"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...
-"I am very homesick for arms that have never held me."-
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She didn't hear him come in.
The yacht rocked gently beneath the weight of the morning. Pale Sicilian light spilled through the curtains, soft and golden, but Kaia didn't stir—not until she felt a warm hand sweep across her forehead. The cotton sheets rustled as he leaned closer, his presence too solid, too familiar in this unfamiliar place.
"Wake up, Devil."
Her eyes cracked open to a blur of dark hair, warm breath, and a voice that grated against her already-sore nerves.
"Fuck off," she croaked.
He huffed a low laugh. "Good morning to you, too."
Kaia shifted beneath the sheets, blinking away the crust of half-sleep. She ached—deep in the muscle, under the ribs. Her side throbbed. Her back stung. Her entire body felt too hot and too heavy. And worst of all, she wasn't home. She was on a goddamn boat. In the middle of nowhere. In his shirt.
She grimaced.
"You're a tyrant," she muttered. "I hope you know that."
He crouched beside the bed, unbothered. "And yet here I am, bringing you medication like a devoted husband."
"You drugged me last night."
"You fell asleep on morphine. That's different."
She groaned and rolled to her side, wincing as pain bloomed sharp under her ribs. Her hand instinctively went to the bandage beneath the hem of his shirt—now rumpled, halfway up her thighs. She paused. Frowned.
He noticed.
"You tore it again," he said, voice dropping into that quiet, unreadable pitch.
"I didn't do it on purpose," she snapped. "Maybe if your death trap of a boat didn't rock like it's possessed—"
"You walked last night."
She blinked. "No, I didn't."
"You did," he said, amused. "To the kitchen. I watched you drink two cups of coffee like it was a hostage negotiation."
Her scowl deepened. "You let me wander around drugged?"
"I supervised," he said innocently. "From the shadows."
She made a strangled sound in her throat as he peeled the sheets back.
"Touch me and I'll shoot you in the knees."
He gave a small, disarming smile—then kissed the side of her neck before she could flinch away.
"I like it when you're feral in the morning," he murmured.
