5) Something Delicious

As the muffled sound of machine-gun fire from outside shook the yacht's teak hull, Matteo’s soaking-wet, muscular body still hovered over me like a shield. But that only lasted for about three seconds. The man was a total professional. The wave of shock in his eyes instantly vanished, replaced by a steel-cold composure.

Without moving me away from the wall, he grabbed the black towel behind him with one hand, wrapped it around his waist, and pulled a custom-made, matte-black assault rifle out of a hidden compartment in the bathroom. Everything was happening so fast that my brain simply didn't have enough RAM to process these scenes.

"Boss! The harbor is completely blocked, we can't turn back to Crete!" shouted the bodyguard at the door, keeping his back turned to the room.

The safety of the rifle clicked off as Matteo’s bass-baritone voice echoed through the room.

"Change the route. Head east. We are going straight to Turkey via the Aegean Sea."

"Turkey?!" I shrieked, breaking out of my huddled position against the bathroom wall. "Are you even aware of the international border-crossing algorithm? If we enter Turkish waters without authorization, their coast guard will pick us up on radar instantly! Besides, my passport is back at my uncle's summer house!"

Matteo paused on his way to the door, throwing one of his dark, mocking glances over his shoulder. "Our Turkish associates at the center are powerful enough to grant us smooth passage through border control, little genius. Don't worry."

"That's not the point!" I said, waving my hands in a panic. "What if they deny me entry and deport me? What if I can never eat authentic Antep baklava again for the rest of my life? What do you think the probability is of you depriving me of the dopamine effect created by the pistachio ratio between those thirty-two layers of paper-thin pastry? Because of you !"

Matteo stood at the threshold of the door—holding a massive rifle, with nothing but a towel around his waist—as if he hadn't just been the one taking a naked shower a minute ago. This time, the corner of his lips curved up completely, a dangerous yet incredibly attractive, teasing light dancing in his eyes.

"Then you're in luck." he said, his voice coming out as a whisper, yet as sharp as a bullet. "Because I'll just tell my associates at the border that you are my wife. You can it ,whatever you want wifey."

My wife. I'll tell them you are my wife.

Every single line of code in my mind exploded at the exact same time. Before I could even prepare an argument stating that "The institution of marriage is a biological absurdity," Matteo bolted into the corridor. With a sudden, sharp maneuver, the yacht began speeding at full throttle toward the east, slicing through the waves into Turkish waters.

Gunfire was erupting outside, I was about to become a passportless refugee, and the first man whose skin I had ever touched was threatening to declare me his wife.