The grand hall fell silent as Kyan stepped forward, eyes lowered but steps steady. Before him stood the Don.
"State your full name," the Don's voice cut through the air.
"Kyan ..." he said, almost in a whisper. Then louder, braver, "Kyan, now loyal to the Luciano bloodline."
The Don stared at him for a moment that felt like forever. Then he nodded.
"Welcome... Luciano soldier."
A sharp clap. A guard stepped forward and handed Kyan an official Luciano uniform—sleek, dark, stitched with the silver wolf emblem on the shoulder.
Kyan blinked, still frozen.
"Take him to his quarters," the Don ordered, then turned away like it was just another Tuesday.
The guards didn't speak. They just walked, and Kyan followed quietly down a long marbled corridor, wondering if this was a dream or a trap.
Then they stopped.
The door opened—and Kyan's jaw dropped.
A luxury suite. Big enough to be an apartment. Polished floors.
A glass desk. A walk-in closet already filled with crisp white shirts, tailored suits, and shoes lined up like they'd been waiting for him.
He stepped inside slowly, running his fingers across one of the blazers. The fabric—real silk.
"Is this really... my room?" he whispered to himself, still half in disbelief.
The guard beside him chuckled under his breath.
"You're Luciano now, kid. Get used to it."
Then the door clicked shut. And Kyan stood there… in his new life.
Kyan stood in front of the mirror, shirt halfway on, struggling with the sleeves. The crisp white fabric clung to his arms—it was definitely not his size.
"Seriously?" he muttered, tugging at the cuff. "Are these made for trees or bodybuilders?"
He huffed and pulled it down anyway, the hem sitting awkwardly above his hips. Just as he turned to check the back—
Click.
The door opened.
"Wow," a deep, arrogantly smooth voice said from behind, filled with amusement. "Didn't know we were hiring butlers in crop tops now."
Kyan spun around, heart skipping.
Nico leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, one brow raised, that signature smirk playing at the corner of his lips.
"You're lucky you're cute," Nico added, eyes scanning him slowly, "because you clearly can't dress yourself."
Kyan flushed, yanking the shirt down more. "I– I didn't know anyone would just walk in."
"This is my house," Nico said, stepping in casually. "And that shirt? Definitely not yours."
Kyan glared. "Then maybe label them next time, Your Highness."
Nico laughed, deep and lazy. "Feisty." He walked over, tugged the shirt straight with one sharp pull, and added, "I like that."
Kyan couldn't breathe for a second. His skin burned where Nico's hand had touched him.
Then Nico turned, just as quickly.
"Dinner's in an hour," he said over his shoulder. "Try not to wear my socks next."
And just like that, he was gone.
Kyan rushed after him, still trying to button the too-tight shirt.
"W-Wait! Master!" he called out, his voice slightly panicked. "Is this… is this your room? I swear I had no idea!"
Nico didn't stop walking. He just smirked—cocky and quiet—his back still turned.
No reply. Just that damn smirk.
Kyan blinked, confused. "Hello? You're not gonna say anything?"
Down the hallway, one of the guards shifted awkwardly.
Kyan turned to him, narrowing his eyes. "Did you know?"
The guard swallowed. "We were just following orders…"
"Orders?" Kyan echoed. "Whose orders?"
The other guard sighed and mumbled, "He said to bring you there. Said you were his servant now… and you serve him."
Kyan froze, his ears turning red. "He what?"
The guard nodded helplessly. "Exact words. 'Bring him to my room. He's mine now.'"
Kyan looked back down the hallway where Nico had disappeared, stunned.
"That arrogant… smug… peacock!" he hissed, tugging the shirt down again as if it could shield him from the embarrassment.
In the distance, Nico's voice floated back cool and amused, "And close the door behind you when you're done throwing your tantrum, pretty boy."
Kyan just about choked.
This man was going to drive him insane.
The long Luciano dining table was full. The chandeliers glowed softly above as silver cutlery clinked and wine poured.
Nico sat at the head,sipping slowly from his glass like a king surveying his court.
Kyan stood off to the side, nervously wringing his fingers behind his back, watching them eat. His heart raced.
This was his first official meal for the Lucianos.
He prayed there was no mistake. No poison. No screw-up.
Then—
"Mmm," one of the brothers grunted, mouth full. "This stew's insane."
Another muttered, "Best I've had since Mama's."
Even the Don gave a small nod. "Good," he said. That one word from him meant a lot.
Kyan felt his shoulders drop. Relief poured through him like water. He smiled faintly to himself.
But then—Nico leaned slightly back, still chewing slowly. Without even looking up, he reached out under the table and slipped something into Kyan's palm.
A folded piece of paper.
Kyan blinked, startled, but said nothing. He waited until no one was looking, then opened it with shaky fingers.
"Meet me in the chamber.
My muscles are tired. I need a massage.
You've got pretty hands. Use them.
– N"
Kyan nearly dropped the note.
His face flushed a deep red.
This man. This devil. This arrogant, wicked, sinfully hot—
He looked up to find Nico watching him now with a slow smirk, his eyes sharp and knowing.
Kyan gulped.
This night just took a turn.
After dinner, Kyan stood outside the chamber door for a full minute, breathing in and out like a man about to face a firing squad.
He finally pushed the door open.
The room smelled like expensive cologne.
Dim lights. Velvet curtains. A low fire crackling in the corner.
And there he was—Nico.
Lying on his back like a damn movie scene, arms behind his head, chest bare and glowing under the golden light. He wore nothing but grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips like they had a death wish.
His tattoos sprawled across his chest and arms—bold, dark, beautiful. Dangerous.
Kyan blinked twice, whispering without meaning to,
"Damn… look at those tattoos…"
Nico's lips curved into that same cocky smirk. He didn't move. Didn't even open his eyes.
"You like what you see, servant?"
Kyan froze, stuttering, "I—I didn't mean—"
"I didn't ask what you meant," Nico cut in lazily, still not looking at him. "You're late. I'm sore. Get to work."