Chapter 5 - Thirty Thousand Feet Above The Atlantic With A Man Who Rules The World But Cannot Sleep
The private Gulfstream G650 sliced through the midnight sky at forty-five thousand feet, heading east across the dark Atlantic toward Geneva.
Inside the whisper-quiet, leather-lined cabin, the ambient lights were dimmed to a soft amber glow. In the forward salon, Dominic’s security team was resting, leaving only Dominic and me in the main executive compartment.
I sat at the mahogany conference table, the encrypted laptop glowing in front of me as I cross-referenced the coordinates Natalia had scribbled on that tiny note at the gala.
The note contained only eight digits and a single Russian word: Valkyrie. Port of Constanța.
"You've been staring at that screen for four hours, Elena," Dominic’s deep voice broke the silence.
I looked up.
Dominic had stripped off his dress shirt, wearing only a dark charcoal cashmere sweater that accentuated the breadth of his chest and shoulders. He was pouring two fingers of amber bourbon into a heavy crystal tumbler at the bar.
He walked over and set a cup of hot chamomile tea with honey directly in front of me.
"Drink it," he said softly. "You're running on caffeine, adrenaline, and spite. You'll collapse before we land in Switzerland."
"I don't collapse, Mr. Pierce," I said, though the warm aroma of the tea was undeniably inviting.
Dominic pulled out the leather chair opposite mine and sat down, leaning back with his glass in hand. In the dim light of the cabin, without his security guards or corporate armor, he looked different. The ruthless mafia kingpin was still there, etched into the sharp angles of his jaw and the scars on his knuckles, but beneath it lay a profound, heavy exhaustion.
"Call me Dominic," he said quietly. "We're five miles in the air and heading into an ambush. 'Mr. Pierce' makes it sound like we're still at Le Rêve."
"Are we heading into an ambush?" I asked, looking him in the eye.
"Always," Dominic replied with a faint, bitter smile. "When you control forty percent of the unmonitored maritime cargo lanes in the Western Hemisphere, everyone you shake hands with is holding a blade behind their back. Victor wants my distribution network. Mikhail wants my head on a pike. And Natalia..." He paused, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "Natalia is playing a game neither of us fully understands yet."
"Natalia gave me coordinates," I confessed, deciding that complete transparency with the man protecting my life was my best tactical move.
Dominic didn't flinch. "I know. I saw her drop the paper into your hand at the gala."
I blinked in surprise. "You saw that?"
"Elena," Dominic murmured, leaning forward across the table until our faces were inches apart, his dark eyes burning with undeniable heat. "There isn't a single breath you take in my presence that I don't notice. What did the note say?"
"It said Valkyrie and pointed to a decommissioned naval drydock in Constanța, Romania," I told him, my voice barely above a whisper. "Operation Valkyrie was a covert CIA asset-stripping initiative from 2018. It was supposed to be buried. If the Volkov syndicate has their hands on those military-grade communication jamming systems, your entire fleet’s GPS tracking will go dark the moment your ships enter European waters."
Dominic stared at me, his gaze shifting from tactical calculation to something intensely raw and personal.
"You really were the best they had, weren't you?" he whispered.
"I was good at my job," I said, feeling my throat tighten. "Until my father’s medical bills exceeded my clearance level's salary, and I asked for help. They told me my personal liabilities made me a security risk. They revoked my badge and left me with nothing."
Dominic reached across the table. His large, warm hand covered mine, his thumb gently brushing across the sensitive skin of my wrist where my pulse raced.
"They were fools," Dominic said fiercely, his voice vibrating with low, protective power. "They threw away a diamond because they couldn't control its brilliance. I will never abandon you, Elena. Not in Geneva, not in Romania, and not when the bullets start flying."
The intensity in his eyes made the air inside the cabin feel impossibly thin. For a breathless second, neither of us moved. The hum of the jet engines faded into white noise as his gaze dropped to my lips, then back to my eyes.
The sudden chime of the cockpit intercom shattered the moment.
"Mr. Pierce, we are beginning our descent into Geneva airspace. Ground control reports an unscheduled vehicle convoy waiting on the private tarmac."
May you like
Dominic didn't let go of my hand immediately. He gave my fingers a firm, reassuring squeeze before standing up and racking the slide of his custom Kimber .45 pistol with practiced, deadly grace.
"Suit up, Elena," Dominic said, the cold, lethal kingpin returning in a heartbeat. "Our welcoming committee is here."
Related Stories
