★★Leon's POV★★



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I didn't want to wait for the sun to come up and waste time tossing and turning. I starting the day with a workout felt like a good choice, so I headed to the studio for a simple routine before hitting the shooting range for a couple of rounds. There's something calming about the rhythmic sound of gunfire and the feel of a weapon in your hands.

Afterward, I took a quick shower and walked into my closet. My hand brushed over the suits until I pulled out a sleek black Armani ensemble. It had been a while since I wore my business suit, and today felt like the right time to remind people who they were dealing with. I paired it with the Rolex my mother gave me years ago and polished dress shoes that gleamed under the light.

Once I'd loaded my gun and slid it into the holster strapped to my waist, I grabbed my phone and headed downstairs. The smell of freshly brewed coffee and warm croissants greeted me as I entered the dining area. Damien and Antonio were already seated, sipping their cappuccinos and munching on croissants like they didn't have a care in the world.

"Good morning, sunshine," Antonio greeted with a big grin, his voice dripping with mockery.

I stopped mid-stride and side-eyed him before walking to the counter to pour myself a cup of coffee.

Damien leaned back in his chair and called out, "Does anyone know if Feisty is up yet?" His voice carried a teasing edge, like he knew exactly how to poke at my patience.

I ignored them both, taking a sip of the coffee. The scorching heat burned my tongue, but it was the kind of burn that made you feel alive—like a kickstart to the day.

Antonio shrugged, casually saying, "I haven't checked, but I'm guessing she'll be up soon. Princess doesn't sleep forever."

I heard their chatter, but I refused to acknowledge it. My peace and silence were fleeting, and I wasn't about to let them ruin it.

Damien, clearly irritated by my silence, shot me a sharp glare. "Hey dummy, are you even paying attention?" he snapped, his tone biting.

I froze, my drink halfway to my lips, the words sinking in.

Did he just really say that?

Antonio choked on his coffee, laughing so hard he nearly fell out of his chair.

My anger started simmering, and I clenched my jaw, steadying my breathing. "What?" Damien asked, playing dumb. "He didn't say good morning, and he's not even listening to us," he added, trying to justify the insult.

I slowly turned around, fixing him with a glare that made him sit up straighter in his chair. He knew he'd crossed a line, and his smirk faltered as I started walking toward him. He braced himself, eyes darting to Antonio for backup that wasn't coming.

But just as I was about to teach him a lesson, the sound of Iyana's footsteps skipping down the stairs stopped me in my tracks.

We all turned to look as she appeared, wearing a white dress with blue floral prints, the hem ruffled, and thin straps over her shoulders. She'd paired the dress with simple sandals, and her hair was tied up in a high ponytail.

The three of us stared at her, taken aback.

"Where the hell are you going?" I asked, irritation evident in my tone.

She glanced down at her dress, frowning. "What? Is it too much? I should've gone with the other Princess Polly dress. Shit," she muttered, biting her lip as if she genuinely regretted her choice.

We exchanged confused looks before she rolled her eyes at us. "What? I can't go out?"

Before any of us could respond, Mama walked in and froze when she saw Iyana. Her sharp eyes scanned the dress, and she raised a skeptical brow.

"Chérie, où vas-tu ?(Sweetie, where are you going?)" Mama asked, her tone laced with concern.

Iyana rolled her eyes again. "Maman, je sors avec une amie pour le petit-déjeuner, (Mama, I'm going out with a friend for breakfast,)" she said with a mix of defiance and nonchalance.

Mama scoffed, crossing her arms. Whatever she said next made Iyana's face twist with annoyance, but I was too busy signaling the guys to follow me. There was no way I was getting caught in the crossfire of that argument.

The three of us slipped out of the room like fugitives, making our way to my office. As soon as we shut the door behind us, we all let out a collective sigh of relief.

"Damn," Antonio said, collapsing onto the couch.

Damien smirked, shaking his head. "You should've let me film that. Pure gold."

I shot him a glare, but for once, I didn't feel like arguing. At least in my office, I had peace—for now.

As we sat across from each other, Damien broke the silence, his voice laced with uncertainty. "What are we supposed to do when the princess wakes up?" he asked, eyes narrowing slightly as he waited for my response.

I propped my elbow on the armrest, leaning my head on my hand in a way that screamed indifference. "Let her rot," I said, my voice deadpan, almost bored.

Damien and Antonio exchanged a look, their expressions frozen in surprise, as though I'd just committed the ultimate betrayal.

I raised an eyebrow, unfazed by their shocked expressions. "What?" I said, meeting their stunned gazes without flinching. "You're looking at me like I just suggested something worse than throwing her to the wolves."

I paused, a grin tugging at the corner of my lips. "Which, now that I think of it, sounds much better."

I leaned back in my chair, my fingers tapping lightly on the armrest as I regarded them coolly. "If she wants to act like a child, she can deal with the consequences. Sometimes, people need to be left to figure things out for themselves."

They both looked at me, still processing my words. Damien opened his mouth to respond, but I cut him off with a pointed glance.

"I didn't say I was going to kill her, did I?" I added, tone casual as I let the silence hang in the air.

Antonio raised an eyebrow, but his hesitation faded into a reluctant chuckle. Damien, however, still seemed a little too unsure.

"Trust me," I said, leaning forward just enough to make my point. "She'll learn a hell of a lot more from being left alone than from being babied."

Antonio leaned back casually, tapping his fingers against the armrest of his chair. "Oh, by the way," he said with an irritating smirk, "there's a camera installed in her room."

Damien and I both turned to him, eyebrows raised.

"What the hell are you talking about?" I asked, my voice sharp.

"Yeah, you know, security footage," Antonio said, standing up and making his way around my desk. Without asking for permission, he grabbed my chair and shoved it to the side with me still in it.

"Move," he muttered dismissively.

"Antonio, what the fu—"

"Attendez, (Hold on,)" he cut me off, opening my laptop and typing away. His fingers flew across the keyboard with an ease that made my jaw tighten. "Just give me a second... there it is."

"What are you even—"

"Relax," Antonio said, spinning the laptop around to face Damien and me. "Take a look."

On the screen was a live feed of Mariella. She was moving methodically through the room, opening drawers, scanning every corner like a predator looking for a way out. Her movements were slow, deliberate, and unsettlingly calm.

Damien leaned in, his curiosity piqued. "What is she doing?"

"She's searching for something," Antonio replied, his tone filled with amusement as if watching a live show. "What do you think it is? A weapon? A way to escape?"

Mariella's sharp eyes darted around the room before landing on the bathroom door. She stilled for a moment, then moved toward it.

"She's going into the bathroom," Damien noted, narrowing his eyes at the screen.

I sighed, flicking open my cigarette case and pulling one out. If I had to sit through this ridiculous commentary, I'd need a damn cigarette to get through it.

"Isn't there no camera in the bathroom?" Damien asked, his voice low, as though the question required delicate consideration.

"Nope. Privacy reasons," Antonio answered. His voice was casual, but his focus was razor-sharp.

Antoino frowned. "Why the hell is she taking so long in there?"

"Tony, she's a woman. Women take forever in bathrooms," Damien said, shaking his head as if that was the most obvious answer in the world.

Their banter grated on my nerves. I leaned back in my chair, exhaling smoke as I watched them peer at the screen like a couple of kids glued to a cartoon.

"What the hell are you two doing?" I finally snapped, glaring at them.

"She's been in there too long," Antonio muttered, more to himself than me. "What if she's trying something?"

"She's in a bathroom, Antonio," I said, voice heavy with irritation.

But even as I dismissed them, something nagged at the back of my mind. Mariella wasn't the type to waste time. If she was in there longer than usual, there was a reason for it.

Damien must've sensed my shift because he glanced at me, his expression darkening. "Do you think she's up to something?"

I didn't answer right away. Instead, I pushed myself out of the chair and headed toward the bar cart. Pouring a glass of whiskey, I kept my back to them, thinking.

"I'll tell you one thing," I said finally, turning to face them as I raised the glass to my lips. "If she's trying to pull something, it's not going to end well for her."

Antonio's smirk wavered for a moment, his gaze flicking between me and the screen. Damien crossed his arms, his jaw tightening.

As I took a slow sip of the whiskey, I let the silence linger, the tension in the room growing thick

Antonio squinted at the screen, tilting his head in utter confusion. "Wait... is that a toilet plunger?" he asked, his tone laced with disbelief.

Damien leaned closer to get a better look, then let out a stunned chuckle. "C'est quoi ce bordel? (What the actual fuck?)" he muttered, blinking as if to make sure he wasn't hallucinating.

Antonio's lips curled into a playful grin, the wheels in his mischievous brain already turning. He turned to face both of us, his eyes gleaming with that familiar look that meant trouble. "Alright, rock, paper, scissors. Loser has to go in there and calm her down."

Damien rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed. "You're a fucking child, Antonio," he muttered, but it was clear that the idea had caught his attention.

I leaned back in my chair, crossing my arms. "Yeah, why not? Let's see who gets the honor of playing babysitter."

Antonio's grin only widened as he held his hand out, ready to start. "Alright, let's do this. Rock, paper, scissors."

Damien snorted, already rolling up his sleeves like he was ready for battle. He glanced at me, clearly expecting me to join in on their idiotic game.

I didn't even dignify him with a response, fixing him with a deadpan stare as I swirled my whiskey. "If you think for one second I'm going to entertain your childish nonsense, you're more delusional than I thought."

Damien smirked, leaning back in his chair. "Whatever, be a buzzkill. Drink your fancy whiskey and leave the fun to us." He turned to Antonio, cracking his knuckles. "Best out of three?"

Antonio nodded with the seriousness of a man about to compete in the Olympics.

I sipped my drink, watching the two idiots go at it like their lives depended on it. Each round brought exaggerated groans, triumphant grins, and heated debates about whether someone cheated. By the time it was over, Damien sat back with a victorious smirk while Antonio looked utterly betrayed.

"This is bullshit," Antonio muttered, shaking his head as if his defeat was a personal attack.

"Should've thrown scissors," Damien said smugly, shrugging his shoulders.

Before Antonio could retort, a loud bang echoed through the laptop speakers, followed by a string of cursing. We all snapped our attention back to the screen. Mariella stood at the door, wielding the plunger like it was Excalibur, banging it against the wood with enough force to make the camera shake.

Then, her voice rang out loud and clear, dripping with fury:

"You better open this damn door before I turn this plunger into a medieval torture device! Don't test me—I've got zero patience left, and this thing is going up someone's rectum if you don't let me out!"

Damien froze mid-laugh, his mouth hanging open. Antonio stared at the screen, horrified, as if trying to calculate the likelihood of her threat being real.

I couldn't help it—a low chuckle rumbled from my chest as I leaned back, grinning like the devil himself. "Well, you heard the lady. Get on with it, Antonio."

Antonio's eyes widened, his face pale as he muttered, "Putain. (Fuck.)" He stood reluctantly, his shoulders slumping in defeat as he shuffled toward the door.

Damien leaned over, patting him on the back with mock sympathy. "Good luck, buddy. Try not to get impaled."

Antonio shot him a glare but didn't say a word, trudging out of the room like a man walking to his execution.

As the door closed behind him, Damien and I exchanged a glance, then turned our attention back to the screen, waiting to see the chaos unfold.

"She's gonna break him," Damien muttered, shaking his head.

"She's gonna break something," I corrected, smirking as I swirled the whiskey in my glass. The amber liquid caught the dim light, swirling like the storm brewing behind that locked door. "But hey, this should be fun to watch."

We watched as Antonio hesitantly stepped into the room. I smirked, already knowing little Miss Feisty was up to something. She was hiding behind the door, poised to strike like a feral cat. Just as Antonio called out her name, Damien and I burst into laughter when he got smacked across the face with a toilet plunger. Chaos erupted as the two of them started grappling. Loud groans and the sound of furniture scraping filled the room, all captured on the live feed.

"She's got moves," Damien said, leaning in to watch closer.

"You hate that she's actually good, don't you? Admitting it must feel like swallowing glass," he added with a smirk.

I glanced at him, my face impassive. "You'll never let this go, will you?"

"Never," Damien chuckled.

I turned my attention back to the screen just as Antonio managed to pin Mariella down. He was yelling at her now, his gun aimed squarely at her face. But she wasn't even fazed; instead, she had the audacity to recline back, placing her hands behind her head like she was sunbathing. Damien burst out laughing at the sight.

I had to admit, it was impressive. A strange, tight sensation spread through my chest and stomach, something I didn't like. It made me want to throw up. I drowned the feeling with another sip of whiskey, keeping my face as blank as ever.

Antonio finally got her to sit on the bed. She started swinging her legs like a mischievous child, grinning at him as if they were best friends. It was painfully boring to watch.

I had half a mind to tell Antonio to throw her out the damn window and call it a day.

"Call Antonio back," I ordered Damien, leaning back in my chair.

Damien immediately reached for his phone. "Antonio, Leon wants you back. Now." He hung up without waiting for a reply.

Antonio walked in, his shirt untucked from his pants, hair ruffled, and a couple of bruises already forming on his face. The sight was enough to make both Damien and me chuckle.

"You guys got any spare clothes?" Antonio asked, his tone flat as he tried to brush down his disheveled appearance.

I raised an eyebrow, confused. "For you? Your shirt's fine. I don't think it's torn," Damien said, trying to reassure him.

Antonio shot him an annoyed glare. "Not for me. For Mariella," he said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

My mood shifted instantly, my jaw tightening. "No," I snapped sharply.

"Leon," Antonio began, but I cut him off, leaning forward in my chair.

"If she thinks this is a fucking castle where she can ask for whatever she wants, she's dead wrong," I growled.

"She's been wearing the same outfit since yesterday," Antonio countered, clearly trying to reason with me.

Like hell that would work.

My patience thinned as I sat back, running a hand down my face to steady the frustration building inside me. "She doesn't get to ask for anything in this house. She's a prisoner, not royalty," I snapped, my voice hard enough to shut most people up.

Antonio pressed on, his tone calm but firm. "Leon, this isn't about her being comfortable—it's about optics. The Italians are coming today. What do you think they'll say if they see her in the same outfit for days?"

I narrowed my eyes at him, my mind racing. Damien, ever the observer, chimed in. "He's got a point, Leon. They're expecting to see her... intact. You think they won't notice if she looks like a mess?"

I clenched my jaw, annoyed that they were both ganging up on me with logic I couldn't easily ignore. The last thing I needed was for our allies—or anyone, really—to think we were unprofessional or mistreating her.

"Fine," I barked after a long pause, my voice low and laced with irritation. "Give her some damn clothes. But nothing fancy. Something plain. Basic."

Antonio nodded quickly, sensing he'd pushed as far as he could. Damien just smirked, leaning back in his chair like he'd won some unspoken bet.

"Plain. Got it," Antonio muttered, turning to leave, his bruised face managing a small smirk of triumph.

She doesn't deserve anything.

She deserves to suffer.

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Hi Hi guys!

how's everyone doing today?

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡