"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...
-"Someone has to have blood on their hands. Someone has to clean up the blood. And someone must bleed."-
_____________________________
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"You're leaving?"
Her voice stopped him cold.
Luca turned from the doorway, jaw tightening slightly. Kaia sat upright in his bed, her silhouette haloed by the soft amber light bleeding in through the half-drawn curtains. Her eyes were still red and swollen, skin sickly pale against the dark fabric of the shirt she wore—his shirt. It swallowed her frame, the sleeves rolled up at the wrists, the collar slipping slightly off one shoulder to reveal the white gauze wrapped around her.
She looked small like that.
But not weak.
There was steel in her spine—even now, bruised and bandaged. She didn't need to raise her voice or lift her chin. That quiet defiance lived in her bones.
"I won't be gone long," Luca said, stepping toward her. He leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead. His frown deepened at the heat that met him.
He checked her again, using the back of his hand this time. Still warm. Still fighting a fever.
"You're burning up," he muttered, more to himself than her.
"I'm fine," she whispered hoarsely, though her body betrayed the lie. She winced when she shifted, her breathing stalling just enough to make his throat tighten. She rubbed at the spot on her wrist absently, already feeling the itch start to build. Stress always did this to her—tight chest, short breaths, and eczema.
He didn't press her. She wouldn't admit to the pain anyway. Not when she'd already survived far worse.
"Take your painkillers," he told her softly, guiding her down onto her stomach. She didn't resist, but she did tense—he could feel it in the set of her jaw, the rigid way her hands curled into the sheets.
She couldn't sleep on her back because of the re-brand. The word carved into her skin was still raw beneath the bandages. Her shoulder—grazed by a bullet—made side-sleeping impossible.
That left only one option, as cruel as it was.
Gently, Luca moved her hair aside, helping her turn her face to the pillow without brushing against any wounds. Her eyes fluttered shut, but she didn't relax. Not fully. Her entire body was wired like it still expected pain.
His fingers brushed the healing cut on her cheekbone, slow and reverent.
"I'm a call away," he murmured. "You don't even have to speak. Just ring once and I'll come."
Kaia opened her eyes again. There was something distant in them. Not cold. Just...far away.
He placed her phone beside her pillow so she wouldn't have to reach.
