Chapter 139 Flights and Furies
\[Lilia\]
My face was pressed against the window, peering out at the clouds as we soared directly above them. I sat in one of the most luxurious planes I had ever seen. I’ve only flown in a private jet twice, and honestly, this one screamed money in a way that felt different from Kael’s. Kael’s was built for power; this was built for a legacy of old, blood-soaked wealth.
Could this plane crash along with my heavy heart?
It sounded silly, but maybe dying in an accident was one way to be free from the choking situation I was in. The life I had in Russia was over. Pa was taking me to his home in Italy, and I knew it would be just like any other extolled cage. My chest tightened at the thought of the ball. Pa was the most excited among us, eager to present his long-lost granddaughter to the world. A lamb in the center of a circle of wolves, all of them flashing menacing grins and ready to pounce at the first sign of weakness.
Last night, I had desperately wanted to take Sasha’s hand and go back to the arms of the man I wanted more than anything. I hoped he had finally gotten rid of that witch, Sabina. It was likely he already knew who I was, and that realization must have left him with a bitter sense of betrayal. To have the blood of the person he loathed most in the world flowing through my veins... would he understand? Would he forgive the fact that I chose to stay with my grandfather when I had the chance to run?
He must hate me right now, cursing my name. It hurt, but there was nothing I could do.
The thudding of footfalls drew my attention. I turned and saw Ronan coming down the aisle with a flight attendant. Her face was flustered, a strand from her neat bun had come undone, and the scarf around her neck was askew. The bastard just winked at me, fixing the buckle on his belt as he walked past. I noticed the first four buttons on his shirt were open.
There was no need to ask what had happened between them. It was glaringly apparent.
The flight attendant, whose name tag read Susan, halted in front of my seat. She smoothed her skirt and put on a forced, bright smile.
“Hi, young lady. What would you like to drink?” she asked.
I smiled at her, refusing to judge her for her recent activity with the devil. I remembered being on a private jet with Kael and knew exactly how "bumpy" the ride could be. The memory brought a tint of crimson to my cheeks, but I pushed it down.
“Hello, Susan. A glass of mango juice will do, thank you.”
As she left to fulfill the order, I tried to reclaim my sense of tranquility, but the peace was transient. I felt someone take the seat right next to me, turning the atmosphere from light to gloomy in an instant.
“What do you want?” The blandness of my voice matched the blank expression I wore. I leaned further back, wishing I could just disappear into the upholstery. The heavy scent of cigarettes clinging to him made my head spin and my stomach churn. I breathed through my mouth, trying to swallow the nausea.
“Nothing. I just want to sit here,” the devil replied nonchalantly, making his unwanted presence welcome.
“Tormenting me for the rest of the flight, I guess,” I snickered, trying to keep my temper at bay. I wanted to punch him, throw him off the plane, or at least shoo him away, but I knew that would only invite more trouble.
“No,” Ronan shook his head, turning his body toward me. “Never. Why would I do that to my future wife?”
“Stop saying that. It’s not going to happen.”
His morbid proclamation sent shudders of dread down my spine, but I resisted the urge to show him how much he affected me. I didn't want him to think he’d won.
“Oh, I’ll make it happen. I have Signore’s approval.” He preened, clicking his tongue and sniffing obnoxiously. My face cringed at his strange actions. I noticed his bloodshot eyes and the way his knees bobbed rapidly.
Is he on drugs? Does Pa know about this? Probably not. Pa didn't even know what this bastard was planning behind his back.
“Is something wrong with my face, cara?” he mused, a wide, vacant grin on his face.
I ignored his haughtiness as a desperate idea came to mind. “Why don’t we make a deal? I’ll give you my inheritance if you leave me the hell alone.”
“Sound’s tempting, but where’s the fun in that?”
I scowled. He knew exactly how to aggravate me. “We both know you don’t like me. You probably have someone else in mind, and you’re breaking her heart if you stick yourself to me.”
Ronan hummed, pressing his thumb against his nose and sniffing again. For a moment, I thought he had a cold, but the intensity of it suggested something else. “The thing is, I don’t have ‘someone.’ Girls come and go, but no one is ever bold enough to stay for some good old-fashioned cuddling.”
Hah. For all I knew, he kicked them out the second he was done. I bit the tip of my tongue before speaking. “If I marry you, will you leave Kael alone?”
The words felt like acid in my mouth. Ronan was quick to catch my tone, and his grin turned vicious. “You care for that bastard? Is he not the one who hurt you?”
They all thought Kael was responsible for the bruises on my face. No matter how many times I told them he wasn't, they wouldn't listen. Kael did hurt me, but not like this. He drove me to a different kind of madness.
“It’s none of your business,” I hissed, turning away.
I was a caged bird whose wings had been clipped. I had fallen, and I was plummeting toward the earth. I had to accept the fact that I was in love with Kael. The longing didn't abate; it only grew worse with every passing mile.
Ronan chuckled, seemingly reading my mind. “Oh, you love the bastard,” he cackled. “What a masochist.”
“I am not,” I responded grimly.
“Here’s your juice, young lady.” Susan’s voice cut through the tension. I took the glass, muttering a thanks.
From the corner of my eye, I caught Ronan flicking a lusty gaze toward the attendant. He stood up, cupped Susan’s chin, and tilted her head up. Her cheeks flared under her blush as her eyes went hooded.
“Believe whatever you want, cara, but I’ll make sure it never happens,” he stated, dragging Susan away without another glance.
I took a deep breath and sipped the mango juice. Instant regret followed as the flavor turned sour—vile—on my tongue. I quickly spat it back into the glass, rubbing my tongue to get the revolting taste out.
What the hell? Since when does mango taste like stale piss?