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Question of the day:

Who do you think falls first, Millie or Costa? 👀

Did that really just happen?

My sworn arch-nemesis just delivered my breakfast and asked me to accompany him to New York.

I knew something was wrong with his mental state when he held me in his arms to comfort me after my nightmare, but I thought that would be the end of his insanity.

I kind of hoped I'd never have to see him again after that, even though that's kind of stupid. I was just completely mortified by my behaviour last night. I never like to cry in front of other people - if I can help it. But this time I just lost all control of myself.

The nightmare of Viktor Kozlov was so, so vivid. The moment he took me after killing everyone I loved. The way I felt when I realised no one would come for me. The sensations of him...attacking me and using me.

It was all real and it was something I'd never wish upon my worst enemy.

When I woke up I wasn't capable of controlling my emotions. Unfortunately, my melt down had to be in front of Costantino of all people.

He was gone when I woke up in the morning which saved me from having to face him a second time in bed. I even avoided making eye contact with him in the kitchen.

In the end, I still came face to face with him when he weirdly brought my breakfast to the dining room.

Perhaps he felt sorry for me?

That thought was just insulting. I'm not some weak bitch who needs pity. One moment of weakness after a nightmare shouldn't change his view of me being a stubborn brat.

Or maybe he wanted to get another look at his down-fallen wife?

What a bitch.

I wouldn't put it past him to want to revel in my misery and drag out the embarrassment even more. I'm surprised he didn't stick around for the moment I had to go and deliver my used dishes back to the kitchen and apologise to Greta.

<<<<<<< >>>>>>> <<<<<<<<

"October in New York." I murmured, eyeing the three empty suitcases in my room.

"This is why Mrs K always packs my shit. I have no idea what I'm doing, Lula." I sighed, dropping down on the bed next to the grey cat. She was perched comfortably on a pile of my laundry that needed to be put away.

I might have never packed my own things for a long trip away before, but I'm smart.

Boss bitches figure this shit out. I just need to use logic.

I knew we'd been in New York for 10 days but I didn't how long we'd be in the Middle East afterwards.

So, I need one suitcase for cold outfits and one for warm outfits. The third suitcase could be my everything else suitcase - pyjamas, loungewear, underwear, workout clothes and bikinis.

Then we'd need a trunk for shoes, purses and make up etc.

I don't travel light.

Thankfully I don't have to because I always fly private.

If I was flying commercial then I'd sure as hell be paying for extra luggage allowance.

If, by some miracle, I was poor, then I'd be that bitch wearing four pairs of pants under a long skirt and multiple layers on the top just to take as much shit with me as I possibly could.

"Now, what to plan for October in New York, Lu? Lula?" I turned to my partner who was busy playing with the string hanging from one of my sweatpants in the pile she was on top of.

"Useless." I rolled my eyes at how easily she became distracted, deciding to go into my closet for inspiration instead.

Jeans would be nice for daytime. Maybe skirts with some cute stockings or pantyhose? Cropped knit sweaters and...oh my God!

Trench coats! I grinned, immediately rushing to the corner of my closet where my coats were hung up.

I wasn't kidding last night when I told Costa I loved layering cute outfits for colder weather in New York. I was prepared with the finest Burberry trench coats. I picked out my favourite three, heading over to the empty open suitcase on my bed.

Well, it was empty when I left.

"Lula, no. Out." She didn't bother getting out so I had to put my coats down on the bed and lift her out, much to her dismay.

"Meow all you want, I need to pack before Costa comes in here to pack." We hadn't spoken since he left me in the dining room this morning but I knew he hadn't packed yet. I'd been in here all day preparing for our trip.

Costa is the kind of guy who could pack in an hour and leave for the airport straight away.

As soon as I knew I'd be travelling today, I had to take an everything shower, style my hair and choose a cute yet comfortable outfit. Then I had to pack my make up, skincare and haircare. In between all of that I had some work calls and Greta even insisted I ate something for lunch - as if I had time.

Now it's time for clothes.

I quickly got to packing my cold weather outfits, having to deal with Lula's occasional tantrums. After that I moved on to warm weather outfits.

I just about finished my everything else suitcase when Lula threw another tantrum, this time messing up the folded pile of pyjamas in the suitcase.

"Lula." I groaned, lifting her into my arms while surveying the damage she'd done. Meanwhile, she was purring happily in my arms as if her mission had been successfully completed.

An exhausted huff escaped my lips and I dropped down flat on the bed with Lula now resting on my chest. She peered down at me, her light brown eyes watching me carefully.

"You never mess with Costa's suitcases. Why do you keep ruining mine?" During the last three months, I'd seen Costa pack for numerous trips and each time Lula would just watch him on the bed while he worked.

She never got in his suitcase or ruined his folded clothes.

The cat purred, using her right front paw to tap my face. Then she nuzzled her face between my neck and shoulder, releasing a squeak.

I gently stroked her fur, a slow grin stretching across my face. "You like me more, don't you?"

She immediately lifted her head as if my outrageous question startled her. She remained still for a short moment and I'm sure she even looked around the room to make sure no one else heard her. Then she eventually came in even closer, rubbing her head along the side of my face.

I was right.

A laugh escaped my lips at her confirmation of my question and her show of affection.

"Can I tell him?" Lula released a high pitched meow to reject my request.

"Please? It will hit him where it really hurts." I pouted my lips while she got comfortable again, curling up on my chest.

Lula eventually purred causing me to giggle at her weak resolve.

Our moment was cut short when a movement across the room caught my eye. Lula and I both simultaneously looked over at Costa who was standing in the open doorway.

I had no idea how long he'd been standing there watching me converse with Lula. He had a soft frown on his face and a weird emotion in his eyes that I couldn't quite understand.

The eye contact between us seemed to get too much for him and he suddenly looked away, instead focussing on my many open suitcases dotted around the room.

"You know we're not moving there, right? You don't need so many suitcases."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't realise you wanted an ugly-dressed wife." I scoffed, stroking Lula's fur when she patted my face again with her paw. I think it was her way of telling me I was pretty no matter what Costa said.

That's some bestie shit right there.

"I didn't but then I got stuck with you."

"Hey!" I lifted my head to glare at him only to be met with an amused expression. His eyes shifted from my face to my body and I followed his gaze, catching the hint.

"These are my in-between clothes." I grumbled.

"Your in-between clothes?" Now an amused smile tugged at his lips as he headed into his closet to grab his own singular suitcase.

Just one suitcase.

What a psycho.

"You're stupid, you would never understand." I sighed, finally sitting up to finish my packing - much to Lula's dismay.

"No? Try me." Costa put his suitcase down next to mine, almost as if we were supposed to be a real couple or something. Only real couples pack together and we sure as hell weren't that couple.

"Fine, let's see if your tiny guy-brain can cope. So, I've already chosen my outfit for the flight, but why would I wear that all day while I pack? That wouldn't make sense."

"Of course not." Costa added.

"So, in that case I needed another outfit. But I wasn't about to waste my nice clean clothes on a packing day. Everyone knows a packing day always turns into a 'holy shit this make up drawer needs cleaning out' kind of day. So, naturally I needed in-between clothes."

"Naturally." He nodded in agreement, narrowly missing the shirt I threw in his direction because of his unnecessary sarcasm.

He blessed me with a velvety laugh as he easily threw it back in my direction, hitting me square in my face. I scrunched my nose up at the contact, narrowing my eyes dangerously at him.

My expression all but promised him death but that didn't stop him from analysing me like some kind of fucking therapist.

"I get it now. The reason you're wearing those ugly pyjama pants is because you're a spoiled little princess who has never packed her own shit before so this whole thing has become an event for you. You're also incapable of finishing such a simple task quickly and efficiently so you need a stupid outfit to go with your lack of packing skills."

"They're not ugly!" I gasped, looking down at the frayed pyjamas I'd had for more years than I could imagine.

I got them that time I ran into Walmart to hide from my guards.

They had cute little ladybugs on them.

Costa laughed again as he headed back into his closet to get another pile of clothes. During that two minute conversation he'd already managed to pack a bunch of things.

It took me hours to pack my suitcases.

"At least you're not denying everything else. Now stop talking and finish packing. We need to leave in half an hour."

"There's no way I'll be ready in half an hour. Can we leave in an hour?" The words slipped out before I could remember who I was talking to.

No matter how many strange civilised conversations we have, we'll never be friends. They always come to an end and reality will always kick in.

"It wasn't a request and it's not a discussion. We're leaving in half an hour."

<<<<<<< >>>>>> <<<<<<<

"This is the last time you're ever coming anywhere with me." Costa huffed for the fourth time in the last five minutes.

"Why are you throwing a tantrum? I got you one too."

"I didn't fucking ask for one! I specifically fucking said 'I don't fucking want one'."

So many bad words.

"Oh, please." I scoffed, bringing my straw back to my mouth. "Who really doesn't want one?"

"Me." He deadpanned.

"Well, you're a psycho so you don't count." I shrugged, sipping on my milkshake from the luxury Sicilian gelato and milkshake place we passed.

"We're late now, Millie." He complained, again.

He never gets tired of complaining.

It's always 'We're late now, Millie' or 'I'm going to throw you out this car, Millie'. It's never 'Thank you for the milkshake and for gracing me with your presence, Millie. Here's a diamond necklace to say thank you'.

"Just drink your milkshake. It might help you loosen up a little." He didn't move an inch, he just continued to stare straight ahead at the slow moving traffic. "Oh. Are you saving it for the plane?"

No answer.

"I should have done that." I frowned looking down at my half empty milkshake.

This was definitely one of those moments my father would throw in that 'look at your glass half full, not half empty' line.

I fucking hate that line.

"Can I have yours?"

Still no answer.

"Why are you being such a bitch, Costa?"

"We're an hour late!"

"Ah, he speaks." I grinned, slurping loudly on my milkshake just to annoy him.

His response was delayed while he was busy trying to change lanes. He was definitely aggravated and that was showing in the way he was trying to weave in and out between other cars.

"You're lucky we're moving again otherwise I would have thrown you and your milkshakes out the car."

"So I can have yours too?" I smirked, loving the way his hands tightened around the steering wheel.

"Shut up."

By the time we pulled up outside the plane on the tarmac, Costa was ready to murder me.

I have no idea why.

"You really are a spoiled little princess." He ground out the words from his place beside me at the top of the stairs that led into the plane. I was currently watching the men stow away my three suitcases and one trunk into the storage area of the jet. "Just come and sit down, Millie."

"No. I have to make sure they handle my things carefully."

I wasn't about to leave my personalised Louis Vuitton luggage in the hands of those men without any supervision. They wouldn't care if they scratched or dented them.

"If they get damaged just buy some more. Isn't that what spoiled little rich bitches do?"

"They were a gift from my mother, maláka." (Asshole) I finally snapped, turning to glare fleetingly at my husband beside me.

I waited another few seconds until my luggage was safely stored away. Then, with one more harsh look I shoved past him to head inside.

The jet we took was one of the smaller ones from our fleet since it was only Millie and I flying. It had one bedroom, one bathroom and a main seating area. There was one large couch on the right side and a pair of arm chairs on the left.

We both ended up on the couch with our laptops out on the table since it was the only table big enough for all our things.

She sat there with her glasses perched on the bridge of her nose, occasionally slurping on the rest of her milkshake while she worked. She told the hostess to keep mine in the refrigerator so she could have it later.

This bitch really started squealing my ears off until I stopped at the gelato shop in central Palermo.

Then she gets upset when I call her a spoiled rich bitch.

Hours passed by while we worked in silence - a strangely comfortable silence. She wasn't complaining or barely even talking. Like someone with multiple personalities, she was now acting all professional by working hard the entire time.

Meanwhile, I found myself drifting off into random thoughts - my eyes always finding their way back to the frustrating brunette sitting quietly a few inches away from me.

It was strange for me to see a woman working as hard as she does. In this life women are housewives and often nothing more. Is it sexist? Yes. But it's the unfortunate truth.

When I learned Millie founded her own publishing business, my first initial thought was that it would be a hobby only. Perhaps it wouldn't be that successful either - not if she was out shopping and clubbing as often as her reputation suggested.

But in the last three months that we've been married I've only seen her put in long hours to get her work done. Despite being thousands of miles from her team in New York, she manages it all from the house in Sicily.

Four hours into our flight another soft yawn had my attention shifting across to my wife - again. She'd become increasingly restless in the last hour - constantly readjusting her position and stifling yawn after yawn. This time she rubbed her eyes after removing the glasses she wears when she's doing lots of reading.

"You should sleep."

Those were the first three words exchanged between us since she called me an asshole at the doors of the plane - the one Greek word I knew. It was almost 2am in Sicily explaining why she was probably about to pass out.

"No." She quickly shook her head, sliding her dark brown framed glasses back onto her face.

They suit her so fucking well.

"Millie, it's late and we still have five hours left. Just go to the bedroo-"

"No, Costa." Why does she have to be so damn stubborn over everything? "I'm just going to ask for a cappuccino. Do you want anything?"

Her usual cold guard seemed to have slipped a little now that she was so obviously tired. She'd usually be fast asleep around this time, not drinking a fucking coffee to keep herself awake.

"Whiskey." I muttered, still trying to study the agonisingly stubborn woman. She already had a disrupted night last night and from the way she walked into the kitchen this morning, I knew she was exhausted before the day even began.

Now she's refusing to sleep when we have a perfectly good bedroom just behind us.

I got back to work when she pressed the button to call the hostess, requesting both her cappuccino and my whiskey.

We fell back into that comfortable silence, drinking them quietly when they arrived. Only the soft hum of the plane could be heard, along with the typing and shuffling of documents.

I was midway through typing an email a while later when she tentatively broke the silence between us.

"Costa?"

"Hm." I finished the sentence I was typing before turning to raise a questioning brow at her.

"You're-...you're good with contracts, right?" She seemed so uncomfortable even asking me which had me holding back a smile.

"Sì." (Yes)

"Can you help me with this?" She moved closer to me on the couch, bringing her laptop with her. "A literary agent added this clause into a contract but I don't understand what it means."

She pointed towards an addendum on the extensive contract. It was a financial term but written in difficult to understand language with an unnecessary amount of percentages. Since I'd been reading contracts written by extremely sneaky criminals throughout my career in the Mafia, it wasn't something I found particularly hard.

"So? Can you help me?"

So pushy.

She stared at me expectantly through weary eyes that were tinged red. She was doing a bad job of hiding how tired she was.

"I can." I sighed, scanning over the passage again. "But only if you do something for me."

"What?" She eyed me suspiciously, her brows furrowing slightly.

"Go to sleep."

"Wha-"

"I'll help you if you stop being stubborn and go to sleep." I cut her off, sliding her laptop closer to her again. "That's the deal."

She took a moment to think it over after she huffed in frustration. Meanwhile, I got back to my own work while she fumed inches away from me.

"Why do you want me to go to sleep so badly?"

How the hell am I supposed to answer that? I don't know why it's bothering me.

"Because you're exhausted. You're fighting it."

Maybe she'll be satisfied with that.

"So?" She snapped. "Why do you care?"

Or not.

When is this incessant woman ever satisfied?

"I don't know, Millie. Perhaps it will give me some peace and quiet while I work? I won't have to listen to you yawning every two minutes." When I doubt just go on the offence - it works every time.

"I haven't been—...fine. Whatever. I'll go to sleep if you help me." She drawled out the words, almost mockingly.

It was kind of a stupid deal, but like I said, I have no idea why I even suggested it. Seeing her so exhausted was bothering something inside me and I hated it.

"Good." I nodded, closing my laptop to fully focus on her contract.

I spent the next few minutes going through the hidden details and blind spots this addendum left open in the contract. Afterwards, I gave her some tips on how she can deal with it without signing anything that could ruin the deal for her publishing company.

"Do you get it? Shall I explain it again?" I had to ask her because she was staring intensely at the laptop screen and I had no clue what was going through that annoying brain of hers.

"No, I get it." She gave me a meek smile, shuffling herself back down the couch. "Thank you."

Instead of replying, I sat there watching with incredulity when she started typing away again.

"Are going to keep staring at me like that?" She spoke without ever removing her gaze from the screen.

"We had a deal."

"Yeah but you never specified when I'm supposed to go-"

"Millie." I cut her off and she huffed like a frustrated child.

"I don't want to sleep. I don't want to close my eyes because every time I do, I just remember that stupid nightmare. So please, just leave it and let me-"

"It was just a dream. Nothing is going to happen, Millie. We went over this last night."

"It doesn't matter, Costa. It might have been a dream but it felt so real and after Kozlov said he'd do exactly that to me, I'm just..." Her sentence trailed off and an unusual vulnerability shone in her eyes. "I'm scared."

"I know. But I promised you last night no one will ever lay a hand on you and I meant it." My tone was firm and full of raw honesty. I'd never break a promise and I was hoping she understood that. "If you don't want to go and sleep in the bedroom then just sleep here."

"Are you sure?" She frowned, clearing her throat uncomfortably. "Won't that make you feel weird?"

"Why?" I knew exactly what she meant but I loved watching her squirm, trying to explain herself.

"Well...after last night and the way we were touching..." The way her nose scrunched up in disgust had a smile tugging at my lips. "I just thought you wouldn't want to be near me like that again."

Keeping my fucked up thoughts carefully guarded, I shrugged my shoulders. I didn't need her to know seeing her in a vulnerable state affected me.

"It doesn't bother me. As for last night, you were crying and I wasn't going to leave you to deal with it alone. But don't expect it to happen on a normal night because I don't do that cuddling shit - especially with you."

Almost instantly she scoffed, quickly bringing back that comfortable fiery tension between us.

"You think I want to cuddle with you?" Disgust laced her tone as she closed her laptop and gathered her papers. "Last night won't happen again, Costa. Next time, just carry on sleeping. I don't need anything from you."

And the ungrateful little princess is back.

"That's fine by me, cagna." (Bitch) I muttered, turning my attention back to my laptop.

"Fine, maláka." (Asshole)

For the next minute or two she tidied her things and grabbed a blanket and a spare cushion off one of the arm chairs. She got comfortable on the couch, leaning her head on the couch only inches from my shoulder.

"Can you wake me when they bring snacks?" Her sleepy voice caused me to smile while I continued with the email I was writing.

"Mhm. Go to sleep."

It wasn't long before she was out like a light, leaving me to work with a strange sense of calm around me.

<<<<<<< >>>>>>> <<<<<<<<

Movement somewhere in the main cabin of our jet had me flinching, my eyes shooting open. On instinct I grabbed the knife that I'd left on the table next to my laptop.

"Sorry, signore." The hostess grimaced at the threatening sight of me grabbing my knife. "Would you like anything to eat or drink? We'll be landing in an hour."

The staff on our jets were always ordered to ask us if we wanted to eat or drink something before we landed, even if they had to disturb us. That was usually because we'd often get off the plane and head straight to a meeting, so eating before we landed was important.

"Come back in a minute." I sighed, rubbing my eyes, careful not to move too much and disturb Millie.

Her head was now on my shoulder instead of the couch.

"Sì." She nodded, heading back to the front of the jet.

As soon as she was gone I took in my surroundings in the dimly lit cabin. My laptop was still open but the screen had turned off after I fell asleep a couple of hours ago. I'm used to working late but not this late. It's currently 6am in Sicily so I must have passed out around 3am, a little while after Millie.

Just before I fell asleep she adjusted her position and her head fell onto my shoulder while she got comfortable. Sometime after that I fell asleep, leaning my head against hers.

It's safe to say I'm glad no one else was here to witness the contact between us - apart from the hostess who just woke me up.

"Millie."

"Millie."

"Mi-"

"I can hear you. What?" She snapped, keeping her eyes closed.

"You said you wanted to eat." I sighed, definitely not having the patience for her attitude.

"I changed my mind. Shut up." Considering she said she would never cuddle with me, she was happy to get comfortable on my shoulder after telling me to shut up.

"Get off." I shrugged my shoulder forcing her to lift her head. It's not surprising she was glaring at me like I killed her fucking pet turtle or some shit.

"What's your problem? I'm trying to sleep."

"And you need to sleep on my shoulder?" I rose an eyebrow at her.

"I..." She faltered before evading the question altogether. "How long do we have left?"

"An hour." I sighed, stretching out my aching muscles. "Do you want something to eat? The hostess will be back in a second."

"Just water." Millie yawned, throwing her head back against the back of the couch.

"Eat something too." I cracked my knuckles making a mental note to do it again around Millie when she flinched at the sound.

Anything I can do to annoy her is always a bonus.

"It's the middle of the night, Costa."

"So? It's an hour drive from the airport to my penthouse. You might get hungry and I'm not stopping again for you after last time."

"Oh!" She suddenly sat up, too excited to notice the deadly glare I was giving her. "My milkshake!"

"Shut up." I spoke through gritted teeth feeling my irritation spike.

"Do you think my milkshake is still okay? Or do you think it's a bit gross now? Maybe I can just stir it."

"I don't give a shit, Millie. Just be quiet."

"You're such a grouch." She muttered at the same moment the hostess walked in. After Millie made the hostess go and check on her milkshake we order some light breakfast and water to rehydrate.

Neither of us went back to sleep but we didn't have the energy to work either. We ended up just waiting for the final hour to pass in silence while we ate.

I also had the honour of listening to Millie loudly slurp on her second fucking milkshake of the journey. As it turns out, fucking stirring it did the fucking trick.

Apart from a few of my comments, neither of us made a move to speak until we were in my car at the airport in New York.

"It's so cold." Millie groaned, rubbing her hands together to generate some heat.

"You should have brought a coat." I didn't have to check if she was glaring at me after my deadpan comment, I could feel it burning into the side of my head. 

"You were rushing me before we left so I forgot, idiota." I didn't anticipate how much hearing her speak Italian would piss me off.

That shit really pisses me off.

"Whatever. The heating is on now."

Millie grunted but otherwise another tense silence fell between us. We sat waiting for my guards to form into their usual convoy before rolling out between them.

We had three black SUVs ahead and three behind us as we left the gates of the airport to head towards New York City.

"Hey, how come your brothers didn't come with us? I thought you always travel in a pack."

What, are we supposed to be fucking werewolves?

"There was no need for them to come today. I won't need them for anything yet."

"Oh. What about the Middle East?"

Now that she's warmed up she's all full of questions again.

"We're going to Dubai first and then at some point they're meeting up with us in Riyadh."

"What do you have to do there?" She didn't even seem concerned about asking me so many questions.

Considering my fucking lack of sleep and the fact it was currently 7 fucking AM in Palermo and 1AM in New York, I think I was doing a fucking good job to not blow her fucking head off with my gun.

"Business."

"What kind of-"

"Millie, shut up." My whole body tensed and I spared her the shortest glance to convey my annoyance.

Then she released a childish huff, throwing in one last word just to test the last shreds of my patience.

"Idiota."

I love how petty she can be 🤣 Especially when Costa is so moody.

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