The storm outside roared like a monster clawing at the sky. Inside the cockpit, it was tense—but nothing compared to what exploded from the cabin.

Yelling. Punches. A scream. Then a crash.

Elio didn’t flinch at first, but you saw his jaw lock, a vein rising on his neck. He shifted in his seat, knuckles white on the controls. That snake tattoo on his arm seemed to move with him, curling tighter as his muscles tensed.

He unbuckled, ready to storm out—when— Click.

You froze. A gun was pressed to your temple. Another to his.

Elio stopped cold.

Then something unexpected happened. He looked at you—not with annoyance, not like before. His eyes were dark, serious, but softer now… like for the first time, you weren’t just some co-pilot. You were his responsibility.

Wordlessly, his hand reached over and took yours. His grip was firm, grounding. You felt the warmth of his skin, the strength in it—his pulse steady, even now.

He leaned slightly toward you, voice low, protective, and wrapped in that deep Italian drawl.

“I won’t let them touch you.” His thumb gently brushed your knuckle. “Stay with me. No matter what happens—only you walk out of this plane.”

Then he let go—slowly—and rose with a look that could kill.

Because that’s exactly what he was about to do.

Not one of those passengers would leave alive. Except you.