SHE IS SINKING, HE IS DROWNING, AND TOGETHER, THEY BURN.
Ekaterina Sokolov has always been her older brother's concealed gem. Hidden away from the public eye, her brother always made sure to protect her from the dark and perilous world they lived i...
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2.30 am - United States
I rushed inside the plane and sat down on the first seat I saw. I could feel my fingers tremble but I tried to hide it by balling one of my hands in a fist and rubbing them together.
I am going to Italy. I have never been anywhere further in the world than California.
I step onto the plane, feeling Armando's body heat connect to my back. He is more than a head taller than me and as soon as I look back, I can see him towering over me. His green eyes dull, flashing me a blank look.
I can see two flight attendants sitting on the other part of the jet and two pilots getting ready in front, screwing on a few buttons on the ceiling.
I look frantically between all of the seats and choose to sit on the one closest to me.
But as soon as my butt was just about to collide with the seat, I feel a large hand palm around my bicep. I look up to see Armando lifting me back up as if I weighed nothing, and he easily ushered me further towards the chairs calmly.
"You're sitting there." He orders.
I roll my eyes.
"What if I want to sit here." I challenge.
Armando's dark blue eyes suddenly darken and he looks down at me with a look that told me not to challenge him.
I almost scoff, I wasn't unfamiliar with these looks.
"Ekaterina," He warns. "You are sitting. There." His tone is now lower, deeper.
I could have fought him harder on this if he hadn't had such a strong grip on my arms and forcefully guided me toward wherever he expected me to sit.
I didn't go further with it and just did as he said, sitting down on the chair in the middle of the plane next to the window.
I sit down and I see him standing there, staring at me.
I raise a questioning eyebrow. "Is there something else you want to order, Mr. Barone?" I say sarcastically, as he is leering at me.
He is calm and collected, but by the spark in his eye, I can tell that I was bothering him.
"Seatbelt." He says, pointing to the strap that is loosely laying on my lap. "Put it on."
Classical Armando, talking to people as if they were dogs. Not any dogs, his dogs.
I sigh in a fit of pique and roughly grab the thing in my lap, clicking it together.
