★★Leon's POV★★



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The weight of the day sits heavily on my shoulders as I lean back in my leather chair, raising a glass of whiskey to my lips. Damien and Antonio are stationed at their laptops, surrounded by a battlefield of papers and documents scattered across my office. The hum of strategizing fills the room as we prepare for next week's exclusive gambling night—a carefully laid trap to lure in Niko Zervos. Once we have him, the real game begins: extracting the information we need to bring the Greek mafia to its knees.

Blood will spill, but only after we play our hand perfectly.

"Just keep me informed," I say curtly to my assistant, who nods before leaving the room.

"Everything's set," Damien mutters, breaking the silence. "Lili's got the cameras and electronics ready to go. She's rerouted a secure feed, so everything stays under our control. Even if someone tries to hack into the system, they won't get past her firewalls."

Lili was a ghost in the digital world—a hacker so good she once shut down a billionaire's entire security system just to prove a point. With her on our side, I had no doubt every angle of this operation would be flawless.

I give Damien a sharp nod, acknowledging the update, though none of us can mask the exhaustion on our faces. We've been drowning in this plan for hours, fine-tuning every detail. A knock on the door interrupts the silence.

"Enter," I command, my tone sharp but not unwelcoming.

The door creaks open, and Iyana strides in, her hoodie swallowing her small frame. She wears a pout so dramatic it could put a soap opera star to shame. Without a word, she slumps onto the couch across from us, crossing her arms like a petulant child.

The three of us exchange confused glances.

"What's up, pouty face?" Damien asks sarcastically, arching an eyebrow at her.

Iyana lets out an exaggerated sigh, as if the mere act of responding to us is a Herculean effort. "Why are you guys so boring and old?" she declares, her voice dripping with disdain.

Antonio snickers, Damien rolls his eyes, and I take another sip of my drink, silently counting down the seconds until she leaves.

"I'm bored, guys," she says dramatically, stretching out the words as she sprawls even further into the couch.

Leaning my head back, I stare at the ceiling, exhaling through my nose. "And that's our problem because...?" I say, dragging out the last word as I fix her with an unimpressed look.

Her eyebrows knit together, her pout intensifying. "Because you two"—she jabs a finger at me and Damien—"are my brothers. And you"—she points at Antonio, her expression twisting into something resembling disgust—"you're just... you."

Antonio snorts, and Damien shakes his head, muttering something under his breath. I, on the other hand, am seconds away from pouring myself another drink.

"You guys are supposed to entertain me in this household," she whines, throwing her hands in the air like she's been wronged by the universe itself.

I scoff, setting my glass down on the desk. "I didn't know I was born to be a circus monkey," I retort dryly.

Without missing a beat, she springs to her feet, her hands on her hips as she faces us like a general about to deliver orders. "Can we please go out and do something? I don't know—touch grass or something?"

The absurdity of her words cracks us all. Antonio doubles over with laughter, Damien chuckles, and even I can't suppress a smirk.

She narrows her eyes at us, crossing her arms. "I'm serious!" she huffs. Then, clasping her hands together as if in prayer, she adds, "Please?"

I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. We've been holed up here all day, and I have to admit, a break might not be the worst idea. Rising from my chair, I look down at her and say, "Fine. If it'll stop you from pouting like you're six, we'll go."

Her face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Yes! Let me get ready!" she shouts, practically skipping out the door.

As it closes behind her, I glance over my shoulder at Damien and Antonio, who are both shaking their heads.

"This is what we're doing now?" Damien mutters, raising an eyebrow.

"Apparently," I reply with a shrug, grabbing my jacket. "And if she complains again, I'm blaming both of you."

****

We eventually settle on a bar that Iyana excitedly picked out. It wasn't my first choice—or even my tenth—but seeing her face light up for once made it tolerable. The place was upscale, dripping in luxury, with velvet booths, dim gold lighting, and a massive crystal chandelier that cast a soft glow over everything. The bar itself stretched nearly the length of the room, stocked with top-shelf bottles that glittered like jewels. Despite the refined decor, the atmosphere was lively. The karaoke stage in the corner was packed, and someone was butchering a classic love song so badly that I half-wondered if they were doing it on purpose. The crowd roared with laughter and cheers, the energy buzzing throughout the room.

We found a booth tucked away in the far back, a quieter corner where we wouldn't attract too much attention. A couple of our men stayed close but discreet, blending into the crowd as instructed. Iyana, meanwhile, was practically vibrating with excitement, her eyes darting around the room like a kid in a candy store. It was rare to see her this happy. Maybe I needed to take her out more, especially since Father kept her under lock and key most of the time.

"Drinks are on me," I announced, leaning back in my seat.

Antonio and Damien immediately exchanged grins.

"That's a bold move, brother," Damien said, smirking at me.

I raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

He tilted his head toward Antonio. "Because, for starters, Antonio's a disaster after a few drinks. And judging by Iyana's face, she's probably ordering the entire menu right now. You might want to hand over your wallet now and save yourself the trouble."

Antonio snorted, shaking his head with a smirk. "Hey, I'm not that bad."

"Last time, you tried to convince a bartender you were the reincarnation of Elvis," Damien shot back, deadpan.

"I was convincing," Antonio retorted, grinning.

I rolled my eyes as Iyana returned, beaming as she carried over a tray of five shots, a guard trailing behind her like a shadow. She set the glasses down in front of us with the triumphant flair of someone presenting treasure.

"All right, three stooges. Bottoms up!" she said, pushing a shot in front of each of us.

We exchanged glances but didn't argue. The glasses met in the middle with a soft clink, and without hesitation, we downed the shots. The liquor burned its way down, leaving a fiery trail in its wake. I groaned, rubbing my chest.

"Damn, that's good," Damien muttered, and I nodded in agreement.

Before we could settle back into the booth, Iyana suddenly gasped, pointing across the room. "Oh my god, there's karaoke!"

I followed her gaze, watching as someone on stage howled their way through a power ballad. It was painful enough to make me want to pour my next drink directly into my ears.

"No," I said flatly, before she could even ask.

She pouted, turning to Damien. "What about you?"

Damien pretended not to hear her, suddenly finding the table's wood grain fascinating.

Her eyes landed on Antonio, who immediately sat up straighter. "Don't look at me," he said, holding up his hands defensively.

But Iyana wasn't taking no for an answer. She grabbed Antonio's arm with surprising strength and began dragging him toward the stage.

"Looks like you're up, Antonio!" she said cheerfully, ignoring his protests.

"Fuck you too," he called over his shoulder, his voice dripping with sarcasm as we both burst out laughing.

We watched as she practically shoved him onto the stage, where he stood awkwardly as the crowd cheered.

"6k says he sings something ridiculous," Damien said, leaning back with a smirk.

"Make it 10," I replied, already dreading whatever chaos was about to unfold. Antonio grabbed the mic, glared at us one last time, and then, to my horror, the opening notes of Living on a Prayer started playing.

"Here we go," Damien muttered, shaking his head as Antonio began belting out the lyrics with all the enthusiasm of someone who had nothing left to lose.

By the time he hit the chorus, Iyana was screaming with laughter, the entire bar was singing along, and I had to admit... maybe this wasn't the worst idea after all.

As the night dragged on, I kept an eye on Iyana, who was now leaning against the bar, giggling and chatting with some guy. My instincts screamed to drag his ass out by the collar, but she looked genuinely happy, a rare sight for her. Maybe I'd let her enjoy the moment. Still, I didn't let her out of my sight.

Antonio, on the other hand, was making out with some random girl in the booth, completely oblivious to the world. Typical. Meanwhile, Damien and I were stationed at the bar, nursing our drinks and talking about nothing in particular.

I swirled the scotch in my glass, savoring the burn as it slid down my throat. Damien elbowed me, breaking my focus.

"At the gala...what's your deal with Mariella?" he asked casually, but there was a sharpness to his tone that wasn't lost on me.

The sound of her name hit me like a punch to the gut. My jaw tightened, and my grip on the glass turned white-knuckled. "What about her?" I said, forcing my voice to sound indifferent, though the mere mention of her stirred something deep and unwelcome inside me.

Ever since that damn night, I couldn't stop thinking about her. The way she felt in my hands, the way those piercing blue eyes of hers stared up at me—it was maddening. She was maddening. It was like she had burned herself into my brain, and no amount of whiskey could erase her.

Damien raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying my attempt at nonchalance. "You two seemed...intimate when you were dancing with her," he said, testing the waters.

"Intimate?" I scoffed, forcing a chuckle, though I could feel the tension radiating off me. "Yeah, no. Intimate's not the word I'd use." I paused, letting the sarcasm drip from my voice. "More like insufferable. She's just as arrogant as she is dangerous. That woman could piss off a priest."

Damien smirked but didn't let up. "Sure, but the way you were looking at her—"

"Enough," I cut him off, my tone sharper than I intended. I leaned back, trying to compose myself. The last thing I needed was to admit how much she affected me. Hell, my cock ached just thinking about her, and I hated myself for it.

Damien gave me a knowing look but didn't push further. Instead, he dropped the bomb. "Just asking, 'cause Father told me there's a dinner with her family in Italy in a few days."

My head snapped toward him so fast it could've given me whiplash. My glass hit the bar with a loud clink as I set it down harshly. "The fuck did you just say?" My voice was low, deadly, and I could feel the storm brewing inside me.

Damien shrugged, unfazed by my reaction. "Yep. Scheduled for next week. A get together with her family."

My blood ran cold. I couldn't deal with her. Not again. Not after she'd already burrowed her way into my thoughts like a parasite. She made me want to tear my skin off just to stop feeling her under it.

"Mhm," Damien said nonchalantly, taking a sip of his drink. Before I could respond—or explode—two blonde women sidled up behind us, their sugary perfume invading my space.

"Well, hello, boys," one of them purred, placing a manicured hand on my arm.

I barely registered her presence, my mind still stuck on Mariella and the chaos she brought with her. Damien, however, grinned, clearly enjoying the distraction.

I clenched my jaw, my eyes narrowing as my thoughts churned. Dinner with Mariella's family? This was going to be a disaster. And the worst part? A small, infuriating part of me wasn't sure if I dreaded it—or secretly wanted to see her.

"Hi, handsome. My name is Kailey," the blonde chirps, her sugary voice grating on my nerves as she pulls me out of my thoughts. I don't even bother looking at her; my focus stays on my drink, my jaw tight.

"I said—" she starts again, but I cut her off sharply.

"I heard you. Not interested," I say flatly, my tone leaving no room for interpretation.

She scoffs, then chuckles nervously, clearly not used to being brushed off. The sound alone makes my eye twitch. Why the hell is she still standing here? I glance sideways at Damien, who's fully engaged in conversation with the other blonde, completely oblivious to my irritation.

Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Kailey hasn't moved. She's still there, lingering like a bad perfume. I sigh, finally turning my head to face her. She's a stereotypical blonde with too much makeup, wearing a black corset so tight her tits are practically spilling out, paired with leather pants that scream desperation.

I meet her gaze, and she giggles like a schoolgirl, clearly mistaking my glance for interest. She gets flustered, then moves closer, sliding her hand into mine.

I watch her do it, unfazed, my expression stony. Either she's completely trashed or just plain stupid, because I've already made it clear I'm not interested.

I pull my hand away sharply, and her face contorts in surprise. She doesn't even have time to process what's happening before I rise from my seat, towering over her.

Her confidence falters as I glare down at her, my presence alone making her swallow nervously. I lean in, my lips near her ear, and she gasps softly, her breath hitching.

"If you're not a brunette with blue eyes and a spine of steel, don't waste my fucking time," I hiss coldly. "Run along, Kailey."

Her face pales as the weight of my words sinks in. Without another glance, I turn on my heel and leave her standing there, probably too embarrassed to move.

I scan the room, searching for Iyana, and my blood boils when I find her. She's in the corner, practically glued to the lips of the guy she's been talking to all night. My fists clench at my sides.

"Perfect," I mutter under my breath, already preparing to tear that guy off her. Tonight really isn't testing my patience—it's obliterating it.

I stride across the bar with purpose, my irritation boiling over with each step. The moment I reach Iyana, my hand clamps down on the guy's shoulder, yanking him away from her so forcefully that he stumbles. Iyana stares at me, her drunk eyes wide with shock and defiance, but I don't give her a second look.

The guy is too stunned to react immediately, and I take advantage of his disorientation to shove him to the side like the trash he is. He lands against a nearby table, sending drinks toppling.

I glance at Iyana, her unsteady legs barely holding her up. She's plastered, and her attempt to glare at me only makes her look pathetic. I signal the nearest guard, who looks like a deer caught in headlights.

" Je pensais t'avoir dit de garder un œil sur elle,(I thought I fucking told you to keep an eye on her,)" I snap, my voice low but lethal.

The guard stiffens, his face pale. "D-désolé, patron. Je— (S-sorry, boss. I—)"

"Save it," I growl, cutting him off. "Get her out of here. Now."

Without hesitation, he grabs Iyana by the arm to escort her out, but she starts squirming, her drunken protests slurred and incoherent.

"Leon, you asshole!" she manages to yell, trying to shake the guard off.

I ignore her, my attention shifting back to the guy who now dares to approach me.

"What the fuck, dude? What's your problem?" he says, his voice trembling as he tries to shove me. The effort is laughable, his hands barely moving me an inch.

My patience snaps. Before he can say another word, I grab him by the throat, my grip like a vice. The crowd around us gasps, a collective sound of shock and fear rippling through the bar. I smirk, enjoying their reaction as much as the terrified look on the guy's face.

His hands claw at mine, desperate to loosen my grip, but it's useless. His face flushes a deep red, veins bulging as he struggles to breathe. I tighten my hold, his gurgling sounds like music to my ears.

"Leon!" Damien's voice cuts through the chaos, and suddenly his hand is on my arm, trying to pry me off the guy.

My eyes remain fixed on the idiot in my grasp, my smirk widening as his struggles grow weaker.

"Brother, you'll kill him!" Damien hisses, his tone urgent.

"Well, that's unfortunate," I reply flatly, not loosening my grip.

Damien's voice sharpens. "Leon, let him go!"

I roll my eyes, irritated by the interruption, and finally release the guy. He crumples to the ground like a ragdoll, gasping and coughing as he clutches his throat.

I crouch down, smirking as I pat his cheek condescendingly. "Next time, know your place." My voice drips with venom before I stand and turn back to Damien, who looks both exasperated and relieved.

"Go grab Antonio," I say sharply, my tone making it clear I'm done with this conversation.

Without waiting for a response, I stride out of the bar. The crowd parts for me like the Red Sea, their wide eyes and hushed whispers following me all the way to the exit.

What a fucking night.

The drive home was dead silent, the kind of quiet that buzzed in your ears after a chaotic night. Antonio and Iyana were both passed out from all the drinking, their breathing soft and steady. I sat in the passenger seat, scrolling through emails, while Damien responded to texts on his phone in the back. The hum of the engine was the only sound, and I welcomed it.

When we pulled into the long driveway of our estate, the headlights illuminated the imposing gates for a brief moment before the pitch-black darkness swallowed everything again. I stepped out of the car, the cool night air biting against my skin as I adjusted my suit jacket.

The guard, ever loyal, lifted Iyana into his arms, carrying her bridal-style as she mumbled incoherently in her sleep. Damien had Antonio draped over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, grumbling under his breath about how Antonio always managed to make himself heavier when drunk.

We all made our way inside, the house eerily quiet compared to the bar's chaos. The guards dispersed, taking Iyana and Antonio to their rooms, leaving Damien and me alone in the hallway.

"Night," he muttered, his voice thick with exhaustion, before disappearing down the corridor.

Finally, I had a moment to myself. Or so I thought.

I stepped into my office, the dim light of my desk lamp casting a warm glow over the piles of documents and my laptop. I sank into the chair with a heavy sigh, rubbing my temples to ward off the headache that had been building since the bar. I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment, savoring the quiet.

But, of course, peace didn't last in this house.

The door burst open with a force that made it slam against the wall. I didn't need to look up to know who it was. My father. He never knocked; he didn't believe in asking permission to enter his house.

I opened my eyes and fixed him with an annoyed glare, though I kept my posture calm and composed.

"Leon," he barked, his voice sharp and commanding.

Here we go.

"Sir," I replied evenly, sitting up straight.

He stormed over to my desk, planting his hands on the polished wood as he leaned over to glare at me. His nostrils flared, his jaw tight with barely contained anger.

"Explain to me," he started, his voice low but furious, "why Iyana came home drunk tonight."

I met his glare head-on, not flinching under the weight of his fury. "Because, sir, she has a life to live. A life that doesn't involve being locked away in this house like a prisoner."

His eyes darkened as he straightened up, scoffing loudly. "I could've been informed."

I raised an eyebrow, leaning back in my chair as I folded my arms across my chest. "Sir, she doesn't need to run every decision by you. If she wants to go out, get drunk, and live a little, she will. She's not a child anymore." My tone was calm, but firm, unyielding.

His fist slammed down on the desk, the sound reverberating through the room. Papers fluttered from the impact, but I didn't even blink.

"Leon!" he roared, his voice echoing.

I sat there, unbothered, watching as he turned away, pacing the room like a caged animal. He rubbed his jaw, breathing heavily, trying to reel himself back in.

I smirked when his back was turned, the smallest flicker of amusement slipping through my otherwise stoic demeanor. But he spun back around too quickly for me to wipe it off my face.

"Forget it," he spat, waving a hand in dismissal.

He took a step closer to the desk, his expression hardening. "The Greeks. I want you to handle it," he ordered, his voice curt.

"I'm already working on it, sir," I replied smoothly, my voice steady.

He stared at me for a moment longer, as if deciding whether to push the matter further, but then he nodded once, turning on his heel and storming out of the room without another word.

The door slammed shut behind him, and I finally let out a long, slow breath.

"Fucking hell," I muttered under my breath, rubbing my temple again.

I glanced at the documents on my desk, the weight of the night pressing down on me. No rest for the wicked, I supposed.

I pulled my phone out from the inside pocket of my suit jacket, the sleek black device feeling heavier than usual. Flipping through my contacts, I stopped at the name Lili, my most trusted hacker and the best damn information broker I had on my payroll. I pressed call, listening to the faint buzz as it rang twice before she answered, her voice sharp and professional as always.

"Patrón," she greeted.

"Do you have what I asked for?" I said, my tone low and steady, my patience already hanging by a thread after the long night.

I could hear her fingers flying across her keyboard, the rhythmic tapping in the background as she pulled up the files I needed.

"Yes, sir," she said, her voice clipped and efficient. "I've got confirmation. Tomorrow morning, the CEOs and high-ranking executives of several international companies will be gathering at Rouge Spire Casino. Several CEOs and higher-ups will be there, close associates of Niko Zervos.""

I leaned back in my chair, my fingers tightening around the phone. "Go on," I said, intrigued but cautious.

I smirked, my mind already racing with possibilities. Niko Zervos had been a thorn in my side for months, and this could finally be the opening I needed.

"However," Lili interjected, her tone sharp enough to cut through my thoughts, "I need to warn you about something."

I straightened in my chair, my brows furrowing. "What is it?"

Her typing stopped, and the pause that followed sent a chill down my spine.

"Rouge Spire isn't just a hub for the rich and powerful," she said, her voice quieter now. "It's also been flagged for involvement in... darker activities. Specifically, sex trafficking. There's evidence that Zervos and some of the others attending tomorrow have their hands dirty with it."

My jaw tightened, and a slow, simmering rage began to build in my chest.

"Be careful, Patrón," she added. "These aren't just businessmen—they're predators hiding behind suits and ties. If you get too close, you'll risk getting tangled in their web. Go, but don't mingle too much. You don't want to tip them off or get caught up in their filth. And..." she hesitated briefly, "be ready by 6 PM. I'll send you the location and the profiles of everyone attending."

I nodded, even though she couldn't see me, and exhaled slowly, trying to keep my anger from boiling over. "Understood. Send me the details."

"Yes, sir," she replied firmly, and the line went dead.

I lowered the phone and stared at the screen for a moment, her words echoing in my head. Sex trafficking. Disgust churned in my gut, and my fingers curled into a fist.

Tomorrow, I wouldn't just be walking into a casino filled with the elite—I'd be walking into a den of wolves. And wolves needed to be put down.

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Wait isnt that where?...

Well damn.

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡