Chapter 6

Unspoken Desires - Chapter 6

Gino

It still feels strange sometimes, being in love at our age. Newlyweds in our seventies.

We should be slowing down, collecting antiques or playing with our great grandkids, not holding hands on a private runway like teenagers sneaking away to Europe for the summer.

But then again, when the woman beside you is like Alexandra… you feel young again.

She’s dressed in one of those perfectly tailored linen sets she loves, her sunglasses perched on her head, her silver-streaked hair swept into a soft bun.

She looks like a woman made for the Amalfi Coast, not the smoke and steel of New York. And for the next two months, I plan on spoiling her like it.

As we walk toward the jet, I gently squeeze her hand.

“Tell me again where we’re going first,” she says, smiling without looking at me.

“Tuscany. Then the Amalfi Coast. Then wherever you want after that,” I reply.

She hums. “I like the sound of ‘wherever I want.’”

I chuckle. “Good. You’ve earned it, Alex.”

We reach the stairs and I glance up at the open cabin door. Where’s Teresa? She’s always waiting at the top of the steps, smiling politely, clipboard in hand. She’s flown with me for over a two decades. All these new young air hostesses were just eye candy. Teresa was older, a real woman. Reliable. Quiet. Never once late.

Instead, a new face appears. A tall, slender woman in a crisp navy uniform steps forward. Her hair is pulled back in a sleek twist, her posture flawless.

Good afternoon, Meester and Meesus Morelli,” she says with a graceful nod, her voice smooth but heavily accented. “My name is Lana. I will be looking after you today. Teresa - she became unwell this morning. High fever. I was asked to step in.

Alexandra gives her a warm smile. “Oh no. Is she alright?”

“She is resting. I am told she vill be perfectly fine.” Lana answers smoothly.

Her tone is… measured. Not cold, not warm. Just perfect. A little too perfect, maybe.

Something prickles at the back of my neck, but I nod and say nothing.

As we start up the stairs, Alexandra glances back at her. “Lana, is it? Your accent… is that Eastern European?”

“Da, madam. Russian. I am from Saint Petersburg originally, it is… how you say… home to many artists, yes?”

Alexandra raises her brows slightly. “Beautiful city.”

“Thank you.”

I pause at the top step, letting Alexandra step inside first. Lana follows us in and closes the cabin door behind her.

I try to shake it off. Maybe I’m just being paranoid. Teresa’s never missed a flight, but people get sick. That doesn’t mean anything’s wrong. Still…. Something about this doesn’t sit right.

But I glance over at Alexandra, already settling into her seat, flipping through the menu like this is just another romantic getaway. She deserves peace. Deserves Italy. Deserves two months of quiet mornings and wine-soaked evenings.

So I push the feeling down. It’s probably nothing.

We settle into our seats, the soft hum of the engines beginning to soothe the edges of my restless mind.

Alexandra flips through the magazine selection, completely at ease, the faintest smile playing at her lips.

Then, without any warning - the cockpit door bursts open and two massive men step out.

Before I can react, they shove the pilot to the floor, his body hitting the cabin’s plush carpet with a dull thud.

I glance at Alexandra, whose face has drained of color.

One of the men steps forward, towering over us both. Picking me up by the collar of my shirt. Disarming me of my little knife, my phone and my gun.

I barely have time to process the weight of everything happening in front of us, when the cabin intercom crackles to life.

Alexandra stiffens.

Then… her voice. Smooth. Poisoned honey. Drenched in charm.

“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. My name is Svetlana Bocharov, and I have pleasure of taking care of all your needs today. Ve are about to begin our five hour and thirty-five minute descent to Las Vegas, Nevada. The skies, they are clear, so ve do not expect much turbulence. Upon arrival, your ride vill be vaiting—not to the scenic Strip, but to your lovely granddaughter… Sophia… who, like you, is now our guest. Thank you for flying vith Air Russian. Ve hope you enjoy your flight.”