At forty thousand feet, the world below looked peaceful, hidden beneath a blanket of thick white clouds.
But inside the ultra-luxurious cabin of my customized Boeing 747, we were plotting a war.
I sat on the plush white leather sofa, swiping through classified Interpol files on a transparent tablet. "Lysander Croft. That's his real name," I said, projecting a holographic image of The Architect onto the cabin's central screen. "He operates out of Paris, controlling the Shadow Council's European logistics. He's paranoid, germaphobic, and heavily guarded."
"And paralyzed from the waist down, thanks to my beautiful wife," Darius added smoothly.
He walked over from the jet's mahogany bar, holding a glass of amber liquid. He didn't sit on the empty sofa across from me. Instead, he stepped right between my legs, plucking the tablet from my hands and tossing it carelessly onto the table.
"Darius," I sighed, though a thrill shot through my veins at his proximity. "We need a strategy. Lysander won't just invite us into his fortress. He hides in the shadows."
"Then we drag him into the light," Darius said, his voice a low, gravelly hum. He placed his hands on the armrests of my sofa, leaning down until his lips were a breath away from mine. "Tomorrow night, the Council is holding an elite, invitation-only underground auction beneath the Louvre. We crash it. We buy everything he wants, we kill his guards, and we force him to show his face."
"A hostile takeover of a black-market auction," I murmured, looking up into his dark, predatory eyes. "I'll need to transfer a few billion to my liquid accounts."
"I'll cover the blood, you cover the gold," Darius smirked.
He didn't pull away. Instead, he slid his hands down to my waist, effortlessly lifting me up and pulling me onto his lap as he sat down on the edge of the sofa.
My hands instinctively rested on his broad shoulders. The heat radiating from his body was intoxicating, easily overpowering the cool air-conditioning of the cabin.
"You know," Darius whispered, his thumb tracing the sensitive skin of my exposed throat, "every time I think about what you did to him... taking a scalpel and deliberately severing the spine of Europe's most feared mastermind..."
His eyes darkened with a raw, primal lust that made my heart skip a beat.
"Do you have any idea what that level of ruthlessness does to me, Elara?"
"Are you saying you're intimidated, Mr. Blackwood?" I challenged, a wicked smile curving my lips as I leaned closer.
"I'm saying I am completely, violently obsessed with you," Darius growled.
His hand tangled in my hair, anchoring me to him as his mouth crashed down on mine. The kiss was explosive, tasting of expensive scotch and pure, unadulterated desire. There was no hesitation, no gentle buildup. We kissed like we fought—with absolute dominance.
My fingers dug into the muscles of his back, pulling him closer until there wasn't a millimeter of space between us. Darius let out a low groan, his hands sliding down to grip my thighs, his touch burning through the thin fabric of my dress.
The hum of the jet engines faded into the background, drowned out by the pounding of my own heartbeat.
Just as his lips moved down to trail burning kisses along my jawline, a sharp, urgent buzz interrupted us.
The cockpit intercom flashed red.
Darius stopped, his jaw clenching in extreme irritation. He pressed the button without letting go of me. "This better be a matter of life and death, Dante."
"Boss. Madam," Dante's tense voice echoed through the speakers. "We have entered French airspace. But the Paris Air Traffic Control just denied our landing clearance. They've designated our flight as a hostile threat."
I frowned, my romantic haze vanishing instantly, replaced by the sharp instincts of the Living Yama. "We filed diplomatic flight plans. Why are we hostile?"
"Because of our new escort, Madam," Dante replied grimly. "Look out the left window."
Darius and I turned our heads.
Flying just a hundred yards off our port wing, piercing through the clouds, was a slate-gray Dassault Rafale fighter jet. It was completely unmarked. No flags. No registration numbers.
And as I watched, the undercarriage of the fighter jet opened, revealing a payload of air-to-air missiles.
A mechanical voice blared over the emergency radio frequency.
"Private aircraft Vance-01, you are in restricted airspace. Turn back immediately, or you will be shot out of the sky. You have sixty seconds to comply."
Darius didn't flinch. He looked at the fighter jet, then turned back to me, a terrifying, bloodthirsty smile spreading across his face.
"It seems The Architect sent a welcome committee," Darius said, pulling his gun from his shoulder holster. "Shall we show them how the King and Queen of the underworld respond to threats, darling?"
I stood up, smoothing down my dress, my eyes flashing with absolute absolute zero coldness.
"Tell the pilot not to turn around," I ordered Dante over the intercom. "Accelerate. We're going straight to Paris."