"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 meeting had been running smooth—too smooth, Luca thought.
The table was spread with clean diagrams and whispered firepower. Luca stood at the head, jacket off, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The ink on his forearms coiled like restrained serpents as he leaned forward, pen tapping beside a manifest.
Matteo and Antonio flanked either side, trading comments over customs delays, encrypted trade routes, and where French loyalties had begun to sour.
"We've confirmed delivery on the Algeria border," Matteo was saying. "One of the local militias owed us a favor."
"And the Marseille crates?" Luca asked without looking up.
"Two landed in Tangier," Antonio replied. "Customs agents want double the payment. Or a body."
"Everyone wants a body these days," Luca muttered. "Cheaper than loyalty."
From the far end, Oscar stood with his arms crossed, half-listening, half-scanning the room. Then his phone buzzed once in his coat pocket.
Then again.
And again—longer this time.
He slipped it out, frowning slightly at the screen.
It was Blade. Oscar's body language shifted. Slight, but immediate.
He answered. "Yeah?"
There was silence. Then, something in his jaw ticked. Matteo noticed it first. Oscar turned back half to the room, shoulders tightening.
"No. Say that again."
Another silence. Then a sharp, almost strangled curse left his mouth—quiet, but deadly. Oscar ended the call and turned back toward the room.
"She's been hit."
The words cracked the silence like a gunshot.
Matteo blinked. "What?"
"Kaia," Oscar said, voice hoarse. "It was her car. A bomb rigged under the passenger seat. Remote triggered."
Antonio stiffened, all color draining from his face. "Dead?"
"No," Oscar said quickly. "Injured. Blade said she sensed something was off—slowed down. Still caught part of the blast."
Luca said nothing for a long moment. Just stared.
Then: "Where?"
"The Black Orchid. She was on her way here."
Matteo sank into the nearest chair, running a hand through his hair. "Do they have any idea who did it?"
