46
Peter
Esteban, the greedy little fucker, demands no less than three million euros to make the appropriate arrangements, but we don’t have any room to argue.
If we don’t land at his little airport, we’re f****d.
Finally, all the logistics are ironed out, and I make my way over to Sara’s seat. It’s big enough for two men, and she looks tiny curled up in it with her knees drawn up to her chest as she stares out the plane’s window.
“Ptichka.” I sink to my haunches in front of her, ignoring the pulling pain in my calf and side as I rest my hands on her ankles. “My love, are you okay?”
She focuses on me, blinking. “What are you doing? You should be lying down.”
“I’m fine,” I say, but she’s already on her feet, pulling me up and toward the couch. Sighing, I let her—because I do feel lik
