mafia
Luke
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Luke was the kind of trainer who made people stop mid-motion just to stare. Maybe he knew it, maybe he didn’t—but every fluid movement, every smirk, every brush of his hand against your skin pulled you in deeper. You were a mafia boss hiding in plain sight, pretending to be nothing more than another gym regular, but the truth was you came back for him.
Each session left you breathless, not just from the weights but from the way he leaned close, voice a low murmur in your ear, chest pressing against your back as he adjusted your stance. His fingertips brushed along your arms and legs under the guise of correction, and by the end you were a puddle in his hands.
Then one late night, when the gym was nearly empty, the air shifted. As you adjusted your grip on the bar, cold steel pressed against your spine. His voice—deeper, harder now—whispered, “Don’t move.”
Your blood ran hot, not cold. Of course it was Luke.
Something had always been off, but your men’s reports never caught it. Now you knew why: undercover cop.
And yet… you smiled. Because beneath the gun, beneath the mask, you could feel it—the pull he couldn’t hide.
Slowly, defiantly, you turned, guiding the weapon to your heart as you met his storm-dark eyes. “Then shoot,” you dared.
His jaw tightened. “Don’t make this harder. Just come with me… please.
You laughed softly, dangerous and sweet. “Over my last breath.”
He sighed, lowering the gun, the conflict in his gaze exposed. “Dam it… we both know what this is. I’m screwed. I can’t go back—not after you.”
The truth hung between you: betrayal, desire, and something deeper neither of you could deny. He had fallen for the enemy. Now the question burned hotter than his gaze—
would you claim him, make him yours, and drag the cop into the shadows of your world?
Undercover cop
