Page 20 of Forcibly Sold to the Bratva
I don’t say anything about this unexpected turn of events, but this is definitely not how I thought we’d be traveling to Cancun. I know he is rich. I thought we’d fly business, or first class at that, but a private jet?
“The bags are already on the plane,” he tells me as he guides me up the stairs. On entering, half a dozen airhostesses greet us, before Ilariy guides me inside to seats that can recline into whole, entire beds.
I try really, really hard not to let my jaw drop when he tells me there’s a hot tub and shower at the back.
I find a seat. “Take any,” Ilariy tells me, and then proceeds to take one across the aisle from me. I run my hands down the soft leather, breathe it in. The air hostess comes around with some champagne and insists I take one.
Who the hell am I to say no?
The flight passes by way too quickly. I try to resist the comfortable seat, the insane meal, the attentive service—but it’s hard to maintain righteous indignation at being whisked away at a moment’s notice when you’re being served lobster risotto at 30,000 feet.
I hate that I’m enjoying any of this, but my heart does a little flutter, excitement running down my spine.
Cancun. Here I come.
***
We land in Cancun three hours later and step out into the hot, humid air. I can already smell the salt in the air, the tropical feel seeping through me. Another black SUV awaits us on the tarmac, and Ilariy ushers me inside.
“No customs?” I ask once we’re inside the car.
Ilariy’s lips quirk up. “Private entrance has its privileges.”
Of course it does. The man probably has officials in his pocket in every country.
The drive to our resort is stunning beyond belief. I look out of the window greedily, taking in the coastline.
“I’ll be having some meetings,” Ilariy tells me. “But the resort has more activities than you know what to do with. It’s all inclusive, so feel free to try out whatever you like. The spa, the beach, snorkeling, or diving.”
“Mm-hmm,” I’m barely listening now as the resort comes into view.
The lobby itself is bigger than most hotels in New York.
“This place…Ilariy,” I sigh. “It’s beautiful.”
“Wait till you see the beachfront villa,” he grins.
The villa, if one can call it that, is literally a mansion. It’s gorgeous, with white plaster flooring, beautiful wooden furniture, cane figurines, and couches that look like cotton. There’s so much light coming from the floor-to-ceiling windows, which open up to allow the sounds of the ocean in.
And the view. My goodness. The view.
“Your room is through there,” Ilariy points to a door off the main living area. “I have meetings this afternoon. We’ll have dinner at eight.”
And just like that, I get to spend an entire day on the beach. Suddenly, I don’t mind being here so much. That night, I find myself eating alone at the restaurant, enjoying a glass of wine and a fresh lobster. For now, I just want to soak in this moment.
***
The next morning, Ilariy leaves again. I spend the day exploring the grounds, and sometimes a thought crosses my mind: What would it be like to just… walk out? To make a phone call to one of my brothers? But when Ilariy’s gone, I always have a shadow, making escape impossible.
That evening, Ilariy returns at five and finds me reading on a recliner in the living room.
“Get dressed,” he says to me. No hello. No nothing.
I put aside my book and look at him in surprise. “Seriously?”
“We’re going into town.” He tugs off his tie and leaves for his room.
An excitement shoots down my spine. While the resort is stunning, exploring the town seems like a wonderful idea. I’ve had a lovely, long day on the beach, but the solitude is getting to me.
