𝐇𝐢𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞

𝗖𝗵𝗮𝗽𝘁𝗲𝗿 𝘀𝗶𝘅𝘁𝗲𝗲𝗻

Orphic (adj.) - Mysterious and entrancing; beyond ordinary understanding.

Anastasia

The city glimmers in the night.

A  stark contrast with the dark, gloomy desert imprisoning it.

From those pinnacles, up in the sky, the ground resembles s mirrored fragment of the universe. A gazillion of stars had landed - shimmering, sparkling, glowing, compelling the city a thousand feet below ablaze. It resembles a massive constellation on earth. A fireball perhaps, hot, bright, and alive.

The soft glint of the lights drifts in the murky night, a halo of some kind encompassing over the city - a whisper of a protective blanket.

I'm in awe at the sheer beauty, the land below exudes.

It's mesmerizing, fascinating, enthralling. I squint my eyes to have a better look as if I'm deciphering a slide and its contents beneath the microscope. Without realization, I reached inside the clutch snapping a few pictures from the private jet of the city of sins.

My new home.

Sicily.

A shudder of breath leaves me and I swallow.

I'm far away from home. In a different city, a different country. Thousands of miles from home.

But that doesn't palliate the bile rising. Ever since I set foot on the private jet, I've been throwing up. Thanks to the flight attendant who gave me some meds to ease my stomach a little. Still, being in the air for such a long time, the nauseous feeling hits me back. I swallow the damn thing, taking a sip of fresh lemonade, it was now at least the fourth or fifth glass; however, it truly helped with the queasiness.

With the suppressed groan, I ponder on how much time we have left until we land. As if hearing my thoughts, the pilot's voice reverberates through the speakers conveying instructions to fasten the belt for our landing. The flight attendant comes to my aid, a concerned look marring her face asking if I need help, which I kindly refuse. She nods her head politely and returns to her post. I fasten my seatbelt turning my head to face the window concentrating on the land below.

After what seemed like an eternity, the jet kisses the ground and I'm greeted by the sight of a dozen of brooding bodyguards already waiting for me. Their stance was rigid, surrounding the SUVs scanning the grounds of the private airport.

"You shall rest ma'am," the flight attendant says politely helping me with my multiple big suitcases which appear to be too heavy for her petite frame. I reach out to aid her but before I could grasp the handle of one of the suitcases, a massive hand enclasps the handle of both lifting them effortlessly. Stupidified in surprise we both stare at the man in the onyx suit.

I glance over at the nametag hung on her chest noticing a pink hue tinted on her cheeks.

"Thank you, Natasha, sorry for any trouble." I smile feeling grateful and apologetic at the same time towards the girl. She shakes her head mumbling something about how it's her duty before climbing back onto the jet.

"Welcome to Sicily, Mrs. Romano," the guy in the black hoodie and charcoal ripped jeans, steps forward as he pushed his transparent rim glasses on the bridge of his nose, his one tattooed hand holding a large packet of potato chips.

He is tall and lean.

He seems cute.

Kind.

Almost polite with a college kid kind of vibe.

But there's an edge to all that cuteness.

A frown creases my eyebrows at what he called me.