Page 50 of Ruthless God

The coastline gets closer, revealing a striking contrast—black sand beaches, jagged basalt formations, and hidden coves carved by time and erosion, only accessible by small boats. At night, the water in certain areas glows, thanks to bioluminescent plankton, turning the shoreline into something out of a fantasy.

Cecely exhales, shaking her head. “Does anyone even live here? It looks deserted.”

I bite back a smile. I had the same reaction when Gabriel first told me he wanted to buy the island.

“I live here,” I say smoothly, keeping my tone light. “And now? So do you.”

Her head whips toward me. “Funny.”

Her expression shifts, her brows pulling together in genuine concern.

“Is there a house?” Her voice dips slightly, as if she’s only just considering something far worse. Her eyes widen suddenly. “Please tell me this isn’t some kind of camping thing.”

I laugh, deep and low. “There’s a house.”

She exhales dramatically. “Good. Because I draw the line at surviving in the wild.”

I don’t tell her that survival is exactly the issue because she’ll find out soon enough.

“Tighten your seatbelt.”

Cecely’s head snaps toward me, suspicion flashing in her eyes. I flash her a megawatt smile. It’s the kind that’s meant to be reassuring, but does the exact opposite.

“It’s going to be a bumpy landing.”

Her hands immediately go to the straps, yanking them tighter across her chest. “You’re messing with me, right?”

I don’t answer. I just keep my hands steady on the controls, my expression unreadable as I guide the helicopter lower, the rotors slicing through the humid island air.

Below us, the rugged terrain of Isola Ombrafiore spreads out. There’s no neat little runway waiting for us, no smooth stretch of tarmac. Just a clearing carved into the forest, barely big enough for the chopper.

The wind kicks up violently as we descend, the treetops swaying, sending a spray of loose leaves and dust spiraling into the air. The closer we get, the rougher the ride, the helicopter shuddering slightly as turbulence grips us.

Cecely grips her seat, knuckles white. “This is so not the time for theatrics.”

I chuckle, adjusting our trajectory at the last second. “Who said anything about theatrics?”

She glares at me, jaw tight, but she doesn’t scream. I’ll give her that.

The skids hit the ground with a jarring thud, the helicopter bouncing once before settling. The blades whine as I shut everything down, and the moment the rumbling fades, the silence is almost deafening.

Cecely exhales hard. “Jesus. You weren’t kidding.”

I grin as I unbuckle. “Told you.”

She doesn’t move, just stares out the window at the thick jungle surrounding us.

“So…” she finally says, still catching her breath. “This is it?”

I step out, stretching. The heavy, humid air wraps around me instantly, thick with the scent of salt, earth, and rain.

“Oh no,” I glance back at her, my smirk returning. “This is just the beginning.”

11

Cecely

I’ve died and gone to hell.

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