CHAPTER 71 — DANTE'S POV
Business First Class
The moment Dante Moretti stepped onto the aircraft, after weeks of back-to-back trips, executives, contracts, board meetings, and endless expectations, he felt a familiar snap inside him—
the return of the mask.
The CEO mask.
Smooth. Controlled. Untouchable.
But exhaustion lived beneath his skin like a slow burn. He barely slept, barely ate anything decent, and barely had time to breathe.
Still—he kept moving.
And now, finally, his last flight home.
He walked through the aisle with that effortless charisma people always reacted to—straight posture, dark suit perfectly tailored, an expression that could make a room go quiet.
It certainly made her go quiet.
A flight attendant stood at the entrance of the First-Class cabin.
Not just beautiful—striking.
Different.
Her uniform fit her perfectly, her smile warm yet mischievous. She had eyes too bright for someone working a long-haul flight and confidence that matched the glimmer of her lipstick.
"Good evening, Mr. Moretti," she greeted, voice silky.
She knew his name. Of course she did.
Dante gave a polite nod. "Evening."
Cold. Smooth. Controlled.
Her eyes lingered—longer than necessary.
Not this flight, he thought.
He took his seat, loosened his tie slightly, exhaled.
The flight attendant—Celestine, according to her name tag—walked over again.
Slow steps. Intentional.
"Is there anything I can bring you, sir?"
She leaned just slightly closer than protocol required.
Scented. Soft. Tempting.
He didn't look at her at first.
He didn't need to. He could feel her attention like heat against his neck.
"I'm fine," he replied, tone clipped.
But she didn't leave.
"Long day?" she asked lightly.
A conversational trap.
Dante finally lifted his eyes to her—calm, unreadable, but undeniably piercing.
"I've had a long month," he corrected.
Something flashed in her expression—interest… challenge.
"A man like you," she said boldly, "must be very hard to keep up with."
He stiffened internally.
Her words were suggestive.
Her tone even more.
Dante felt the shift inside him—a slow, dangerous current.
His body responded before he could shut it down, that familiar, dark pull tightening in his core.
Not now.
Celestine set a crystal glass of whiskey beside him without asking.
"On the house. Thought you could use it."
Dante arched a brow. "You're not supposed to serve alcohol before takeoff."
She grinned—audacious, confident.
"Then I guess you'll have to keep my little secret."
A lesser man would've been flattered. Tempted.
Dante?
He was irritated.
Mostly with himself.
For noticing the way her lips curved.
For noticing how her voice dipped when she spoke.
For noticing how her presence tugged at the part of him that wanted something—
anything—
to drown out stress, exhaustion, need.
His jaw flexed.
Focus.
He forced his eyes away, staring at the city lights through the window as the aircraft pushed back from the gate.
But she spoke again.
"You look like someone who doesn't get told 'no' very often."
Dante let out a controlled exhale.
"I get told 'no' all the time," he replied coolly.
"I simply don't care."
Celestine laughed—low, rich.
She liked that answer.
Dante didn't.
Because his body liked her laugh.
And that pissed him off.
He shouldn't be reacting.
Not tonight.
Not here.
He didn't want her.
But he wanted… something.
His mind whispered,
You could take her if you wanted. She wants you to. Badly.
His body murmured,
It would be easy. Too easy.
His jaw tensed.
Shut it down, Moretti.
When the plane finished ascent, Celestine returned with his dinner.
Bent slightly to place it.
Close enough that he felt the brush of her perfume.
She was doing it on purpose.
Testing boundaries.
And Dante—all cold logic and control—felt that dangerous spark again.
The one he hated.
The one he fought.
Because he could feel his restraint thinning.
"Is everything to your liking, Mr. Moretti?" she asked sweetly.
"My food doesn't flirt back," he said flatly.
"And that's exactly how I prefer it."
Her smile widened—she liked the challenge.
"You're a difficult man to impress."
"I'm not here to be impressed."
A beat of silence.
Then her voice dropped slightly—just enough to register as intimate.
"Some men say that right before they… change their minds."
His fingers tightened around his fork.
He looked at her fully now, finally letting a fraction of the heat slip into his gaze—
controlled, dangerous, deliberate.
And Celestine inhaled sharply.
She hadn't expected that.
Good.
Because that look was the only warning she'd get.
His voice dropped—deep, smooth, threaded with something dark.
"I'm not some man."
His tone sharpened.
"And you are a little too sure of yourself."
She flushed faintly.
"You can't blame me for trying."
She bit her lip.
"You're… impossible to ignore."
Dante leaned back slightly, eyes never leaving her.
"You should try."
Because he was one second away from losing patience.
One second away from giving in to the thing he was fighting—
the desire to forget everything for a night.
To take control of something… someone… just to quiet the noise inside him.
But he couldn't.
He wouldn't.
He owed Auri his loyalty.
His restraint.
His discipline.
Even if she wasn't beside him.
Even if his body screamed for release from stress and exhaustion.
Celestine whispered, "If you need anything else… anything at all… let me know."
Dante held her gaze.
Cold. Sharp.
Barely masking the heat under the surface.
"I don't need you," he said quietly.
"But thank you for your… enthusiasm."
She stared at him, surprised by the gentleness behind the rejection.
Then she swallowed and nodded, stepping away.
Finally.
Space.
Control returning.
Dante exhaled deeply.
His body still buzzed.
His mind still fought.
But he remained in control.
Because despite everything—
all the temptation, the fatigue, the stress—
there was only one woman his body truly wanted.
And she wasn't on this plane.
She was at home.
And he needed to get back to her.