The steps up to the jet were steel and cold even through my thin heels, and the wind from the engines whipped my hair across my face so I had to hold it back with one hand. Luca walked behind me, close enough that I could feel the heat of him at my back, but he didn't touch me. He hadn't touched me since the bedroom, since the glass applicator and the seed and the way he'd held me all night with his palm flat against my belly like he was already guarding something that wasn't his.

The cabin door was open, and inside, the air was cool and clean, smelling of leather and whiskey and something floral I couldn't name. The seats were cream-colored, wide as thrones, and the man in the far one didn't stand when I entered.

Dmitri Volkov watched me from the moment I crossed the threshold. His eyes were dark, almost black, and they moved over me slowly, deliberately, the way a man reads a contract he intends to sign. He was older than I'd pictured, his hair silver at the temples, his beard thick and full, and his suit was the color of storm clouds, fitted in a way that said money without shouting it.

"Isabella," he said, and my name in his mouth sounded like a verdict. "Come here.”

My feet carried me forward before my mind caught up. The collar was warm at my throat, a familiar weight now, and I felt it shift against my skin with every step. Behind me, I heard Luca settle into a seat, heard the whisper of leather as he crossed his legs. He was watching too. I could feel his eyes on my back like a hand.

I stopped in front of Dmitri's seat, close enough to see the threads in his tie, the diamond and emerald pin at his throat catching the cabin light. He didn't speak. He just looked at me, and the silence stretched until I felt it in my teeth.

"You are more beautiful than your photographs," he said finally, and there was something in his voice that wasn't quite approval. It was more like satisfaction, the way a man sounds when he's confirmed an investment will pay out. "Luca has done excellent work."

"Thank you," I said, and my voice came out steadier than I felt.

Dmitri's mouth curved, just barely, and he reached out and took my chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting my face toward the light. His grip was firm, impersonal, like he was examining a piece of fruit for bruises. "You will speak Russian in my presence," he said. "From now until we land. Do you understand?"

"Da," I said, and the word felt strange on my tongue, even after weeks of practice. "I understand."

His thumb traced my lower lip once, a gesture so light I almost didn't feel it, and then he let me go and looked past me, at Luca. "You've trained her well."

"She trained herself," Luca said, and his voice was smooth, easy, the voice he used with clients. "I only showed her the shape of what she could become."

Dmitri made a sound that might have been amusement. "And now you will show her the rest."

I didn't turn to look at Luca. I couldn't. If I looked at him now, I would see the man who'd held me all night, the man who'd put his hand on my belly and told me I was carrying the future, and I would fall apart in front of a man who owned me.

The cabin door closed with a soft hiss, and the engines deepened, a vibration I felt through the floor and up into my bones. We were moving. We were in the air before I'd even found my seat, and I realized I didn't know where I was supposed to sit. There were four chairs in the cabin, two facing two, and Dmitri occupied one. Luca had taken the one across from him, angled slightly, so he could see both Dmitri and me.

That left two chairs. One beside Dmitri, one beside Luca.

I stood in the aisle, and the plane tilted gently as it climbed, and I felt the weight of both men's attention like a physical thing.

"Sit," Dmitri said, and he gestured to the chair beside him. Not the one across. The one beside him, close enough that his arm would brush mine if either of us moved.

I sat. The leather was cool against my thighs, and I kept my hands in my lap, my spine straight, the way Irina had taught me. Knees together. Chin up. Eyes down unless spoken to.

Dmitri watched me settle, and then he reached out and took my hand, turning it over in his. His palm was warm, calloused in a way that surprised me, and he traced the line of my wrist with his thumb, feeling the pulse there.

"You are nervous," he said. It wasn't a question.

"A little," I said, and my Russian came out softer than I meant it to.

"Good." He released my hand and leaned back in his seat, his eyes still on me. "Nervous is honest. I prefer honest."

I didn't know what to say to that, so I said nothing, and the silence stretched again. Outside the window, the clouds were already below us, a white carpet that swallowed the ground. I watched them for a moment, and then I felt a hand on my knee.

Dmitri's hand. He'd found my knee without me noticing, and his fingers were sliding up the inside of my thigh, slow, deliberate, pushing the hem of my dress higher as he went.

"You will serve me on this flight," he said, and his voice was calm, conversational, as if he were discussing the weather. "Irina told me you've been practicing."

"Da," I said, and my throat was dry. "She taught me."

"Good." His fingers reached the top of my thigh, and I felt the heat of his palm against my skin, the weight of his hand. He didn't go further. He just held me there, his thumb tracing small circles on the inside of my leg, and I felt my body respond despite myself, a warmth spreading low in my belly.

I didn't look at Luca. I couldn't. But I heard him shift in his seat, heard the small sound of leather, and I knew he was watching.

"Stand up," Dmitri said, and I stood.

He looked at me for a long moment, and then he reached out and undid the tie at my waist, the thin silk belt of the dress I'd worn for him. The fabric fell open, and I felt the cool air on my skin, the weight of his gaze.

The dress was simple, a deep blue silk that Irina had chosen, and I'd put it on this morning knowing I would take it off. But knowing and doing were different things, and I felt my breath catch as the silk slid off my shoulders and pooled at my feet.

I stood in front of him in nothing but the gold collar and the amber pendant, and I felt the weight of both like a brand.

"Beautiful," Dmitri said, and his voice was soft now, almost reverent. "Luca, you've outdone yourself."

"She does the work," Luca said, and his voice was tight, controlled, the voice of a man holding himself very still.

Dmitri reached out and took my hand again, pulling me closer, until I was standing between his knees. He looked up at me, and his eyes were dark and patient, the eyes of a man who had all the time in the world.

"Kneel," he said.

I knelt. The floor of the jet was cool against my knees, and I felt the vibration of the engines through the carpet, a low hum that seemed to match the pulse in my throat.

Dmitri's hand came up and cupped my face, his thumb tracing my cheekbone, my jaw, the corner of my mouth. "You will learn to serve me," he said. "You will learn to serve my wife. And you will learn to want it."

I opened my mouth to answer, and he pushed his thumb inside, pressing down on my tongue, and I tasted the salt of his skin.

"No words," he said. "Not yet."

I closed my lips around his thumb and sucked, the way Irina had taught me, and I saw his eyes darken.

Then he pulled his hand back and reached for his belt.

The leather was soft, worn from years of use, and I watched his fingers work the buckle with a practiced ease that told me he'd done this before. He didn't rush. He took his time, and I knelt there, my hands on my thighs, my breath shallow, and I felt the anticipation building in my chest like a pressure I couldn't release.

He unzipped his trousers, and his cock sprang free, already hard, thick and heavy in his hand. He stroked it once, twice, and I watched the way his jaw tightened, the way his eyes never left my face.

"Open your mouth," he said.

I opened my mouth.

He guided himself to my lips, and I felt the weight of him against my tongue, the heat of him, the taste of him — salt and skin and something darker, muskier, a taste I was learning to recognize. He didn't push. He just held himself there, at the threshold, and I felt the tension in his body, the restraint.

"Suck," he said. "Slowly."

I closed my lips around him and sucked, and I felt his hand come down on the back of my head, not pushing, just resting there, a claim.

I took him deeper, my tongue working the way Irina had taught me, and I heard him exhale, a low sound that vibrated through his cock and into my mouth. His hand tightened in my hair, and he began to move, a slow rhythm, a push and pull that I matched with my mouth, my tongue, my throat.

And then I heard a sound behind me, a soft rustle, and I felt a hand on my shoulder.

Irina.

She'd come from the back of the cabin, where I hadn't seen her, and she was standing over me, her dark hair loose around her shoulders, her black dress replaced by a simple silk robe that fell open at the throat, showing the gold collar at her neck.

"Good," she said, and her voice was soft, approving. "You remember your lessons."

She knelt beside me, her body close to mine, and I felt her hand on my hip, steadying me, grounding me. She smelled of jasmine and smoke, and her fingers were cool where they touched my skin.

"He likes it when you look up," she said, and her voice was low, intimate, a lesson whispered in my ear. "When you watch him while you take him."

I looked up at Dmitri, and his eyes were on me, dark and patient, and I felt something shift in my chest, something I didn't have a name for.

"That's it," Irina said, and her hand moved from my hip to my breast, cupping it, her thumb brushing my nipple. "Let him see you."

I kept my eyes on Dmitri as I sucked him, and I felt Irina's hand on my body, her fingers tracing my ribs, my waist, the curve of my hip. She was warm against me, and I felt my body respond, a heat building low in my belly that I couldn't control.

Dmitri's hand tightened in my hair, and he pulled me off him, his cock slick with my spit, and I gasped for air.

"Stand," he said, and I stood.

Irina stood with me, her hand on my back, and I felt her press against me from behind, her breasts against my shoulders, her mouth at my ear.

"He wants to watch," she whispered. "He wants to watch me touch you."

Her hand slid down my belly, between my legs, and I felt her fingers find me, wet and ready, and I heard myself make a sound I didn't recognize.

"Yes," Dmitri said, and his voice was thick. "Show her."

Irina's fingers parted me, and I felt her slide one finger inside me, then two, and I leaned back against her, my head on her shoulder, my eyes on Dmitri as he watched us, his hand on his cock, stroking himself slowly.

"She's wet for you," Irina said, and her voice was a purr. "So wet."

She curled her fingers inside me, finding the spot that made my knees weak, and I heard myself moan, a sound that felt like it came from somewhere deep in my chest.

Dmitri's eyes were black, hungry, and he said something in Russian, a word I didn't catch, and Irina laughed, a soft sound, and she pushed me down onto my knees again.

"He wants you to finish what you started," she said.

I opened my mouth, and Dmitri stepped forward, his cock pressing against my lips, and I took him again, deeper this time, my throat working as I swallowed him.

Irina knelt behind me, her hands on my hips, and I felt her mouth on my back, her tongue tracing my spine, and then her hand slid between my legs from behind, finding me again, and I moaned around Dmitri's cock.

"That's it," Dmitri said, and his voice was rough. "Take it."

I sucked him, my tongue working the length of him, and I felt Irina's fingers inside me, a rhythm that matched the motion of my mouth, and I felt myself climbing, a pressure building that I couldn't stop.

Dmitri's hand tightened in my hair, and he pulled me off him, and I gasped, my mouth wet, my chest heaving.

"Not yet," he said. "I want to feel you come first."

Irina's fingers moved faster, harder, and I felt her other hand on my clit, rubbing in circles, and I heard myself begging, a string of broken Russian words that I didn't remember learning.

"Let go," Irina said, and her voice was in my ear, a command. "Let him see you."

I came apart. My body clenched around her fingers, and I heard myself cry out, a sound that was almost a sob, and I felt Dmitri's hand on my head, stroking my hair, grounding me.

"Good," he said, and his voice was soft now, almost gentle. "Now finish."

I opened my eyes, and I saw him above me, his cock hard and wet, and I took him in my mouth again, tasting myself on him, tasting Irina, and I felt her hands on my body, still touching me, still claiming me.

Dmitri fucked my mouth slowly, his hand in my hair, and I looked up at him, the way Irina had taught me, and I saw the moment he let go, the tension in his jaw, the way his hips stuttered, and I felt him come, hot and thick on my tongue, and I swallowed.

He pulled out of my mouth, and I sat back on my heels, my lips wet, my chest heaving, and I felt Irina's hand on my shoulder, a steadying touch.

"Good girl," she said, and the words were warm, almost affectionate, and I felt a flush of something that wasn't quite shame.

Dmitri tucked himself back into his trousers, his movements unhurried, and then he reached down and pulled me to my feet. His hand found my belly, pressing flat against the skin, and I felt the warmth of his palm through the thin fabric of my skin.

"You carry my seed," he said, and his voice was low, possessive. "You will carry my child. And you will serve me until you do."

I looked up at him, and I felt the weight of his hand on my belly, the weight of his words, and I knew, with a certainty that felt like a stone settling in my chest, that this was only the beginning.

"Da," I said, and my voice was steady. "I understand."

He smiled, a small, satisfied curve of his lips, and he let go of me, turning to look out the window at the clouds below.

I stood there, naked but for the collar and the pendant, and I felt Irina's hand on my back, guiding me to a seat, settling me into the leather. She sat beside me, her hand on my thigh, and I felt the warmth of her through the fabric of her robe.

"You did well," she said, and her voice was soft, almost tender. "He's pleased."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just sat there, feeling the seed in my belly, feeling the collar at my throat, feeling the future closing in around me.

And I knew, with a certainty that felt like a stone settling in my chest, that whatever happened next, I would never be the same.

The plane hummed beneath us, a steady vibration that seemed to match the pulse in my throat, and I felt the weight of the hours stretching out ahead of me, the hours, the days, the months. I was already his. I was already Dmitri's. And I was already carrying the future.

Irina's hand stayed on my thigh, a warm, grounding weight, but her attention had already moved past me. She was watching Dmitri, and something passed between them—a look I couldn't read, a conversation that didn't need words. Then she turned to Luca, and her voice shifted into something businesslike, cool and precise.

"Luca. We should discuss the next arrangement."

I felt the shift in the cabin's temperature. The air that had been thick with my body's heat, with the taste of Dmitri still on my tongue, suddenly went professional. Luca uncrossed his legs, and I heard the small sound of him leaning forward.

"I'm listening."

Dmitri's hand found my knee again, but this time it was different—proprietary, yes, but also absent, his fingers resting there while his attention went to the conversation. I was furniture now. I was the deal they were discussing, and I felt the strange dislocation of it, the way my body could still hum with the aftershock of orgasm while my mind floated somewhere above the seat.

"The girl you sent to Petrov," Irina said. "She's been placed. He's satisfied."

"Good." Luca's voice was smooth. "I told you she would be."

"She was adequate." Irina's tone was a blade wrapped in silk. "But not exceptional. Petrov wanted exceptional."

"Petrov wanted what he paid for."

"He paid for exceptional."

I watched Luca from the corner of my eye. He was sitting forward now, his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped. He looked like a man at a negotiation table, not a man who'd held me all night. The shift was so complete it made my chest ache.

"The next one will be better," he said. "I have a girl in Naples. Young. Untrained. She has the bone structure Petrov likes."

Irina made a small sound, something that might have been approval. "When?"

"Three weeks. Maybe four. I need to find the right buyer."

"You have a buyer," Dmitri said, and his voice was a low rumble. "You have me."

Luca's jaw tightened. Just barely. I saw it. "You have Isabella."

"And I want the other one too."

The words landed like a stone in still water. I felt them ripple outward, felt the shift in Luca's posture, the careful way he didn't look at me.

"She's not ready," he said.

"I don't need her ready." Dmitri's hand moved on my knee, a slow, deliberate stroke. "I need her available. I have a house in St. Petersburg. It needs staff."

Irina's fingers tightened on my thigh, a small squeeze that felt like a warning. Or a comfort. I couldn't tell which.

"I'll consider it," Luca said, and his voice was carefully neutral. "But Isabella is my priority. She's ready now. She's trained. She's—"

"She's exceptional," Dmitri finished. "Yes. I know. That's why I'm taking her."

The plane hit a pocket of turbulence, a small dip that made my stomach lurch. I gripped the armrest, and I felt Dmitri's hand steady me, his fingers wrapping around my knee.

"You're nervous again," he said, and it wasn't a question.

"The turbulence," I said, and my Russian came out thin.

"No." He turned me to face him, his hand on my chin. "You're nervous because you're listening to us talk about you like you're not here."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Because he was right, and the truth of it sat in my chest like a hot coal.

"You are here," he said. "You are mine. And you will learn that my business is your business, whether you like it or not."

He let go of my chin and turned back to Luca, and the conversation resumed as if I weren't there. But his hand stayed on my knee, and I felt the weight of it, the claim of it, the way it anchored me to this seat, this plane, this life.

I looked at Luca. He was watching me, and for a moment, just a moment, the mask slipped. I saw the man who'd held me all night, the man who'd put his hand on my belly and told me I was carrying the future. I saw the ache in his eyes, the same ache I felt in my chest.

Then he looked away, and the mask was back, and I was alone in the middle of a conversation about my life.

"The arrangement with Petrov," Irina was saying. "He wants the girl for a year. Maybe two. He's willing to pay for exclusivity."

"I don't do exclusivity for less than six figures," Luca said.

"He knows. He's prepared to negotiate."

Dmitri's hand slid up my thigh, under the hem of the dress that was still pooled at my feet. I felt his fingers find me, wet and ready, and I bit my lip to keep from making a sound.

"You're still wet," he murmured, and his voice was low, for me only. "You liked what we did."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. The words were stuck in my throat, caught between the truth and the lie I was still learning to tell.

"Good," he said. "I want you to like it. I want you to want it."

His fingers slid inside me, and I felt my body clench around him, the heat rising again despite the conversation, despite the way I was being discussed like a piece of property. I heard myself make a small sound, and I saw Luca's head turn, his eyes finding me, and I saw the flash of something in them—jealousy, maybe, or pain.

"She's responsive," Dmitri said, and his voice was casual, conversational, as if he were discussing the weather. "You trained her well, Luca."

"I told you," Luca said, and his voice was tight. "She trained herself."

"Modest." Dmitri's fingers curled inside me, finding the spot that made my vision blur. "I like that in a man. In a woman, I like it less."

He pulled his hand out of me, and I felt the loss of it, the emptiness, the way my body reached for him even as my mind recoiled. He brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted me, and I watched him, my breath shallow, my heart pounding.

"Sweet," he said. "You taste like honey."

Irina's hand found my back, a steadying touch. "She's ready for you," she said. "She's been ready for weeks."

Dmitri looked at me, and his eyes were dark and patient, the eyes of a man who had all the time in the world. "Stand up," he said.

I stood. My legs were shaky, and I felt the cool air on my skin, the weight of his gaze.

"Ride me," he said. "For the rest of the flight."

The words landed like a blow. I felt them in my chest, in my belly, in the place between my legs that was still aching from his fingers.

"Here?" I asked, and my voice came out small.

"Here." He gestured to his lap, and I saw that he'd already undone his trousers, his cock hard and waiting. "Sit."

I looked at Luca. He was watching me, his face carefully blank, but I saw the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were gripping the armrests.

"Luca," I said, and I didn't know what I was asking for. Permission? Comfort? A reason to stop?

"Do as he says," Luca said, and his voice was flat. "You belong to him now."

The words felt like a door closing. I turned back to Dmitri, and I stepped forward, my knees brushing his, and I felt his hands on my hips, guiding me.

"Slowly," he said. "I want to feel every inch of you."

I lowered myself onto him, and I felt the stretch of him, the fullness, the way he filled me completely. I gasped, and my hands found his shoulders, gripping the expensive fabric of his suit.

"That's it," he said, and his voice was thick. "Take all of me."

I sank down until I was seated on him, his cock buried deep inside me, and I felt the weight of him, the heat of him, the way he filled every part of me. I stayed still for a moment, breathing, adjusting, feeling the pulse of him inside me.

"Move," he said. "Slowly."

I began to ride him, a slow, rolling motion that made his eyes darken. His hands were on my hips, guiding me, and I felt the rhythm building, the heat spreading through my body like a tide.

Behind me, I heard the rustle of fabric, the sound of Irina crossing her legs. I heard Luca's voice, low and controlled, picking up the thread of the conversation as if nothing were happening.

"The Naples girl," he said. "She's young. Seventeen. She's never been touched."

"Virgin," Irina said, and her voice was thoughtful. "Petrov likes virgins."

"I know. That's why I chose her."

I felt Dmitri's hands tighten on my hips, and he thrust up into me, a sharp, sudden motion that made me gasp.

"Faster," he said.

I moved faster, my body finding the rhythm, my breasts bouncing with the motion. I felt his eyes on me, dark and hungry, and I felt the heat building in my belly, the pressure rising.

"She's beautiful when she rides," Dmitri said, and his voice was casual, as if he were commenting on the weather. "Look at her, Luca. Look at the way she moves."

I didn't look at Luca. I couldn't. I kept my eyes on Dmitri, on the dark hunger in his gaze, and I rode him, faster and faster, feeling the pleasure building, the pressure rising, the world narrowing to the heat between my legs.

"You're close," Dmitri said, and it wasn't a question. "I can feel you clenching around me."

"Da," I said, and my voice was broken. "Please—"

"Please what?"

"Please let me come."

His hand came up and wrapped around my throat, not squeezing, just resting there, a claim. "Come for me," he said. "Come on my cock."

I came apart. My body clenched around him, and I cried out, a sound that was almost a sob, and I felt him thrust up into me, once, twice, and then he was coming too, hot and thick inside me, and I felt the pulse of him, the way he filled me.

I collapsed against his chest, my forehead on his shoulder, my breath ragged. I felt his hand on my back, stroking me, and I felt Irina's hand on my thigh, a steadying touch.

"Good girl," Dmitri said, and his voice was soft now, almost tender. "You did well."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just sat there, his cock still inside me, his seed warm in my belly, and I felt the weight of the hours stretching out ahead of me.

I heard Luca's voice, low and controlled, picking up the thread of the conversation. "The Naples girl," he said. "I'll have her ready in a month. She'll need training."

"I'll send Irina to oversee," Dmitri said, and his hand was still on my back, tracing slow circles. "She has a good eye for potential."

"I don't need oversight," Luca said, and there was an edge to his voice now, a sharpness that hadn't been there before. "I know what I'm doing."

"I'm sure you do." Dmitri's voice was mild. "But I like to be sure of my investments."

Irina's fingers pressed into my thigh once, a signal I was learning to read. She leaned forward, past me, and her voice dropped into the register she used when she was teaching me something important.

"Luca," she said, "you misunderstand the nature of the gift."

I felt Dmitri's cock stir inside me, still half-hard, and his hand slid from my back to my hip, holding me in place. Irina's eyes were on Luca now, and there was something in them I hadn't seen before — a cold, patient amusement, the look of a woman who had already won a game the other players didn't know they were playing.

"I am not overseeing you," she said. "I am the delivery. The girl you send to Petrov will be trained by me, in my house, under my hand. You will deliver her to me, and I will make her what Petrov needs her to be."

Luca's jaw worked. I watched the muscles move beneath the skin, the only tell he allowed himself. "That wasn't the arrangement."

"The arrangement has changed." Irina's voice was silk over steel. "You trained Isabella. You did exceptional work. Dmitri and I have discussed it, and we have decided that your talents are too valuable to waste on a single girl."

Dmitri's hand tightened on my hip, and he thrust up into me, a slow, deliberate motion that made me gasp. "She's right," he said, and his voice was thick. "You've proven yourself. You'll train the next one for us, and the one after that."

I saw the shift in Luca's face. The mask didn't crack — it dissolved, all at once, and underneath was a man I barely recognized. His eyes went flat, his mouth a thin line, and his hands unclasped slowly, deliberately, like a man putting down a weapon he'd been holding for a long time.

"You want a pipeline," he said. "You want me to be your supplier."

"We want a partnership," Irina said. "You find them. You train them. I refine them. Dmitri places them."

Luca's laugh was short and bitter. "And what do I get?"

"You get to stay alive," Dmitri said, and his voice was casual, conversational, as if he were discussing the price of grain. "You get to keep your gallery. You get to keep your reputation. And you get to keep her."

He gestured at me, and I felt the weight of his hand on my hip, the claim of it. "You get to see her. When I allow it. You get to know she's well. That's more than most men in your position get."

I felt the words land in Luca's chest. I saw it in the way his shoulders dropped, the way his hands went still. He looked at me, and for a moment, just a moment, I saw the man who'd held me all night, the man who'd put his hand on my belly and told me I was carrying the future.

Then he looked away, and his voice was flat. "I understand."

Irina's hand found my back, a steadying touch. "Good," she said. "Then we have an arrangement."

Dmitri's hand slid from my hip to my throat, his fingers resting on the gold collar. "And you," he said, and his voice was low, for me only. "You understand what this means?"

"It means you're not just a concubine," he said. "You're proof. You're the example I show other men to demonstrate what I can provide."

His fingers tightened on the collar, a small, deliberate pressure. "You're my masterpiece, Isabella. And I don't share my masterpieces."

I felt the heat of him inside me, the pulse of him, and I felt the weight of his words settling into my bones. I was no longer just a woman being sold. I was a demonstration, a proof of concept, a living advertisement for the work Luca could do.

And Luca — Luca was no longer my way out. He was my supplier.

I felt the shift in the cabin's temperature, the way the conversation had changed everything. Irina was watching me, her dark eyes unreadable, and I saw the small smile at the corner of her mouth, the satisfaction of a woman who had just secured her position.

"She's tired," Irina said, and her voice was gentle, almost kind. "Let her rest."

Dmitri's hand loosened on my throat, and he looked at me, his dark eyes patient. "You may rest," he said. "But you will ride me again before we land."

It wasn't a request. I felt the weight of it, the certainty, and I felt my body respond, the heat rising despite everything, despite the conversation, despite the way my world was shifting beneath me.

"Da," I said, and my voice was thin. "I understand."

He helped me off his lap, and I felt the loss of him, the emptiness, the way my body reached for him even as my mind recoiled. I collapsed onto the seat beside Irina, and she pulled a blanket over my shoulders, her touch gentle, almost maternal.

"Rest," she said. "You'll need your strength."

I closed my eyes, and I felt the hum of the engines, the vibration of the plane, the weight of the hours stretching out ahead of me. I felt Irina's hand on my back, steadying me, and I heard Luca's voice, low and controlled, picking up the thread of the conversation.

I felt the words settle into me, the weight of them, the way they changed everything I thought I knew. Luca wasn't just training me for Dmitri. He was training me to be the first in a line, the proof that his method worked, the template for every girl who would come after me.

And I had thought I was special.

I opened my eyes and looked at Luca. He was watching me, his face carefully blank, but I saw the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were gripping the armrests.

"Luca," I said, and I didn't know what I was asking for. An explanation? A denial? A reason to believe I wasn't just another girl in a long line?

He looked at me, and for a moment, just a moment, the mask slipped. I saw the man who'd held me all night, the man who'd given me his mother's pendant, the man who'd told me I was his finest acquisition.

"Not you," he said, and his voice was rough. "You're not like the others."

I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe that I was different, that I mattered, that the way he'd held me meant something. But I had heard the conversation, and I had seen the way he'd looked at Irina, the way he'd agreed to her terms.

"You gave me to him," I said, and my voice was small. "You gave me to him, and now you're going to give him more."

Luca's jaw tightened. "It's not like that."

"Then what is it like?"

"It's like—" He stopped, and I saw the struggle in his eyes, the war between what he wanted and what he was. "It's like I'm trying to keep you safe. And the only way to do that is to make sure he's happy."

I felt the words land in my chest, the weight of them, the truth of them. He was trying to protect me, and the only way he knew how was to make me indispensable to the man who owned me.

And I hated him for it. And I loved him for it. And I didn't know which feeling was real and which was just the heat of the moment, the aftershock of orgasm, the confusion of a woman who had been remade and sold and trained and claimed.

Irina's hand found my back again, a steadying touch. "Rest," she said. "You'll need your strength."

I closed my eyes, and I felt the hum of the engines, the vibration of the plane, the weight of the hours stretching out ahead of me. I felt Irina's hand on my back, and I heard Luca's voice, low and controlled, picking up the thread of the conversation.

"The Naples girl," he said. "I'll have her ready in a month. She'll need training."

I felt the words settle into me, the weight of them, the way they changed everything I thought I knew. I was no longer just a woman being sold. I was a demonstration, a proof of concept, a living advertisement for the work Luca could do.

I closed my eyes, and I felt the hum of the engines, the vibration of the plane, the weight of the hours stretching out ahead of me. I felt Irina's hand on my back, steadying me, and I heard the low murmur of the conversation continuing, the words washing over me without meaning.

I thought about the pendant at my throat, the amber warm against my skin. I thought about the way Luca had looked at me when he'd put it there, the way his hands had trembled. I thought about the letter I'd written him, the words I'd meant with every part of me.

And I thought about the girl in Naples, seventeen years old, never touched, waiting for Luca to come and take her the way he'd taken me.

I felt the tears prick at my eyes, and I turned my face into the blanket, hiding them. I didn't want Luca to see. I didn't want Dmitri to see. I didn't want anyone to see the cracks forming in the careful facade I'd built, the woman who had learned to want what she was given, the woman who had learned to smile and spread her legs and say thank you.

But the cracks were there, and I felt them spreading, and I didn't know how to stop them.

I felt Irina's hand on my back, a steady, rhythmic motion, and I felt my body begin to relax despite myself, the exhaustion pulling me under. I heard Dmitri's voice, low and rumbling, and I heard Luca's response, clipped and controlled, and I felt the plane hum beneath me, carrying me toward a future I couldn't see.

And I slept.

I woke to the sensation of hands on my thighs, spreading them. I opened my eyes, and Dmitri was there, kneeling between my legs, his dark eyes hungry.

"I told you," he said, and his voice was thick. "You will ride me again before we land."

I looked past him, at Luca. He was watching, his face carefully blank, and I saw the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were gripping the armrests.

"Luca," I said, and I didn't know what I was asking for.

The words felt like a door closing. I turned back to Dmitri, and I let him pull me onto his lap, his cock hard and waiting, and I lowered myself onto him, feeling the stretch, the fullness, the way he filled me completely.

I sank down until I was seated on him, and I felt the weight of him, the heat of him, the way he filled every part of me. I stayed still for a moment, breathing, adjusting, feeling the pulse of him inside me.

"Move," he said. "Slowly."

I began to ride him, a slow, rolling motion that made his eyes darken. His hands were on my hips, guiding me, and I felt the rhythm building, the heat spreading through my body.

"We land in two hours," Irina said, and her voice was calm, matter-of-fact. "You should rest, Isabella. You'll need your strength for the house."

I felt Dmitri's hand on my hip, guiding me off his lap, and I collapsed onto the seat beside Irina, the blanket pooling around my waist. I felt the loss of him, the emptiness, and I closed my eyes, the exhaustion pulling me under.

But I didn't sleep. I lay there, feeling the seed warm in my belly, the collar at my throat, the pendant against my skin, and I listened to the conversation continue around me — Irina's cool voice, Dmitri's low rumble, Luca's clipped responses, the words washing over me without meaning.

And I felt the cracks spreading, the careful facade I'd built beginning to crumble.

"Luca," I said, and I didn't know what I was asking for.

I looked past him, at Luca. He was watching, his face carefully blank, but I saw the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were gripping the armrests.

"Luca," I said, and I didn't know what I was asking for.

"Move," he said. "Slowly."

"Luca," I said, and I didn't know what I was asking for.

His name left my mouth again, and this time it wasn't a question. It was a rope thrown across water, something I needed him to catch before I went under. Luca's hands stayed on the armrests, white-knuckled, but his eyes met mine and held. I saw the answer there—not permission, not a command, but a plea that mirrored my own. Stay with me. He nodded, once, almost imperceptible, and I felt the knot in my chest loosen by a single turn.

Dmitri's fingers dug into my hips, pulling me back to the rhythm. "Eyes on me," he said, and his voice had an edge now, the first crack in his patience. "When you ride me, you look at me."

I turned my face to his, and I rode him. The motion was mechanical at first, my body going through the paces it had been trained to perform, but Dmitri's hands guided me faster, harder, and the heat rose despite the hollow in my chest. His breath came in short, sharp bursts against my throat, and I felt the tension in his thighs, the way his grip tightened as he neared his peak.

"You feel that?" he grunted, thrusting up into me. "That's what you do to me. That's what you'll do to every man I put you with."

I felt the words land like a slap, but I didn't flinch. I took them. I took the thrust of him, the claim of him, the way his seed had already painted my insides and would again. I took it all, and I made my body respond the way he wanted, the way I'd been trained to respond, until he came with a groan that was almost a growl, his cock pulsing inside me, his hands bruising my hips.

He held me there for a long moment, his forehead against my collarbone, his breath hot and ragged against my skin. Then he pushed me off his lap, and I collapsed onto the seat beside Irina, my legs shaking, my breath coming in shallow gasps.

Irina's hand found my back, steadying me. "Good girl," she murmured, and her voice was almost kind. "Rest now. We land in an hour."