Chapter 85
In the luxurious private jet cabin, it was just Isabella and Vitale.
"Henley's not coming with us?" she asked, trying to sound casual.
Vitale didn't look up, his fingers still flying over the keyboard. "He's got other plans."
"What about Marina?" Isabella pressed on. "I thought she'd be going to Blake's party too. As a representative of the Lawson family."
This time, Vitale stopped typing.
He closed his laptop and leaned back into the soft leather couch. "She's on another plane. The Lawson family has their own jet, and old Costa insisted she use the family's transport. It's symbolic, you know."
"How long are we flying?" she asked, glancing at the windows, which were set to opaque mode.
Outside was thousands of feet in the air, but she couldn't see a thing.
Vitale watched her expression, a slight smirk on his lips. "About an hour. Why? Are you scared or something?"
"An hour?" Isabella frowned. "Henley said the flight to Eldoria takes nine hours."
Vitale laughed, a boyish grin spreading across his face.
"I tricked him, or rather, I had him trick you. Blake's party isn't in Eldoria. It's at a private estate in Wisconsin State, just a forty-minute flight from Thalassia. I said Eldoria to create an opportunity."
"Create an opportunity?" Isabella repeated, her heart starting to race. "What kind of opportunity?"
Vitale didn't answer. Instead, he stood up and walked to the bar at the front of the cabin.
He opened a small temperature-controlled wine cabinet and pulled out a bottle of red wine.
He expertly uncorked it, poured two glasses of the deep red liquid, and came back, handing one to Isabella.
"To a flight with just the two of us," Vitale said, raising his glass.
Isabella took the glass, her fingers brushing against his warm hand.
She took a sip. The wine was rich and smooth, with hints of blackberry and oak—one of the best she'd ever tasted.
But her focus wasn't on the wine. It was on Vitale.
He looked fine, his complexion normal.
"God," Isabella muttered, almost to herself, "I was worried you'd have another episode of fear of heights. But you seem totally okay now."
Vitale chuckled and sat down on the couch across from her. "What, are you worried I'd freak out and you'd have to comfort me again? Would having sex here make you uncomfortable or something?"
Isabella nearly choked on her wine. "What? No! You can't turn everything into sex, Vitale. I'm just concerned about you."
"Really, why did you lie about the flight time? Why get Henley to play along? And why is it just the two of us on this plane? Usually, when you travel, there are at least two bodyguards, an assistant, and—"
"Because this is my territory," Vitale cut her off, his tone serious. "This plane, this space. I don't want anyone stepping in here unless I approve of them."
"And that's you, Isabella," he continued, his voice softer. "I approve of you. So you can be here. Just you."
Isabella felt her throat tighten.
She looked down at the wine glass in her hand, the deep red liquid shimmering like a liquid gem under the light.
"Thanks," she finally said, her voice a bit hoarse. "But I think Henley should be here too. He's supposed to protect you, and—"
"And what?" Vitale asked, already standing up and walking over to her.
Isabella looked up just as he leaned down, one hand bracing on the couch backrest beside her head, the other still holding his glass.
"And this is too risky," she insisted, trying to stay rational. "If someone finds out it's just you and me on this plane, with no security—"
"Then let them try," Vitale said in a low voice, his lips just inches from hers. "Let's see who dares."
Then he kissed Isabella.
A kiss that carried the scent of red wine.
Isabella felt the warm liquid flow into her mouth.
Vitale was feeding her the wine, using his own mouth.
The act was so intimate, so possessive, that Isabella's mind went blank.
She instinctively swallowed, the wine sliding down her throat, leaving a warm trail.
Vitale deepened the kiss, his hand moving from the couch to the back of her head, fingers threading through her blonde hair, holding her gently but firmly so she couldn't pull away.
When the kiss ended, they were both breathless.
Isabella felt her cheeks heat up, unsure if it was from the wine or the kiss.
"How does it feel?" Vitale asked, his thumb brushing over her damp lower lip.
"I…" Isabella tried to find the right words, but her mind was still foggy. "I feel a bit drunk. This wine is strong."
"It's not the wine that's strong," Vitale said with a smile, returning to his seat but keeping his eyes locked on her. "It's how you're feeling right now. Relax, Isabella. It's just us here. No Marina, no Blake's daughters, no family drama, no business deals. Just you and me, up in the sky, cut off from the world."
He took a big sip of his wine, his Adam's apple bobbing.
Isabella watched him and suddenly smiled. "Yeah, I'm honored to be invited here. I should apologize. This morning, I was jealous of Marina, acting like a crazy person."
"I like it when you're jealous. It shows you care."
"Of course I care," Isabella said, setting down her glass and walking over to him. "I care so much it's driving me nuts. That's why I have to ask you—Judy's going too, right? You know why I'm asking? Not because I'm jealous, but because…"
She paused, searching for the right words. "Because I need to know your plans. I need to know where I stand in them, instead of just following along and guessing what you're thinking."
Vitale looked up at her, his expression turning serious.
"Judy's going because someone on Blake's side has a thing for her," he admitted, his fingers intertwining with Isabella's. "Blake's financial advisor, a guy named Richard Kramer. He's asked her out to dinner three times already. I'm hoping she can help distract some attention. I need someone to keep Blake and his team off balance so I can focus on the core of the negotiations."
He tilted his head to look at Isabella. "Do you get it? This isn't about feelings. It's a strategy."
Isabella nodded, her heart warming at his honesty.
She cupped his face, her fingers brushing over his sharp cheekbones. His blue eyes were so close she could see her reflection in them.
"Vitale," Isabella said softly, her voice carrying a vulnerability she'd never shown before, "do you know, during the times you were cold to me, I felt like I was falling into hell. Every day was like walking in darkness, not knowing where you were, what you were thinking, or if I still mattered to you."
Her fingers trembled slightly. "Then, when we made love—in the office, in the apartment, anywhere—I'd come back to heaven. That connection, that feeling of being needed. I've never felt that with anyone else."
"So I need to tell you, I hope you won't give up on me, no matter what happens, no matter what Marina says, no matter how much pressure the family puts on you, no matter what dangers you face. Don't push me away. Don't hide me. Don't let me fall into hell again."
"And I won't give up on you either. That's my promise to you."
Vitale looked at Isabella, his expression shifting from surprise to something deeper.
"Alright, I promise you."
Then he leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. They sat there quietly, their breaths mingling, their heartbeats in sync.
"But Isabella," Vitale said, a mischievous smirk tugging at his lips, "do you know why I usually don't like drinking?"
Isabella raised an eyebrow. "Why? Can you tell me?"
"Because when I drink, my adrenaline spikes," Vitale said casually. "The more I drink, the more hyped up I get. And when I'm hyped up, I get very… turned on."
Isabella's face flushed, but she forced herself to stay composed. "Oh? And then what?"
"Then," Vitale turned to face her, a fire starting to burn in his blue eyes, "I want to do things that might be too intense under normal circumstances. Like right here, on this couch, having you on all fours, begging me to keep going. Or over there at the bar, in front of those expensive bottles. Or by those windows—sure, they're just simulated images right now, but imagine real clouds and stars outside while we…"
He didn't finish, but Isabella's imagination filled in the blanks.
Her breathing grew heavier, her body starting to heat up.
"Vitale, tell me you're not drunk, right? You're just joking."
Vitale laughed, a dangerous and tempting smile on his face. "Sorry, Isabella, I am drunk. Have been since the first glass. So now…"
He gently bit the zipper of her dress with his teeth, slowly pulling it down.
Isabella gasped, her body stiffening for a moment before melting.
"Vitale, wait," she tried one last attempt at reason, her hand pressing against his chest. "How long until we land? We can't—"
"About forty minutes," Vitale mumbled, the zipper already fully down, his fingers slipping inside. "You sure forty minutes isn't enough? You're underestimating me, Isabella."
His touch made Isabella shiver.
"No," she insisted, even though her body was already betraying her. "We'll get caught when the plane lands. The crew will come in to prepare for landing, Henley will be waiting on the tarmac, and—"
Vitale paused, staring at her for a few seconds before suddenly laughing.
"You're right," he said, then pulled out his phone and dialed a number.
The call was answered almost instantly.
"Henley," Vitale said, his eyes still locked on Isabella, "have the plane circle in the air for a while. A few extra loops. Yes, now. No, no reason needed. Yes, I'm sure."
He hung up, tossed the phone onto the couch beside him, and looked at Isabella, pure desire gleaming in his blue eyes.
"Now," he said, his voice low and enticing, "we have plenty of time."
Isabella's eyes widened. "This isn't real. Did you just make the plane circle in the air? Just for this?"
Vitale was already sliding her dress off, his movements firm and unyielding. "Why not? This is my plane, my pilot, my time. And besides…"
His phone rang again.
Vitale frowned, picked it up, and put it on speaker.
"Ms. Martinez," Henley spoke directly to her, "is Mr. Luca drunk again? Red wine?"
"What do you mean by 'again'?" she asked, her voice trembling with a mix of emotions.
Henley sighed, a sigh filled with years of patience and experience. "The last time he got drunk, he stormed into a mafia family's hideout alone and beat five guys to a pulp. He gets too hyped up. Yes, he can't handle red wine, especially that 1945 vintage—I know he brought that bottle. Red wine turns him into a devil."
He paused, his tone growing more serious. "Ms. Martinez, I hope you can help him out. Let him burn off some energy, or by the time we land, he might do something even worse. God help you both."
The call ended.
Isabella stared at the phone, then slowly looked up at Vitale.
He had already taken off his shirt, revealing his toned chest and abs. His red hair was slightly messy as he unbuckled his belt, the sharp sound of the metal clasp echoing in the cabin.