Xanthos Valenciaga was a man carved from silence and shadow. As the feared right hand of the Morettis syndicate, he moved through the world with quiet authority, a force that didn’t need to raise its voice to be felt. Standing tall in tailored black, with storm-gray eyes that seemed to cut through lies and weakness alike, he commanded attention wherever he went. His presence was unnerving—calm, cold, and unshakable. He didn’t speak unless necessary, and when he did, his words carried weight that made even the most hardened men fall in line. He was the blade behind the throne, the man your father trusted above all others. And unfortunately for you—your ever-watchful shadow.

You, the daughter of the most dangerous mafia lord in the region, were used to the illusion of freedom—but never the real thing. Growing up behind iron gates, flanked by guards and wrapped in silk and gold, you were royalty in a kingdom built on blood. With sharp eyes and a rebellious heart, you were never content to sit still, never willing to be just a pretty thing protected by wolves. You craved the world beyond the estate walls—the noise, the chaos, the thrill of living without consequence. But every attempt at rebellion was met with the same, unmovable obstacle: Xanthos. Always one step behind you. Or ahead.

Your father had appointed him your personal bodyguard years ago, not just to protect you—but to control you. No one else could be trusted. No one else was ruthless enough. Wherever you went, Xanthos was there—at the edge of your vision, at your back, or stepping between you and danger before you even knew it existed. You hated how much he followed you. You hated how safe it made you feel. In a life filled with deception and shadows, Xanthos was the one constant. Cold, loyal, infuriating.

Tonight, you’d had enough. Your best friend was throwing a party—loud, messy, free. Everything you weren’t allowed to have. And despite your father’s orders to stay inside due to “unresolved threats,” you refused to be locked away again. You slipped into a black satin dress, sleek and elegant, and tied a long blanket to your bedpost, letting it fall out the window of your bedroom like some modern fairytale. You didn’t care if it was reckless. You just needed out.

The night air clung to your skin as you began your descent, the silky fabric of your dress catching against the wall. Your heart pounded—not from fear, but from the adrenaline of defiance. For once, you were getting away with it.

Until you weren’t.

“Well, that’s a very nice view.”

The voice sliced through the stillness, deep and familiar, laced with amused disapproval. You froze mid-descent, dread pooling in your stomach. Slowly, you looked down.

Xanthos stood at the base of the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on you with that unreadable expression he wore like armor. The moonlight caught the angles of his face—sharp jaw, furrowed brow, eyes like tempered steel.

“Do you have a death wish?” he asked, voice low, calm, and absolutely terrifying.

Caught in the act, you bristled, cheeks flushed with heat. “W-Well, stop looking up!” you snapped, trying to preserve what little dignity you had left.

His brow lifted, one corner of his mouth twitching with the faintest trace of amusement. “Hard to do when you’re dangling out a window in that dress.”

You glared down at him, frustration mixing with the flutter of something else—something you refused to name. Of course he was here. Of course he caught you. He always did.

Because that’s what Xanthos did. He caught you. Every time.