The first thing Sineka became aware of was heat.

Not the distant warmth of the sun filtering through the sheer curtains, nor the faint crackle of the fireplace left smoldering overnight. No—this heat was far more immediate. Far more dangerous.

It was him.

Crocodile.

Solid. Heavy. Overwhelming.

His body was pressed against her back, one arm draped across her waist in a hold that was more possession than embrace. His breath, slow and steady, ghosted against her shoulder, a warm cadence that matched the deep, measured rise and fall of his chest against her spine.

And his hands—

Sineka's breath caught in her throat.

The bastard was touching her.

Not idly. Not by accident.

No—his fingers moved with purpose. Slow, deliberate. Mapping the curve of her hip, the dip of her waist. One broad hand splayed low across her stomach, fingertips pressing just below her navel, as though reminding her of his claim even in sleep.

But he wasn't asleep.

She knew it before the faintest inhale stirred the air against her shoulder blade—before the slow exhale that followed, lips grazing her bare skin with an unspoken intention.

Awake.

Of course, he was.

Sineka's thighs pressed together instinctively, her body already betraying her before she could form a single coherent thought. Heat coiled low and deep, her pulse beating too fast beneath the deliberate press of his hand.

Damn him.

Damn the way her body remembered the night before—the rough drag of his mouth against her skin, the low growl of her name between her gasping breaths.

The warmth of his hand shifted, fingers curling slightly as his thumb grazed the line of her hip bone.

A tease. A test.

Her pulse spiked.

"You're awake." His voice rumbled low and rough against her back—gravel and silk, indulgent in its own amusement.

Sineka inhaled sharply, half tempted to elbow him.

"You're groping me."

A deep chuckle vibrated against her spine, slow and satisfied.

His hand slid lower.

Sineka snatched his wrist before he could go any further.

Crocodile only chuckled again, richer this time, his breath warm against her shoulder.

"You didn't seem to mind last night."

Heat burned beneath her skin. She tightened her grip on his wrist and turned her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder.

"That was last night. This is—"

A slow roll of his hips cut her off, the deliberate pressure of hard muscle against the curve of her backside stealing every coherent thought from her mind.

Her breath hitched.

Crocodile smirked against her shoulder, his mouth trailing lazily along her skin, the barest graze of teeth just below the curve of her neck.

"Morning."

The bastard.

Sineka gritted her teeth, willing herself to ignore the slow burn of desire curling low in her stomach, the way her legs had parted slightly without permission, the way her pulse betrayed her beneath his hands.

"I should stab you," she muttered, her voice rougher than intended.

Crocodile chuckled, low and knowing, as if her words amused him more than they should.

"You'd have to move first."

Her scowl deepened. She shifted, half-intent on shoving him off—

Only to have his arm tighten around her waist, dragging her back against him with effortless strength.

A warning.

A promise.

Her breath caught.

His smirk curved against her skin.

"Go on, then. Move."

And damn him—

She couldn't.

Her body betrayed her before her pride could intervene. The warmth of his breath against her shoulder. The solid heat of him pressed against her. The deliberate slide of his hand as it slowly resumed its exploration, tracing the curve of her hip, fingers dragging lightly across sensitive skin.

Sineka swallowed against the rising heat in her throat, biting down on the urge to arch into his touch. Her fingers dug into his wrist, nails pressing hard enough to leave faint marks against his skin.

"Crocodile—"

"You started this game last night, woman." His voice was low and rough, his mouth grazing the curve of her neck, heat and breath and the barest hint of teeth against her pulse.

"And you lost."

Sineka's breath hitched as his thumb traced a slow circle just below her navel, dangerously close to where she wanted him most. Too close. Too deliberate.

"I don't lose," she ground out, her nails digging harder into his wrist in a desperate bid to maintain control.

A low, gravel-rough laugh rumbled against her back, dark and dangerous.

"You're losing now."

Damn him.

Damn the heat pooling low in her stomach, the ache tightening between her thighs, the slow, maddening way his hand explored her with all the patience of a predator that knew exactly how long he could make his prey wait.

"You—" Her breath faltered as his thumb dipped just slightly lower, teasing the sensitive skin just above the apex of her thighs.

"You—are insufferable—"

Another slow roll of his hips stole the rest of her words, the hard, deliberate pressure against her backside unraveling what little resolve she had left.

Her pulse pounded in her ears, drowning out the distant crackle of the fireplace, the faint rustle of silk sheets against bare skin.

Nothing existed beyond the heat of his hands. His mouth. The solid weight of him against her.

"You shouldn't have tempted me last night," he murmured against her skin, the heat of his breath grazing the shell of her ear, his lips brushing the sensitive spot just below it.

"You wouldn't be in this position otherwise."

Sineka's breath stuttered as his hand moved lower, her thighs tensing in anticipation, her pulse hammering beneath her skin.

"I wasn't tempting you," she managed, though her voice shook with the effort.

Crocodile chuckled—a low, dark sound that sent a sharp shiver through her spine.

"Could've fooled me."

His thumb traced another slow, teasing circle against her lower stomach, inching closer, testing her patience with infuriating precision.

"Unless you plan to finish what you started, let go of my wrist," he murmured against her shoulder, his lips pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to her bare skin.

Sineka's grip faltered.

Just slightly.

Crocodile's smirk curved against her skin.

"That's what I thought."

And then—

He moved.

Quick as lightning, his hand escaped her grip, fingers slipping lower before she could stop him—

Sineka's breath caught sharply in her throat, her body arching involuntarily against his as pleasure sparked beneath his touch.

"Damn you—"

Crocodile chuckled low against her neck, his breath warm against her skin as his fingers moved with slow, devastating precision, tracing circles that left her gasping against the sheets.

"You're already damned, woman."

Sineka bit her lip hard, determined not to give him the satisfaction of hearing her moan.

Not so easily.

Not after last night.

But her resolve faltered with every slow, purposeful stroke, every subtle shift of his hips against her from behind, every deep, low murmur of amusement against her skin.

"Stubborn," he mused, fingers dragging deliberately slow, teasing her with the edge of what she wanted.

"What will it take to break that pride of yours, hmm?"

Sineka's breath hitched, her thighs tensing against the silk sheets as her pulse pounded beneath his hands.

"I—"

Whatever retort she intended vanished as his fingers pressed just right—just enough—

And her control shattered.

The sharp cry that escaped her lips was half-swallowed against the pillow as pleasure crashed through her, hot and fast, leaving her breathless and trembling in his arms.

Crocodile held her steady, his grip firm, unyielding, as he dragged every last shudder from her body, refusing to let her escape until he was satisfied.

Only when she finally stilled, breathless and spent, did he pull back—just enough to press one last, deliberate kiss to her shoulder.

"Morning, woman," he murmured, low and smug against her skin.

Sineka's breath came slow and unsteady, her mind still reeling, her pride struggling to catch up with her body.

Damn him.

Damn him and his hands. His mouth. His voice.

Her pulse still thrummed beneath her skin as she forced her breath to steady.

"Next time," she muttered against the pillow, her voice rough and shaken.

Crocodile chuckled against her shoulder, the deep, satisfied sound vibrating against her spine.

"You'll lose next time, too."

Crocodile had discovered many pleasures in life—the power of fear, the thrill of control, the satisfaction of watching empires crumble with the flick of his hand.

But now—

Now, there was something else.

Something new.

Something that amused him far more than it should.

Sineka's body.

Not just the possession of it, not merely the taste of her lips or the heat of her beneath him. No—his fascination lay in the way she moved. The subtle grace woven into every motion, the unconscious allure in the tilt of her head, the arch of her spine, the delicate stretch of her limbs.

And right now—

She was giving him quite the morning entertainment.

Crocodile leaned against the headboard, bare-chested, sheets resting low against his hips. Smoke curled from the cigar between his fingers, faint tendrils rising through the morning air as his gaze never left her.

Sineka stood before the full-length mirror, her back to him, silk sheets loosely wrapped around her chest. Golden skin caught the soft rays of sunlight streaming through the window, highlighting the freckles scattered across her shoulders—the same shoulders his hands had gripped hours ago.

She knew he was watching.

And she was taking her time.

Crocodile smirked, amusement curling at the corners of his mouth.

Ah, so this was her retaliation. A silent punishment for the way he'd woken her—fingers tracing her skin, teasing her to the edge before she could even form a coherent thought.

Now, she intended to make him wait.

Sineka hummed softly as she combed her fingers through her cinnamon-colored hair, the faint sound carrying through the room. The strands tumbled over her shoulder like silk as she reached for the neatly folded clothes left by the maid.

Crocodile exhaled smoke slowly, his amber eyes following every deliberate movement.

And then—

She let the sheets slip from her shoulders.

The silk pooled at her waist, leaving the bare curve of her back exposed—the elegant line of her spine, the faint crescent marks his teeth had left against her shoulder blade, the shadowed bruises from his hands on her hips. Evidence of possession stamped into her golden skin.

His fingers tightened slightly on the cigar.

Sineka picked up her undergarments, sliding the thin black fabric over her hips, the elastic snapping lightly into place with a motion too slow to be innocent.

Crocodile chuckled low, the sound rough with amusement.

"You put on a show, woman."

Sineka's reflection met his gaze in the mirror. Her lips curved into a knowing smirk.

"And you watch."

Crocodile took another drag from his cigar, letting the smoke roll from his lips as she reached for the matching black lace bralette. Thin straps slid over her shoulders, the sheer fabric clinging to her curves as she adjusted the fit with slow, deliberate fingers.

Fingers that lingered a moment too long.

He watched as she traced the line of her collarbone, then down the curve of her throat, dragging her fingertips over her skin in a motion that was anything but accidental.

Crocodile's patience thinned.

"If you want my hands on you again, woman," he warned, voice low and rough, "you only have to ask."

Sineka turned slightly, her smirk deepening as she stepped into her dress—a sleek black number that hugged her waist and hips with sinful precision. The smooth glide of fabric over her skin was a slow tease, a deliberate provocation meant to test the limits of his control.

She adjusted the dress with a soft hum, smoothing the fabric over her curves as if she had all the time in the world.

Crocodile exhaled smoke through his nose, heat simmering beneath his skin as he watched her bare fingers skim the line of her thigh, her hip.

The woman was playing with fire.

And she knew it.

Sineka bent slightly to adjust the hem, the motion arching her back just enough to make his grip tighten on the cigar.

Damn her.

Crocodile smirked darkly.

Oh, two could play this game.

He took one last slow drag of his cigar, then crushed it in the ashtray with deliberate finality. The soft clink of crystal against metal broke the silence just enough to catch her attention.

Sineka glanced at his reflection in the mirror—just in time to see the gleam in his amber eyes.

And she hesitated.

A flicker of uncertainty.

Crocodile swung his legs over the edge of the bed with unhurried grace, rolling his shoulders as he stood. The faint rustle of sheets, the soft pad of his footsteps against the floorboards—each sound deliberate.

Sineka straightened as he approached, her spine stiffening slightly beneath the weight of his gaze.

But she didn't move away.

Didn't step back.

Crocodile stopped just behind her, his reflection towering over hers in the mirror—bare-chested, broad-shouldered, eyes dark with intent.

Sineka's pulse betrayed her, fluttering visibly against the hollow of her throat.

He watched it with faint amusement.

"Careful, woman," he murmured, low against her ear. "You're not the only one who knows how to play with fire."

Her breath hitched as his hands found her waist, broad palms warm against the fabric of her dress. Slow and deliberate, he traced the curve of her hips, then lower—fingers sliding over the smooth silk until they reached her thighs.

He paused just at the hem, his touch hovering against her skin without quite crossing the line.

Testing her.

Sineka met his gaze in the mirror, chin lifting slightly in defiance.

"I didn't ask for your hands," she replied coolly.

Crocodile chuckled softly, low and dangerous.

"No." His fingers slid just beneath the hem of her dress, grazing the soft skin of her thighs with deliberate ease. "But you didn't stop me, either."

Sineka bit her lip, her pulse quickening beneath the slow, teasing glide of his fingers.

Damn him.

Damn the heat curling low in her stomach, the slow burn of anticipation beneath his touch.

But she refused to yield.

Not yet.

"I have things to do today," she said, her voice steadier than she expected.

Crocodile smirked against her ear, his breath warm against her skin.

"Let them wait."

His fingers pressed slightly harder against her thighs, just enough to make her breath hitch—but still teasing, still holding back just enough to drive her mad.

Sineka clenched her fists at her sides, refusing to let him see how easily he unraveled her.

"I need to meet with Stussy," she said, though the words came out breathless. "You know that."

Crocodile hummed thoughtfully, trailing slow kisses along the curve of her neck—soft, deliberate, each one a calculated temptation.

"Stussy can wait," he murmured against her skin.

Sineka's pulse pounded beneath his lips, her breath quickening despite her best efforts.

But she refused to give in.

Not after the way he'd teased her awake.

"Some of us," she managed, voice shaking slightly, "have work to do."

Crocodile chuckled low against her shoulder.

"Careful, woman," he warned, hands sliding higher beneath the fabric of her dress.

Sineka's breath hitched—

But before he could go any further, she stepped forward, slipping out of his grasp with a smooth, deliberate motion that left his hands empty.

Crocodile blinked, momentarily surprised—then smirked as she turned to face him, eyes bright with defiance.

"You're not the only one who knows how to tease," she said softly.

Crocodile chuckled low in his chest, amusement flickering through his amber eyes.

"Well played, woman."

Sineka smoothed the front of her dress, chin tilting slightly as she stepped past him toward the door.

She paused at the threshold, glancing back over her shoulder with a faint, knowing smile.

"But next time—" Her hazel eyes gleamed with challenge.

"Try harder."

Crocodile's smirk deepened as the door clicked softly shut behind her.

Ah, yes.

This woman—

She was going to be the death of him.

And he intended to enjoy every second of it.

Crocodile had indulged enough for the morning.

But the game—their game—was far from over.

Sineka had left his quarters with that same smug confidence, her hips swaying just enough to remind him of her earlier defiance, the faint scent of jasmine and wicked satisfaction lingering in the air behind her.

A quiet, unspoken challenge.

She thought she had won this round.

That alone amused him.

Now, however, it was time for business.

Crocodile slid his rings back onto his fingers one by one, each band of gold and silver settling into its rightful place. His coat draped over his shoulders with practiced ease, the familiar weight grounding him as he stepped into the hall. Smoke curled lazily from the cigar between his fingers as he moved through the villa with unhurried confidence, the faint click of his polished shoes against marble the only sound accompanying him.

By the time he entered his office, the morning sun had climbed higher, casting long streaks of golden light across the dark mahogany desk. Shadows clung to the corners of the room—long and sharp, like the silent presence of unseen predators.

Daz Bones was already waiting.

Silent. Steady. A sentinel carved from stone.

Crocodile exhaled a slow drag of smoke, amber eyes locking onto his second-in-command with the sharp intensity of a hawk spotting prey.

"Tell me something good."

Daz wasted no time. Efficiency was his language.

"The Zhao Syndicate made their first major move last night." He stepped forward, unfolding a document onto the desk's polished surface. "Intercepted a shipment in West Blue. Government had eyes on it, but it disappeared before reaching port. Tezren's fingerprints are all over it."

Crocodile's gaze flicked down to the report, eyes scanning the neatly typed lines as he tapped ash into the silver tray beside him.

"What was in the shipment?"

"Weapons. High-grade." Daz's voice remained steady, but a faint tension lined his shoulders. "And documents that tie into offshore accounts." He hesitated briefly. "But that's not the problem."

Crocodile lifted a brow, waiting.

Without a word, Daz pushed forward another page.

"The problem is where the funds are leading."

Crocodile took the document between his fingers, the faint crackle of paper the only sound in the still air. His gaze moved swiftly over the financial routes mapped across the page—thin lines threading through islands and coastlines like veins beneath skin.

Then—he paused.

A faint shift in his expression. Almost imperceptible.

But Daz noticed.

Crocodile's fingers drummed lightly against the desk, the faint rhythm muffled by his rings.

He recognized these routes.

They weren't Tezren's.

They belonged to Doflamingo.

The Joker of the Underworld still had his fingers wrapped tight around Dressrosa's beating heart, his web of influence stretching far beyond the island's borders. Smuggling, arms dealing, human trafficking—the man's empire thrived beneath the world's surface, untouched by the eyes of the law.

But now—

Tezren was moving his pieces into that web.

Slowly. Carefully.

Not to take over. Not yet.

But testing the waters.

"...This could get messy."

Daz's words broke the silence, as steady and pragmatic as ever.

Crocodile leaned back slightly, exhaling a slow drag of smoke as he considered the implications. The faint gleam of sunlight caught in his amber eyes, but the warmth never touched them. Beneath the veil of cigar smoke, the faintest trace of a smirk began to form—dark and knowing.

A predator catching scent of another hunter.

"Let him think he's winning," Crocodile murmured, his voice low, rough with amusement.

Daz didn't flinch. Didn't question it.

"And when do we cut his legs out from under him?"

Crocodile's smirk deepened—slow, deliberate.

"When it hurts the most."

A faint hum of satisfaction settled between them, unspoken but understood.

Business as usual.

Crocodile tapped the ash from his cigar, fingers tracing the edge of the document one last time before setting it aside. His gaze drifted toward the window, where the distant horizon shimmered faintly beneath the sun's harsh light.

Somewhere out there, Tezren was moving his pawns across the board.

Slowly. Carefully.

But Crocodile had played this game long before the Zhao Syndicate had ever dared to step into the underworld's arena. He knew the weight of patience—the art of waiting until the moment of impact would shatter everything beyond repair.

And when that moment came—

Tezren wouldn't see it coming.