WRITER'S POV:
The next morning, Ivy woke up convinced the mafia thing was a dream.
Not just any dream, but the kind of fever-dream you get after too many espresso shots and one of those airport sandwiches that taste like regret and existentialism. She stared at the ceiling of her hotel room for a full ten minutes, waiting for the memory to disintegrate like all nightmares should.
It didn't.
Instead, it replayed. In 4K. With surround sound.
She groaned and rolled over, burying her face in the pillow. "Snacks. Airplane snacks. Really?"Downstairs, the crew was gathering for their debrief—the actual one this time, in a clearly marked conference room without any potential mob violence. Ivy arrived late, eyes shadowed, hair pretending it had seen a brush."Rough night?" one of the co-pilots asked. Too chipper. Too innocent.She nodded. "Dreamed I walked into a Scorsese film."The debrief was uneventful, unless you count Ivy blinking 57 times per minute to keep herself from blurting out, Hey, did anyone else almost die yesterday or is that just a me thing?Afterward, she wandered back toward the private lounge, trying very hard not to walk into any more unmarked doors or clandestine power summits. That's when she saw him.Cassius.Leaning against the marble bar like a noir antihero, sipping coffee like it was whiskey, and staring into the distance like the distance owed him money.Ivy considered running. Or faking a phone call. Or maybe just dissolving into a mist.But he saw her. Of course he did."You're alive," he said."That was sort of the goal."He nodded once. A whole performance of restraint. "Walk with me.""Are we going somewhere safer than a meeting full of sociopaths this time, or...?"He didn't answer. He just turned and started walking, and because Ivy had the survival instincts of a goldfish in a blender, she followed.They ended up in a quiet rooftop garden that looked like it had been airlifted from Versailles. Ivy blinked at the manicured hedges and koi pond. "Is this where you bury the flight attendants who ask too many questions?"Cassius didn't smile, but there was the tiniest twitch at the corner of his mouth."You're in danger," he said.She laughed. Loudly. Then clapped a hand over her mouth. "Sorry. Reflex.""I need you to be careful. I can't protect you if you keep opening doors like that."Ivy crossed her arms. "You're not my bodyguard. And since when do mafia guys care about flight attendants who accidentally wander into their villain conventions?"Cassius turned to her, eyes sharp. "Since you became a liability."And there it was. The chill. The reminder that he wasn't just rich and brooding and mildly attractive in a homicidal way. He was dangerous.Ivy swallowed. "So what now? Do I get a nondisclosure agreement or a horse head in my bed?"Cassius looked away. "Neither. But you stay quiet. And you stay close."She blinked. "Close?""You're flying with me from now on. Every leg. Every trip. You're on my detail."Her mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. "Is this a punishment or a promotion?""Think of it as... insurance."She exhaled. Slowly. The rooftop suddenly felt a lot smaller."Great," she muttered. "I always dreamed of being human collateral."Cassius didn't say anything. He just turned, again, and walked away.And because she was apparently allergic to making good decisions, Ivy followed.