Page 222 of Intense
Chapter 78
STEPHANIE
We board the private jet, and Finn squeezes my hand so tightly my rings cut into my skin. His grip is almost painful, but it steadies me. Everyone else is already on board when we step inside.
“I thought you were taking an army with you?” I whisper.
“We are. We just have separate jets. You don’t take a whole army on one plane.”
Oh. Right.
His brothers sit together on one side, the twins on the other. The tall blond guy from the strip club is hunched over a laptop, fingers moving quickly across the keys. His eyes lift briefly to mine, and I offer a smile.
“Hi. I’m Drago.” He stands, offering a tattooed hand, his Russian accent thick.
“Uh. Hi. Stephanie.” I give it a firm shake.
Finn’s brothers greet me too, though it’s clear Declan is less welcoming than Conan. Conan’s easy smile softens me, but Declan’s sharp stare makes it obvious that he doesn’t want me here. He’s worried about Finn, I assume. It’s up to me to prove tothem all I can be trusted. The twins are too wrapped up in their own argument to notice anything at all.
“Declan isn’t angry with you, love. He’s worried about me bringing you, is all. I promise he doesn’t usually behave like he’s got a stick up his ass,” Finn whispers.
I cover my mouth to stop the laugh.
“Finn,” I hiss, jabbing my elbow into his ribs.
Then there’s another man clearing his throat, with dark brown hair and piercing blue eyes, snapping something vicious in Italian into his phone. His voice is low but deadly.
“Who is that?” I murmur.
“I’ll introduce you.” Finn smiles, leading me further down.
The man looks up, cuts the call without a word, and rises to his feet.
“Enzo. Meet my wife, Stephanie.”
Enzo’s gaze drops to our joined hands, then flicks back to Finn.
“I didn’t get invited to the wedding? I thought we got past this,” he says dryly.
Finn chuckles, completely unbothered.
“Hey! His own brothers didn’t either!” Conan calls from the front.
“It was a spur-of-the-moment wedding,” I add quickly.
“Nice to meet you,” I offer, and Enzo gives me a smile that softens him, but not entirely. There’s still an edge there, like a blade hidden under silk.
None of these men feel quite as frightening as the Russians I saw in Vegas, though. Those men wore their violence like armor. And now… it makes sense. The tattoos. The danger. The way Finn blended seamlessly among them. These people, this life, are the real Finn Quinn.
And I like him this way. More than I ever expected.
We slip into the back row near Enzo as the jet takes off. I rest my head on Finn’s shoulder, grounding myself in him.
“What’s your favorite food?” I ask softly.
“Your pussy,” he answers flatly.
I smack his arm. “No. Seriously. I want to know everything about you.”
