3. Aria

What"s that saying about doing the same thing over and over and expecting something different? If I decide not to get on the plane to Italy, I"m essentially signing up for the life that I currently have. A life I don"t really like. So, with excitement and a whole lot of nerves, I rise from the edge of my bed and pull my bag out of the closet.

I've been vacillating for so long, I"m not sure that I"ve given myself enough time to get to the airport in White Plains. But I have to try.

I use my phone to order a rideshare to meet me a block away. God, I hope Niko isn't monitoring my phone in real time.

I peek out the hall and then make my way toward the back of the house, to the servants' staircase. There"s no way I"ll be able to make it out the front door without being seen. I just have to hope that none of the house staff is lingering.

I make it to the back stairs and head down, stopping before I reach the bottom landing. I listen to the left of me. Staff are in the kitchen preparing dinner. To the left are the servants' quarters. Their doors are shut.

I tiptoe as quickly as I can down the hall to the back door, pushing it open and stepping outside. This is where things get really tricky because there"s no way into or out of Niko"s property without a guard or alarm. Fortunately, I know there"s a gate with a code, so my real challenge is the surveillance cameras. If I"m going to be stopped, it will likely be now.

I make my way through the garden, trying to stay close to the shrubs and trees until I reach the gate. I quickly poke in the number and hear the gate unlatch. I jerk it open and rush through, practically sprinting to the left toward the end of the block where the rideshare had better be waiting for me.

As I get closer to the corner, I look over my shoulder, expecting to see Danny or Marco or any of Niko"s men coming after me. But I don"t. I'm nearly free. The rideshare I ordered is a nondescript sedan that should blend in with every other car, and I'm relieved to see it's waiting. I open the back door, toss in my bag, and climb in.

"Aria?"

"Yes. Jacob, right?"

He hasn"t yet pulled away from the curb, and I glance out the window, getting nervous. "I"m in a hurry."

"Hurry and driving through Manhattan aren"t two words that go together, but I"ll do my best." Finally, he pulls away into traffic. But I don"t take a breath until we cross the bridge out of Manhattan.

As it gets closer and closer to six p.m., I"m nervous that I"m not going to make it. If that"s the case, I have to keep my fingers crossed that I can sneak back into the house without anyone knowing I"d left.

Finally, the small private airport is visible.

"Here we are," Jacob the driver announces.

I grab my bag and open the door. "Thank you, Jacob." I figure I"ll give him a good review and a large tip once I"m on the plane. I rush over to a hangar where a plane is being pulled out.

A man dressed in an expensive Italian suit looking like he stepped out of the pages of a men"s fashion magazine is standing talking with a beautiful woman, also dressed immaculately.

As I approach, they both look up. The man tenses and steps slightly in front of the woman, and that"s when I know I"ve come to the right place. He"s ready to kill me if I'm here to cause trouble.

"I"m Aria Leone."

His gaze roams over me and his lips curve into a smirk. "I'm Bruno Castilla," he says in an Italian accent, thicker than Luca's. "And this is Simone Toscano."

He leans over to the woman and says something to her in Italian.

She nods and looks at me, waving a hand toward the plane. "Venitev," she says.

I know that. She's telling me to come.

Bruno holds his hand up toward the plane, and it stops. A moment later, the door opens and the stairs fold out.

"Venitev in fretta," she says. I think that means come quickly. I wonder if she speaks English. A moment of panic flares inside me that I"m going to a place where I don't speak or understand the language very well. I probably should"ve packed my English-Italian Dictionary.

But the worry dissipates as I think about learning Italian from Luca. I love to hear him speak his native language, even though I often don't understand what he's saying.

I hurry up the stairs, feeling equally eager to get going because I have no idea when Niko is going to notice that I"m gone. He could be on his way, using my phone to track me.

Simone guides me to a seat, and I sit, latching my belt. Bruno trots up the steps, his phone to his ear, speaking in Italian. When he hangs up, he speaks to the pilots, and then to Simone. Finally, he takes a seat across from me.

Once the plane is out of the hangar, it taxis to the runway. It feels like forever that we sit, and I keep looking out the window expecting Niko and his army to be driving in, guns blazing. But soon, I"m pressed back into the seat as the plane picks up speed down the runway. The nose lifts, and pretty soon, we're hovering over the ground, rising higher and higher toward the sky.

Bruno turns to the woman sitting near the cockpit. Lifting his finger, he says something to her in Italian, and the only word I recognize is please. Quickly, she gets up and goes to a small kitchen area on the plane, pulling out a bottle of champagne and a couple of flutes. Bruno laces his fingers across his middle as he studies me. I feel a little uncomfortable by it.

"It"s not every day I am asked to kidnap a Mafia princess."

My hackles rise, and I sit up, pursing my lips at him. "I came willingly. It"s hardly a kidnapping."

His lips twitch up. "I doubt your brother will see it like that."

He has a point.

"How long is the flight?" I ask, taking a flute of champagne from Simone.

"Little over eight hours. Plus, another hour or so to the villa. Signorina Leone, do you like the coast?

I nod, remembering Luca telling me about his villa and thinking it sounded like the most enchanted place on earth.

"You must be hungry. Simone, bring us our meal," Bruno orders.

"You speak good English. Do others at the villa?" I ask.

He smirks at me. "Don Conte"s men speak English as a matter of doing business. But at the villa? Most who work there only have very basic English language they learned in school. I suspect you will be getting a crash course in Italian. It's a beautiful language, is it not? They say French is the language of love. But we all know it"s Italian."

Even though we"re on a small airplane whirling over the Atlantic Ocean, Simone serves us a traditional Italian dinner starting with fresh figs and salami. Next, she serves herbed chicken with vegetables, and of course, bread. We finish with an Italian ice and espresso, although I ask for decaf. I want to sleep on the plane. By my calculation, it will be two in the morning for me when we land in Rome, eight a.m. there. I want to be well rested when I see Luca.

I imagine first walking into Luca's villa, and a little sliver of nerves slides through me. But it"s quickly quashed as I imagine him greeting me and embracing me, welcoming me to his home. I picture us continuing our long talks, maybe walking along the coast. I imagine him finally kissing me, and even taking me to his bed to claim me, and then waking up the next morning beside him.

By the time I drift to sleep on the plane, I"m eager to finally get to Luca and start living my happily ever after.