My stomach folds in on itself at the sight of the sleek white object before me. Owen said it’s a Lear Jet 45XR and that it’s the perfect size for us.

“Where’s the pilot?” I ask.

“You’re looking at him.” Owen pats me on the shoulder and winks before climbing the short steps into the plane.

I’ve only been aboard two planes in my life: one from Rio to Florida, and then the connecting flight to LaGuardia in New York. They were massive compared to this thing. I’m not sure if I can go aboard, but my father is nearby, and if I don’t want Cade and Owen to die at his hands . . . maybe Owen’s right. We need to get the hell out of the country.

“He’s not serious, is he?” If my stomach was knotted before, it’s a freaking twisted mess now.

Cade nods. “He did a brief stint as a pilot before joining the SEALs.”

I still can’t believe we’re about to head to Cuba.

“Whose plane is this, anyway?” I call out to Owen once I’m inside.

He comes out of the cockpit wearing mammoth-sized headphones draped around his neck. “A buddy of mine. He’s a spook.” Owen points to the seatbelts and tugs his arm down in front of him, motioning for us to strap in.

He’s been performing checks on the plane, but I had thought he was bored while waiting for our pilot to show. I had no idea he was capable of actually flying.

“CIA?” Cade’s sitting across from me in a creamy leather chair. There are four seats, and they look more like Lazy-Boy loungers. Two chairs face the others, with plenty of leg room between them. “You didn’t mention that.”

“Does it matter?” Owen shrugs. “He’s hooking us up with one of his safe houses in Havana, too. We needed something quick that couldn’t be traced to either of us.”

“True.” Cade’s brows drop lower, as if in thought. Maybe this whole situation—the gravity of it all—has finally hit him.

“It’ll be wheels up in five.” Owen glances at me while placing the earmuff things on. “Hopefully I remember how to do this.”

“Not funny.” I wait for him to settle back into the cockpit before redirecting my attention to Cade, a man whose face was between my legs not even two hours ago, giving me the first orgasm of my life. Well, the first from another person, at least.

I’m not exactly sure what I was thinking when I practically begged him to take me. But I don’t regret it.

“You want something to drink to help ease the tension before we fly?”

“What? Did you raid the hotel minibar before we left?” I smile.

“I did, in fact.” He digs into the black leather bag by his feet and retrieves two little blue bottles.

My insides tense immediately, remembering the horrid hugging-the-toilet-bowl experience last night. I couldn’t even get myself to have wine at dinner earlier. “I think I’ll wait.”

He nods and puts them away before clasping his hands together on his lap. He’s in loose-fit jeans and a white tee, and his corded forearms draw my eyes.

We didn’t have time to shower before we left, but I did manage to swap my clothes for some jeans and a long-sleeved black tee. My hair is still tied up, strands loose and wild, so I push them away from my face and try to settle back against the leather and calm down.

As nervous as I am to get off the ground, staying here would be more nerve-racking.

“Did I tell you how I first discovered what my father does for a living? How I ended up in New York?” My voice breaks through the sound of the swooshing noise once we’re in the air. My ears are already closing, making it harder to hear, and the sounds of the plane remind me of the white noise app I use on my phone to help me sleep at night.

Cade’s shoulders lift at my words, and his turquoise eyes take hold of mine. “No.”

It was a dumb question, because of course I never told him. As acid rolls around in my stomach, I want to look away from him and down at my lap, but I can’t seem to rip my gaze free of his. “My mother never told me much about my father when I was growing up, and most of what she did tell me made their love sound like some modern-day Romeo and Juliet story.” Memories drop through my mind like paint pouring slowly down a canvas. Some memories are bright orange, but most are midnight black.

“How so?”

Shivers roll over my skin as I speak, as I open my heart up to this man. “My mother lost both of her parents in a car accident when she was five. She was sent to live with her only relative in New York. Her uncle wasn’t a great guy—that’s all she told me.” I press my lips together for a moment, and my forehead pinches tight. “My parents’ families didn’t approve of their relationship. Mom said things became more dangerous for her in New York, especially once they found out they were having me. So, my father decided it’d be best for my mom and me to start a new life somewhere else. Somewhere safer.”

My eyes finally fall shut as my hands clench on my lap, my fingertips biting into my flesh as the pain pricks my insides. “Now, of course, I know the truth. My uncle worked with cartels in South America, and his family and the McCullens were rivals.”

“Is your uncle still around?”

“No. He and his family were long gone before I wound up in New York. I never met any of them.”

“How exactly did you end up back with your dad? Did you ever see him growing up before then?”

I open my eyes to look at him, and he’s leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he studies me.

Am I really capable of doing this, of telling him the truth of my past?

My stomach wrenches, but I take a steady breath.

“Well, my mother told me that, if anything ever happened to her, I should find my father. She had a picture of him, with his name and last contact information, hidden in a shoe box in her closet.” My vision begins to blur a little at the last memory of my mother. “She talked about him when I was younger, telling me how much she loved him, and that he’d come to us when he could—someday.” My chest constricts, so I unbuckle the strap.

“You okay?” He removes his belt and crosses over to me, taking the seat at my side.

At the warmth of his hand on mine, my gaze sweeps up to look into his eyes. “He finally showed up, but it was only because I told him my mother was gone.” I swallow. “Taken.”

His other hand brushes over the back of my cheek, catching a tear. I can’t go into more right now.

“I wish I never called, though. I wish I’d never ended up in this life.” I sniffle, trying to keep the other tears at bay. “I didn’t know how dangerous being in my father’s life truly was until I discovered what he actually does.”

“How’d it happen?” he asks, his voice low and smooth, but there’s true concern on his face as he slowly lowers his other hand back to his lap.

My attention settles on our hands, on our now laced fingers, which form some kind of tight, unified fist.

“I was supposed to be at school, but I skipped class and came home one afternoon.” I swipe my other hand down my face, holding it over my mouth for a brief moment before I can continue. “I heard something in the basement. I thought maybe it was a cat, so I went down the stairs to check it out.”

So.

Much.

Blood.

That’s mostly all I can ever remember. That’s mostly what I see when I stand before a canvas and try to paint with color—everything becomes dark red, dripping like a fresh wound.

“Some guy was on our concrete floor, held down by packing tape. And his eyes immediately caught mine when I hit the last step. My dad lifted the blade he was holding when he saw me.” The pressure in my stomach intensifies as I relive the moment when my world fell apart for the second time. “I took off. Terrified. And that was the first night I ran away.”

“Jesus, Gia. I knew things must have been bad, but—”

“Which is why he can’t find you.” I pull my hand free from his and stand, but we hit some turbulence, and the plane takes a sharp right. I lose my balance and fall on top of him; he secures me on his lap, my legs draping over the sidearm. “He won’t hurt me, but you—”

“Shh.” He presses a quick kiss to my lips, which catches me off guard. He pulls back and cups my face with both palms, holding me in place as he stares deep into my eyes.

“We’re both going to be okay. You hear me?”

I force a nod, but how can he know for sure?

Then he pulls me in tight, and my face rests at the side of his throat as he holds me.

His heart races, matching mine beat for beat.

And right now, there’s nowhere I’d rather be.

---

“Welcome to Casa de Santos.” Owen opens his arms, his back to our temporary home. Not that I can make out much in the dark, but it must have a beach behind it because it sounds like waves are rolling in.

“And you really don’t think my father can find us in Cuba?”

“He might find us. I mean, hell, I don’t know how the fucker—” Owen cuts himself off. “Eh, how your dad found us in Miami either. But it’s not as easy to travel to Havana, so we’ll be alerted if he steps foot on the island.”

“Well, we got here without anyone knowing, didn’t we?” I challenge.

“Yeah, but only because of my government contacts.” Owen smiles as he slings a bag over his shoulder and heads to the front of the house.

“You ready?” Cade’s hand rests on my shoulder, and I take a breath. We’re still hanging back at the end of the driveway. We took a cab to a street three blocks away and then walked the rest of the distance. Owen is thorough. He didn’t want a cab driver knowing our location.

I should feel confident in his ability to protect us, but I have such a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach—and even having a man like Cade and a former SEAL at my side doesn’t seem to take it away.

“Yeah, I think I’m ready.” I look up at him, but I can only make out his face because I’ve adjusted to the darkness after having walked outside for the last fifteen minutes.

“We don’t have to do this, you know.” His hand finds mine, and he holds it, gently tightening his grasp.

“Do what?”

“Bring down the mob.”

I laugh, and a bit of my nervous energy melts away. “Why? What do you suggest? We run away to some little beach and live out our days drinking fruity cocktails while rolling around in the sand?”

I pull my hand from his grip, nearly choking on my own words—on their meaning.

There won’t ever be a me and him.

It’s not in the cards for us.

“If your plans are to remain naked while on that beach, you just might convince me.” He closes the small gap between us and rests his hand on my back, pulling me against him.

He can’t possibly mean what he said. From my research, he was only in one serious relationship in the last decade, and that was to the governor’s daughter. Other than that, he’s been spotted with a different woman on his arm each week.

A man like him wouldn’t settle down with someone like me—the daughter of a mobster. Hell, I’m the reason he’s in danger.

Plus, he’d never give up his life in New York, and I don’t ever want to go back.

But why am I even going down this road of what-ifs right now?

“No, Rory has to go down. It’s the only way to keep you safe. And the same with my father. He has to be stopped, too.”

He may love me, but he’s a murderer.

And murderers belong in hell.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” Cade says in a low, gruff voice, and there’s a hint of desire that sweeps through his speech.

“You want to kiss me, don’t you?” I smile, our mouths close, but not quite touching. I’m not sure how we went from talking about Rory and my father to this, but when it comes to us, we just might both be a little crazy.

“I want to do a lot more than that.” His lips brush across my cheek until they touch the shell of my ear, and his breath has my nipples hardening, my stomach muscles tightening.

“But you’ll need your energy for it,” he says into my ear as my skin flushes. “A lot of energy.”