★★Leon's POV★★



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As I step inside, the sound of laughter fills the air. My eyes scan the room, immediately landing on Antonio, who's leaning in close to Luna at the table, his body turned toward her like he's hanging onto every damn word she says. Meanwhile, Damien is completely checked out, his head tilted back, eyes closed like he's either deep in thought or wishing he was anywhere but here.

"Blue Angels?" Antonio asks curiously, his voice laced with amusement. Luna nods as she chews her breakfast, looking completely unbothered.

Mariella strides in, scooping up her fluffy white menace of a cat from the floor, her sharp eyes narrowing as she plops down beside Luna. She strokes the fur absentmindedly, her expression unreadable.

But I don't have time for this. I scan the room, irritation bubbling in my chest. Where the fuck is Iyana? I need to get out of here before I lose my mind completely.

"Où est-elle (Where is she)?" I say, barely masking my impatience.

Damien cracks one eye open and blinks at me like I just interrupted the best dream of his life. He glances around in confusion before answering, "Elle était juste là. (She was just here.)"

I clench my jaw and turn to Antonio, already losing my patience. "Mon amoureux, où est-elle, (Lover boy, where is she)?" I snap, making it very clear I'm not in the mood for games.

Antonio blinks at me, then lazily looks around before scratching the back of his head. "Oh?" is all he manages.

I exhale sharply, my hands curling into fists. I swear to fucking God—

Then my gaze shifts to Mariella, who's still petting that damn cat like she hasn't just been the biggest thorn in my side this entire morning. She meets my glare, unfazed as ever.

"Where's my sister?" I demand.

She tilts her head slightly, her lips curving into the faintest smirk before she deadpans, "I don't know. I was with you outside, idiota. (idiot)"

I glare at her, resisting the urge to throw something. Instead, I turn on my heel, raising my voice loud enough to rattle the damn windows.

"Iyana, si tu ne descends pas ici dans cinq secondes, je te quitte, (Iyana, if you don't come down here in five seconds, I'm leaving you)!" My voice booms through the house, echoing off the walls.

The reaction is immediate. Mariella's cat lets out a startled meow and darts from her arms, disappearing under the table like it's just witnessed the apocalypse.

Mariella groans, exasperated. "Mellow!" she calls out, crouching down to look under the table.

I smirk at the sight, my eyes trailing down as she drops to all fours, her blouse pulling taut in just the right places. The fabric shifts, giving me a perfect glimpse of delicate white lace bra hugging her breast. My jaw clenches as I take in the view—temptation wrapped in silk and lace, completely unaware of the effect she has on me.

She must sense the heat of my gaze because she follows it—straight to the glimpse of lace peeking through her blouse. The moment realization hits, she stiffens, her breath hitching before she shoots up to her feet, hastily smoothing her clothes as if that could erase what I just saw. Her eyes snap to mine, sharp and dangerous, her cheeks tinged with the faintest hint of pink.

"Don't. Even. Say. Anything," she bites out, her tone laced with warning.

I smirk, tilting my head, enjoying the way she's flustered despite the fire in her glare. Oh, but she should know better—I always have something to say.

I chuckle darkly, my smirk deepening. "What? I wasn't gonna say a word, princess."

She rolls her eyes and flips her hair over her shoulder just as the sound of footsteps echoes from the staircase.

"Alright, alright! I'm coming, stop screaming, Leon, Jesus," Iyana says, appearing at the top of the stairs, looking mildly annoyed but otherwise put together.

As Iyana comes downstairs, her bag slung over her shoulder, I don't waste another second.

"Allons-y, (Let's go,)" I say curtly, already turning toward the door.

Damien and Antonio fall in step behind me, with Iyana right next to them. None of us say a word as we step outside, the crisp morning air finally offering some distance from this madhouse.

As we walk toward my car, Iyana turns to Mariella with a grateful smile. "Thank you so much for letting me stay."

Mariella hugs her tightly, her expression warm—until she lifts her gaze over Iyana's shoulder and lands on me. Her face shifts into something much less friendly. "Of course," she says sweetly before adding, "I hope next time we can hang out more—but without your brothers... and blondie over there." She narrows her eyes at us, making it very clear she means every word.

I lean against my car, arms crossed, smirking at her little dig.

Antonio, of course, has to chime in. "You know, I'm actually great company. Unlike these two," he says, motioning at me and Damien, who both look thoroughly unimpressed.

Mariella cocks her head at him, "Really?" she muses, sounding doubtful.

I push off the car slightly, looking at her with a smirk. "I'm actually great company too... in certain places."

She blinks at me, confused for a second, but I see the exact moment it clicks. Her eyes widen, her face flushes red, and she immediately takes a step back like I just said the most vile thing in the world. "Ugh, you're disgusting." She clears her throat, shaking her head as if to physically rid herself of the thought.

Antonio, ever the social one, jumps in before she can back out completely. "Don't listen to him. Anyway, we should get going."

Mariella sighs dramatically, placing a hand on her hip. "Finally. I was starting to think you guys lived here now."

I shoot her a look, unimpressed. "Trust me, princess, if we did, you'd be the first to know."

She tilts her head, smirking. "And yet, I'd still sleep soundly at night."

Antonio chuckles, already stepping toward the car, while Damien mutters something under his breath about her being a pain in the ass.

I take one last glance at her, expecting her to turn away, but instead, she holds my gaze, something playful flickering in those sharp blue eyes.

Then, just as I reach for the car door, she smirks, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Don't go crying about me later," she teases.

I scoff, shaking my head, but before I can fire back, she spins on her heel and heads inside, tossing a wink over her shoulder right before the door shuts behind her.

I clench my jaw as I watch her disappear, my hands twitching at my sides. And as if to make things worse, my cock twitches at the fucking tease.

Iyana sighs dramatically beside me. "Can we leave now?"I say nothing, still staring at the closed door, my jaw tight, my body on edge.

Yeah.

This woman is going to fucking kill me.

****

After dropping off Iyana at the house, I know this meeting with the Spanish mafia is crucial. Our families have worked together before, but this—this is different. This is about something stronger. Something unshakable. A partnership in transportation, distribution, and alliances.

And I need to be sharp. Focused.

We pull up to the meeting point—a secluded estate on the outskirts of Barcelona. The sun is setting, casting long shadows over the grand villa. Spanish architecture at its finest—white stone, tall arches, iron-wrought balconies. It's beautiful, but I don't give a damn about aesthetics. I care about power, leverage, and whether this meeting will bring me closer to what I need.

The moment we step out of the car, we're greeted by her men—armed, alert, disciplined. Good. I respect efficiency. They pat us down, standard procedure, but my reputation alone keeps them from being too thorough. I keep my hands loose at my sides, my expression unreadable.

Then, she steps forward.

Isabella Ramírez.

I expected a man. Most leaders in our world are. But instead, I'm met with a woman who radiates power in a way most men never could.

She's tall, slender but strong. Dressed in fitted black slacks and a silk blouse that clings to her figure, every detail of her appearance is calculated. Her dark hair is pulled back in a sleek ponytail, and her sharp hazel eyes hold an amusement that tells me she's already enjoying my surprise.

I don't react. I never do.

Her lips curve into a slow, knowing smile as she approaches, her heels clicking against the stone pathway. "Señor Laurent," she purrs, tilting her head. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

I meet her gaze, unwavering. "I don't waste time."

She chuckles, a rich, sultry sound. "Oh, I'm sure you don't." She glances at Damien and Antonio, then at my men, before shifting her attention back to me. "Shall we?"

She gestures towards the villa, and I nod once.

Inside, we're led into a grand room—a long wooden table at its center, dim lighting, the scent of cigars and aged whiskey in the air. Her men line the walls, and mine do the same. A game of balance, of dominance.

I take my seat at the head of the table opposite Isabella. She doesn't sit right away. Instead, she walks around the room slowly, trailing a finger along the table's surface, her gaze flicking to me now and then.

"You know," she muses, "when I heard I'd be dealing with you, I was expecting someone... different."

I arch a brow. "Different how?"

She smiles, slow and deliberate. "Older. Colder. Less..." Her eyes drag over me like a challenge. "Handsome."

Antonio shifts uncomfortably beside me. Damien remains stone-faced. I don't react.

"If you're looking to flirt, I suggest you find someone who cares." My voice is even, sharp.

Her smile doesn't falter. If anything, it deepens. "Ah," she breathes. "You're already taken."

Mariella's face flashes in my mind before I can stop it. Her smirk, the fire in her eyes, the way she always seems ready to challenge me, push me past my limits. I force the thought away.

"This meeting is about business," I say, my tone leaving no room for argument. "Not games."

She finally takes her seat, crossing one leg over the other, tapping a manicured finger against the table. "Of course, Leon."

I nod to Damien, who places a folder on the table and slides it toward her. "We have shipping routes that your people could benefit from," I begin. "Faster, more secure. Access to ports that would be otherwise... difficult."

She leans forward, flipping through the contents. "And in return?"

I meet her gaze, unwavering. "Your people have connections in South America that we want. Cartel ties, clean routes for products we need moved. We share resources. We expand together."

She considers this, tapping her nail against the table again, thoughtful. "And trust?"

Trust. A laughable concept in this world. In this game, trust is a luxury we can't afford.

"We don't need trust," I say plainly. "We need results."

She smirks, nodding as if she's already expected that answer. "And results are exactly what we're looking for." Her eyes flick over the folder, then back to me. "But results aren't always guaranteed. Especially in our line of work."

"I don't deal in uncertainty," I respond flatly. "We've got enough power on our side to make this happen. You'll get what you need. As long as you keep your end of the bargain."

Her smile fades slightly, and she leans back in her chair, folding her arms. "You're confident. That's good. But you should know—there's always a price. Nothing comes free."

I lean forward, matching her intensity. "There's no such thing as free, Isabella. That's why we're here. We're offering something valuable, and we expect something of equal value in return. Cartel connections, smooth routes for shipments—those are worth something. But if you want more..."

I let the sentence hang, letting her fill in the blanks.

Her gaze hardens for a moment, but she quickly masks it with a thoughtful expression. "More, hmm?" She tilts her head. "Interesting. What do you have in mind?"

I offer her a cool smile. "Let's just say, we're offering a partnership. Long-term. If this works, you'll have the resources of two powerful families at your disposal. We move our goods. We build our influence. Together."

She pauses, absorbing my words. There's a moment of silence as she processes the offer. Then, slowly, she leans in, her voice dropping an octave, almost conspiratorial. "You make a compelling case, Leon. So, tell me—how do we proceed?"

I flick a glance to Antonio, who opens another folder, revealing detailed plans and possible routes for collaboration. "We set the groundwork. You give us access to the South American network. We'll take care of logistics, security, the movement of goods. All of it. In return, we take a portion of your shipments. Consider it a redistribution of power."

She looks over the plans, her expression thoughtful but not revealing. After a long beat, she looks back at me, eyes narrowed just slightly. "And if things go wrong?"

I meet her gaze without hesitation. "Then we fix it. Together. There's no room for failure."

Her lips curve into a knowing smile, the air between us charged with the weight of the unspoken agreement. "And what about... contingencies?"

"Contingencies?" I echo, raising an eyebrow.

Her smile deepens. "You know. If things get messy. Because they always do."

I consider her words, then nod once, slowly. "We have backup plans in place. If anything goes wrong, we handle it. But you need to stay committed, Isabella. No second-guessing, no hesitation."

Her smile doesn't falter, but there's a flicker in her eyes—something almost imperceptible. "You don't trust easily, do you, Leon?"

I shrug, not taking the bait. "I trust results. That's all."

She nods, leaning back in her chair. "Fair enough. We'll move forward. You have your resources, and we'll start testing the routes. You'll get your cut, and I'll get mine. But know this—if one of us falters, it won't just be a business problem. It'll be personal."

I meet her gaze, the weight of her words settling in. "I'm aware."

The deal is set. The terms are clear. The question now is: who will blink first?

The door to the villa creaks closed behind us, the sound echoing in the cool, cavernous hallway. Isabella's heels click again as she follows us down the corridor, her presence like a shadow at my back. She's watching me closely, as if trying to figure me out, but I don't make it easy for her.

"You know," she says casually, her voice smooth as velvet, "I've heard quite a bit about you, Leon. The rumors, of course. You've got a reputation." Her gaze lingers on me, calculating, as if waiting for a reaction.

I don't flinch. "I don't concern myself with rumors."

She hums, clearly amused. "No, of course not. A man of your stature must be used to such things." She steps ahead of me, her body just close enough for me to feel the heat of her presence. "But I wonder... how much of that reputation is true? The ruthless, cold French leader. The untouchable heir. Or is that just the public's interpretation of someone... misunderstood?"

Her eyes flick to mine, gauging my response, but I remain still, unaffected. "I'm neither ruthless nor cold. I'm focused. That's all."

She laughs softly, a sound laced with amusement. "Focused, huh? So no room for... distractions?"

I feel her eyes on me, but I keep my expression neutral. "Distractions don't serve me," I reply, the words flat, devoid of interest.

She tilts her head, an eyebrow arching. "Not even a little one? Not even for someone as... intriguing as me?"

Her challenge lingers in the air, but I don't let it rattle me. "I'm sure you've heard the saying, 'Don't mix business with pleasure.'"

Isabella steps closer, her perfume intoxicating, but I don't let myself breathe it in too deeply. "I wonder," she muses, "if you actually believe that. Or if it's just a convenient excuse for the fact that you're not used to someone who doesn't fall at your feet."

I meet her gaze, unwavering. "You'll have to forgive me, but I'm not interested in games, Isabella."

She stops, studying me for a moment, a thoughtful look crossing her face. "No games? That's a shame. I rather enjoy a good challenge." Her lips curl into a smile. "But I suppose I'll have to settle for the business at hand."

I nod curtly, dismissing the tension between us. "The deal is what matters. And we're done here."

She stands still for a beat, then sighs dramatically. "Well, I suppose that's fair. You're not the first man to turn down a little fun, Leon." She gives me one last lingering look, as though savoring the moment. "But don't worry, I won't forget about you."

I turn, making my way toward the exit. "I don't expect you to."

****

The bar is dimly lit, hazy with cigarette smoke, and just loud enough to drown out thoughts. It's exactly what I need after that meeting.

I take the first sip of my drink, letting the burn settle before exhaling slowly. "That was a fucking waste of time."

Damien chuckles, leaning back in his seat, whiskey in hand. "You mean you didn't enjoy being interrogated like a schoolboy?"

Antonio smirks, swirling his glass. "I thought Isabella might actually climb into your lap."

I roll my eyes. "She's exhausting."

Damien raises a brow. "That's one word for it."

Antonio grins. "Come on, she's got the looks. You could do worse."

I give him a flat look. "I'd rather be waterboarded."

He barks out a laugh, shaking his head. "Cold."

Damien watches me for a second before smirking. "She'll keep coming after you, you know. Women like that don't take 'no' well."

"I don't care." I swirl the ice in my glass. "She's not my problem."

Antonio raises his drink in mock toast. "Yet she makes herself one anyway."

I grunt, taking another sip. "Doesn't matter. I'm drinking. No more talk about Isabella."

"Fine," Damien concedes. "What do you wanna talk about?"

I gesture vaguely. "Anything. Something that doesn't involve my life being an unending headache."

Antonio grins. "Did I ever tell you about the time I almost got arrested in Spain?"

Damien groans. "Oh, not this story again—"

"It's a good one," Antoine insists. "You'll like this, Leon."

I shake my head but let him talk, because at least it's a distraction. At least, for now, I can sit here, drink, and pretend there aren't a hundred things waiting to piss me off when I walk out that door.

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ofc tony got arrested.

Leon is loyal man your honor!

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡