Page 32 of Shadows of Steel
When we arrive, the private runway is already prepped. My plane waits, sleek and dark under the glow of the tarmac lights. We’re escorted through the private terminal, bypassing security, straight into the business lounge.
Still, not a word.
Not until we board.
As the engines hum to life and the jet lifts off, I steal another glance at the woman sitting across from me.
She’s staring out the window.
And for some goddamn reason, I can’t look away.
I don’t fucking like it.
The moment the seatbelt sign clicks off, I lean back in my seat, rolling my shoulders. The jet hums beneath us, smooth and steady as we leave Palermo behind.
Not long after, the stewardess appears.
She’s wearing a uniform that barely qualifies as one, blouse unbuttoned just enough to ensure I notice, skirt tight enough to leave little to the imagination. She doesn’t even glance at Harlow, as if the woman sitting next to me doesn’t fucking exist.
Her attention is all on me, her voice dripping with suggestion. “Sir, is there anything I can get you?” She tilts her head, a slow smile curving her lips. “Anything at all?”
Harlow doesn’t react, outwardly. But I can feel the shift in her energy, the slow burn of irritation.
I don’t let the stewardess breathe another word. My voice is cold, sharp enough to slice. “You can start by acknowledging my fucking fiancée.” I say, my tone low and dangerous. “Unless, of course, you'd prefer to discover just how far from the ground we truly are.”
Her eyes widen, and for a second, I see the exact moment she realizes her mistake. Fear crawls up her spine. She stiffens and nods quickly. “Of course, sir.” She mumbles, finally meeting Harlow’s gaze.
Never one to let an opportunity pass, my fiancée tilts her chin up, a smirk playing at her lips as she delivers her order. “An espresso martini.” She says smoothly, not even sparing the woman a glance. Then she pauses. “And do try to make it strong. I have a habit of losing my patience with weak things.”
The stewardess flushes, nodding before turning to me, clearly hesitant. “I’ll have a coffee,” I say. “And an assortment of pastries.” I leave the specifics to her, she’ll know what to bring. My priority is making sure Harlow eats something.
The stewardess hurries off, her heels clicking against the floor. The moment she’s out of earshot, I turn my attention to the woman who constantly disrupts my thoughts, my gaze fixed on her as she observes the cabin with a casual air, though it’s clear to me, nothing escapes her notice.
“Your jealousy is showing, cara mia.” I murmur, smirking.
She exhales a soft, amused laugh, tilting her head toward me. “Please. If I were jealous, you’d be well aware.”
“Oh?” I draw closer, my voice lowering to a dangerous whisper. “And how, precisely, would you make that apparent?”
She leans in just as much, her scent invading my space, smug amusement flickering in her eyes. “Because there wouldn’t be a body left to serve our drinks.”
A slow, dark chuckle rumbles in my chest. Mia leonessa.
Fucking perfect.
My fists clench as I take her in, she’s still wearing the dress from the party, but instead of heels, she’s in trainers. A contradiction, yet somehow still stunning. Practical, yet entirely effortless in a way only she can be.
I tilt my head slightly. “Until our drinks are prepared, feel free to change. The closet holds everything you'll require.”
Her brows lift in surprise, but she doesn’t dare question me. She shouldn’t. I had my men ensure the wardrobe and bathroom were stocked with everything she might need, every detail meticulously arranged.
She rises, and I follow suit, trailing behind her into the bedroom. Once inside, I make my way to the en-suite, shrugging off my shirt as I go. The shower is brief, the cold water a relief, it’s already sweltering for May. As I return to the bedroom, a towel draped low around my waist, I take in the surroundings.
Harlow isn’t in sight. My frown deepens as I move toward the closet. I push the door open, and immediately freeze.
My mouth parts, my cock stirring with an immediate reaction.
There, standing before the full-length mirror, is my fiancée. She’s wearing nothing but a scarlet lace bra and the most obscene, barely-there thong I’ve ever seen. I swallow hard, dragging my gaze over every inch of her exposed skin. She turns at the sound, eyes widening. “Fucking hell, Dante, can’t you knock?”
