I never wanted the crown. Hell, I didn't even want the life that came with it. But you don't get to choose the blood in your veins or the ghosts that come with your last name. My father made sure of that.

Everyone in our world knew the Morales name. Not because we had money though we did or because we owned half the city, we did that too. But because my father, Victor Morales, built his empire with blood and fire. He was the kind of man you never looked in the eye. The kind of man whose silence made grown men piss themselves.

And I was his only son.

They called me the Ghost when I was seventeen. Not because I was invisible. Because I was efficient. Quiet. Deadly. My first hit was a man named Ortega. He was skimming product from one of our East Point warehouses. My father said, "Handle it." So I did.

I shot him between the eyes in a church confessional.

I didn't blink.

I didn't cry.

The next day, my father put a glass of bourbon in my hand and said, "Welcome to the family."

But it wasn't until Rico died that I became the Boss.

Rico was my half brother. My brother in all but blood. He was funny, loud, loyal to a fault. We grew up together in the Morales estate, learning how to break necks before we learned how to tie our shoes. He took a bullet meant for me during a shipment war in Havana.

I still hear the sound he made when he fell.

Still see the way his eyes widened before they went glassy.

I killed nine men that day.

After that, I changed. I stopped caring who lived or died. I built walls so high even I forgot what was behind them. I took over the syndicate before I turned twenty-five. Made it colder. Cleaner. More surgical.

But nothing prepared me for Millie.

Not the bruises on her arms. Not the way she flinched when I moved too fast. Not the look in her eyes when she smiled like she didn't believe she was allowed to.

She was a ghost too, in her own way. But hers was the kind that begged not to be forgotten.

---

We were holed up in one of my safehouses an hour outside the city. A glass-and-brick cabin tucked into the woods, off every grid. No cameras. No prying eyes. Just silence and secrets.

She sat on the couch, wrapped in a flannel blanket, her hands curled around a mug of tea she hadn't touched.

I watched her from the kitchen doorway. Her honey-blonde hair was still messy from the chaos of the night. She hadn't said a word since I pulled her into the car and drove off while Dan watched from the shadows like a vulture waiting to feed.

I should've killed him.

I would. Soon.

But first-Millie.

I walked over and sat beside her. She tensed. Just a little. But it was enough to make my chest twist.

"You're safe now," I said quietly.

She nodded but didn't look at me.

I reached into my coat pocket and pulled out the small black folder I had tucked there days ago. It wasn't the right time. But then again, nothing about this was right.

"Millie, I need to ask you something. And I need you to trust me when I say it's not what it sounds like."

She turned her head slowly. Her green eyes were wary. Guarded.

I opened the folder. Inside was a simple legal document.

"A contract marriage."

Her breath hitched.

"What?"