Page 7

Chapter Seven

Blaze

I accept the cut crystal glass from the flight attendant and take a deep sip of the oaky, twenty-three-year-old family reserve bourbon with the four-thousand-dollar price tag.

We’re finally thirty thousand feet above Earth, headed to our lavish Italian estate we call home. The moment the landing gear hits the tarmac, I’ll be drawn into emergency meetings. I’ll face the first significant threat to the family in decades, so for now, I savor the liquor and the peaceful ride.

Ma and Falcon had no issues with the trip. They’re using the opportunity as their second honeymoon. I hope they make it this time. I glance behind me to find the lovebirds smiling at one another as they clink champagne glasses. They look happy.

Leaving the Bronx on a private jet reminds me of how much my life has changed since Haze entered it. Growing up in government housing, I wore second-hand clothes while everyone else wore Air Jordans, unaware that I wasn't quite succeeding in this world. Even as a child, I put on a bravado, flash a cocky grin, and crack a joke.

Unfortunately, no matter how much money is in my bank account, I have learned that you can’t completely overcome the feeling of not being good enough.

That was a bummer.

Haze knows how I feel. We’ve talked about it over beers. He may only be my half-brother by blood, but our bond is nothing less than family. You know how, sometimes in life, you can look back at one particular moment when everything changed? That was how it was for me the day Haze came into my life.

I was raised as an only child by a single mom. While it was enjoyable for a brief time to have Falcon as a stepfather and Cleo as my stepsister, my feelings for her were never platonic or brotherly.

I was alone in the world, except for Ma, and God bless her patient heart; a boy needs to be around a man who can relate to him. It wasn’t until the day I came home in my early twenties to find a full-grown version of myself standing in the living room, having a conversation with Ma, that I began to come into my own.

I still remember the moment I laid eyes on him, how my breath whooshed out of my lungs as if I were looking into a mirror that reflected the future. The moment felt surreal. I played it cool, appearing disinterested.

He appeared overwhelmed. He made his excuses and left .

When we were alone, I bombarded Ma with questions until she admitted that the man who looked like me was my half-brother. He left home young, before Ma got pregnant by my deadbeat sperm donor, so before I came along.

The next day, Haze called me, apologized, and came by. We’ve been inseparable ever since. He introduced me to his family, the Bachmans. I learned their customs and eventually chose to join them. Since that day, I’ve done my best to be worthy of the Bachman name bestowed upon me.

There is one way I differ from my new family: returning to the city brings out the Bronx in me. You must have swagger to succeed in our world, and that swagger attracts women. Sure, the single Bachman brothers like me date and have their fun, but it’s well known that the family expects you to settle down with one woman eventually, with sooner always preferable to later.

Like Haze and his wife Ophelia; the two were truly made for each other.

It’s a long, twisted story that still makes me chuckle and lets me rib Haze about his choices. Despite how their relationship began, Haze and Ophelia are perfect for one another.

When Cleopatra walked into the church at Haze’s wedding, I felt a strange pang in my chest. I hadn’t seen her in years; our parents were divorced. She was little Cleo from Queens, but now fully grown. She stole my breath while making my pulse race. It was another moment of life-changing epiphany.

I knew I would never want any other woman the way I wanted her .

And I’ll never have her.

I still dream about that day, her coming to sit beside me in the pew, wearing a white dress. Her horrified, adorable look when I told her you aren’t supposed to wear white to a wedding. She felt as guilty as if she’d committed a crime.

I sneak a glance at Cleo as she sits beside me.

She stares out the window of the jet, lost in thought. When we boarded the plane, she oh -ed and ah -ed over the opulence. The moment she settled into her seat, she fell silent. Processing. She’s in one of those introverted moods where she prefers not to be disturbed.

So, I leave her be. At least our shoulders are touching. And I got to see her wince when her spanked ass hit the cushioned seat.

Cleopatra got the orgasm she demanded—two, actually—at my hand, and I also granted her one wish, now seated across the aisle from me, sipping an espresso martini. Her long, coffin-shaped, hot pink nail delicately glides up her phone screen, flicking at the top before sliding back down to the bottom to begin the process anew.

She’s beautiful, incredibly bright, possesses a sharp sense of humor, and has an excellent understanding of fashion. Today, she wears a well-tailored hot pink suit, a low-cut white silk tank beneath it, and black stilettos on her feet. The single brothers will be watching her like a hawk.

“Work discovers I’m going to be in Italy for the summer, and within an hour, I receive 500 emails suggesting places to shoot the next campaign.” Seraphina sighs in a way that reveals her obsession with her job. “And as always, they’re all amazing.”

“What’s the new product?” I ask.

“A caffeinated coconut water- it’s delicious!” She makes the chef’s kiss gesture, kissing her fingertips before releasing them into the air, and then gives me a business-like glance. “I couldn’t promote a product I don’t love.”

“I’ll ensure you have a driver and access to a car. We also have a helicopter available if you need any aerial shots.”

“Thanks, Blaze.” She beams a 100-watt smile at me, then returns to her phone, continuing to work.

“Thanks, Blaze,” Cleo echoes beside me. From her view, her light brow goes adorably pensive, and she bites her bottom lip.

That’s a classic Cleopatra worry face. She pulls a notebook from her giant orange bag, which has a pen attached to the front. So teacher-like. Pulling the lap table across the arms of her chair, she flips the notebook open, focused on the blank paper before her.

“How much do you think a ticket on one of these things costs?” she murmurs before looking at me, asking, “Two hundred?” I don’t answer immediately, and she winces, asking, “Three hundred?”

Seraphina and I share a knowing glance. Rather than startling her with the correct cost, I ask, “Why do you need to know?”

“I’m keeping a tab,” she says curtly. “Of everything I owe you. ”

“I forced you to come. You don’t owe me anything?—”

She holds up a hand, cutting me off. “Now I know you’re probably thinking I’ll never be able to pay you back on my meager salary, but I’ll make installments. Okay, so we’ll say $250 for the ticket. $500 for me and Seraphina combined?”

A staff member comes by with a tray of champagne, offering each of us one. We all take a glass. Cleopatra says cheerily, “Thank you!” and then scribbles down $20 for her and her friend’s drinks.

“Can I take a look?” I slide the notebook from her tray without waiting for a response. I fold it closed and slip it into my work bag. “I’ll keep it safe for you. Promise. For now, try to enjoy the experience.”

“Okay.” She sighs, wiggling her shoulders against the plush seat, trying to unwind.

I attempt to relax her. “You’ve never left the country, have you?” I already know the answer. I know practically everything about her. My team would have alerted me if she had adopted a new personality and been jet-setting around the world over the past few years.

“No.” She looks down at her lap, shaking her head.

“It’s going to be alright. I’ll take good care of you. You might even enjoy yourself.” I give her a playful swipe under her chin. “Chin up! If nothing else, you’ll be out of the States for the first time.”

She brightens at that. “I do appreciate all this. I know I was resistant”—her lovely cheeks blush, making my cock stir as she thinks of my stern correction from earlier—“to the idea at first, but you’re right. I shouldn’t turn down an opportunity to travel over the summer. Thank you.”

I call over a staff member, ordering a manicure for Cleo so she can relax. She resists, saying she doesn’t need any more spoiling. “I insist,” I say. “My treat. They have a mini spa in the back of the jet. It’s pretty cool. Go check it out.”

Finally, she gives in, smiling as she leaves with the staff member.

She returns to her seat looking far more relaxed, her fingernails a shiny light pink. Leaning over, she plants a sweet kiss on my cheek. “Thanks. I did need that. It was wonderful.”

She goes back to gazing out the window, her eyelids heavy with fatigue. My instinct is to hold her close so she can feel safe and allow herself to doze. Should I make my move? Hell—she’s trapped on this jet with me. What do I have to lose? I extend my arm, wrapping it around her shoulders and pulling her tightly against me.

She doesn’t hesitate; she rests her head against my shoulder. “Thanks. Much better.”

And there it is.

The pang in my chest. That longing I can’t quite put words to. And of course, ‘cause it’s me, cock stirring. Just from having her head on my shoulder, her soft vanilla scent closing in on me, the heat from her skin melding with mine. That’s what she does to me: Cleopatra, queen of everything.

Every hard-on .

Every thought of my future.

Every feeling of defeat, knowing there’s no way she’d ever pick me for the long haul.

I predict that, especially after Keith, her next serious relationship will be with a man she perceives as less risky.

She will inevitably marry an accountant named Nathan, who wears fleece vests and has small, round glasses. Perhaps he owns a fluffy white Maltese that he affectionately calls Bernice in memory of his late mother. On weekends, he enjoys hiking and savors a glass of red wine with dinner.

Nathan’s a sure bet.

I’m like a poker game where you know you have a winning hand, but the person you think is bluffing just went all in.

A real gamble.

She’d never go all in with me.

All bets for our future together are off—okay, these bad Vegas analogies have to stop.

She sighs softly, her weight pressing more heavily against me as she drifts off to sleep, trusting me to keep her safe and ensure we arrive in Italy unscathed. That feels good, even without the promise of ‘till death do us part.’

What was the funny word she used the other day? The one that broke my heart in two.

Situationship.

It’s not her fault. We are too different. I have a history. After today's ceremony, we are once again legally related .

Forbidden.

I must accept this and move on. The bachelor’s life isn’t so bad. The brotherhood will have to take me being single until I have gray hair and wrinkled old balls.

There I go again, joking to mask my...‘feeling s.’

My phone vibrates in my pocket. I glance at Cleopatra. Haze is calling to update me, but I refuse to disturb her. I’ll call him back as soon as Cleo wakes up.

I think of the Village, a secret little world in the middle of everything, tucked away from the bustling life outside. It is enclosed by a large, tall stone wall, roughly the size of a city block. Heavy black security gates are present behind those plain, windowless building fronts that encircle it.

The Bachman family began acquiring this land in the late 1800s, taking their time with it. Once they owned the entire block, they constructed businesses along the streets, leaving this empty square behind them. They ensured the backs of these buildings had no windows and installed secret doors, setting the stage for the Village. By the early 1900s, they had erected neat rows of houses, completing this hidden gem.

All the shops and businesses around the square are Bachman-owned. Each location has its secret entrance—a hidden closet in the back of an office, storeroom, or cloakroom. Only our family can use them, keeping things private and secure. The gates are large enough for our cars, and they have sensors that open them automatically, similar to a fancy fingerprint scan. This leads to another gate that opens into our tucked-away Village .

Streetlights glow warmly over the square, illuminating the cobblestone paths where a few people relax. Couples stroll hand in hand, sharing sweet kisses beneath the moon's soft light. Others enjoy late dinners at quaint bistro tables, savoring meals of crusty bread, ripe fruit, and rich cheese, all paired with nice wine. It feels like an entirely normal night in a charming little town.

The thing about power is that it's a relentless beast. You might think you can finally breathe easy once you have it, but that's when the battle begins. Clinging to it is far more grueling than the chase. That’s why we have such tight security, cutting-edge technology, and strict rules.

To preserve our power and, consequently, our way of life.

For the first time in decades, there is a real threat- an organized group challenging our hold on the city.

Our perfect utopia is in danger.

I would have thrown her over my shoulder, my hand planted on her pretty ass and carried her kicking and screaming onto this jet if I had to.

It’s terrifying.