★★Leon's POV★★



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The soft hum of the city outside barely reaches the penthouse, perched high above the chaos. Morning light filters through the massive windows, illuminating the sleek lines of my office. It's quiet, save for my low voice as I speak into the phone.

"Tout doit être parfait, (Everything must be perfect)" I say to my supplier, my tone sharp and unwavering. "Pas de retards, pas d'excuses. Tenez-moi au courant de tout problème en France. (No delays, no excuses. Keep me informed of any problems in France.)"

The supplier stammers out assurances, but I've heard it all before. I don't have the patience for empty words.

"Compris? (Understood?)" I demand. When I hear his quick, nervous agreement, I end the call with a curt, "Bien. Tenez-moi informé. (Good. Keep me informed.)"

Just as I set the phone down, it buzzes again. The name on the screen makes me groan internally: Inaya, my sister.

I answer, and before I can even say a word, her voice barrels through the line loud enough to make me pull the phone an inch away from my ear.

"Leonnnnnn!" she shouts, her pitch high enough to cut through glass. I swear, I can hear her all the way from France.

"What, Inaya?" I mutter, the annoyance dripping from my voice as I lean back in my chair.

"Dad told me you went to New York with Damien and Antonio, and you didn't even think to tell me?" she accuses, her voice climbing with every word. "Do you even love me?"

I groan, reaching for the whiskey on my desk and taking a slow sip. It's six in the morning, but honestly, I'm going to need it to get through this conversation.

I take a deep breath, rubbing my temple before replying, "Listen, first, lower your voice. You're going to break the sound barrier on my phone, and I'm pretty sure you just woke up half of New York."

She scoffs, clearly unimpressed.

"Second, I didn't even know until the last minute," I continue, my tone flat. "I'm only here to set up a deal. I'm leaving first thing in the morning tomorrow."

Does she care about my reasons? Of course not.

She huffs and puffs into the phone like some goddamn big bad werewolf.

"You don't understand, brother," she says dramatically. "I literally bought some really cute outfits specifically for New York City. It's New York fashion week over there! I bought this stunning dress that pairs so well with my new Birkin—"

She starts rambling about fashion, listing random outfits and accessories she's apparently paired for an imaginary trip.

It's all nonsense coming out of her mouth.

I let her talk, taking another slow sip of my whiskey.

Just as Inaya's rambling about her Birkin bag and some dress she "absolutely had to wear," laughter echoes from outside my office door. It's Damien and Antoine, of course, hitting each other's arms like schoolboys, their laughter spilling into the room as they stride in.

"Leon, you cannot believe what happened at the gym!" Antonio starts, grinning from ear to ear. "The funniest dude—"

I raise a hand, cutting him off mid-sentence, signaling that I'm on the phone. They both exchange amused glances, clearly entertained by my barely concealed frustration as I listen to Iyana's relentless chatter. They settle into the chairs across from my desk, leaning back like they have front-row seats to a show.

I can't take it anymore.

Before my eardrum shatters, I interrupt her, my voice steady but firm. "Listen, baby sis, as much as I'd love to hear about which Miu Miu dress you were planning to wear at the club, I have more important things to do."

Iyana gasps, clearly offended, but I don't wait for her response. I hit the speaker button and lean back in my chair, letting her voice fill the room.

"See! So you don't love me." she huffs, annoyed.

Damien, never one to miss an opportunity, leans forward, a smirk tugging at his lips. "Well, look who it is—the spoiled brat," he says, his tone dripping with mockery.

Antoine chuckles beside him, clearly enjoying the banter.

Inaya,'s groan is loud enough to rattle the windows. "Oh, look who it is—a fat fuck on the other end," she snaps, her words slicing through the room like a knife. "You know, I could hear you breathing all the way from the moment you entered the building, you hippopotamus."

Damien freezes, his jaw dropping slightly, before laughing out loud. "What did Daddy not give you this morning? A hug? Attention? A snack?" he fires back, leaning forward like he's ready for a verbal sparring match.

Antoine, ever the instigator, leans back and whistles low. "Damn, Inaya, you're just gonna let him do you like that?"

Iyana's sharp inhale tells me she's about to launch another insult, but I've had enough.

"Alright, enough. All of you," I snap, my voice cutting through their back-and-forth like a whip. The room falls silent.

I shift my focus back to the phone. "Inaya, I really have to go. Take care, baby sis," I say firmly, not giving her a chance to protest as I end the call.

The room is quiet for a moment before Damien shakes his head, muttering, "She's got a mouth on her, doesn't she?"

Antoine grins. "That's putting it lightly."

I glance at them, my expression unreadable. "Get out of my office," I say dryly, reaching for my whiskey as they both laugh their way toward the door.

A couple of hours later, I find myself at the training center, the sound of grunts and the rhythmic slap of bodies hitting the mats echoing in the space. I'm doing Krav Maga with Damien and Antoine, the three of us fully immersed in the workout.

Antoine and I square off for a one-on-one match. The intensity ramps up as we grapple on the floor, sweat dripping down both of our faces. I manage to lock my legs around his neck in a chokehold, my arm twisting his at just the right angle to cut off his leverage. Antoine gasps for air, his face reddening as he struggles against the hold. He taps out, slapping the mat frantically.

I release him immediately and stand, smirking down at him as he lies there catching his breath. "I didn't know you had it out for me, goddamn Leon," he mutters with a chuckle, his voice hoarse but playful.

Before I can respond, my phone rings from my bag, the shrill sound cutting through the otherwise quiet moment. Damien beats me to it, picking it up and glancing at the screen.

"Unknown number," he says, eyebrows raised as he hands it over.

I take the phone from him and answer with a simple, "Alright." The conversation is brief—no names, no unnecessary details. I hang up, slipping the phone back into my bag.

"Who was that?" Damien asks, his curiosity piqued as he wipes sweat from his face with a towel.

I glance up at both of them, a slow, devilish smirk spreading across my face.

"Who wants to play a game?" I ask, my tone laced with mischief, the words hanging in the air like a challenge.

****

We're standing in the cool night breeze, far from the city, on a vast stretch of land shrouded in darkness. The silence is broken only by the faint rustle of wind through the grass.

The three of us—Damien, Antonio, and I—stand fifty feet away from our targets, the weight of our guns in hand, ready to fire.

Our guards each hold six men kneeling on the ground, their arms tied tightly behind their backs. Their legs remain unbound, left free for one purpose: to run.

And they will.

Antonio shifts uncomfortably, looking from me to Damien, who's already poised to shoot.

"Okay, let me get this straight—you do this for fun?" His tone is incredulous, but there's a hint of amusement there too.

"Yup," I say, keeping my eyes fixed on the targets. "But these guys aren't just anyone. They were caught trying to spy and steal intel on the French."

Antonio lets out a short laugh, shaking his head in disbelief. "Of course they were."

I glance over at him, a wicked smirk spreading across my face. "Now, here's the game: whoever hits the most wins. Wait for my signal. Ready?"

Before I can give the order, Damien chimes in, his voice breaking through the stillness. "Wait. Let's make a bet."

I look over at him, raising an eyebrow in amusement. "A bet?"

"Yeah," he says, the corner of his mouth lifting in a sly grin. "Something to make it more... interesting."

A laugh escapes me, and I lower my gun slightly, intrigued. "Why didn't I think of that? Alright, I'm listening. What kind of bet?"

Damien doesn't hesitate. "I get the Bugatti for a week."

I smirk, shaking my head. "See, I knew you were jealous."

He glares playfully, and I add, "Alright then, I'll bet your Kawasaki Ninja 400." I wink, knowing full well how obsessed he is with that motorcycle.

"What? I just bought that, espèce d'enfoiré (you fucker)." he spits, his French accent sharpening as his irritation grows.

Before I can respond, Antonio jumps in, grinning like a devil. "I bet I get both of those things."

Damien and I both turn to him, confused but slightly amused. "Both?" Damien echoes.

Antonio shrugs. "What can I say? Go big or go home."

I laugh, raising my hand to silence the banter. "Alright, enough talking. Ready?"

They both nod in confirmation, and I glance at the guards, signaling them with a quick nod.

The guards release the men, and within seconds, the "animals" take off, sprinting wildly into the open field.

Without hesitation, we raise our guns and begin firing.

Not to be cocky or toot my own horn, but I know I'm the best shot here. By the time they've fired off their second rounds, I've already dropped two targets.

The sound of gunfire fills the night air, sharp and relentless. The metallic tang of gunpowder lingers in my nostrils, a scent that's oddly intoxicating—like a drug to an addict. Each shot fuels me, a reminder of my precision, my control.

By the time the chaos settles, most of the targets lay lifeless on the ground, their bodies sprawled in various positions.

All but one.

One man, in a desperate bid for freedom, manages to escape during the shootout. He's sprinting off the field, his figure growing smaller in the distance as he pushes himself to the limit.

Antonio, catching sight of him, lowers his gun and mutters, "He's too far off. I can't make that shot."

Damien glances at me with mock concern, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Leon, not to worry you or anything, but I'm pretty sure he's escaping."

I chuckle, unbothered, and check my remaining rounds.

One. Perfect.

"Oh, don't worry," I reply casually, raising my gun. I glance at Damien, a smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth. "Like I said, Damien, that motorcycle is mine for a week. Don't worry I'll treat her right."

Before the words are fully out of my mouth, I pull the trigger. The night is silent for a brief second before the sound of a body hitting the ground echoes across the field.

Damien and Antonio both stare at me, their faces frozen in disbelief. Antonio's jaw practically hits the floor, while Damien glares at me with a mix of frustration and grudging admiration.

I wink at them, lowering my gun. "The silence is saying much, boys." I say with a smirk, the confidence dripping from my voice. As I put the gun back in my holster.

Turning my attention to the guards, I raise my voice. "Nettoie ça. (Clean this up.)" My tone leaves no room for argument, and they immediately get to work, dragging the bodies off the field.

As I turn back to Damien, I see the irritation written all over his face. Antonio, meanwhile, still looks stunned, like he just witnessed a magic trick he can't comprehend.

"Well," I say, dusting off my hands. "All this killing made me hungry. Burgers, anyone?"

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hi hi!

what's everyone doing today?

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡