Chapter 2 - THE BOARDING PASS
The silence in the first-class cabin was thick enough to choke on.
Leo’s small, frantic gasps had been replaced by the steady, rhythmic sound of him feeding. Clare kept her eyes focused on the soft tuft of dark hair on the baby’s head, acutely aware of the dangerous man standing three feet away, watching her every move.
Dante Salvatore hadn’t blinked in five minutes. His steel-gray eyes traced the curve of his son’s tiny fist clinging to Clare’s faded cotton shirt.
“Thank you,” Dante said finally. His voice was a low, gravelly rasp, sounding like a man who hadn’t used those words in years.
Clare nodded, keeping her voice soft so as not to startle the baby. “He just needed comfort. The cabin pressure mixed with hunger… it’s terrifying for them when they can’t find what they’re looking for.”
Dante slowly lowered himself into the plush leather seat across from her. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, his massive frame making the luxury suite look cramped.
“You said you are a nurse,” Dante stated. It wasn't a question.
“I was,” Clare corrected, gently adjusting the heavy airline blanket draped over her shoulder for privacy. “Before I had Maya.”
“Maya is the child sleeping in economy.”
Clare’s head snapped up. “How do you know that?”
Dante didn’t smile, but a shadow of something like amusement crossed his sharp features. “My men know who is on this plane, Clare. They know you boarded in New York on a one-way ticket purchased twelve hours before the flight. Paid in cash.”
Panic flared in Clare’s chest, hot and sharp. She pulled Leo slightly closer, instinctively defensive. “Did you run a background check on me while your son was crying?”
“I run a background check on anyone who breathes near my son,” Dante replied smoothly. “Especially a woman traveling alone with a child, no checked luggage, and a bruise fading on her left wrist.”
Clare’s hand shot down, pulling the sleeve of her oversized sweater over the dark purple mark Richard had left three days ago.
“That’s none of your business,” she whispered fiercely.
“You made my son your business,” Dante countered. His gaze dropped to Leo, who had unlatched and was now sleeping heavily, his face flushed and peaceful. Dante reached out, his large, calloused hand gently tracing the curve of Leo’s cheek. The contrast between the lethal mafia boss and the tender father was jarring.
“He hasn’t slept like that in a month,” Dante murmured. Then he looked back at Clare, his eyes hardening into steel. “You’re running from someone.”
Clare swallowed hard. “I’m going to stay with family in Rome.”
“A cousin. Second cousin, technically,” Dante said, picking up a sleek black tablet from the side table. “Lives in Trastevere. Small apartment. Two roommates.”
Clare felt the blood drain from her face. “Stop it. Stop looking into me.”
“You can’t stay there with a toddler, Clare,” Dante continued, ignoring her distress. “And more importantly, you can’t hide there.”
“I’m not hiding!”
Dante turned the tablet around and slid it across the polished walnut table.
Clare looked down.
It was a screenshot of a police report filed in Ohio four hours ago.
Reported Missing: Clare Jensen and minor child Maya Jensen. Suspected kidnapping by non-custodial parent.
“He filed a kidnapping charge?” Clare gasped, her hands shaking so badly the airline blanket slipped slightly from her shoulder. “He pushed her! Maya had to get stitches! He knows why we left!”
“Richard Peterson,” Dante read from the screen, his voice dripping with disgust. “Financial advisor. Clean record. Wealthy. Connected in local law enforcement.” Dante tapped the screen, dismissing the report. “He reported you missing the moment you didn’t return his calls. By the time you land in Rome, Interpol will have a red notice waiting for you at passport control. They will take your daughter, Clare. And they will put you on a plane back to him.”
“No,” Clare sobbed, the fight draining out of her. The adrenaline of the escape vanished, replaced by the crushing reality of a woman fighting a man with endless resources. “No, they can’t. I have the medical records from the ER. I have proof he hurt her.”
“He will say you did it,” Dante said brutally. “And a wealthy man in a suit is always believed over a frantic woman on the run.”
Tears spilled down Clare’s cheeks. She looked down at Leo, sleeping so peacefully against her chest, completely unaware of the nightmare closing in on her.
“Why are you telling me this?” Clare wept quietly. “Why are you tormenting me?”
“Because,” Dante said, standing up. He stepped closer, looming over her, his presence utterly overwhelming. “I am offering you a job.”
Clare stared at him. “What?”
“A nanny,” Dante stated. “A wet nurse. A caregiver. Whatever title makes you comfortable. You will live in my estate in Rome. You will care for Leo alongside his current staff. You will provide him the comfort I cannot.”
“I can’t just disappear into your house,” Clare stammered.
“You have to,” Dante replied. He reached into his tailored suit jacket and pulled out a small, folded piece of stiff paper.
He dropped it onto the table next to the tablet.
It was a boarding pass.
But it wasn't Clare’s boarding pass.
It was a first-class ticket. JFK to Fiumicino.
The name on the ticket was Richard Peterson.
“He’s on this plane,” Dante said softly, delivering a reversal that made Clare’s heart stop completely.
Clare’s eyes widened in sheer, unadulterated horror. She looked toward the curtain separating first class from the rest of the cabin.
“He bought a ticket two hours after you did,” Dante explained. “He’s sitting in seat 4A. Three rows behind you. Waiting for the plane to land so he can have Italian authorities arrest you on the tarmac.”
Clare couldn't breathe. The walls of the luxurious cabin seemed to close in on her. Richard was here. He was thirty feet away from her and Maya.
“He’s going to take her,” Clare choked out, hyperventilating.
“No,” Dante said. The word sounded like a vault slamming shut.
Dante turned to his massive bodyguard. “Marco. Go back to economy. Get the little girl. Bring her here. If anyone asks questions, you do not answer them.”
Marco nodded once and slipped through the heavy curtain.
Dante looked back at Clare. “When we land, you do not go through standard customs. You leave with me, through the private tarmac access. You and Maya get in my car. And you belong to my house.”
“And Richard?” Clare asked, terrified.
Dante smiled. A cold, predatory smile that belonged to a man who ruled an underworld Clare couldn't even imagine.
“Let me worry about Richard,” Dante said.
Before Clare could respond, the heavy curtain separating the cabins was violently ripped back.
May you like
Standing in the aisle, looking perfectly composed in a tailored navy suit, but with eyes burning with absolute, terrifying rage, was Richard Peterson.
And he was holding a small, stuffed pink rabbit. Maya’s rabbit.
