★★Leon's POV★★



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The bathroom reeks of cheap cologne and cigar smoke, a stark contrast to the pristine marble counters and gold-plated faucets. I lean against the wall, phone pressed to my ear, waiting as it rings. Damien picks up after the third ring, his voice sharp and steady.

"Brother," he says.

"I've got something," I reply, keeping my voice low. "Lenny McKowski spilled some interesting details over too much whiskey and a little persuasion."

There's a pause on the other end before Damien asks, "What kind of details?"

"The Greeks," I say, glancing at the bathroom door to ensure no one's listening. "Niko's running a secured armory and drug shipment hub. Lenny didn't know the exact location, but it's a place no one's supposed to know about. He says it's tight, impenetrable security. Probably why no one's touched it yet."

"Any leads?"

"Not yet," I admit, my jaw tightening. "But if it's as big as Lenny claims, it's worth looking into. You know Niko doesn't let anyone near his shit unless it's ironclad. I'll dig further, but for now, I've got what I need. I'm heading out."

"Copy that," Damien says. "Be careful, Leon."

I end the call and slip the phone back into my pocket, running a hand through my hair. The adrenaline that comes with gathering intel like this is familiar, almost comforting. But something about this place—it makes my skin crawl. The opulence, the way the men treat the women like possessions... it's disgusting.

I push off the wall and head out of the bathroom, ready to make my exit. The hum of the casino greets me as I step back into the chaos. Laughter, the clinking of glasses, the constant murmur of bets being placed—it's all noise to me now. I've got what I came for. Time to leave.

But then, as I weave my way through the crowd, a voice cuts through the noise like a razor. A voice I'd know anywhere.

Her.

That voice. Mariella.

I stop in my tracks, my gaze locking on her silhouette. She's standing by the table, completely unaware of me yet. But I know her. I know her. The way her body moves, the curve of her hips under that barely-there pink skirt. My pulse quickens as I take a mental snapshot of her, every detail burned into my mind. If she bends forward just a bit more... I could see things most men would kill for.

"Hope I didn't miss any of the fun," I say, my voice cutting through the clinking of chips and murmurs of drunken gamblers.

She freezes. I can see the exact moment she registers who it is. Slowly, she turns. And when her eyes meet mine, I smirk. There's something about the way she glares at me, the challenge in her expression, that only makes the game more enticing.

And just like that, the night takes on a whole new meaning.

As I walk over to my seat, I can feel her eyes on me, boring into my skin like a challenge. I take my time, savoring the tension between us, and gaze at her with a hunger that cannot be satiated. My eyes drift down her body, tracing the curve of her waist, the swell of her breasts, and the tantalizing peek of her pink bra, visible beneath her top. The delicate fabric seems to beckon me, and I find myself wondering... is the tender skin between her thighs a matching shade of pink? Does the same blushing hue that colors her bra also tint the intimate flesh that lies hidden beneath her skirt?

I take a deep breath, savoring the scent of her perfume, and say her name, low and husky.

"Mika." Her face flickers with surprise, a crack in her armor that makes my smirk grow wider. My voice seems to startle her, and she walks over to me, her eyes locked on mine with a mixture of curiosity and wariness.

The thought sends a jolt of electricity through me, a spark of desire that sets my pulse racing and my heart pounding in my chest. I can feel my body responding to her presence, my cock twitching in my pants like a restless animal.

As she stops in front of me, I lean back, my hands sliding into my pockets, and gaze up at her with a look of lazy interest. But my tone is anything but lazy when I lean into her ear and whisper, "Princess." The word is a caress, a soft brush of my lips against her ear, and I can feel her shiver in response. Her breathing heavies, her chest rising and falling with a rhythm that matches my own, and I can smell the sweet scent of her perfume wafting up from her skin.

It's a game. I know it. She knows it. But the rules are mine to bend.

Her breath catches, and I feel her tremble, her resolve crumbling a little. I lean in closer, my lips brushing the shell of her ear, just enough to feel the heat of her skin. "Tell me," I growl, "Why on earth you're here?"

The question is a challenge, a gauntlet thrown down, and I can see the spark of defiance in her eyes. But I also see something else, something that looks like fear, or maybe desire.

Her voice is low, laced with something dangerous, "Leave. Now."

God, I love it when they're like this.

I lean in, closer still, my lips just a breath away from hers. The anger in her eyes fuels me, but it's not just anger. There's something else, something that crackles between us like static in the air. I wonder what would happen if I pushed her a little harder. But before I can answer, she pulls away, her eyes never leaving mine.

"I'm warning you, Leon," she hisses, as she turns to walk away, her short skirt rides up, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her ass. I'm transfixed, my heart pounding in my chest. The men at the table are a blur, their faces reddened by drink, their voices slurred. Bruce's loss is met with a chorus of groans, but I'm not interested.

My attention is fixed on her, on this enigmatic...Mika.

I turn my attention back to the table, where the men are fumbling through their drunken haze, still deep in their game. My mind is elsewhere, caught in the whirlwind of Mariella's presence, but the conversation snags my attention again.

"Lenny, you're getting dumber than Niko," Carter's voice cuts through the drunken banter. The conversation picks up as Lenny chimes in, his words slurred but cutting through the haze like a sharp knife.

"Please, no one can be dumber than Niko " Lenny says, his voice low, almost amused. "That idiot almost got caught up in some mess a few years ago... Something about a woman."

A woman?

The table quiets for a moment, and Bruce, clearly too drunk to care, lets out a loud laugh. "Please, no one can be dumber than Niko."

Carter cuts him off, his voice now much more serious. "Yeah... one of his women. Alessia, I think?"

I'm still.

Alessia?

My eyes flick to Mariella, whose face has gone deathly pale. Her hands tremble by her sides, and for a moment, she looks like she's seen a ghost. Her breathing is shallow, her gaze distant. The sudden shift in her energy is jarring, and I don't know what's coming next, but I can feel it. This is something big.

My mind races. Who the hell is Alessia?

The words have barely left Carter's lips when Mariella snaps back into herself. It's like flipping a switch. She moves so fast I can barely follow. Without warning, she grabs a knife from her heel, its blade gleaming under the harsh lights of the casino.

I'm still caught up in my thought in my seat as she throws the blade, the room erupting into chaos. The knife lands with a sickening thud in Carter's throat, the impact so fast and brutal that no one even has a chance to react. Blood sprays out in a hot rush, coating the table in an instant.

I can't help but admire her.

Cold. Precise. Efficient.

"What do you mean Niko covered up the murder of my mother?" she snarls in a voice so icy, so full of venom that it sends a shiver down my spine.

The realization hits me like a freight train—Alessia was her mother?

"I-I—" He choked on his own fear.

"Wrong answer," she warns, her voice chillingly calm.

But there's no time to process. The blood pours from the man's throat, and Mariella doesn't flinch. She doesn't even blink. Her eyes meet mine for a long, lingering moment—one that feels like a lifetime. And in that instant, I know that I've just stepped into something far darker than I ever anticipated. This isn't just about business anymore.

This is personal.

The man's body slumps forward, lifeless, and Mariella, still holding the knife, glances at me, her eyes flickering with something unreadable. I don't know whether she's going to kill everyone here or just walk out with the same nonchalance as before. Either way, I'm not going to be here to find out.

I push my chair back. I stand, down my drink in one motion, and slip out the door. The night is far from over. As I walk through the busy casino, I can't shake the feeling that things are spiraling out of control—and somehow, I'm at the center of it all.

I make my way out into the cool night air, the chaos of the casino still buzzing in my ears. My car is waiting, but the question that lingers in my mind is anything but simple.

What the hell have I just walked into?

I slide into the driver's seat, the chaos behind me still fresh in my mind. My hands rest on the wheel, and for a moment, I sit there, staring at the empty road. The engine hums, ready to go, but I can't bring myself to press the gas. My body feels frozen, my mind tangled in a storm of conflicting thoughts.

Just drive. Leave her. She can handle herself. She's a big girl.

But I can still hear the gunshots, the shouting, the frantic way she was fighting her way through the guards like a goddamn demon in heels. My jaw tightens. She's not my problem. She never was. But the image of her, lifeless and covered in blood, sprawled on the cold casino floor like something straight out of a nightmare, won't leave my head.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, slamming my fist against the steering wheel.

I glance in the rearview mirror, and then I hear it—loud voices echoing from the alley behind the casino. My heart kicks up a notch.

Don't do it, Leon. Just drive. Let it go.

But then I see her.

She's standing there, her bare feet on the cold pavement, drenched in blood from head to toe. Her head swivels, frantic, looking for a way out as guards with guns fan out behind her. The sight of her—raw, desperate, and dangerous—sends a jolt through me. Without thinking, I roll down the window and reach for my gun.

"Goddamn it, Mariella," I mutter as I aim.

The first shot rings out, and the guard closest to her drops like a stone. She whips her head around, her wide eyes locking onto mine. She looks stunned, frozen in place, as if she can't process what just happened. I aim again and take out another guard before he can get too close to her.

"Get in!" I yell, my voice cutting through the chaos.

She doesn't move. She just stands there, staring at me like I've grown a second head. My patience snaps. "Get in!" I bark, louder this time, my tone leaving no room for argument.

Finally, she snaps out of it and starts sprinting toward the car. She wrenches the door open and throws herself inside, the door barely closed before I slam my foot on the gas. The tires screech as we speed out of the alley, leaving the shouting and chaos behind.

My hands grip the steering wheel tightly as I speed down the dark highway, the city lights fading into the rearview mirror. The engine hums beneath me, but my mind is racing faster than the car. My heart pounds, not from fear, but from the adrenaline still coursing through my veins. She's sitting beside me, barefoot, covered in blood, looking like she just stepped out of a horror movie.

Carrie, but far more dangerous.

"I didn't need your help," she snaps, her voice strained from the chaos we just left behind.

Her words hit me, and I bite back a groan. Her tone alone makes my body react in ways I'd rather not admit. My grip on the wheel tightens as I try to focus on the road and not the fact that she's sitting there like some blood-soaked angel of destruction.

"Is thank you not in your vocabulary?" I shoot back mockingly, glancing at her out of the corner of my eye.

She glares at me, and the heat of her stare makes my pulse spike. I don't know why the way she's looking at me feels like she's stripping me down to my core. Her eyes trail over me, and I feel my body tense up like I'm under a microscope.

What the hell is wrong with me?

"Why is it," I say, my voice harder now, "that every time I have something majorly important to do, you're always fucking there?"

She scoffs, shifting in her seat, clearly trying to find a position that doesn't rub her raw from the dried blood on her skin. My gaze drops to the seat, where blood smears the pristine leather. A sharp sigh escapes me.

Fucking great.

Without a word, I shrug off my jacket, the movement sharp and impatient, and toss it onto her lap. "Here," I say curtly.

She blinks at me, her expression a mix of confusion and defiance. "I'm not cold," she says, her voice laced with irritation.

I let out a dry chuckle, my eyes fixed on the road. "Princess, I don't give two shits if you're cold. You're smearing blood on my seat." My tone is deadpan, and the way her face flushes with annoyance makes the corner of my mouth twitch in amusement.

She rolls her eyes but begrudgingly balls up the jacket and wipes at the seat, muttering under her breath the entire time. When she's done, she chucks the jacket into the backseat with a little more force than necessary, and I can't help but laugh softly. There's something satisfying about seeing her pissed off.

"Why were you there?" I ask after a beat, my tone shifting to something more serious.

She stiffens, her posture rigid, and I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She's hiding something; I can see it in the way her jaw tightens and her eyes dart away from mine.

I press her. "Mariella." My voice drops, firm and edged with impatience. "Spit it out. Or do you want me to drag it out of you?"

Her head snaps toward me, her glare sharp enough to cut. "Wanna keep a secret?" she says suddenly, her tone unreadable.

Her words catch me off guard, and I glance at her, eyebrows raised. "A secret?" I repeat, feigning mock seriousness. "What is it? You finally learned how to use a knife properly?"

She glares harder, her nostrils flaring slightly, and I smirk, amused by her reaction. "Oh wait, no," I add, leaning into the joke. "You're secretly a kindergarten teacher, covered in blood because the little brats drove you insane."

Her lips twitch, like she's fighting the urge to smile, but she doesn't give me the satisfaction. "Shut up, Leon," she growls, crossing her arms over her chest.

I chuckle, the sound low and gravelly. "You're terrible at keeping secrets, Princess. Spill it already before I lose interest."

She hesitates, her fingers drumming against her thigh as she debates saying whatever it is that's on her mind.

As I gaze down at her legs, I notice the subtle shift in her position, the way she clenches her thighs together. It's a telltale sign, a hint of the desires that lie beneath the surface. My mind begins to wander, and I find myself wondering if my little princess is indeed feeling a certain kind of ache, one that only I can satisfy.

A sly smile spreads across my face as I entertain the thought. I can almost imagine the soft, supple skin of her thighs, the gentle curve of her hips, and the delicate petals of her most intimate area. The image is tantalizing, and I feel a surge of desire coursing through my veins.

The air seems to thicken, heavy with the weight of unspoken tension. I sense that she's trying to maintain a sense of control, to keep her desires hidden behind a mask of propriety. But I see right through it, my eyes locking onto the faint signs of her arousal.

My smirk grows, a slow, deliberate curve of my lips. I know that I have the power to set her ablaze, to ignite the flames of passion that burn deep within her. And with that realization, I feel a sense of anticipation building, a sense of expectation that hangs in the air like a challenge.

The question echoes in my mind: Is my little princess's pussy aching for me?

The answer, I suspect, is yes. And with that knowledge, I know that I'll stop at nothing to claim her, to satisfy the desires that we both try to keep hidden.

I smirk at the thought, but before I can let my mind wander too far, she finally speaks. Her voice is low, almost hesitant. "I went there because..." She trails off, biting her lip.

"Because?" I prod, my tone sharp.

She exhales heavily and mutters under her breath, "I was following a lead."

"A lead?" I repeat, my interest piqued. "On what?"

She looks out the window, her expression guarded. "Something... personal."

I clench my jaw, my patience wearing thin. "Mariella, don't test me," I warn. "What lead? What the hell are you hiding?"

"Why do you care, Leon?" she snaps, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade. Her chest rises and falls with the weight of her anger, her hands trembling slightly in her lap. "The real question is—why the hell are you hanging out with a bunch of pedophiles?"

Her words hit like a freight train, sharp and loaded. I grip the wheel tighter, my knuckles turning white. My jaw tenses, but I keep my eyes on the road.

There it is. The disgust. The judgment.

I can feel it radiating off her in waves, like she's burning a hole straight through my chest.

"You think I like being in their company?" I growl, my voice low and simmering. "You think I'm out here playing cards and swapping life stories with those bastards for fun?"

Her head snaps toward me, her glare searing. "I don't care why, Leon. What I care about is how you can stomach being around them. You're no saint, but even you're better than that."

I glance at her for a split second before turning back to the road. The way her eyes burn with anger—no, betrayal—makes something inside me twist uncomfortably.

"You don't know what you're talking about," I say finally, my voice colder than I mean it to be.

"Don't I?" she bites back, leaning closer, her voice rising. "I saw the way you sat there, laughing with them, letting them talk about Niko and everything they've done like it's some kind of joke." Her voice cracks at his name, and it's like a dagger to my chest.

I exhale sharply, my patience wearing thin. "I wasn't there for laughs, Mariella. I'm not like them."

Her laugh is bitter, hollow, the sound of someone who's heard one too many lies. "Not like them? Really? Then what the hell were you doing there, Leon? Enlighten me!"

I glance at her again, the raw emotion in her eyes making me grip the wheel so hard it feels like it might snap. "I was doing my job," I say, my voice tight.

"Your job," she repeats, the words dripping with venom. "Well, congratulations. I hope the blood money was worth it."

I slam on the brakes, the car screeching to a halt on the side of the empty highway. The sudden stop throws her forward, but she catches herself, whipping her head toward me with a furious glare.

"Don't fucking lecture me," I snap, my voice low and dangerous. "You think I don't know what they are? You think I don't hate every second of being near them? But this is the world we live in, Mariella. I can't burn every bridge and kill every monster, no matter how much I want to. Sometimes, you play the long game. Sometimes, you bide your time and get what you need before you burn it all to the ground."

Her chest rises and falls with heavy breaths, her hands trembling as she stares at me, searching my face for something—what, I don't know. Finally, she leans back, crossing her arms.

"You better be telling the truth," she mutters, her voice softer now but no less intense. "Because if I ever think for a second that you're protecting them, I'll kill you myself."

A slow smirk tugs at my lips, but there's no humor behind it. "Noted, Princess." I put the car back in gear and press the gas, the tension between us still crackling like a live wire.

The road stretches ahead, but her words linger, hanging heavy in the air between us. And for the first time, I realize that she might be the only person in this world who sees through me completely—and that terrifies me more than anything.

The car was quiet, but the air inside felt suffocating, thick with unspoken words and the weight of something neither of us was ready to touch. For twenty minutes, she didn't say a word, but I couldn't stop looking at her. Not because I wanted to—no, this wasn't about want—but because I had to.

Her gaze was fixed out the window, but she wasn't seeing the road or the city lights rushing past us. Her lips moved, barely a whisper, muttering words I couldn't catch. Over and over, like a prayer or a curse. Her hands clenched and unclenched in her lap, her nails digging into her palms so hard I thought she might draw blood.

This wasn't the Mariella I left behind in that casino. That Mariella—the one who could flip a switch from deadly to charming in a heartbeat—was gone. This was someone else entirely. Someone hollow. And it all came back to that name. Alessia.

Her mother.

I gripped the wheel tighter, my knuckles pale against the leather. The way she froze at that table when they mentioned Alessia...the way she changed after... It was like watching a mask shatter in slow motion, and what was underneath was raw and vicious.

And Niko.

Somehow, he was tangled up in this mess, too. I wanted to ask her. Hell, I needed to ask her. But something about the way she sat there—her shoulders rigid, her breathing uneven—told me it wasn't the time.

Instead, I let the silence stretch between us like a live wire, buzzing with everything we weren't saying.

Every now and then, her lips would twitch, her muttering growing louder for a split second before fading back into nothing. I caught fragments—something about "the truth" and "lies"—but it wasn't enough to piece anything together.

The only sound was the hum of the engine and the occasional crackle of the tires against the asphalt. The city blurred past us, neon lights casting fractured shadows across her face. She looked like a ghost of herself, pale and distant, her eyes glassy but fierce.

She was unraveling right in front of me, and I couldn't decide if I wanted to pull her back or watch her fall apart completely. Because whatever this was, whatever she was carrying—it was bigger than her, and maybe bigger than me, too.

When we finally pulled up to her house, I didn't kill the engine right away. I sat there, my hands still gripping the wheel, waiting for her to move.

To say something. Anything.

But she didn't.

She just sat there, staring ahead, her breathing shallow. And in that moment, I realized something: the silence wasn't just hers. It was mine, too. Because for the first time in a long time, I didn't know what the hell to say.

"Are you going to tell me what's going on?" I asked finally, breaking the silence. My voice was softer than I intended, almost cautious.

She turned her head slowly, her eyes locking onto mine. And for a brief second, I saw it—the storm raging behind them. The pain, the rage, the desperation.

"You wouldn't understand," she said, her voice hoarse, barely above a whisper.

"Try me," I shot back, my tone sharper than I intended.

She stared at me for what felt like an eternity before shaking her head and opening the car door.

"I'll handle it," she muttered as she stepped out, her bare feet hitting the pavement.

And just like that, she was gone, walking toward her house without so much as a glance back.

I sat there for a moment, watching her disappear into the shadows. And for the first time in years, I felt something I hadn't felt since I was a kid.

Helpless.

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Is leon caring for our girl?

I feel so bad for mariella. hg is going through it :(

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡