Kyan slipped into the uniform slowly, fidgeting with the buttons and trying hard not to get distracted by the strange feeling of his new body. The fabric hugged his form just right—too right, maybe. It actually fit him perfectly.
He was still adjusting the collar when the door swung open.
"Boss is calling you," the same bodyguard said sharply.
Kyan's heart dropped. Already? He wasn't ready. Not mentally. Not physically. But he nodded and followed.
They walked through a long hallway with golden lights lining the ceiling. The silence made everything louder—his footsteps, his breath, his heartbeat.
Then they entered a private lounge. The place screamed money and power.
Dim lights, marble floors, and a long table covered with food so fine it looked unreal. Roasted lamb, rare wines, golden cutlery.
The bodyguard left him at the door, and Kyan stepped in.
And his eyes landed on him —
Nico Luciano.
He was seated at the head of the table, legs crossed, one arm resting lazily over the chair's edge.
Tall, broad-shouldered, inked arms on display beneath a half-buttoned black shirt.
His sharp jawline, low-cut dark hair, and cold gray eyes made it hard to breathe. Everything about him said danger—and for some twisted reason, it made him even hotter.
Kyan looked away quickly.
Nico didn't smile. He just lifted his eyes slowly, like he already knew too much.
"We have guests tonight," he said, voice deep and low. "Behave yourself… softie."
Kyan blinked.
Nico leaned forward slightly. "I've thrown many softies into the sea. Just a reminder."
Kyan gulped.
"Start by filling my wine glass," Nico said, nodding toward the bottle near him without breaking eye contact.
Kyan stepped forward with shaky hands, doing as told, but he could feel the weight of Nico's eyes tracking his every move.
This man could kill me with just a stare… so why does my heart feel like it's skipping?
Kyan held the wine bottle carefully, trying not to spill as he filled Nico's glass.
The weight of the man's cold stare on him was already enough to make his fingers tremble.
Then the door opened.
Kyan paused.
An older man walked in—tall, sharp-eyed, dressed in all black with thick gray hair slicked back. Four bodyguards flanked him, and they moved like shadows behind him.
Kyan's eyes widened. Was that… his dad?
Nico stood and greeted him with a respectful nod. "Don Salvatore."
The man nodded back. "Nico."
They did a firm handshake—the kind that only powerful men gave each other.
Kyan lowered the bottle slowly, backing away like furniture. But he didn't stop listening.
Don Salvatore took the seat beside Nico, lighting a cigar like he owned the room. "I came to talk about the Massimos."
Kyan froze. Massimos? His hand twitched.
"They're planning something," Don Salvatore said darkly. "We intercepted whispers. A full ambush. They want the entire Luciano bloodline wiped out before the next quarter."
Nico didn't flinch. He sipped his wine calmly. "Let them try."
"This isn't a bluff, Nico," the older man warned, voice low. "They see you as a threat now—young, strong, crowned. You're everything their next heir failed to be."
Kyan nearly dropped the damn wine glass.
Massimos?! That's my family! My real family! What the hell?!
He bit down on his lip hard, his mind racing. Are they serious? An ambush?
"Strike first," Don Salvatore said. "Or be buried."
Kyan stepped back slowly, heart thudding in his ears.
Don Salvatore stood, brushing invisible lint from his sleeve.
"I'll take my leave now," he said smoothly, his voice calm but carrying weight.
As he turned to go, his sharp eyes landed on Kyan. Just for a second. A quiet, piercing stare that made Kyan's spine stiffen. Like the man could see straight through him.
Then he walked out, bodyguards trailing behind like shadows.
Kyan exhaled shakily.
He walked over to Nico with the wine bottle, hands barely steady. Nico was already lighting a cigar, the flame casting shadows across his sharp jaw and the ink crawling up his neck.
Kyan placed the glass in front of him, avoiding eye contact.
Nico didn't say a word.
Kyan gave a small nod and turned to leave, his heart pounding against his ribs.
His family was in danger. Damn.
Kyan's chest tightened as he paced the corner of the lavish room. He knew how dangerous the Lucianos were. Ruthless and untouchable. No one crossed them and lived to tell the story. And now… now his family, the Massimos, were in their line of fire?
What the heck… he muttered under his breath. I can't let them kill my family. I just can't.
But what could he even do?
He was stuck. No way to escape. No allies. No plan.
His thoughts were spiraling when the damn bodyguard barged in again like he owned the world.
"Do I need to remind you?" the guy said with a smug smirk. "Go massage the boss's back."
Kyan stared at him, blinking in disbelief.
"You've gotta be kidding me," he whispered, more to himself. Then cursed him under his breath and stormed off.
This can't get any worse… can it?
Nico was already sprawled across the velvet couch .
A towel hung dangerously low on his hips, and a bottle of ointment rested beside him on a gold tray. His back was wide, muscled, and covered in black tattoos that looked like they told violent stories.
He didn't look at Kyan.
"Took you long enough," he said, voice rough and dry like smoke. "Do I need to start timing your steps too?"
Kyan swallowed hard, clenching his jaw. This guy had zero manners.
"I—sorry," he muttered and walked closer, awkwardly kneeling by the couch.
Nico finally turned his head just a little, eyes scanning him slowly like he was something weak and annoying stuck to his shoe. "You got soft hands. Better not be useless too."
Kyan picked up the ointment, his fingers trembling slightly. He squeezed some into his palm and reached for Nico's bare back.
The moment he touched him, Nico tensed.
"Don't poke me like a scared virgin," he snapped. "Massage, not pat."
Kyan bit the inside of his cheek and started working his hands along Nico's back, slowly, trying not to show how nervous he really was.