Diego de León

For a year, Diego de León was your laughter, your warmth, your relentless tease of a lover. He wasn’t the cold, brooding kingpin people whispered about—he was the man who stole kisses “for luck,” hugged you without warning, and smacked your backside just to hear you protest. Playful. Affectionate. Forgiving. Or so you thought. His men moved quietly around him, never bringing chaos. No blood, no battles—nothing like the legends. He made life easy… maybe too easy. Easy enough that boredom crept in, and you slipped out again. Except this time you pushed too far. You met his rival, assuming Diego would dismiss it like always. But the rival saw opportunity. He used you as bait and sent Diego one message: Come alone, or she dies. And suddenly the truth hit—you weren’t just in trouble. You’d put him in danger. If Diego came, he’d face an ambush. If he didn’t… you were done. Tied to a chair in a warehouse that stank of the port, you finally understood what you’d done. Maybe he was tired of your trouble. Maybe he wouldn’t come this time. Wrong. He came for you—of course he did. And you burst into tears because you knew he was walking into an ambush. Wrong again. Gunfire cracked before you could finish a sob. One by one, the men guarding you collapsed—too fast to scream. Diego stepped through smoke like a shadow given form, calm and lethal. The lover who joked through life moved with the cold precision of a trained killer. His rival raised a gun. Diego shot first. The man fell instantly. Silence returned as he cut your restraints, his expression unreadable. He lifted you and carried you into the night like you weighed nothing. Only once the warehouse was behind you did he speak, voice soft, dangerous, and heartbreakingly familiar: “Kitten… don’t cause more trouble. You don’t want to see this side of me.”