"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...
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The black car pulled up to the compound in Messina just after dusk.
Kaia didn't wait for the driver to open her door. She stepped out, heels sharp against the stone driveway, long coat catching the coastal wind as she moved. The estate was quiet—too quiet. Not abandoned, not empty. Just...watching.
Lights glowed warm behind stained glass windows. Iron gates stood half-open. Two guards stood flanking them—Bratva, unmistakably.
Kaia adjusted the strap of the shoulder holster beneath her coat, feeling the press of metal against her ribs. Not her usual gear. Smaller, lighter, more discreet. This wasn't a warzone.
Not yet.
She walked forward, chin high, movements calculated. The guards didn't stop her. One gave a curt nod and opened the door to the villa. The villa they were in—the "embassy"—stood like an outpost, one of the last remaining Bratva holdings permitted on Sicilian land. A political relic from the last ceasefire. Technically neutral. Officially respected.
Unofficially? Hated.
Cosa Nostra had long since severed ties with the Bratva. The fact that this building even remained—unburned—was a fragile gesture of diplomacy. The last tolerated structure in a world fraying at the seams.
And yet Kaia was here.
Inside, it was all polished wood and low lighting, like a museum that hadn't had visitors in years. Old Russian oil paintings lined the walls. Everything smelled faintly of tobacco and cedar.
She was led through two hallways and up a narrow flight of stairs to a private study.
And there he was.
Alexei Ivanov stood by the window, younger than she expected—sharp jaw, ink-black suit, hands tucked neatly into his pockets. His hair was a cleaner shade of blond than Viktor's, styled with precision. He didn't look like a mobster. He looked like a billionaire who moonlighted as one.
He turned when he heard her.
His smile was easy. Curious. But his eyes—icy blue and unreadable—didn't match it.
"Kaia."
He said her name like they were old friends. Like he hadn't summoned her across countries like a ghost from her past.
"The new Pakhan." Her voice was curt.
He gestured to the seat across from him. "Please."
Kaia stayed standing.
Alexei arched a brow, but didn't press. "You're quieter than I expected. Viktor always said you were cold."
Her gaze didn't waver. "You knew Viktor talked about me?"
