★★Leon's POV★★



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The streets of New York City are alive with the chaotic symphony of honking cars, people rushing to their low-paying jobs, and assistants sprinting to fetch their boss's coffee. The city is buzzing, pulsing with energy, every corner brimming with life.

The traffic? A nightmare.

Cars honk relentlessly, urging pedestrians to move faster, to make way. One hand grips the steering wheel, while the other rests on the center console, steady and unbothered amidst the madness. It's a dance of impatience, a cacophony of urgency.

After a couple minutes that felt like hours, we arrive at a building tall enough to touch the sky. Its sleek, modern design stands out against the skyline, a masterpiece of glass and steel. The sunlight catches the windows, creating a gleaming reflection that adds to its imposing presence. The exterior is minimalistic, with sharp lines and geometric angles that give it an air of sophistication and power.

As we pull in, I can't help but take in the view of the entrance: a large, elegant white fountain sits in the center, its water cascading down in a smooth, rhythmic flow.

I drive through the entrance of the driveway, past the fountain, where valets and employees in sharp business suits are already waiting for my arrival. I come to a smooth stop, and my guards, in the other car, park in perfect formation right behind me.

They all exit the vehicle with precision. I grab my things, and the three of us step out of the car.

The valet gives a warm smile and walks toward my side of the car.

"Good morning, Mr. Laurent. I'll be taking your car to the garage," he says, sounding polite.

I look him in the eye, my expression cold. "If this car comes back with a single scratch on it, there will be consequences," I reply, my voice carrying a quiet, deadly edge.

He looks at me, startled, his face draining of color. He quickly breaks eye contact, his nerves showing.

"O-of course, Sir. Don't worry... I'll make sure to polish it when it's returned," he stammers, his voice shaky.

I don't respond, just give him one last, hard look before I turn and walk past him, heading toward the entrance.

Damien is on my left, Antoine on my right, both of them flanking me like shadows as we make our way inside.

Once we make our way inside, we're greeted by five older, middle-aged businessmen, all dressed in sharp, expensive suits. One of them is the man I need to negotiate with regarding the shipments. As they approach, they all flash warm smiles.

I can't help but feel a wave of disgust.

Why is everyone smiling?

It's so forced, so insincere. A smile meant to disguise their true intentions, just like the rest of the world. Fake. All of it. Every smile I've ever seen, every word spoken with the goal of achieving something. It's all the same. People put on this mask, hoping to manipulate their way to the top, to gain some advantage. But I've seen it all before. I can spot a fake smile from a mile away. It's a game, and I've been playing it my whole life.

The directors greet us in unison, their voices a chorus of forced politeness.

"Good morning, Mr. Laurents," one says, his smile almost too wide, too practiced. He glances at my brother and then at Antonio, nodding. "And Mr. Bernard."

Before any of them can say more, the man who seems to be in charge steps forward. "Let me introduce myself—"

Once he opens his mouth, I cut him off with a sharp glance.

Please, like I don't already know who you are. I've done my research—couldn't sleep on the plane, so what else was I supposed to do? You think I'd walk into a business deal spilling high-stakes intel about my Mafia? Ever heard of stranger danger? Of course, I had to make sure he wasn't much of a stranger to me.

"Maxton Ledger," I say, my voice steady and cold, watching as his confident smirk falters slightly. "Chief Operating Officer at CargoLinks. A shipment company that handles under-the-radar cargo. You've got a beautiful wife, three kids, and you live on Sterling Ridge Lane, right here in New York City."

His expression shifts to a mixture of shock and unease as I step closer, my gaze unrelenting. "So, you see, I don't need an introduction. I already know exactly who you are."

His face freezes, eyes wide with surprise. I offer a lazy, almost amused smile. The kind of smile that tells him I've already figured out everything about him and his buddies before he could even open his mouth.

He stutters, his nerves quickly getting the better of him. "I-I y-yes, that is me..." He glances around, clearly thrown off, his eyes darting like he's trying to figure out how I know this.

"Well, are we just going to stand here, or are we going to get this over with?" I ask, my tone dripping with annoyance as I begin walking past him.

"Yes, of course," he stammers, scrambling to catch up with his four partners.

They hurry ahead of me, walking briskly to lead the way. I follow behind them, Damien and Antoine flanking me as we make our way down the hall.

We reach the conference room, and Maxton holds the door open, waiting for us to enter. I walk in first, taking my seat at the head of the table, my eyes scanning the room briefly.

Damien takes his place beside me, and Antoine sits across from me, each of us ready for the negotiations to begin.

They all slowly take their seats, the five of them carefully opening their briefcases, pulling out papers, and firing up their laptops. They're taking their sweet time, probably to give off the illusion of being prepared.

Without a second thought, I pull out a box of cigarettes from my pocket, flick one out, and light it up. The smoke curls into the air, drifting lazily around the room.

Do I care if this building has a no-smoking policy? Not even a little.

I take a long drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs before exhaling slowly, the haze drifting out of my mouth.

Maxton looks at me, his gaze sharp, as if he's ready to get down to business. But I'm not in any rush.

He can wait.

I take one last puff of my cigarette, feeling the warmth of the smoke slip through my lungs, and then tap the excess ash into the ashtray in front of me.

I stare at Maxton, a lazy smirk on my lips. "Well?" I say, the impatience thick in my voice.

He sits across from me, his posture just the right mix of confidence and ease, like a man who thinks he has the upper hand. He leans forward slightly, his hands clasped together as he speaks.

"Mr. Laurent," he begins smoothly, "I understand the weight of this deal, and I don't take it lightly. The shipment we're discussing—it's not just any armory. It's a prime opportunity to establish a foothold in a market that's been largely untapped. Argentina is ready for us. The demand is high, the timing is perfect."

I signal with my hand for him to continue, my face unreadable.

He studies me carefully before pressing on. "The plan is simple. We move the shipment through our established routes, keeping logistics clean and secure. Our network in Argentina is ready—this isn't just a transaction, Mr. Laurent. It's an investment in future operations. The influence we gain will be invaluable. And the profits? Substantial."

His voice carries the assurance of a man who believes he's selling me something valuable. But there's a flaw in his pitch—one he doesn't realize I've already seen through.

I let the silence stretch, my fingers tapping lightly against the table.

Damien, standing just behind me, finally speaks, his voice calm but laced with suspicion. "You're making it sound too easy, Maxton. Argentina's untapped? Really? A market this lucrative, and no one's moved in yet? That doesn't sound like an opportunity. That sounds like a trap."

Maxton doesn't flinch. "I get the concern, but—"

"Shut up," I cut in, my tone flat. My patience is razor-thin.

His mouth snaps shut instantly.

I lean forward, my gaze locking onto his. "You think I don't know?" I say quietly. "You think I didn't already have eyes on this deal before you even opened your mouth?"

I watch the flicker of panic in his eyes—the slight shift in his breathing. He's realizing, far too late, that he's underestimated me.

I pull out a sleek black folder and slide it across the table. "Your little 'untapped' market? It's a setup. The routes you claim are 'clean'? They've already been compromised. And your so-called network?" I let out a dark chuckle. "They're not waiting to receive shipments—they're waiting to steal them."

Maxton's jaw tightens. "That's not true. My sources—"

"Your sources fed you lies," I interrupt, my voice dangerously low. "And you thought you'd pass them off to me like I'm some fool you can manipulate."

The tension in the room thickens, the air growing heavier by the second.

I glance at the man sitting beside Maxton—his business partner, the one who vouched for him. He's sweating now, his eyes darting between us like he knows what's coming.

I exhale slowly, then, without another word, I pull out my gun and fire a single shot.

Point-blank.

Blood splatters across the pristine table as Maxton's partner collapses, his lifeless body slumping against the chair. The sound of the gunshot still rings in the air, the sharp scent of gunpowder settling in.

Maxton jolts back, his face draining of color. He grips the edge of the table like it's the only thing keeping him upright.

I tilt my head, watching him. "Now," I say, my voice calm, my gun still resting in my hand. "Let's try this again."

I stand up, walking around the table slowly, like a predator circling its prey.

"I don't like liars, Maxton. And I don't like people wasting my time. So you're going to tell me—right now—who else is in on this little scheme of yours. Who fed you this bullshit? Who's waiting on the other side to stab me in the back?"

Maxton swallows hard, nodding frantically. His arrogance is gone, replaced by pure terror.

"I-I can fix this," he stammers. "It was them—I swear. They fed me the intel. I didn't know—"

I grab his collar and yank him forward, forcing him to meet my eyes. "You knew enough," I whisper. "And if you're lying to me again, you'll be joining your friend on the floor."

His breathing is ragged, his whole body trembling.

I release him with a shove, letting him fall back into his chair. "Fix it," I say. "Clean up your mess. And don't think for a second that I won't be watching your every move."

Damien steps forward, ever the silent force beside me. "And Maxton?" he adds, his voice like ice. "If you ever try to screw us over again, there won't be a conversation next time."

I tuck my gun back into my holster and straighten my jacket.

"Meeting's over."

Without another glance at the shaking man before me, I turn on my heel and walk out, leaving behind nothing but silence—and the stench of fear.

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I just got hungry thinking about burgers idk y lol

Do you guys perfer longers one or shorter chapters? Lmk!

*Favorite food?*

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡