"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'd kill a thousand men before I'd let one make me his slave."-
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It was too early for anyone to be at the arena.
She just couldn't sleep any longer and decided to be useful instead. When she went into her office, the look reading five a.m., a fresh, new bouquet of flowers was waiting right there for her.
A tall glass vase, minimalist and crystal clear, cradled a careful spread of deep plum calla lilies, ivory ranunculus, and pale yellow snapdragons to fill the space. A single coral tulip leaned at the center, like a quiet statement. The kind of beauty that didn't beg for attention—it commanded it by simply existing.
Kaia didn't smile when she saw them.
But her gaze lingered.
And for a moment, just a moment, the chaos around her felt a little more bearable.
She took a step forward into the room then froze.
Goosebumps lit up over her skin. She felt him before she saw him.
She looked to her armchair in the corner of her office, right in her blindspot, and saw him sitting there. Like he owned the room. To whoever asked, he did.
She swallowed and stood straight; a soldier awaiting orders—a robot awaiting command.
"You are up early," the man said, all gruff voice and thick foreign accent.
"I couldn't sleep," she responded calmly, walking to her desk to set her bag down.
"Nice flowers," he remarked, glancing at the bouquet like it offended him. His voice had that usual rasp—grainy, heavy, edged with something too sharp to be called warmth.
Kaia didn't look at him as she replied, "They help."
"With what?" he asked, leaning back in her chair like it was his. "Reminding you who's winning your attention?"
Her jaw tightened. She still didn't look at him. "They don't mean anything."
"They mean exactly what men like him want them to mean," the man said, standing now. Towering. "Soft gestures. Pretty lies. All to keep you pliable."
She finally looked up at him. "Luca's not trying to control me."
"No?" He tilted his head, half-smirking, half-sneering. "That's exactly what makes him dangerous. He doesn't need to control you. You'll hand him the keys yourself if you're not careful."
She narrowed her eyes. "Why are you here?"
"To remind you." He moved closer. Not threatening—never directly. But his presence weighted his very existence, warning the air to hush. "Men like that don't stay. They come into your life, say all the right things, make you believe it's different this time—and then they leave when you need them most. Right when they take advantage of your trust."
