THE MAFIA'S THRONE.

CRUSHED CRUSH.

I got home late. The house was silent except for the soft ticking of the wall clock in the living room.

"Mum... I'm home," I called out, my voice echoing faintly through the hallway.

I walked toward the kitchen and paused when I saw the familiar sight—bottles of beer scattered across the counter. I sighed.

She drank again. Of course, she did.

Every day, it was the same routine. My mother said drinking helped her 'sober up,' whatever that meant. I’d tried reasoning with her, begging her to stop, crying, even hiding the bottles. But it was pointless. It was like she had her own grief-ridden rhythm, one I couldn’t interrupt.

I went to her room. She was there, curled into the faded sheets, her back resting against the headboard, a glass in her hand. Her eyes were glossy but warm when she looked up at me.

"Hey, baby," she said, her voice soft and tired.

I walked slowly to her and took the glass from her hands without a word. She let me.

She smiled as I set the glass aside. "You're such a good boy. I don't deserve you."

I sat beside her on the bed. She leaned forward and kissed my cheek, the scent of alcohol floating between us.

"You okay?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I just wish I could give you everything."

I looked at her, heart sinking. "Mom, you give me what you can. You gave me life and That’s enough."

Her expression twisted into something bittersweet. "I'm sorry for... for how things are. For that night. For not knowing who your father is. It was just one night, a stupid, meaningless night with a stranger. And now... you're here, and I still don’t even know who to blame for this life."

I wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Don’t. Just... let’s not talk about that tonight."

She nodded, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand.

We laid back and talked about little things. The weather. The garden. The Lockwoods. She dozed off mid-conversation, and I stayed awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering what it meant to be a man when the person who gave you life was still broken.

★★★★★

The next morning, I completed my usual routine…shower, toothbrush, toast—and wrote a note for my mom since she was still asleep. I told her not to worry, that I’d be back late.

Then I left for work.

As a teenager, I’d become the father I never had. Not just to myself, but to my mom. I kept things running. Bills, food, and even pretending like the world was still kind.

When I arrived at the Lockwoods’ estate, the guards let me in without much of a glance. They were used to me by now.

I made my way to the garden and instantly groaned. It was a mess. Again. Even though I’d just cleaned and pruned everything the day before, it looked like a tornado of leaves and petals had swept through.

I got to work.

By the time I was done, sweat clung to my shirt, and my knees were dirt-stained from crouching too long. Just as I was about to pack up, Zach walked toward me, his hands shoved in the pockets of his expensive shorts.

"Lucian," he called out.

I straightened. "Yeah?"

He had that familiar grin on his face. The one that said he was about to pull you into something crazy. "We’re hitting the beach this evening. Come with us."

I shook my head. "Nah, I’ll pass."

"Oh, come on. Don’t be boring. It’ll be fun. Music. Drinks. People. You can relax a little."

I hesitated. Truthfully, I wanted to go. But not with them…not with people so polished, so wealthy, so far from the kind of life I knew. I always felt like the outsider. A ghost in muddy shoes.

Then I saw her.

Shayla.

She was standing with the others, laughing softly at something one of the guys said. Her hair was pulled into a messy braid that draped over one shoulder. She wore a linen jacket loosely around her shoulders... and a bikini underneath.

God help me.

Zach nudged my shoulder. "Come on. What are you staring at?”

I swallowed hard and gave in. "Okay. Just for a bit."

★★★★★

The beach was loud. Bonfires. Music. Bodies moving to beats. Salt in the air. Teenagers in sunglasses and swimsuits, drinks in hand, laughter flying like kites across the night.

I sat down on the sand, my cocktail untouched. The coldness of the glass helped distract me from the raging fire in my chest.

Zach was a few feet away, grinding sensually against his girlfriend. Their laughter was careless, wild.

Shayla was with another guy now. His arm was slung possessively around her shoulder. She laughed at something he whispered into her ear.

It burned. Every second of it burned.

That should be me.

But who was I kidding? I was just the hired help.

“Hi there,” a soft voice said beside me.

I turned. A girl with a daisy crown on her head, bright eyes, and a bikini top under a white mesh dress was smiling at me.

“Hi,” I replied.

She sat beside me, too comfortably.

“I’ve never seen you around here before,” she said.

“I work for the Lockwoods,” I said plainly.

“Ohhh,” she said, dragging the word. “But you don’t look like a gardener. You look like... a poet. Or a musician.”

I chuckled softly. "Never held a guitar."

She leaned in, fingers tracing the rim of her cup. "That’s a shame. You’ve got the kind of face people write songs about."

I looked at her more closely. She was beautiful. Rich, definitely. But there was a warmth in her eyes, not just flirtation.

“What’s your name?” she asked.

“Lucian. You?”

“Dahlia,” she said. “Like the flower.”

“Nice name.”

She tilted her head. “So... why are you here, Lucian the gardener…?”

“Because someone dragged me here.”

“Lucky me,” she smiled.

But I wasn’t looking at her anymore. My eyes had drifted.

Shayla.

She was staring at us. Not just looking…staring. Her eyes were glassy. Her lips pressed together.

She turned suddenly and walked toward the edge of the beach, near the trees.

Dahlia followed my gaze. "Do you need to go talk to her?"

I nodded. "I think I do."

She gave a soft smile. “Go, then.”

★★★★★

I found Shayla standing alone, her back to me. The moonlight bathed her bare shoulders.

She was crying. Her hands balled into fists.

“Shayla?” I asked gently.

She turned, eyes red, cheeks stained.

Then….she slapped me.

My head snapped slightly to the side. I blinked.

“What the hell…?”

“You don’t get to flirt with other girls!” she snapped.

“What?”

“You heard me. You don’t get to sit there and laugh with some other girl while I—while I’m right there!”

I stared at her. "You’re with someone else, Shayla. You were dancing with a guy who had his hand all over you."

She exhaled shakily. "You don’t get it. I've been admiring you since the first day you walked into our house. Since you cleaned the stupid garden with your stupid hands. Since you smiled that one time when my brother wasn’t looking."

I froze.

She stepped closer, her voice trembling. “I don’t care about Zach. Or the rules. Or what people say. I want you.”

My heart thudded. My brain screamed.

She was in a bikini. Close. Breathing hard.

She reached for me, her lips parting.

I stepped back. "Shayla…no."

She flinched.

"This is wrong," I said. "Your parents would destroy me. You could ruin everything. And Zach…Zach would bury me alive."

“I don’t care!” she cried. “Zach can have anyone. Why can’t I?”

“I respect him. I owe him. He doesn’t see me as trash, Shayla. Don’t make me ruin that.”

She was crying harder now. Her hands clutched my shirt.

“I’ve been pretending so hard, Lucian,” she whispered. “Pretending I don’t see you. Pretending I don’t want you. And when I saw you with that girl, it broke something inside me.”

I exhaled, struggling. “You can’t just claim me like that.”

“But I want you,” she breathed.

I leaned forward before I could stop myself. Her lips were inches away. My hand trembled as I reached for her face.

I wanted to kiss her. God, I wanted it so badly.

Then…

"What’s going on here?"

The voice cut through the air like a blade.

We both turned.

Zach stood there.

His jaw was clenched. His eyes dark. And he wasn’t looking at his sister.

He was looking at me.

Straight at me.

Like he was ready to kill me.