"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 walls were concrete-gray, clean and unadorned, save for a single abstract painting in crimson and ink that looked more like a bloodstain than art. A low amber lamp cast shadows over her desk, giving the space a kind of quiet menace—the calm before a very precise storm.
Starr sat behind her desk, a pen twirling between her fingers. She looked like someone who owned silence—knew how to weaponize it.
Antonio leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, letting the stillness stretch long enough to feel intentional. He was dressed in black. Nothing flashy. But everything about him was curated. From the way his sleeves were rolled—just enough to expose the scar on his wrist—to the way his gaze moved around her office, slow and deliberate, as if taking inventory.
"You keep it clean," he said.
"I work better when there's nothing to distract me," she replied, not looking up.
He stepped in.
"That explains the desk," he said. "Doesn't explain the painting."
Starr finally glanced up. "You think it's a painting?"
"I think you hung it for a reason."
She smirked, then gestured to the chair across from her. "You here to analyze my decor or just stalk me from a more comfortable position?"
Antonio sat, slow and unbothered, legs spreading just slightly as he leaned back.
"Both," he said. "But mostly the second one."
That earned a twitch at her mouth. Not a smile. But close.
"You always this charming when you're trying to interrogate someone?"
He feigned offense. "Interrogate? I'm just curious. You don't look like someone who takes orders. So who do you really work for?"
Starr arched a brow. "You came all the way up here to ask that? You know I'm loyal to the King."
"Mm," he said, nodding. "But you didn't say which King."
She narrowed her eyes slightly. "You're fishing."
"And you're dodging."
"I'm redirecting. There's a difference."
Antonio gave a soft laugh, tilting his head like he was genuinely impressed.
"I like the way your mind works," he said. "Calculating. Cautious."
She leaned forward, elbows on the desk, her voice lowering just a fraction.
"You trying to get inside my head, Antonio?"
He didn't blink. "Only if there's room."
That earned a real smile. Brief. Flashing like a switchblade.
