"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...
-"She's a mess of gorgeous chaos. You can see it in her eyes."-
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He didn't waste a second.
The moment her lips touched his, he kissed her back—hungry, certain, like he'd been waiting a lifetime for that exact contact. Her mouth was soft, warm, velvety, and hot. She tasted faintly of vanilla and pain, and he didn't care which part was hers.
The world outside them went quiet. No footsteps. No sirens. No pulse but theirs.
He let go of the wall, hands finding her jaw, cupping it like he was afraid she might vanish. His thumbs traced the edge of her cheekbones, slow and reverent, and she melted into him like gravity had always pulled her toward this.
She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulled him closer—until the space between them ceased to exist. The way her body curved against his felt inevitable. Final. Like something the universe had been writing in shadows and silence for far too long.
He felt her lips part, just slightly. That was all the invitation he needed.
Their tongues met in perfect rhythm—exploring, igniting, unraveling. He kissed her like he meant to rewrite her memory of every other man. Like he needed to taste the defiance on her tongue and claim what had been his in every lifetime they hadn't touched.
His hands drifted down her ribs and waist, slow and sure. Then lower. The hem of her shirt rode up as he lifted her by the backs of her thighs. He pinned her gently to the wall, the weight of his body holding her there.
Her fingers tangled in his hair, then slid down over his chest, feeling the defined lines beneath his shirt. Her nails scraped lightly through the fabric, dragging over his abs, his sides, like she needed to memorize the shape of him in her hands.
A sound slipped from her throat. Quiet. Unfiltered. Dangerous.
He groaned into her mouth.
Then—
He pulled back. Just enough to breathe. Just enough to think.
His hands stilled.
His lips slowed.
He remembered the stitching in her side. The poison was still burning in her veins. Her pulse hammering against his mouth.
His thumb circled her wrist. He checked her pulse.
Her heart rate was too high.
He drew back reluctantly, setting her down with care, like she might shatter if he let go too fast. He kissed her again—slower, softer this time. One final press of mouth to mouth before he bit gently at her bottom lip, then released it with hesitation.
They were both breathing hard now, foreheads almost touching.
"Here I thought it would just be us two when we finally did that," Luca said against her lips, the heat of his breath still ghosting over her skin, his eyes drifting with grim amusement to the mangled corpse on the floor.
