★★Leon's POV★★



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Mariella sighs and hops onto the table, crossing one leg over the other as she pulls off her sunglasses, revealing those piercing blue eyes that cut through me with irritation. She tilts her head slightly, like she's debating how much to tell me. I cross my arms, standing over her, waiting.

Then she exhales sharply, rolling her shoulders before saying, "I was on a mission."

I don't react, just stare, letting her continue.

"Human trafficking. There was an auction happening—women being sold off like cattle," she says, her voice laced with disgust. "So, I put a stop to it. Took out every single bastard in that room and got all the girls out safely."

I blink, processing the weight of her words. "You—" I pause, my jaw tightening. "Are you okay? Did they touch you?"

She waves a dismissive hand. "Please, Leon. You really think I'd let them lay a finger on me?" She smirks slightly, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes.

I should be angry, and I am, but relief overrides it. She's here. She's unharmed. But that doesn't mean she's off the hook.

"You could've called me," I say, my voice hardening. "You could've let me know where the hell you were."

Mariella scoffs, looking away. "I was still pissed at you from the gala," she admits, flipping her hair back. "You and your little girlfriend."

Ah. There it is.

A slow grin spreads across my face as I step closer, standing between her legs. "You were jealous."

Her eyes snap back to mine, fiery and indignant. "I was not jealous."

I chuckle. "You're still jealous."

She shoves me, her touch lingering for just a second too long. Annoyed, she digs through her purse and pulls out a compact mirror. She flips it open and groans. "You ruined my lipstick," she mutters, rubbing a thumb over the smudged red stain at the corner of her lips.

I watch her mouth, watch the way her lips move, soft and plush, the way that red lipstick is just begging to be ruined a little more.

My gaze flicks back to hers, dark and knowing. "If your lipstick's already ruined," I murmur, leaning in, "let's mess it up a little more."

Before she can react, I crash my mouth against hers.

The kiss is desperate, all hunger and heat, and she matches me with equal force. My hands grip her waist, pulling her flush against me, and she tugs at my collar, her nails scraping against my skin. It's rough, wild, like we're both trying to prove a point. Like we're both too stubborn to pull away first.

Mariella arches against me, pressing closer, and a low growl rumbles in my throat. I deepen the kiss, my fingers threading into her hair, pulling just enough to make her sigh into my mouth. Her legs tighten around me, and I grip her thigh, squeezing just to hear that little gasp of hers.

She bites my lip. Hard. A warning, a challenge.

I smirk against her lips. "Careful, princess."

She licks her lips, smirking back. "Or what?"

I press her back onto the table, hovering over her. "Keep testing me and find out."

Her breath hitches, but she doesn't back down. And I know, without a doubt, we're far from done.

Mariella tastes like cherry, sweet and intoxicating, the faint hint of her lollipop still on her lips. I groan into the kiss, dragging my tongue over her lower lip before deepening it, my hands gripping her waist tighter. She tugs at my collar, her fingers slipping under the fabric to graze my skin, nails raking lightly down my neck, making my breath hitch.

"Mm," I hum against her lips, my voice husky. "You taste good, sweet even."

She chuckles, her breath warm against my mouth. "Cherry," she teases. "You like it?"

Instead of answering, I kiss her again—harder, deeper. My hands slide up her thighs, skimming the lace of her tights before slipping beneath her dress, gripping the bare skin of her hips. She gasps, arching into me, her legs tightening around my waist as I press her further against the table.

My hands instinctively roam over her body, caressing her curves, and I gently grasp her breast, feeling her nipple harden against my palm. She moans into my mouth, the vibrations sending shivers down my spine.

Her hands slip under my shirt, tracing the ridges of my abdomen, and I tense in anticipation. Her warm touch ignites a fire within me as she inches her way down, her fingers dancing across my skin. When she reaches my cock, I groan, the sound muffled by our kiss. I grip her hip, pulling her closer, our bodies melding together.

"Fuck, baby," I whisper, my voice husky with need. Her hand strokes the length of my erection through my pants, the friction sending sparks through me. I wish she could touch me skin-to-skin, feel the heat of her palm wrapped around my cock. The thought alone makes me harder, and I press into her touch, seeking more.

Our kiss deepens, tongues entwined, as we explore each other's bodies. My fingers tease her breast, and her hand rubs against my cock, the fabric of my pants the only barrier between us. The room around us fades away, leaving only the thrum of our desire, the pulse of our hearts beating as one.

I pull back slightly, my lips just barely brushing against hers. "I need you," I murmur, my fingers tracing slow, teasing circles against her waist before slipping higher, dragging the fabric of her dress with them.

Mariella shivers but doesn't stop me. Instead, she leans in, pressing her lips to my jaw, then down my neck, her teeth grazing against my skin just enough to make my grip on her tighten. She's driving me insane, and she knows it.

My hands trail further up, my thumbs brushing the curve of her ribcage as I peel her dress up inch by inch. She makes a sound—a soft, teasing hum—before tugging at my suit jacket, pushing it off my shoulders with impatience.

"Too many damn clothes," she mutters against my skin.

I smirk, sliding my hands up her thighs again, my fingers playing with the edge of her tights, ready to strip them off when—

The door swings open.

I freeze.

Mariella doesn't.

She giggles.

"Elena!" Damien's voice is the first thing I register, followed by a cough, then Antonio's amused chuckle.

"Oh," Elena says, her voice high-pitched with awkwardness. "I—um—we'll just—"

I squeeze my eyes shut, biting back a growl as I rest my forehead against Mariella's shoulder, my hands still gripping her thighs. She's shaking—laughing, absolutely delighted by the whole situation.

I exhale slowly, trying to suppress my frustration. "You've got to be kidding me."

Mariella tilts her head, looking at me through her lashes with a wicked smirk. "Aww, poor baby. Frustrated?"

I shoot her a look, my jaw tight. "Mariella."

She just grins, licking her lips—the same lips I was just kissing—and pats my cheek condescendingly before hopping off the table, casually smoothing down her dress like we weren't about to tear each other apart a second ago.

Meanwhile, Elena is still standing there, her face burning red, Damien looks unimpressed, and Antonio—of course—is enjoying the hell out of this.

"Did we... interrupt something?" Antonio asks, his smirk widening.

I glare at him. "Yes."

Mariella shrugs, grabbing her sunglasses and sliding them back on like she isn't completely disheveled from our heated makeout session. "Not at all," she says airily. "Just business, right, Leon?"

As we straighten our clothes, Mariella casually runs a hand through her hair, smirking at me as she adjusts her sunglasses. Before walking past me, she leans in slightly, her voice playful.

"Try not to miss me too much, baby," she whispers, winking before sauntering toward the door.

I exhale sharply, dragging a hand down my face before following behind her, ignoring Antonio's knowing smirk.

We make our way through the building, the air thick with the weight of what we just did—and almost did. Elena walks beside me, her expression shifting between amusement and gratitude as I glance at her.

"I'll have extra men patrolling the building," I say, my tone back to business. "Just in case. If anything happens or you need anything, call us immediately."

Elena nods, relief flashing in her eyes. "Thank you, Leon. I really appreciate it. Hopefully, I'll see you all again under less dramatic circumstances."

Antonio chuckles. "Knowing us? Probably not."

As we reach the lobby, Elena sighs, adjusting her glasses as she checks her phone. The notifications must be piling up because she looks at us with a tight-lipped smile.

"I'd love to stick around, but I have work to do," she says, tucking her phone away. "The media is already going insane, and now that Niko's empire is crumbling, I need to handle the aftermath."

Mariella pops her lollipop back into her mouth, nodding. "Yeah, I bet the vultures are swarming. Have fun with that."

Elena rolls her eyes but smirks. "Oh, I will. And thank you—all of you. This wouldn't have been possible without your help."

Leon nods. "Just keep us updated. If anything happens, call."

"I will," Elena promises, giving each of us a small nod before turning and disappearing down the hall, already lost in her world of damage control.

As we step outside, the cool New York air hits us, and before I can even think about what's next, Mariella is already deep in conversation with Antonio like they've been best friends for years.

"I'm just saying," she argues, popping her lollipop back in her mouth, "if aliens did land on Earth, they wouldn't show up in some backwoods farm like in the movies. They'd go to Paris or New York—somewhere with culture."

Antonio snorts. "So you're telling me an advanced species would willingly throw themselves into New York City traffic? They'd get hit by a taxi before they even had a chance to say hello."

Mariella gasps, dramatically clutching her chest. "Excuse me, Antonio, but if an alien can travel across galaxies, I think it can handle a couple of pissed-off cab drivers."

He shakes his head, chuckling. "I dunno. I've seen people almost fight over a parking spot here. Pretty sure that's enough to scare anyone away."

I sigh, rubbing the bridge of my nose. "Why the hell are we talking about aliens?"

Mariella grins, completely ignoring me. "Anyway," she continues, "you guys should come over. I'll cook dinner."

Antonio raises an eyebrow. "You cook?"

Damien actually laughs at that, and I cross my arms, watching her with an unimpressed look. "You're serious?"

Mariella groans. "Why does everyone act like I can't cook?"

"Because you can't," I point out.

She waves me off. "Details, details. C'mon, let's just have a little fun. Worst case scenario, I burn my penthouse down."

Antonio grins. "See, that's what concerns me."

I sigh, shaking my head. "Fine. But if you do burn the place down, you're explaining it to your insurance company."

Mariella winks at me. "Oh, don't worry, darling. I have my ways of getting out of trouble."

I mutter under my breath, "Yeah, I bet you do."

As we start walking toward the car, I can't shake the feeling that tonight is going to be anything but peaceful.

****

When we pull up to Mariella's building, a few of her guards are already waiting outside. They greet her in Italian, nodding respectfully as we step out of the car. Mariella responds in quick, effortless Italian, a small smile tugging at her lips. Her guards are relaxed, but I can tell by the way they watch our surroundings that they're always ready for anything. She has them well-trained.

As we walk through the private garage, I take note of the collection of cars lined up—a sleek black Ferrari, a matte G-Wagon, and even a vintage Alfa Romeo.

"Impressive," Antonio whistles. "You drive all of these?"

Mariella smirks, popping her lollipop back in her mouth. "Depends on my mood."

We take the elevator up, and when the doors slide open, I realize her penthouse isn't just a unit—it's the entire floor. The space is massive, with high ceilings, floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city, and a layout that screams elegance. Everything is put together perfectly—modern yet warm, with a few personal touches that make it clear this is her home, not just some expensive property.

Antonio's eyes wander before they land on a framed picture sitting on a shelf near the living room. His lips twitch as he picks it up.

"No way," he grins. "Look at this."

I step closer and see what he's holding—a baby picture of Mariella, chubby-cheeked with wild curls and an annoyed expression, sitting in what looks like an oversized onesie.

Mariella groans. "Oh, Dio."

I smirk, leaning in. "Damn, you were always scowling, huh?"

"Shut up." She snatches the frame from Antonio and puts it back. "We're here to eat, not look at my adorable childhood."

Antonio just chuckles as he shrugs off his jacket, and we all follow suit, getting comfortable. Mariella ties her hair up and stretches.

"Alright," she announces. "I'm making chicken cutlets with mashed potatoes and asparagus. Don't question it. Just sit down and be grateful."

Antonio raises a brow. "Wait, you can actually cook?"

Mariella rolls her eyes. "Everyone acts like this is some shocking revelation. Yes, I can cook. And you'll be begging for seconds."

Damien, who's been quiet, spots a gaming setup in the corner. "Whose PC is that?"

"Oh, that's Santino's," Mariella says, walking into the kitchen. "Whenever he comes over, he hogs my internet and plays for hours."

Antonio and Damien exchange looks, and Antonio immediately heads over to the PC, grinning. "So... what I'm hearing is, I can use this?"

Mariella waves him off. "Go for it."

As they get settled into a game of Call of Duty, I roll up my sleeves and step into the kitchen, watching as Mariella grabs the ingredients. My tattoos are fully visible now—black ink covering my forearms and trailing onto my hands. When I unbutton the top few buttons of my shirt, Mariella glances over—and for the first time in forever, I see her hesitate. It's brief, just a flicker of something in her eyes before she quickly looks away, focusing a little too hard on the chicken in front of her.

She recovers quickly, though, her lips curling into a smirk. "If you're trying to distract me, it's not going to work."

I step closer, resting my hands on the counter beside her. "Are you sure?"

Her eyes flicker over me, then she turns back to the chicken with a little huff, refusing to look affected. "Pass me the breadcrumbs, pretty boy."

I chuckle but do as she says, standing next to her as we prepare the food. It's... oddly domestic. My hands brush against hers as we work, and every time, she gives me a little side-eye, pretending not to notice.

At one point, I reach behind her to grab the seasoning, my chest brushing against her back. She inhales sharply but keeps her composure. "You're awfully close, Leon."

I smirk, my voice dropping low. "Maybe I just like the view."

She turns to face me fully, and for a second, I think she's going to say something smart, but instead, she just tilts her head, grinning. "Then be useful and mash the potatoes."

I shake my head, amused, as I grab a fork. "Yes, chef."

Dinner is surprisingly good—not that I'd ever tell Mariella that outright. Antonio, on the other hand, has no filter.

"Wait—this is actually good," he says, pointing his fork at her like she's some kind of anomaly. "You sure you didn't just order this and plate it yourself?"

Mariella gasps, pressing a hand against her chest like he just committed the ultimate betrayal. "Excuse me? I slaved away over that stove like a loving, devoted—"

I snort. "Finish that sentence, I dare you."

She glares at me before dramatically flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Like a loving, devoted host. Ungrateful bastards."

Damien takes another bite, barely sparing her a glance. "It's decent."

Mariella narrows her eyes at him immediately. "Liar. I saw you sneak another piece of chicken already."

Antonio shakes his head, smirking as he swirls his wine. "So, you only come to NYC for business?"

Mariella leans back, resting her arm on the back of her chair as she twirls the stem of her wine glass between her fingers. "Yeah. The organization I told you about—it's the only reason I'm ever here." She shrugs. "Other than that, I like my peace. My own space. No noise, no people nagging me."

I tilt my head, watching her. "And yet, you live in the city?"

A slow smirk spreads across her lips. "Exactly. The chaos keeps me sane."

Antonio lets out a laugh. "That makes zero sense."

Mariella taps her glass, still smirking. "That's what makes it fun."

Damien finally looks up at her. "You ever get lonely?"

She raises a brow. "What, are you offering to keep me company?"

Antonio snickers, shaking his head, and I can't help the smirk tugging at my lips.

Mariella continues, "Luna comes by a lot. She checks in on me when she's around to hang out. Brings me food sometimes—though, let's be real, she just uses me as an excuse to escape whatever drama is going on in her life."

Antonio perks up. "Wait, Luna—the pilot, right?"

Mariella smirks, swirling the wine in her glass. "Mhm. Still flying, still reckless as hell. The woman lands a plane like she's playing a game of chicken with the runway."

Antonio whistles, shaking his head. "And you trust her to fly you around?"

Mariella shrugs. "She's never crashed. Yet."

I watch her, fingers tracing the rim of my glass as she speaks. There's something about the way she talks about her life—so independent, so sure of herself—but there's something else beneath it. Something unspoken.

Instead of pushing, I lift my glass. "To your chaotic, peace-loving, borderline-criminal life."

Mariella raises her glass with a smirk, clinking it against mine. "And to you boys—for kidnapping me back then. If you hadn't, I would've never had the pleasure of cooking you this masterpiece. Truly, a tragic loss."

Antonio stretches with a satisfied groan, rubbing his stomach. "Damn, do you guys ever eat good food and then just need a solid nap after?"

Mariella chuckles, leaning against the counter. "Pick a room, make yourself at home."

Antonio gives her a mock-suspicious look. "You didn't put Xanax in that food, did you?"

Mariella gasps, placing a hand on her chest in fake offense. "Antonio, please. I would never." Then she smirks. "...At least, not tonight."

He rolls his eyes. "Great. If I don't wake up, you know who did it." He waves them off as he heads down the hall.

Damien grabs his jacket from the chair. "I need a real drink. I'm heading to a bar."

Mariella quirks a brow. "You have a whole bar here, you know."

Damien shrugs. "Yeah, but drinking alone is depressing. I need some fresh air."

Mariella rolls her eyes but waves him off as he walks out, leaving just the two of us.

Silence settles between us, thick with something unspoken. I turn to find her already watching me, legs crossed, a lazy smirk playing on her lips. In one smooth motion, I step forward and lift her effortlessly onto the counter. Her legs naturally part as I move between them, my hands gripping her thighs, pressing in just enough to make her breath hitch.

She drapes her arms around my neck, fingers playing with the short strands of my hair. "You look like you have something on your mind, darling."

I tilt my head, my hands sliding further up her thighs. "What about dessert?"

She hums, biting her lip in amusement. "I can think of a really good one." She leans in, her lips brushing against my jaw as she whispers, "Sweet, juicy... the best dessert you'll ever come across."

A low growl rumbles in my chest as I tighten my grip on her, my lips hovering over hers. "That so?"

She grins wickedly. "Mmm. But I don't know if you can handle it."

Oh, she has no idea.

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I smell something good next chapter

GRAB YOUR SNACKS BITCHES!!

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡