. Where I’ll disappear like my mother, another tragic casualty in a world of violence I never wanted to join.

16

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