The applause was dying. The grand doors remained shut.
Don Roco's smile was now tight. Strained.
He lifted his wine glass again, faking a chuckle. "Ah, it seems our king believes in making an entrance," he said, voice slightly too loud, too forced. "In the meantime—" he looked at the Master of Ceremony, eyes sharp "—keep the crowd entertained."
The MC, catching the cue, laughed awkwardly into the mic. "Let's give it up for the Luciano family!" he shouted, calling for the musicians. The band kicked in nervously.
Don Roco didn't sit.
He turned, walking off the platform fast, pushing past a waiter with a hiss.
Behind the curtains, he pulled out his phone and called his top guard. "Find him," he snapped.
The guard's voice crackled. "Yes, Don."
Don Roco clenched his jaw.
The guards moved quickly through the dark hallways.
"We split up," the head guard said sharply. "Check his study, his quarters—hell, check the goddamn garden if you have to."
One of them paused, frowning. "Wait… I last saw the King drinking."
Another one narrowed his eyes. "And that softie boy was by his side."
There was a beat of silence.
"Tch. That little beauty queen?"
"He probably bored the boss to sleep."
"Or worse… tried something stupid."
They all chuckled low and mean, but the urgency returned fast.
"Enough. Move!" the leader barked.
The men split in opposite directions, muttering under their breaths.
"Bet he's passed out in a wine barrel…"
"If that softie drugged him, I'll put a bullet in his pretty mouth myself."
And just like that, the search began.
Room by room. Door by door.
And time was ticking.
A shadow leaned against the dim corridor wall, half-hidden behind a marble pillar.
The figure hadn't meant to eavesdrop.
But the second the guards mentioned "Softie left with Nico," everything changed.
Eyes narrowed.
He didn't speak, didn't breathe—just listened.
And when the guards spat out more curses about the "delicate pretty boy" and stormed off in separate directions, the figure finally moved.
Santi Cruz stepped out, silently.
Santi's brows furrowed as he leaned against the railing, watching the guards scramble like headless chickens.
"Check the wine cellar—"
"I swear I last saw him in the garden—"
"Someone said he was with the softie—what's his name again? Kyan?"
That made Santi flinch. His jaw clenched.
Kyan? With Nico?
His mind started spinning.
He remembered earlier—Kyan walking past him, flustered, holding something in his hand. A drink?
And Nico… he was sitting alone.
That same time, Raven had been pacing around like a maniac, whispering to the maid. He didn't trust her one damn bit.
Santi's eyes narrowed.
If Nico was drunk, and Kyan brought the drink... then...
He jogged to the nearest empty hallway and found a crumpled paper on the floor—barely noticeable, but he knew Kyan always folded things neatly.
He picked it up and smoothed it open.
Room 105.
His eyes sharpened.
Wrong. Kyan's handwriting was too neat to lose this. It must've slipped. And if Kyan read 105, but Nico was too drunk to hear clearly—
He'd take him to 205.
Smart boy like Kyan would think the top floor was more private.
Without wasting another second, Santi darted up the staircase, each step faster than the last, his heart racing now for all the wrong reasons.
Santi stood frozen outside Room 205. His chest rose and fell heavily as muffled sounds leaked through the door—low whispers, the bed creaking lightly, and then—
Nico's voice.
Rough. Deep. Intoxicating.
"You're not allowed to look at anyone else, .."
Santi's entire body went still. His jaw clenched, his fists balled.
His throat burned.
No. No. No.
He didn't even know if it was Kyan in there, but it didn't matter. That voice—he knew it too well. And from his years of watching, following, caring from a damn distance—
Nico Luciano was a virgin.
So was he.
He had kept himself. For him.
And now, here Nico was—whispering sinful things, voice drunk and dripping with heat, breathless. Disvirgining someone.
Someone who wasn't him.
Santi shut his eyes, seething. His teeth ground together so hard his jaw ached.
"No. It should've been me."
Every sound from that room felt like a knife to his chest. He stepped back slowly, chest pounding like war drums, his mind spiraling with rage and heartbreak.
"It should've been me."
BANG! BANG! BANG!
The loud knock shook the door like a damn earthquake. Kyan froze beneath Nico, their bodies tangled in a drunken, heated mess.
His voice came out in a broken, breathless whisper, "Daddy… someone's here—get off me, we've been in this for four hours…"
Kyan shoved at Nico's chest, cheeks flushed, hair all over the place, breath ragged.
Nico blinked slowly, his head spinning. Then another knock came, this one harder.
BANG!
He cursed under his breath, pulling away with a groan. "Tch... fuck."
Kyan was already adjusting himself, trying to pull his shirt down properly, heart racing in his ears.
Nico looked toward the door with half-lidded eyes, then back at Kyan.
"Under the bed. Now."
Kyan blinked, dazed. "W-what?"
"I said get under the fucking bed, Softie," Nico growled, already fixing his pants, his voice firm and sharp again, boss mode snapping back in place.
Kyan dove under just as the knocking grew louder.
Nico wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and dragged his feet to the door, still high, still burning—and now pissed.
Nico opened the door with a slow creak, leaning lazily against the frame—shirt undone halfway, hair a mess, belt still loose like he'd just gotten off someone.
And standing there?
Santi.
Eyes red.
Breath shaky.
He looked like he'd just cried or was still crying. His gaze darted behind Nico like he was trying to catch a glimpse of whoever was inside. His lips parted, but nothing came out.
Nico raised a brow and scoffed, voice soaked in arrogance. "What the hell do you want, nerd?"
Santi's throat bobbed. "I—uh... I just... the Don—"
"You lost, sweetheart?" Nico cut in with a slow smirk, licking his lower lip lazily. "Or are you one of those creeps who enjoy watching through keyholes?"
Santi's jaw dropped a little, but no words came. His brain was a mess. His heart? Worse.
"I didn't know crying like a baby was part of your detective routine," Nico went on, eyes cold, voice cruel. "Wipe your damn face before someone mistakes you for a damsel."
He chuckled and tilted his head. "Now get the fuck out of my hallway."
And with that, he slammed the door shut right in Santi's stunned, broken face.