Lukas POV
This woman. No—this lady—sitting beside me had just suffered an intense migraine not even an hour ago… and yet here she was, glowing in the golden flicker of the afternoon sun, the breeze brushing soft waves through her hair as if the world itself couldn't resist touching her.
And God, I couldn't resist her either.
She leaned slightly against the car window, her lashes fluttering as her eyes closed, the delicate curve of her lips parted in exhaustion. Even now, even like this—she managed to look so effortlessly beautiful it had me on my fucking knees.
Not literally.
But in every way that counted.
She didn't even know what she was doing to me.
And maybe it was better that way.
I shifted in my seat, trying to regain control of my thoughts—my focus. I was trained to endure pain, to fight with a bullet lodged in my shoulder, to stay still under pressure. But no one had trained me for her.
The way she smiled through pain. The way she whispered "sorry" to her friends when she had nothing to apologize for. The way she noticed the scar I tried so hard to keep buried—both the one on my skin and the thousand beneath it.
She didn't know what I was. Who I really was.
A man painted in blood and war, cloaked in shadows she didn't even know existed.
Yet here she sat, close enough for her perfume to seep into my veins, close enough for my heart to betray me and beat faster every damn time her knee brushed mine.
And then it happened—her head tilted, just barely, and gently fell on my shoulder.
I froze.
The tiniest touch. The softest lean.
It shouldn't have meant anything.
But to me, it meant everything.
My jaw clenched as I stared out the windshield, not moving, not breathing, terrified that if I shifted even a little, I'd ruin this moment. Terrified of how much I wanted to turn my head, bury my nose in her hair, and pretend—for once—that this world wasn't made of blood and silence and things I could never tell her.
Was I falling for her?
Hell, I already had.
The only question was... what would she do if she ever found out who was catching her every time she fell?
She doesn't even know I'm a mafia.
She has no damn idea that the man sitting next to her—the one she trusts, the one she rests her head on—is drenched in a world so dark, so bloody, it would rip her apart.
I'm not just a bodyguard.
I'm him.
The Lukas Volkoff. The ghost in alleyways. The king of the underworld whose name makes grown men flinch and rivals tremble.
And she… she's just the light.
The soft flame in a world I've burned to ash.
She doesn't know the men hunting her down are not after her for who she is—but for who I am. She is their pawn to get to me. Their easiest access to bleed me from the inside. And that—that—makes me want to kill every last one of them with my bare hands.
Because I may be the devil, but she is mine to protect.
Even if she never knows the truth.
Even if someday she looks at me like I'm the monster I know I am.
The scar on my shoulder she noticed earlier? That was just one of the souvenirs I've collected protecting people who never looked at me the way she does. And yet, I would take a thousand more if it means she stays safe, if it means I never have to see fear in those warm, hazel-brown eyes because of me.
She shifted again beside me, still half-asleep, a soft hum escaping her lips.
And for a fleeting moment—I imagined a life where I wasn't Lukas Volkoff, mafia king and killer.
I imagined being just Lukas. A man. A friend. Maybe more.
But those are dangerous dreams. And I've learned to never dream too long in my world.
Because in my world, the second you close your eyes—someone pulls the trigger.
And I'd rather be the one holding the gun than watching it pressed against her head.
So no, she doesn't know.
But the moment my enemies dared to even think of touching her?
They signed their death warrant.
Because I'll go to war—alone—if it means she stays untouched.
Untouched by blood.
Untouched by fear.
Untouched by the past I'll never let touch her.
We finally reached home. The car ride was silent, except for her steady breathing beside me. She had fallen asleep somewhere along the way, her head resting against my shoulder like it belonged there. And maybe… maybe it did.
Everyone else quietly slipped out once we arrived, respecting the stillness in the air. Her friends left for their own homes, exhausted but relieved after the chaotic trip.
I didn't wake her.
I couldn't.
She looked so peaceful—so damn innocent, like the world hadn't scarred her yet. Like she hadn't spent the last 24 hours with a migraine strong enough to cripple the toughest soldier. Like her past wasn't wrapped in shadows darker than mine.
I stepped out of the car and gently lifted her into my arms. Her body curled into me naturally, as if it remembered this safety. I carried her through the quiet halls, her scent faint but intoxicating—lavender, with a hint of vanilla. Home.
Her bedroom door creaked softly as I pushed it open. The moonlight flooded through the large glass window, bathing the room in silver. I walked over to her bed and slowly lowered her onto the mattress, careful not to wake her.
She stirred slightly, murmuring something incoherent before falling back into sleep. Her brows twitched like she was battling dreams she couldn't control.
I pulled the blanket over her, tucking her in.
And for a second, just one second, I let myself believe this was my life. That she was mine.
But that's a fantasy I can't afford.
I took one last look at her before stepping back.
The war outside was growing louder, and my enemies were circling in like vultures.
They thought she was just a pawn.
They forgot whose queen she was becoming.
I turned to leave, needing to get out before I lost every last bit of control I had around her.
But then—I felt it.
A tug.
I looked down.
Her delicate hand was wrapped around my wrist, her fingers barely curled, but enough to stop me dead in my tracks. Her body still lay under the covers, her eyes closed in sleep… yet something in her soul didn't want me to leave.
She didn't speak.She didn't move again.She just… held on.
My heart clenched in a way I didn't know it could anymore. The grip was soft—barely there—but it burned more than any bullet wound ever had.
I stood frozen, staring at our hands. Her skin was warm, soft like velvet, and mine… calloused and cold from years of bloodshed.
She had no idea who I truly was.
And yet, even in her sleep, she didn't want me to go.
I sank down onto the edge of the bed, not pulling away. Couldn't. Her hold tightened for a fraction of a second, as if sensing I was still there—and then her breathing evened out again.
I watched her face. The rise and fall of her chest. Her lips slightly parted. Her lashes casting shadows on her cheeks. A softness she didn't even know she had.
I wanted to protect her from the world.From the nightmares.From myself.
But how could I, when I was the storm knocking at her door?
I leaned forward slightly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face. My hand trembled.
"Sleep, doll," I whispered, more to myself than her. "I'll stay. Just tonight."
Because tonight, the war could wait.Tonight, her hand was enough to silence the chaos inside me.
I didn't leave.
I couldn't.
Instead, I sat there like a statue carved by obsession and silence, her hand still resting lightly against my wrist. Her hold loosened in sleep, but something about it remained etched onto my skin like a mark I never wanted to fade.
So I stayed.
And counted.
Not minutes.Not hours.But her breaths.
One.Two.Three.
The room was quiet except for the gentle sound of her exhale, followed by the pause, and then inhale—soft, controlled, like waves kissing the shore.
Seventy-four.One hundred and ten.Two hundred and forty-seven.
Her breathing was a lullaby, and I memorized every note.
Three hundred and eleven.Four hundred.Five hundred thirty-two.
I don't know when I started leaning closer—maybe somewhere around the seven hundred mark. Maybe it was when she shifted in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible.
But at seven hundred sixty-nine breaths, it happened.
She jolted upright with a sharp gasp, her eyes wide, wild, unfocused—chest heaving, hands trembling.Another nightmare. But this one… this one was different. It didn't match the others.
"Adeline," I said instantly, placing a calming hand on her shoulder.
She blinked rapidly, eyes searching the room like she didn't know where she was. And then, slowly, they found me.
Her lips trembled.No words. Just that silence of someone who had seen something they weren't ready to remember.
I didn't push her.Not now.
Instead, I shifted closer, wrapping one arm gently around her shoulders. She didn't resist. Her head leaned against me, shaky breaths escaping her lips.
I whispered against her hair, "It's okay. I've got you."
But inside, I wasn't calm.Not even close.
Because that look in her eyes…It wasn't just fear.It was recognition.
She saw something—someone—in that dream.And tomorrow, I'd ask her. I needed to know.
But tonight, I'd sit through another thousand breaths if it meant keeping her safe.