"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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Luca was right. Damn him.
She was so damn terrified.
She was scared of falling and not having the strength to get up and be emotionless again. She was scared she was never going to put back her broken pieces.
But he made falling not so bad.
She knew he would be there to catch her...but would he drop her after he got tired of holding her?
That question haunted her—always lurking in the quiet, in the moments she let herself feel safe. It crept in through the cracks of warmth he gave her. And sometimes, like tonight, it struck harder than she could brace for.
She tossed and turned, unable to relax. The sheets clung to her skin like they knew her restlessness, tangled at her ankles, twisted at her waist. Every time she closed her eyes, her breath would catch—like her body refused to let go. As if it was waiting. Bracing.
The city lights outside painted her walls in soft motion. Red, white, blue—bleeding into each other. She turned again. Fisted the pillow. Pulled the blanket to her chest. But the silence was too loud. The bed too cold. Her thoughts too cruel.
It wasn't fear keeping her awake. Not exactly. It was the ache that came after—the kind that didn't have a name. The kind that lived in her bones and kept her guard drawn tight even in her own bed.
Eventually, her body gave in. Not from comfort—but from exhaustion.
Her breathing slowed. Muscles slackened. And somewhere between the quiet flickers of headlights on the wall and the ghost of salt still on her skin... sleep took her.
It was him.
The blood drained from her face. Her breath caught, body stiffening as cold terror surged through her veins. Her eyes went wide—glassy with disbelief—as she staggered back, hitting the edge of a duffel bag behind her.
He moved closer. Slow. Sure. Like he knew she wouldn't run.
She flinched, her hands flying to her head, fingers tangling in her hair. Her knees gave out. The floor met her like a trap, her body curling in on itself. She hunched over, clutching her skull, as if she could block him out—block the memory out.
Tears burned her eyes but didn't fall. She wouldn't let them. Wouldn't give him that.
This wasn't real. Couldn't be real. She had buried him, burned him, outrun him. But still, he was here.
Her lungs refused to obey. Her body trembled, her pulse a wild, fractured rhythm. He wasn't supposed to find her. Not again. Not after all these years. She had made sure—had clawed her way out of his reach.
