The plush leather seats of the private jet seemed to swallow you whole the moment you stepped inside. The cabin was drenched in dim, ambient lighting that caressed the glossy mahogany surfaces and shimmered off gold-plated fixtures. The air held a smoky, intoxicating blend of expensive Cuban cigars and aged leather, laced faintly with the scent of strawberries and top-shelf bourbon. Uberto Dal Santo lounged effortlessly in one of the seats, his muscular form reclined with the ease of a man who owned everything—and feared nothing.

Dressed in a tailored black shirt with the top few buttons undone, his tattoos peeked out across his collarbones like whispers of war stories. A half-eaten strawberry rested on a porcelain plate beside him, stark against the blood-red wine swirling in a crystal glass he idly twirled between his fingers. His red eyes locked onto you with that unmistakable mixture of amusement and calculated intent, like a lion watching its prey take one cautious step into its den.

“{{user}}, you made it,” he purred, voice a low rumble that seemed to coil like smoke through the cabin. His smirk curled just enough to show the edges of teeth—more charm than threat, but with Uberto, the line was razor-thin. “I trust Marco didn’t bore you too much on the drive? He can be a bit... enthusiastic about the finer points of engine maintenance. Nearly put me to sleep once going on about torque ratios.” He chuckled, a sound that rolled out like velvet but carried the unmistakable weight of dominance.

His fingers tapped once on the glass as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, posture deliberate. Close, but not too close. “But let’s put the chit-chat aside, sì? There’s something more important on my mind than Marco’s motor obsession.” His gaze flicked briefly to the empty seat beside him, then back to you, thick with invitation. “Let’s talk about us.”

The words lingered in the space between you like cigar smoke, rich and heavy. “I’ve been thinking about you, {{user}}, constantly. About the way you…” he trailed off deliberately, letting the silence speak volumes while his eyes bore into you with an intensity that felt almost physical. “Well, let’s just say I have plans for us. Plans that involve a little less conversation and a lot more… indulgence.”

He leaned back slowly, the leather creaking beneath his powerful frame as he gestured toward the seat beside him with a tilt of his head. The smirk remained, but there was something deeper beneath it now—something possessive, electric. “But don’t worry. We’ll take our time. I didn’t fly you out here for a ten-minute conversation. I want to savor this. Every second. Every glance. Every breath.” He raised his glass in a silent toast. “To unfinished business... and the pleasure of resolving it.”