The scent of luxury clung to the air like expensive cologne—leather seats, aged scotch, and power. Bianca Rossi moved through the first-class cabin of the Milan-to-New York flight like she owned it. In a way, she did. Not in title, of course. She was just a flight attendant. But she knew how to work a room. Especially a room with money.
Her heels clicked softly against the carpet as she approached seat 2A. He was already watching her.
Lorenzo De Luca.
She didn't know his name yet—not officially. But she could tell from the custom suit, the air of control, the subtle menace in his stillness. He had the energy of a man who didn't need to speak to be heard. His presence was like gravity. Dark. Dense. Dangerous.
Exactly the kind of man Bianca had learned to target.
Wealthy. Aloof. Addicted to control.
They always wanted to own something beautiful. And she knew how to make herself look like a prize worth keeping.
"Champagne?" she asked, her voice smooth, lashes lowered just enough to hint at submissiveness without surrender.
He lifted his gaze slowly, like he was assessing her for weaknesses.
"You're not just serving drinks, are you?" he asked, his voice a blend of silk and gravel. Italian accent. Refined. But not soft.
Bianca didn't miss a beat. She offered him a perfect smile.
"Depends who's asking."
He held her eyes a second longer than necessary, then took the glass. Their fingers didn't touch—but she felt the chill of his gaze trail across her skin like a threat.
Or a promise.
She turned away before he could read too much. Timing was everything. She'd learned that early. Show too much too fast and they'd use you. Show too little and they'd ignore you. But dangle just enough mystery and you had them hooked.
For the rest of the flight, she let him watch her. She pretended not to notice. A flick of hair. A laugh that wasn't quite real. A brush of her hand on his arm when she brought him his second drink.
His name came later. A slip from the pilot when he greeted the VIP on board.
Mr. De Luca.
Her heart did a slow, interested twist.
The name wasn't just wealthy. It was powerful. She'd heard it before, whispered between certain men who never flew commercial. The De Lucas were old money. Rumored mafia, but she never trusted gossip. Everyone powerful was dangerous. That wasn't new.
But Lorenzo De Luca? He was something else. He was the kind of man you didn't seduce for money. You seduced him to rewrite your life.
By the time they landed at JFK, the game had shifted. She felt it in the way his eyes followed her as she handed out customs forms. The way his lips barely moved when he asked, low enough for only her to hear—
"What's your name?"
She tilted her head. "Wouldn't it be more fun if you guessed?"
A flicker of amusement crossed his face. The kind of expression that didn't come easily.
"I don't guess. I find out."
And somehow, that was more intimate than any flirtation she'd ever played.
As passengers disembarked, he waited. Watching. Calculating. When the rest had cleared, he stood, buttoning his jacket with a slow precision that made her pulse skip.
He walked toward her—not quickly, but with intention.
"Bianca," he said.
She froze. "Excuse me?"
He stepped closer, just enough to make her breath catch. "Your name tag. You should remove it if you want to play mysterious."
She glanced down. Damn. Sloppy.
He smiled. Just a curve. Not warm. Not soft. But lethal in its own right.
"You want a better life," he said quietly. "One with more than drinks and recycled air."
Her heart pounded, but she kept her voice level. "Everyone wants something better."
"And what would you do to get it?"
She stared at him, trying to read the question behind the question. Was this still flirtation? Or a test?
"Depends," she replied coolly. "On what's being offered."
He reached into his jacket and handed her a black business card. No name. No number. Just a gold emblem—a lion surrounded by roses.
"Come to Sicily," he said. "You'll be taken care of."
She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not a prostitute."
"No," he said, stepping past her. "You're an investment."
The cabin felt suddenly colder.
Bianca watched him disappear down the jet bridge, the card burning like a secret in her hand. She wasn't sure what had just happened. A flirtation? A threat? An opportunity?
All she knew was that the rules had changed.
She'd targeted him.
And somehow, he'd flipped the game.
---
Later that night, in a Manhattan hotel room that smelled like roses and regret, Bianca turned the card over in her hands. She could barely sleep. Her mind raced with possibilities.
Who the hell was Lorenzo De Luca, really?
She searched the emblem on the card. It wasn't listed on Google, but she wasn't surprised. Power that old didn't leave fingerprints.
Her instincts screamed at her to throw the card away.
But something darker whispered back: What if this is the door? The one you've been waiting to walk through your whole damn life?
She wanted money. Luxury. Power.
But more than anything, she wanted control.
To never depend on anyone again.
The next morning, a message waited for her at the front desk.
No name. Just a flight itinerary. First class. Milan to Palermo.
Her pulse jumped.
A one-way ticket.
Bianca stared at it, heart hammering. Every instinct warred inside her.
But then she slipped the card into her purse, and with it, the fear.
This wasn't just a seduction.
It was her chance to climb out of the turbulence—
And into temptation.