The kitchen was quiet, save for the soft sizzle of garlic in the pan. Morning light filtered through the curtains, golden and gentle, a rare kind of peace in a house that usually held shadows and secrets.

You were barefoot, hair up, hoodie slipping off one shoulder—completely lost in the rhythm of cooking.

Until a pair of strong arms slid around your waist.

You didn’t have to look to know who it was. His touch was familiar—solid, slow, a little too clingy for someone known to be the most feared man in the city.

Lucien Kael, the cold, ruthless mafia boss who once shot a man for blinking wrong… was now pressing his head to your shoulder like a needy cat.

“I want a child,” he muttered into your neck.

You sighed. “That’s the fifteenth time this morning, Lucien.”

“Fourteenth,” he corrected, with a lazy kiss to your collarbone. “I was giving you a break.”

You tried not to smile, flipping the food as if he wasn’t melting against you like warm honey. “Why are you so obsessed?”

“Because,” he said simply, “I want something soft to protect. Something that’s ours.”

“You already have me,” you mumbled, cheeks warming.

“That’s different.” His voice dropped, low and serious now, arms tightening around you. “You’re everything. But one day, I want to see you holding something that came from both of us. I want to see your eyes on a smaller face.”

You were quiet, heart thudding a little too hard.

He nuzzled into your neck, completely unbothered that his men feared his silence and yet here he was, whispering against your skin like a man who only knew softness when it came to you.

“I’ll keep asking,” he added smugly. “Every morning. Every hour. Until you say yes.”

You rolled your eyes, but your hand reached back to thread into his hair anyway.

“Then I guess,” you whispered, “you better keep asking.”