★★Leon's POV★★



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The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in violent shades of crimson and gold as I drove us toward the warehouse. The road stretched ahead, empty and quiet, but the silence inside the car was louder than any noise.

Mariella sat in the passenger seat, her body rigid, her fingers fidgeting with her nails—something she only did when her mind was at war with itself. I glanced at her before returning my eyes to the road.

"Something on your mind, princess?" My voice was steady, but I knew damn well something was eating her alive.

She exhaled sharply, her fingers stilling. "Uh... I'm fine." The lie rolled off her tongue effortlessly, but her body betrayed her. She turned to the window, biting her lower lip—her tell.

I clenched my jaw, gripping the wheel tighter. "Baby, spill."

Mariella finally looked at me, her usual fire dulled, replaced by something softer—something raw. "I'm just... confused," she admitted. "Why would Niko's father...rape my mother? And then kill her?"

My grip tightened on the wheel, knuckles whitening. That question had been burning in her for years, festering in the dark, unanswered. I inhaled through my nose, steadying my tone. "That, I'm not sure of." Then, I nodded toward the glove box. "Open it."

She turned to me, confused, but reached for it anyway. The latch clicked, and as the compartment swung open, her eyes landed on the thick folder inside. Hesitation flickered across her face as she pulled it out.

"What's this?" Her voice was wary, her fingers tracing over the edges of the file.

I kept my eyes on the road. "A mission I ran on Greek territory—one of their ports. They were stockpiling arms and trafficking drugs. I wiped the place clean." A pause. "One of the shipments contained boxes of files—documentation on human trafficking operations."

Mariella's breath hitched, her hands tightening around the file.

"Your mother's name was in there."

She flipped open the folder, her eyes scanning the pages. The sound of rustling paper filled the car as she read through records, dates, reports—pieces of a past she hadn't been allowed to see.

Then she froze.

Her lips parted slightly as her eyes locked onto a name. "Theodoros Zervos," she whispered, her voice almost unrecognizable. The air in the car turned suffocating.

I flicked my gaze toward her. "Theo?" I repeated, trying to read her expression.

She barely heard me. She was stuck in her own head, thoughts spiraling, connecting dots I couldn't see. Her breathing had changed—shallow, controlled.

"You know him?" I pressed, my voice sharper now.

Her fingers trembled as she shut the file and shoved it back into the glove box. "No," she said too quickly, too forcefully. "But... I swear I've heard that name before."

Something wasn't right.

"What do you mean?" My eyes narrowed, studying her reaction.

Mariella looked away, her gaze locked onto the darkening sky outside the window. "I don't know," she muttered. "I could be wrong."

I let the silence settle between us, thick and heavy as I drove, the hum of the engine the only sound filling the space. The warehouse loomed in the distance, but my mind was still stuck on her last words.

She knew something. And whatever it was—

It terrified her.

We finally pulled up to the warehouse, the gravel crunching beneath the tires as I parked. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and gasoline, the sun almost completely set, casting long shadows across the building.

Damien and Antonio were waiting for us outside, leaning against the wall, both smoking like they had nothing better to do. Antonio flicked ash off his cigarette and smirked when he saw Mariella step out of the car.

"Sleeping Beauty? Didn't think you'd show up," he said, exhaling a cloud of smoke.

Mariella shot him a smirk. "Couldn't miss the fun."

Antonio chuckled, shaking his head. "You call this fun?"

Before she could answer, Damien cut in, already annoyed. "Why is she here?" His tone was flat, uninterested.

I sighed, about to explain, but Mariella was faster. She put a hand on her hip, her attitude turning up to full volume. "Why? Mad I'll ruin the fun?"

Damien took another slow drag from his cigarette before flicking it to the ground. "No. I just don't like you."

Mariella gasped dramatically, clutching her chest like she'd been personally victimized. "Oh no, Damien doesn't like me?!" She turned to Antonio. "What am I gonna do, Antonio? How will I ever sleep at night knowing this sad excuse for a man doesn't approve of me?"

Antonio burst out laughing, nearly dropping his cigarette.

Mariella wasn't done. She turned back to Damien with a smirk. "Maybe if you smiled once in a while, people wouldn't mistake you for a brick wall with anger issues." She patted his shoulder. "Just some advice."

Damien's jaw clenched as Antonio wheezed, shaking his head. "Wow, Damien. Me personally? I wouldn't take that kind of disrespect."

Mariella tossed her hair over her shoulder and walked through the warehouse doors like she owned the place.

Damien turned to me, clearly waiting for backup, but I just shrugged and kept walking.

He scoffed, rolling his eyes before following us inside. "I hate all of you."

As we step inside, the air shifts—thicker, heavier, laced with the metallic tang of blood and the stale scent of sweat and fear. The dim lights overhead flicker slightly, casting long shadows across the bloodstained concrete floor.

Marco steps forward, his boots clicking against the ground as he nods at me. "Patrón, (Boss)" he greets, before turning his gaze to Mariella. He smirks slightly. "Bonsoir, Madame De Angelis. (Good evening, Mrs. De Angelis)."

Mariella tilts her head, looking at him with a raised brow. "I'm guessing that's just a fancy way of saying 'Hey girl'?"

Marco chuckles. "Yes, hey girl."

She grins and wiggles her fingers. "Heyyy."

They share a quick laugh, but Damien groans, already annoyed. "Can we get this over with?" he mutters before stomping toward a heavy metal door. Antonio and Marco follow, pushing it open and stepping inside.

As Mariella starts to follow, I catch her wrist, stopping her in her tracks. She looks up at me, a hint of curiosity flickering in her eyes.

"If you start feeling sick or nauseous, you can step out, okay?" My voice is lower, serious. I don't want her pushing herself past her limit—not here, not now.

She blinks, then a slow smile spreads across her lips. She lifts her hand, stroking my cheek with the softest touch. I feel my muscles tense under it, a reaction I didn't expect.

"You're hot when you care," she murmurs before slipping past me into the room.

I freeze for a second, trying to process that.

I'm hot when I care? What?

I scoff, shaking my head, and follow her inside.

The room is dimly lit, the shadows pooling in the corners like specters watching the show about to unfold. The floor is slick with blood, rivulets running toward a drain in the center. A steel table stands against the wall, tools meticulously arranged—some still dripping with crimson remnants of past use.

The man in the center of the room is chained, his wrists suspended above his head by thick iron links bolted into the ceiling, his ankles locked to the floor. His body hangs limp, battered and bruised, deep cuts decorating his skin like war wounds. His breath is shallow, ragged.

Marco steps up beside me. "He was one of the Greeks involved in the bombing. We grabbed him before he could escape. Tried getting some information out of him, but he's tougher than he looks."

I nod, stepping closer, crouching to meet his swollen gaze. His lips are cracked, his chest rising and falling unevenly. The moment his puffy eyes manage to focus on me, recognition dawns—and panic follows.

His entire body jerks to life, struggling against the chains, wild desperation lighting up his face.

I stand up, tucking my hands behind my back. "Buddy, I haven't even done shit yet," I say, amused.

He starts pleading, his voice raw, frantic. "Please! Just let me go! I swear, I'll disappear! I'll never associate with the Greeks again! Please!" His spit flies as he talks, his entire frame trembling like a caged animal.

I glance over my shoulder at Mariella. She's standing with her arms crossed, watching him with a blank expression—completely unimpressed. But when my gaze lingers, she stiffens slightly. I tilt my head, signaling for her to come closer.

She steps forward, the soles of her shoes scuffing lightly against the concrete as she stops beside me. Her eyes sweep over the man's trembling body—calm, unreadable, like she's deciding whether he's even worth her time.

I turn to her. "What do you think?"

She hums, tilting her head, then crouches, resting her hands on her knees as she studies his wounds with the sharp eye of an artist inspecting an unfinished painting. "Hm," she muses. "He could use a little... my work."

The man flinches at her words, his entire body convulsing in fresh terror. His breath hitches, and his eyes dart between us. "Please, no. Please," he begs, his voice cracking.

Mariella clicks her tongue, shaking her head. "Boo. Begging already?" She reaches out and trails a gloved finger lightly over one of the deeper cuts, making him whimper. She pulls her hand back, wiping the blood against his cheek like war paint. "Where's the fun in that?"

His body shakes violently, and I smirk. This is going to be interesting.

The room is thick with tension, the kind that settles in your chest and makes the air feel heavier. The only sounds are Tobias's ragged breathing and the faint hum of the overhead light. The scent of iron lingers in the air, mingling with sweat and fear.

I step forward, picking up a small, wickedly sharp knife from the bloodstained table. The metal glints under the dim lighting as I twirl it between my fingers, feeling its weight. My gaze flickers to Tobias, who flinches at the movement.

"Let's start simple," I say, my voice calm, almost casual. "I ask a question, and you answer correctly. Think of it like a little trivia game."

Tobias's chest rises and falls rapidly, his swollen eyes darting from me to the blade. His lips part as he swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat.

"Alright," I say, taking a slow step closer. "What's your name?"

Mariella watches him closely, her eyes narrowing slightly. Tobias hesitates before stammering, "T-Tobias Belevonis."

I tilt my head, then nod. "Good."

His breathing grows shallower as I lean in, lowering my voice. "Now, Tobias..." I test his name, letting it roll off my tongue as I close the distance. He instinctively recoils, his chains rattling against the tension in his muscles. "What was Niko's plan at the casino?"

Tobias licks his dry lips, his gaze flicking nervously toward Mariella.

"He... he brought her as a distraction," he blurts out.

I freeze for a second, my mind processing his words.

Mariella? A distraction?

I glance at her. She furrows her brows in confusion.

"Distraction?" she echoes, her tone sharp.

I keep my eyes on Tobias, waiting for him to elaborate. When he hesitates, my patience wears thin. "Speak," I order, my voice carrying a deadly edge.

Tobias inhales shakily before sputtering, "Niko knew there was something going on between you two."

My jaw clenches as I let out a slow breath, running my tongue over my teeth in irritation. I hear Mariella scoff beside me.

"Of course, that nosy fucker did," she mutters under her breath. Then she looks at me, realization flickering in her expression. "Remember when you crashed my date? He asked if there was something between us. I told him not to worry about it... that I didn't know you like that."

My fingers tighten around the handle of the knife. I exhale sharply before turning back to Tobias. "So let me get this straight..." I begin, lazily twirling the blade, watching as his eyes follow its movement like prey watching a predator's claws. "Niko brought her to distract me so he could set up the bomb?"

Tobias gives a weak, trembling nod.

I let out a dry, humorless chuckle, turning away for a brief second before I feel red-hot anger crawl up my spine. My grip tightens around the blade, and before I can think, I spin back around and plunge the knife straight into his thigh.

A guttural scream rips through his throat, his body jerking violently against the chains. His agony fills the air, bouncing off the cold concrete walls.

Mariella doesn't flinch. Instead, she watches me, her expression unreadable—like she's studying me.

I rip the knife out in one smooth motion. Blood spurts out in thick droplets, adding to the already stained floor. Tobias sobs, his body trembling, his screams turning into pitiful whimpers.

I exhale and place the knife down, reaching for another tool—this time, a hammer. The weight feels good in my grip as I spin it in my palm, letting Tobias see it, understand it.

His eyes widen in fresh horror. "No—no, please!" he cries, shaking his head frantically.

I smirk. Pathetic.

"See this?" I muse, flipping the hammer over in my hand, letting the metal glint under the light. "This one's my favorite. You can really hear the bones break when you swing with enough force."

Tobias breaks. He sobs openly, desperation spilling from his mouth. "Please! I'll tell you everything! Just don't—don't hurt me!"

I tilt my head, pretending to consider his words. Then I grip the hammer tighter.

"You're going to tell me either way."

Then I swing.

The sickening crunch echoes through the room, followed by Tobias's shriek of agony.

****

As Tobias' body hangs limp in the chains, the air in the room feels thick, heavy with the scent of blood and sweat. The only sound is the slow, rhythmic drip of his life pooling onto the concrete floor.

I exhale, rolling my shoulders back as I toss the hammer onto the bloodied table. The work is done.

Mariella stretches her arms over her head like she just finished a workout, sighing dramatically. "Whew. Nothing like a little stress relief."

Antonio chuckles, lighting another cigarette. "You two are something else."

Damien, still leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, shakes his head. "Fucking psychos."

Mariella winks at him. "Oh, come on, don't be so grumpy. Torture's more fun when you have a little enthusiasm."

I wipe my hands off on a rag, ignoring the way Damien mutters something under his breath. My mind is already shifting to the information we just got.

"So, this girl Tobias mentioned," I say, rubbing my jaw. "She was another target?"

Mariella furrows her brows. "Yeah... what was her name?"

I glance at Tobias' lifeless body, then walk over to the table, flipping through the files we took from him earlier. Blood smears the edges, but the name jumps out at me.

"Elena Varakis."

Mariella narrows her eyes. "Never heard of her."

Antonio steps forward. "Varakis... I have. Greek. Connected to the underworld, but not directly involved in the dirt. She's the daughter of some politician in Athens. Rich, protected. If she was a target, it wasn't just about making a statement—it was personal."

Damien scoffs. "Well, she's lucky we got to this bastard before they could finish the job."

Mariella tilts her head. "You sure she's still alive?"

The room goes silent for a second. Good question.

I check my watch before looking at Antonio. "Get someone on this. If she's alive, we need to know why they wanted her dead."

Antonio nods, already pulling out his phone.

Mariella leans against the table, tapping her nails against the wood. "So... do we care? Or is this just another rich girl getting tangled in something she shouldn't?"

I exhale, thinking. If she was important enough for Niko's people to want her dead, then she might be useful.

"We'll see," I say, grabbing my coat. "For now, we clean up and get out of here."

Mariella claps her hands together. "Great. I'm starving."

Damien glares at her. "How the fuck can you think about food right now?"

She grins. "Simple. Torture works up an appetite."

Antonio laughs, Damien sighs, and I shake my head as we walk out of the room, leaving Tobias to rot.

One job finished. Another just beginning.

We pull into headquarters, bellies full and mood lightened—well, for most of us. Antonio slams his car door shut, pointing at Mariella like a man seeking justice.

"Mariella, you ate half my fries," he accuses, his tone somewhere between betrayal and annoyance.

Mariella slides out of the car, her expression the very picture of innocence. "What? Me? I would never," she says smoothly, her tone dripping with mock sincerity. Then, with a perfectly timed shrug, she adds, "It was Marco. Even if it was me, where's your evidence?" She flashes a mischievous wink at Marco, effortlessly throwing him under the bus without a second thought.

Marco, the traitor he is, just chuckles. "Yeah, Tony, where's your evidence?" he chimes in, backing her up.

Antonio squints at Mariella, then shifts his gaze to me, looking for backup. "Leon?"

I glance at Mariella, who's already staring at me with those goddamn puppy eyes—the kind that could make a man commit crimes on her behalf. She's impossible. A menace. And yet, somehow... perfect.

I smirk, brushing past Antonio. "Just shut up and eat your burger."

Mariella giggles, victorious, and walks beside me, casually munching on fries she had hidden in her pocket like a little gremlin. I shake my head and scoff quietly. "You're ridiculous, princess."

She tries to shush me through her laughter.

Once inside the dining hall, everyone settles in with their food, but as Mariella goes to sit, I grab her waist and pull her down onto my lap. She tenses in surprise, her body stiff for just a second before she shifts, making herself comfortable.

Or at least, that's what I think she's doing.

Instead, she subtly grinds herself against me as she adjusts, and I feel it—the friction, the deliberate pressure against my groin. My cock twitches in response, and my jaw clenches as I narrow my eyes at her.

Mariella just pops a fry into her mouth, looking at me innocently, like she didn't just test my patience in front of everyone.

I pretend to focus on my phone, checking emails, but I can feel her watching me, feel her amusement radiating off her like heat. Then, she suddenly turns and holds a fry up to my lips. "Want some?" she asks sweetly.

I glance from the fry to her, debating whether or not to let her have this moment. But she's looking at me like that—like she knows she's got me wrapped around her little finger.

I open my mouth, letting her feed me. Her fingers brush my lips before she slowly—deliberately—licks the salt off her fingertips, her eyes locked onto mine.

My body tenses, and I exhale sharply.

Oh, she's playing games.

Fine. Let's play.

Setting my phone down, I shift her legs over mine, positioning her more snugly against me. She freezes, a fry still in her mouth, eyes widening slightly. Then I lean in, take a slow bite of the fry right from her lips, my mouth brushing hers in the process.

She's frozen, staring at me, and I smirk against her lips. "What's wrong, baby?" I tease.

She blinks, swallowing hard before she mumbles, "You stole my fry, stronzo (asshole)."

I grab her burger next, taking a big bite while she watches me, scandalized.

Her lips part slightly, pouting as she stares at my mouth, like she can't decide if she's mad or something else entirely.

I chew, watching her just as intently, before licking a stray bit of sauce from my thumb. "I stole your fry? My bad, baby," I say, voice low and teasing.

Her eyes darken slightly, and for the first time, I see her struggling to decide how to counter. But then she smirks, taking her milkshake and sipping from it slowly, maintaining eye contact.

Oh, she's good.

But she has no idea who she's messing with.

She lifts her milkshake to her lips, wrapping them around the straw in a way that's far too deliberate. She takes a slow, deep sip, her eyes locked onto mine, the air between us thick with tension.

And then—just as I knew it would—a single drop of the milkshake dribbles onto her lower lip.

She doesn't wipe it away immediately.

No.

She lets it sit there, her pink tongue darting out to tease the edge of her lip, catching just enough to make me watch.

I feel my grip on her tighten slightly. My hand presses into the curve of her waist, fingers flexing as I suppress the urge to pull her closer, to taste it myself.

Instead, I lean in slowly, my eyes never leaving hers. Without hesitation, I swipe my thumb across her lips, wiping away the tiny drop of milkshake. The moment my skin touches her mouth, her breath hitches—so quiet, but I catch it.

She watches me, waiting, her eyes dark and expectant.

I keep my gaze locked on hers as I bring my thumb to my mouth, slipping it between my lips and licking off the taste of her and the sweetness of the milkshake.

Her lips part slightly, and I can feel the shift in the air—charged, electric, dangerous.

I smirk, tilting my head. "Vanilla," I murmur, my voice low. "Sweet... but not as sweet as you, princess."

Mariella exhales a soft laugh, tilting her head like she's trying to play it cool, but I see through her. Her thighs clench slightly against mine, and I know I'm getting to her.

She narrows her eyes, her smirk returning as she leans in, her lips just barely brushing my ear as she whispers, "You think you're smooth, huh?"

I chuckle, my grip on her waist tightening. "I don't think, baby. I know."

She pulls back just enough to look at me, her face inches from mine. Her fingers trail lazily down my chest, stopping just above my belt, her touch featherlight but intentional.

"Mmm," she hums, biting her lip. "That so?"

I arch a brow, staring at her like a challenge.

Without breaking eye contact, she tilts her head, her lips curving into a wicked smile before she brings the finger to her lips, sucking it clean in a way that makes my cock throb beneath her.

My jaw clenches.

I exhale sharply, gripping her waist tighter. "You're playing a dangerous game, princess."

She leans in, lips brushing against my jaw as she whispers, "Then play with me."

Just as her lips are about to meet mine again, a phone buzzes loudly, slicing through the charged silence like a knife.

She groans and pulls it out of her pocket, barely glancing at the screen before answering with a flat, uninterested, "SÌ? (Yes?)"

A beat of silence, then she sighs. "Lo so. Lo so. Me ne sto già andando (I know. I know. I'm already walking out.)" Without another word, she hangs up, tossing her phone back into her pocket with a dramatic eye roll.

I lean back in my chair, crossing my arms as I watch her. "Let me guess... Prince Charming?" My voice drips with sarcasm.

She sighs, already exasperated. "My ride. Gio."

I scoff. "Of course, it's Gio. Must be exhausting being someone's favorite pet."

She glares at me but doesn't dignify that with a response. Instead, she stands up, grabbing her sweater.

My sweater. The one she stole.

As she pulls it over her head, the thing practically swallows her whole, falling all the way past her knees like a makeshift dress. I smirk, tilting my head.

"Cute."

She throws me an unamused look, but there's a ghost of a smirk on her lips. She turns toward the table, lifting her hand in a half-hearted salute. "See ya, alligators."

Antonio and Marco both salute back.

"In a while, crocodile," Iyanna chimes in, making Mariella giggle.

Damien shakes his head at the ridiculous exchange, but before he can say anything, Mariella smirks at him. "Sleep tight, Squidward."

I keep pace with her, shrugging dramatically. "I mean... I could tell Gio something really urgent came up—like, I don't know, you had to defuse a bomb, or you got kidnapped by a cult, or maybe you just spontaneously forgot how to walk, and I had to carry you back inside."

She snorts, shaking her head. "He'd never believe you."

I smirk. "Oh, he'd believe me if I sounded distressed enough. 'Gio, man, it's bad—Mariella tripped over her own ego and hit her head, she's speaking only in riddles now. We need at least another hour to fix her.'"

She smacks my arm, laughing. "You're an idiot."

I grin. "An idiot who's giving you great excuses to keep him waiting."

She stops just outside the door, turning to face me, that smirk still playing on her lips. "I'll see you soon."

I watch her for a second, my smirk softening just a little before I recover. "If Gio doesn't drive you off a cliff first."

She rolls her eyes, laughing as she turns away. "Goodnight, Leon."

As Mariella moves past me, I grab her wrist, spinning her back against my chest in one swift motion. She gasps softly, eyes wide as I lean in close, my lips grazing the shell of her ear. My voice is low, dripping with heat and warning.

"You know, you're not exactly helping my self-control, princess."

Her hands press against my chest as she tilts her head up to meet my gaze. Her breathing is uneven, her pupils blown. But she doesn't pull away. Instead, she smirks—because she knows exactly what she's doing to me.

"You aren't either," she murmurs, voice teasing, but there's a hint of something breathless underneath. "But I still have a concerned father and a whole family expecting me to return home with two working legs, baby."

I groan against her ear, my breath hot as I nip at her lobe, sucking it lightly between my teeth. She whimpers, and it's the sweetest fucking sound I've ever heard. My grip tightens on her waist, and before she can push me off, I crush my lips against hers.

The kiss is deep, desperate—months of tension spilling over all at once. There's no hesitation, no careful restraint this time. My fingers slide into her hair, tugging just enough to make her gasp into my mouth, and she retaliates by yanking on my tie, pulling me harder against her.

Our tongues clash, devouring, tasting, claiming.

My hands roam her body, feeling every curve, every dip, and I grip her thigh, hiking it up against my hip. I make sure she feels exactly what she's doing to me—how fucking hard I am, how much I want her. She moans into my mouth, her nails digging into my chest.

Fuck. I could take her right here against this damn wall, forget everything else.

I slide my hands beneath my sweater—her sweater now—my fingers skimming up the soft, heated skin of her thighs, teasing higher. But just as I'm about to pull it up, she shoves me back with a gasp, both of us breathing like we just ran a marathon.

Her eyes are dark, her lips swollen, and she's looking at me through those thick lashes like she wants to keep going—but she knows she can't.

"I-I need to go," she stammers, voice hoarse, pointing a shaky finger at me. "I'm walking out that door, Leon."

I drag a hand through my hair, watching her with hooded eyes, my smirk lazy but full of promise. "Dream of me, will you, baby?"

She scoffs, but there's a mischievous glint in her eye. "Only if you do."

I chuckle darkly, watching her as she pulls herself together and steps past me. But I don't miss the way her hips sway as she walks off, or the way she sneaks a glance over her shoulder—just in time to catch me staring at her ass.

She huffs, yanking the sweater lower. I scoff, shaking my head. "Ragazza sciocca (Silly girl),"

Mariella steps outside, and like clockwork, there's Gio, standing by the car like some fucking knight in shining armor. His gaze immediately locks onto me, jaw tightening, and I just smirk at him.

Fucking puppy.

He mutters something to Mariella, and she rolls her eyes before giving him a short response. Then, without another word, he pulls open the car door for her. She slides in, but not before stealing one last glance at me—something unreadable flickering across her face.

Gio closes the door, then turns back to me, his glare sharp enough to cut glass. I don't move. I don't break eye contact. I just tip my head slightly, as if to say, You know exactly what just happened.

His grip tightens on the door handle, but he doesn't say a word. Instead, he climbs into the driver's seat and pulls away, the car disappearing into the night.

I exhale sharply, running a tongue over my teeth before looking down at my tie, still loosened from where Mariella had pulled it. I scoff, shaking my head as I tighten it back up.

That girl is venom in my veins.

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THERE SOO CUTEE!

ALSO ELENA?? what dat??

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡