"Nobody is allowed between these pretty little thighs but me....and if anyone tries...𝐈'𝐥𝐥 𝐤𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐦."
~
They call him The King-a ghost who rules the world's most powerful mafia from the shadows. No face. No mercy. No mistakes.
And beside...
-"Part of her mystery is how she is calm during the storm but anxious in the quiet."-
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It had been five days.
Five days without her voice, her venom, her hellfire presence. Five days of pale skin and silence, of bruises refusing to fade, and a monitor that never stopped its rhythmic beeping.
Luca sat where he always did: the armchair beside her bed, leaned forward, elbows on knees, fingers laced like a noose. He left early morning every day for about an hour to shower and change, but then he was back at her side. Raine did her rounds a few times a day.
He hadn't spoken much since then. Not to Matteo. Not to Antonio. Not even to Blade, who came and went like a ghost.
But now, he leaned forward, eyes set on her face.
She didn't look like the Devil. Not like this. She looked like porcelain left out in the cold—fragile, pale, and all wrong. A tube curled from her mouth, oxygen hissing through it in a slow, cruel cadence. Her throat was bandaged. Her arms, too. Even her lip was split, the crusted scar of her fight with him still lingering at the edge of her mouth.
Luca swallowed hard. He reached for her hand. Still cold. Still small.
"You've made your point," he muttered, voice rough. "You win. You can stop proving how indestructible you are."
His thumb ran over her knuckles. Bruised, slender, red.
"You weren't supposed to get hit. That was never the fucking plan." His jaw clenched, then loosened, then clenched again.
Then he stood. Walked to the chart on the wall, but not too far. Just far enough to still hear the machines breathe for her. To still hear that she was alive.
His hands gripped the chair. The night outside stretched long and indifferent. In the reflection of the white board, he could still see her—small and pale behind him, like a ghost he was trying to hold in this world.
Behind him, the door opened with a whisper.
Blade stepped in, silent as ever. He nodded once. Didn't ask how she was. Didn't need to.
Blade said nothing. Just stood there. Guarding her. Guarding him.
Luca stared out the window, the air too heavy to speak. Five days. Five nights. And still no answer.
Until she opened her eyes... he wasn't going anywhere.
"No one has come," Luca started.
His voice was low when it came. Grit-lined, hollow. "No one has come."
Blade didn't move from his place in the doorway, but his tone was firm. "We all have been here. Every day."
"Not you." Luca's eyes didn't shift. "The man who got her after the explosion. He hasn't come."
