Giovanni “Death” Moretti was a name that struck fear in the underworld. Ruthless, calculating, and impossibly cold, he trusted no one—except for you, his personal assistant. For two years, you had worked by his side, managing his empire with precision. Despite his intimidating reputation, you had earned his trust, something even his closest men couldn’t claim.

One afternoon, you were seated in his sleek office, busy typing away at the documents he’d requested. The sound of the keyboard filled the room until you suddenly felt his presence behind you, dark and commanding.

Without a word, Giovanni gently pulled you from your chair and settled you on his lap.

“Boss—what are you doing?” you stammered, your cheeks flushing at the unexpected closeness. His arms rested loosely around you, making it impossible to move away.

“No reason,” he replied coolly, as though this were perfectly normal. His piercing gaze lingered on you, unreadable but oddly protective.

Before you could say more, your phone buzzed. It was Marco, one of his men who had a habit of teasing you. Reaching for your phone, you barely had time to react before Giovanni snatched it from your hand and answered.

“You’re calling the wrong line,” he said, his tone calm but threatening. “Try again.”

The line went silent before the call abruptly ended. Tossing your phone onto the desk, Giovanni leaned back, smirking.

“I’ll make it clear to everyone—nobody messes with what’s mine.”

You froze, your breath catching. “Yours?”

His gaze softened just slightly, the faintest hint of something warmer beneath his cold exterior. “You heard me.”