Page 33 of Vengeance

I dump the pilot unceremoniously into the co-pilot’s chair though with his fucked up arm he’s not going to be much help in the role.

After I’m settled in the pilot’s seat, the pilot walks me through everything while Eileen stands behind me watching my every move intently as though she can learn to fly a plane by watching this once. But I appreciate her with me nonetheless because, though I’d never admit it, this is nerve-wracking. Between flying a plane when I couldn’t even get clearance to get the fucking license because I automatically failed the physical, Dele’s cries in the back as she labors, and the knowledge that I have her life and our children’s literally in my hands but that’s our best bet because if we go back, we’ll certainly be overwhelmed… It’s enough to make an average man shit his pants and go in a corner to cry.

But I’ve never been anywhere near average.

For one time in my life, my ability to completely fixate obsessively over a thing comes in handy as I tune out all the chatter, and just do what the fucking pilot says. That fucking tunnel-vision that Dele told me was a weakness when all this first started. But it’s a strength right now, because the next thing I know we’re in the air, and it’s that tunnel-vision that keeps me focused for the next eight hours. Even as for the first three hours Dele screams through contractions and I can’t be at her side to help soothe her. As the next two hours after that, the medic coaxes her through pushing. Through the shouts of, “She’s out,” followed shortly by piercing cries, and then the medic saying, “Miss Bianchi. Stay with me,” followed by worrying silence.

All of that has to wait until I get us across the fucking Atlantic ocean and safely landed to the coordinates and navigation the pilot gives me into Italy.

15

Viper

An average man would likely collapse in his chair in relief after they flew eight hours across the Atlantic ocean with barely any piloting experience. Well, the average man who could pull off such a feat. But I’m even less average than that.

So as soon as the plane is safely at a stop wherever the hell we are, I rush out my seat to where the medic is dutifully hoovering over Dele, covered in a blanket, with her dark hair wet and sweaty, face pale, and shivering.

“What’s wrong with her?”

“The birth was hard on her given the circumstances,” he says. “We can stabilize her with proper medical equipment. But without it… I can’t make any guarantees.”

“Help is on the way,” Eileen declares.

I don’t know how she knows this, but I’ve never not been able to trust Eileen before so there’s no reason for me to doubt her now.

True to be word, the door to the plane opens, and in rushes a team of doctors with a stretcher. They carefully lift Dele onto it, jerking her out her fitful sleep.

Her hazel eyes dart around the room as she asks weakly, “Where’s…”

“Where’s what?” I ask running a hand over her hair.

“Where’s my… my baby? Where’d she…?”

That’s actually a good question. A question that I obviously take too long to answer because Dele panics and begins to twist on the stretcher.

“Where is she? She was right there. I saw her. I heard her crying.” Then, of all things, tears begin to well up in her eyes as she looks at me searchingly. “Is she okay? You said… You said she’d be okay.”

“She’s fine,” I assure while looking around the plane. “She’s—”

“She’s right here,” one of her guards says and then unceremoniously dumps a small bundled body in my arms.

“Right here,” I say, adjusting my arms to more comfortably hold the baby dumped into my arms.

Fuck, she’s tiny. But for all I know, all babies are this small. She’s got a head full of dark hair just like her mother’s, and her eyes are closed so I can’t see what color they are. But one thing is clear, she’s gorgeous. Perfect.

It’s typically a challenge for me to make emotional connections with people for all that I have a tendency to hyper-fixate on my emotional connections when I can make them. But for the child in my arms, it’s instant. Even though I don’t even know her or who she is or what she’ll grow up to be, there’s no doubt in me that she’s mine and I’d burn the world for her with no hesitation. Just like I’d do for her mother.

The lead doctor says something gently to Dele in Italian that makes me snap out of my stupor and pay attention. I’m guessing Dele must not be as in any immediate danger if he’s taking the time to just talk to her.

Dele nods and replies back like she’s been speaking the language her entire life, and the thought crosses my mind that she’s more Addy Bianchi than Dele Martin even in her private life.

“Make sure you help him,” she mutters tiredly as the stretcher is carefully pushed off the plane. “He doesn’t know anything about babies.”

She’s right. I don’t. But if I can fly a fucking plane, I doubt it’s that hard to figure out.

I follow the stretcher off the plane while more people who I don’t know carry a sleeping Leon, Lady, and Velia off the plane. I narrow my eyes, but next to me, Eileen only nods to assure me. Not for the first time, I suspect that Eileen is much more than she pretends to be but again don’t dwell on it.

Eileen and I follow up the entourage, being the last to descend off the plane.

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