★★Leon's POV★★



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As I fasten the buttons on my black suit jacket and adjust the cuffs of my dress shirt, the sound of the bathroom door opening catches my attention. Mariella steps out, steam curling around her like a veil of temptation. A single white towel clings to her body, barely covering her curves. Droplets of water trail down her collarbone, gliding over the swell of her breasts before disappearing beneath the fabric.

My jaw tightens. My fingers pause mid-button as if frozen by the sight of her.

She notices. Of course, she does.

Mariella pops a hip, tilting her head as she smirks at me. "I did insist that you stay, but no, you never listen," she teases, her voice silk-wrapped sin. She turns and walks toward the closet, her towel shifting just enough to hint at the roundness of her ass. Purposeful. Tempting.

My smirk deepens.

"Princess," I say, following her, my voice thick with amusement and restraint. "As much as I'd love to spend the entire day in bed with you, I do have an empire to run."

She hums in mock understanding, stepping into the walk-in closet. The towel drops to the floor in one smooth motion, pooling around her feet like discarded innocence. She doesn't rush as she slides on a delicate pair of white lace panties, the thin fabric molding to her like a second skin.

I lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching like a predator biding his time.

She reaches for a matching bra, sliding her arms through the straps before looking at me over her shoulder, feigned innocence laced in her expression. "Mind giving a girl a hand?"

I push off the doorframe and close the distance between us in slow, deliberate strides. My fingers skim along her bare back, barely a touch, as I secure the clasp. My hands linger for just a moment—enough to feel the way her skin warms beneath my fingertips.

Then my gaze drops.

The string of her thong disappears between her ass cheeks, a wicked creation designed to test my patience.

"Thongs," I murmur, low enough for only her to hear, "might just be the greatest invention in history."

She turns, pressing a palm against my chest as she lifts her chin. Her breasts are now perfectly level with my line of sight—a cruel, beautiful display.

I inhale sharply, keeping my expression unreadable, but she knows. That devilish glint in her eyes tells me she knows exactly what she's doing.

Scoffing, she brushes past me and grabs a black button-up, slipping her arms into the sleeves. "Leon?" she calls out casually as she starts fastening the buttons.

"Hmm?"

She adjusts the blouse before reaching for a pair of fitted black dress pants. "Remember the file you showed me about my mother?"

My attention sharpens. "What about it?"

She steps into the pants, sliding them up her legs before fastening them at her waist. Then, slipping her feet into sleek black stilettos, she glances at me. "Do you mind if I go over it again? I've been meaning to take a closer look."

I study her for a moment, searching her face for what she's not saying. There's a quiet intensity in her eyes, a determination that settles deep in her features.

I step closer, tilting her chin up with two fingers so she's forced to hold my gaze.

"You sure you're ready for that?" I ask, my voice softer this time, edged with something unreadable.

She exhales slowly, nodding. "Yeah. I need to."

I hold her there a second longer before brushing my thumb over her jaw, a silent promise. "Alright, princess. It's yours."

The game between us fades for just a moment, replaced by something deeper, heavier. But then, true to form, she smirks up at me, mischief flickering back into place.

"Good. Now, help me with my necklace, would you?" she teases, turning her back to me once more.

I chuckle under my breath. If she thinks I'm done playing, she's got another thing coming.

I glance at my watch and curse under my breath.

Shit. I'm running late.

Mariella, on the other hand, looks completely unbothered, adjusting her blouse in the mirror, taking her sweet time buttoning it up. Like she's not a walking temptation designed to ruin my focus.

I exhale sharply, dragging a hand down my face. "Alright, princess, I have to go. Will you be okay alone for a couple of hours?"

She smirks, glancing at me through the mirror. "I think I'll survive," she says dramatically, smoothing her dress pants. "I'll just be going over some work and looking through my mother's file."

I nod, stepping toward her. "Good. I'll be back as soon as possible."

She turns to face me, tilting her head. "Really soon?" she teases, her lips curling into a playful grin.

I chuckle, grabbing her waist and pulling her against me. "You're such a brat, you know that?"

She giggles as I press a lingering kiss to her lips, her fingers curling into my jacket. I pull back slightly, but she doesn't let go.

"You should really leave," she murmurs, but there's no conviction in her words.

"Should I?" I challenge, kissing the corner of her mouth. Then her jaw. Then that spot on her neck I know drives her crazy.

She laughs, pushing against my chest, but I can feel how much she loves the teasing. "Leon! You're already late," she says between giggles.

I smirk, my lips still brushing her skin. "Then what's a few more seconds?"

She shoves me toward the door, but I make it difficult, kissing her playfully as she tries to push me out. "Okay, okay, leave!" she exclaims, but she's laughing.

I finally step back, giving her one last lingering look before I straighten my jacket. "Be good, princess."

"Never," she fires back with a wink.

I shake my head, grinning as I finally—reluctantly—walk out the door.

As I step out of the penthouse, the elevator doors slide open to reveal Antonio and Damien already waiting. Both are dressed sharply, but there's an easy casualness to them—like today's meeting is nothing more than a formality.

"Finally," Antonio drawls, checking his watch. "Thought you got lost in her."

Damien snorts, and I shoot them both a warning look. "Ferme-la (Shut it)."

They exchange smirks as we step inside the elevator, the doors closing behind us. The ride down is quiet, save for the faint hum of the city below.

We make our way through the chaos that is NYC traffic, weaving between impatient drivers and honking taxis. The meeting itself isn't anything groundbreaking—just renewing a contract with one of our CEO partners.

Easy. In and out.

Or so I thought.

The moment we pull up to the building, a feeling creeps up my spine—a gut instinct I never ignore. The kind that kept me alive all these years.

Something isn't right.

The place is dead silent. No security, no receptionist, no staff moving about—just an eerie emptiness that sets my teeth on edge.

Antonio notices it too. "Where the hell is everyone?"

I scan the lobby, my muscles coiling with tension.

Too quiet. Too empty.

Damien gestures to our men, who immediately fan out, hands resting on their weapons. "I don't like this."

"Neither do I," I murmur.

Just as we turn to leave—gunfire erupts.

The first spray of bullets shatters the lobby windows, glass raining down like a violent storm. Masked men, dressed in all black, flood the outside, machine guns raised as they unload a full-on ambush.

"Cover!" I bark, diving behind a marble column as bullets tear through furniture and walls. The air is thick with the sharp stench of gunpowder and adrenaline.

Antonio and Damien take cover beside me, their guns already drawn. My men spread out, returning fire with precise, calculated shots.

I peek out, assessing—eight, maybe ten of them. Armed to the teeth, but sloppy. They're unloading like maniacs, but I can already see gaps in their strategy.

Big mistake.

I slip my gun from its holster, cock it, and move.

One step. Two steps. Three. I dodge out, raising my arm and firing off two quick headshots. Two down.

I sprint across the room, sliding over a marble counter as more bullets whiz past my head. One grazes my sleeve, but I ignore it.

Antonio and Damien flank the sides, taking down another two.

"Left side—three incoming!" Damien calls out.

I whirl, dual-wielding my pistols, and fire off a precise shot to one's knee, dropping him before planting another bullet in his skull. The second one rushes forward—I dodge right, twisting my body as I deliver a brutal shot to his throat. He collapses instantly.

The third aims at me, but I'm faster.

I duck, sliding across the floor before kicking his leg out. He stumbles, and I jam my gun under his chin, pulling the trigger.

His body slumps before he even registers what happened.

Gunfire still rages, but my men are picking them off one by one. Antonio moves with deadly precision, Damien with ruthless efficiency.

Three more left.

One tries to make a break for it—I snatch a fallen rifle, roll onto my knees, and fire a clean shot to the back of his head.

Two remain.

They realize they're losing, so they try something desperate—one pulls a grenade from his vest.

"Oh, bien sûr que non (Oh, hell no,)" I mutter.

Before he can throw it, I fire a shot directly at his hand. The grenade drops, detonating on impact and blasting him and the last guy across the pavement.

Silence.

Smoke fills the air, bodies litter the ground, and all that's left is the distant sound of sirens approaching.

Just as the dust starts to settle, I hear it—the sharp click of more triggers being pulled back.

More masked men emerge from the shadows, stepping over the bodies of their fallen. Reinforcements.

"Shit—cover!" Antonio yells as another storm of bullets rains down.

I dive behind a shattered marble desk as gunfire explodes around us, the sharp scent of blood and smoke thick in the air. I barely register the sting when a bullet grazes my shoulder, the heat searing through my jacket.

I don't stop. Can't stop.

I twist around, raising my gun, and unload three precise shots—one to the head, one to the chest, one to the throat.

Bodies drop.

The fight is chaos. My men take cover, returning fire with deadly precision, but the masked men fight like they have nothing to lose.

Then—a pained grunt. A body falling.

I whip my head around just in time to see Marco stagger back, his hands clawing at his stomach. A crimson stain spreads across his shirt, seeping through his fingers. His face contorts in agony, his knees buckling beneath him.

"Non, Marco ! (No—Marco!)" The scream rips from my throat, raw and panicked. My feet move before my mind can catch up, but before I can reach him, the bastard who shot him crouches down, gripping the back of Marco's neck.

He leans in. Whispers something.

Marco's breath hitches—his eyes widen in shock, his entire body trembling. And then, just like that, the fight drains from him. His hands fall away from the wound, his head lolls to the side.

The light flickers. Then fades.

"No. No. No!"

Something snaps inside me.

I don't think. I don't hesitate.

I raise my gun, and before that motherfucker can stand, I pull the trigger.

The first shot shatters his jaw. The second tears through his skull. The third? That one's just for me.

He crumples. A lifeless heap. But it's not enough.

I want to tear him apart. I want to make him suffer the way Marco just did. I want to hear him beg.

The last of the masked men hit the ground, my men finishing them off one by one, but I don't care. The gun falls from my grip as I drop to my knees beside Marco, the warm pool of his blood soaking into my clothes.

Antonio and Damien flank me, their heavy breaths filling the air. But I barely register them.

Marco's chest rises and falls in shallow, uneven gasps. His lips part, but all that comes out is a wet, gurgling sound. Blood bubbles at the corner of his mouth. His fingers twitch, reaching weakly, grasping at nothing—until they find my sleeve.

I grab his hand, grip it tight, as if I can force him to stay.

"Reste avec moi, Marco (Stay with me, Marco)." My voice is sharp. A command.

Because if I say it like an order, maybe he'll fucking listen.

His glassy eyes lock onto mine. A flicker of something passes through them. Pain. Regret. Acceptance.

His lips move, barely a breath of sound escaping.

I lean in.

"Niko said... now it's your turn."

The words crawl under my skin like a parasite, digging deep, poisoning my veins.

My blood turns to ice.

Then Marco exhales—a long, rattling breath.

And stops.

His body goes still.

Too still.

A heavy silence crashes over us, thick and suffocating. Antonio mutters a curse, his jaw clenching so tight I hear his teeth grind. Damien scrubs a hand down his face, looking anywhere but at me.

Me?

I don't move. I don't breathe.

I just stare.

At Marco. At the man who had my back through everything. A soldier. A brother.

Gone.

The grief should come. The pain. The shock.

But all I feel is rage.

A deep, burning, all-consuming rage.

Niko.

That son of a bitch didn't just take Marco's life.

He used it to send a message.

And now?

Now I'm going to answer it.

And if he's here, in NYC—then Mariella or Elena could be in danger.

My body moves before my brain even catches up. I pull out my phone and dial Mariella.

She better pick up.

I yank my phone out of my pocket, my fingers moving fast as I dial Mariella's number.

It rings.

And rings.

And rings.

Voicemail.

My stomach twists into a tight knot. I call again.

Nothing.

"Putain! (Fuck!)" I snap, my pulse pounding in my ears as I hit redial, pacing next to Marco's lifeless body.

Antonio and Damien exchange a look, but they know better than to say anything.

I call again.

And again.

And then—finally—

"Yea?"

Her voice. It should soothe me, but all it does is pour gasoline on the fire in my chest.

"Mariella, are you okay?" I demand, my voice sharp, urgent. I don't even give her time to say anything before I snap, "Where are you? Are you safe? Did anything happen? Did anyone come near you?"

"Leon—what the hell? I'm fine—"

"You need to lay low! Now." I bark, running a hand through my hair, my breath ragged. "Niko is here, Mariella. He's here in New York."

Silence.

I hear her exhale sharply, the way she does when she's trying to hide her fear.

"Leon... are you hurt?" Her voice is softer now, worried.

I close my eyes, gritting my teeth. I don't want her worrying about me.

"I'm fine."

"Leon—"

"Marco's dead."

I hear her breath hitch.

Silence stretches between us, thick and heavy.

I hate that I can't see her face right now. I know she's hurting.

Marco is family...was family.

Her voice is barely above a whisper. "How?"

"Niko's men set us up. Marco took a bullet to the gut. The bastard who did it whispered something to him before he died—Niko's not hiding anymore."

Still, she doesn't say anything.

"I'm coming to you." I say immediately. "Antonio and Damien will check on Elena—"

"No, Leon." Her voice is firm now, despite the sadness I know is clawing at her.

"Mariella—"

"I'm fine. I have my men stationed here. I'll be okay. You need to check on Elena."

I shake my head, frustration burning in my chest.

I don't want to leave her. I don't want to take my eyes off her.

"Leon, please."

That does it.

I exhale harshly. "Fine. But if anything happens, you call me. You hear me? I don't care what time it is, I don't care what's going on—you call me."

"I will."

"I swear to God, if you don't—"

"Leon." I can hear the soft smile in her voice, trying to calm me down. "I promise."

I sigh, rubbing my temple. I don't like this.

Not one bit.

But I trust her.

Even if every instinct in my body is screaming at me not to let her out of my sight.

"I'll be back soon."

I hang up, sliding my phone back into my pocket as I look at Antonio and Damien.

"We're checking on Elena. Now."

****

The assistant swallows hard as his screen refreshes. His eyes dart between me and the tablet, his throat bobbing.

"S-Sir, I tried calling her, but she's not picking up." His voice wavers. "She hasn't used her keycard to enter the building today, and—" He hesitates.

I grit my teeth. "And what?"

"There... There was a note left on her desk."

My heart slams against my ribs.

"Where?" My voice is sharp, clipped.

The assistant fumbles with a folder on his desk, pulling out a small, neatly folded piece of paper. He extends it toward me with shaky hands.

I snatch it from him and unfold it. The moment my eyes land on the words, my blood turns to ice.

**"You took everything from me. Now it's your turn to watch everything crumble. One by one, they'll fall. Let's start with her. Tick-tock, Leon.

-N"**

My stomach drops. My grip on the paper tightens, the edges crinkling under my fingers.

Niko.

That unhinged bastard.

I read it again, my eyes burning holes through the ink. Every word drips with insanity—with a promise. This isn't just a message. It's a declaration of war.

A slow, simmering rage builds in my chest, spreading like wildfire. My fingers twitch, itching to wrap around his throat.

Antonio and Damien read over my shoulder. Damien curses under his breath. Antonio clenches his jaw, his usual calm exterior cracking.

"This psycho really thinks he can get to us," Damien mutters, his hand resting near his gun.

I exhale sharply, my patience hanging by a thread. This isn't about us anymore. It's about Elena. About Mariella.

If he's in New York, they're in danger.

I turn to the assistant. "When was the last time you saw her?"

He swallows. "Y-Yesterday. She left late, around midnight. There was nothing unusual until this morning. We thought she was just running late, but when we checked her office—" He gestures toward the note. "That's all we found."

My jaw tightens. My hands curl into fists.

Niko wants me off balance. He wants me desperate.

Too bad for him—I don't break.

I shove the note into my pocket and turn on my heel.

"Find every security feed in and around this building. I want to know when she left, who she was with, and if anyone followed her." My voice is sharp, commanding. "And someone get me every last location Niko has been tied to."

Damien and Antonio nod, already pulling out their phones.

I don't wait. I'm already storming out of the building.

Because if Niko thinks he can play this game with me—

He just made the biggest mistake of his life

As we enter the penthouse, my mind is racing, my heart pounding in my chest. The air feels heavy, as if something is off, something has already happened, but there's no sign of it. The place is quiet—too quiet. I call out her name, my voice tight with worry.

"Mariella?"

I hear a faint shuffle from the hallway, and then she steps into view. My breath catches.

Her eyes are red, swollen—like she's been crying. Her cheeks are streaked with tears, her lips trembling. I take a step toward her, my chest tightening.

"What happened?" I ask, my voice rough. I look around frantically, expecting to see signs of a struggle, broken windows, blood. But there's nothing—everything is perfectly in place. Too perfect.

She takes a shaky breath, trying to hide her distress. "Nothing," Her voice cracks, and she wipes her face with the back of her hand.

I don't buy it for a second. I step closer, my hand instinctively reaching out to gently hold her chin, tilting her face up to meet mine. "Don't lie to me. What happened?" I say, the edge in my tone sharp and demanding.

Her eyes well up again, tears spilling over as she looks away. She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but it's clear she's distraught.

"My brothers..." She chokes on the words. "They stopped by. They found the file, Leon. The one about our mother."

My stomach drops. I pull her to me, wrapping my arms around her, tight—as if I can protect her from whatever she's feeling. From the mess her brothers' discovery has caused.

"What do you mean?" I ask, my voice low. "What did they find? What did you tell them?"

She trembles in my arms, her sobs breaking the silence. "I lied to them, Leon. I told them everything was okay... that I was fine. I kept the truth from them, about how she died... about what really happened."

A wave of anger rolls through me. I can feel the tension in my jaw, my fists clenching at my sides. My protective instincts are screaming at me, but I know it's not the time for that. Not when she's in this state.

"They found out the truth?" I ask, my voice dangerously quiet.

She nods, her face buried in my chest, the tears soaking through my shirt. "They yelled at me, Leon. They have every right to." Her voice cracks, and I can feel the pain in her words as she tries to pull herself together. "They said that I disgust them for keeping it from them. They said they never want to see my face again."

I can feel the way her body shakes, the weight of those words settling between us. It's like the world's closing in on her, and I can't protect her from this. Not when her own family is turning their backs on her.

I hold her tighter, trying to give her some kind of comfort, even though I can feel my own anger rising. How could they do that to her?

I push her back slightly, gently cupping her face in my hands. I need her to look at me—to see the urgency in my eyes.

"Mariella..." I whisper, my voice low and steady, though inside, my blood's boiling. I can't stand the thought of her feeling this way, of anyone making her feel worthless.

Her shoulders tremble, but she doesn't pull away. She stays in my arms, as if she needs me more than ever right now. And I'm not going to let her go, not when she's hurting like this.

"You didn't deserve that. You never did." I say it with more conviction than I've felt in a while. "They have no right to say that to you."

I feel her nod against my chest, the small, broken sound of a sob escaping her, and I wish I could do more, say more to make it all better. But I don't have the words. I don't have any way of fixing this right now. All I can do is hold her, be here for her, like she's always been there for me.

And in that moment, I realize I'll burn down anything that stands in her way. Anything that tries to hurt her.

She looks up at me, her eyes filled with a mixture of relief and uncertainty. I wipe away a tear from her cheek, my thumb brushing the soft skin there.

"What happened after they found out?" I ask, wanting to know everything, needing to understand.

She swipes at her damp cheeks, frustration laced in every shaky breath. "They were hurt—furious. They didn't understand why I kept the truth from them, why I shut them out. And I—I couldn't explain it in a way that made sense to them. Everything I said just made it worse."

I run a hand through my hair, trying to process everything. Her brothers found out. I knew they would eventually, but I never imagined it would break her like this. And I can see it now—how much she's been trying to keep it all in.

The lies, the pain, the guilt.

But there's something more pressing now, something that's been gnawing at me ever since I read that note.

"I'm going to handle this, Mariella. I'll make sure everything's taken care of. But you... You need to stay safe. I need you to lay low for a while, understand? No one can know where you are."

Her gaze hardens slightly, but she doesn't pull away from me. "I'm fine, Leon. I have my men here."

I look at her, my heart sinking again, knowing she's trying to protect me—but I can't allow it.

"I'm serious, Mariella." I grip her shoulders, my voice steady, but full of urgency. "Niko is here. He's playing a dangerous game, and I can't trust anyone. You need to stay safe. I'm not risking losing you."

As I pull Mariella into my arms, I feel the warmth of her embrace, but it doesn't ease the knot in my stomach. My body aches, and I can feel the sting in my shoulder, where I was grazed earlier. It's not much, but it's enough to make my muscles tense and my patience snap.

She pulls back slightly, her eyes scanning my face, and she freezes when she notices the subtle wince I make.

"Leon..." she says, her voice soft but filled with concern. Her eyes flicker over to Antoino and Damien, who are standing off to the side, both with scratches and bruises marking their faces, though it's clear they have it worse than I do. I see the tension in her face, the fear that's creeping in.

"You're hurt." Her words catch in her throat, and she places a hand on my chest, as if checking if I'm really okay.

I groan, trying to brush it off. "I'm fine, Mariella. It's nothing."

Her eyes narrow, but she doesn't let go of me. "Don't lie to me, Leon. You need help. Let me help you."

She looks over to Antoino and Damien, who are both grimacing but holding their composure. Damien's face is scratched up from the fight, but he's not nearly as badly off as the others. Antoino has a gash along his cheek that looks like it's still bleeding.

"I'll be fine," Damien says, catching Mariella's gaze. "I'll take care of it, Mariella. You help Leon. We'll tell him what we find."

I glance at Damien, the sharpness in his tone unmistakable. He's got this under control, but I can't deny the relief that washes over me at his words. I've never been one to like staying put while there's work to be done. But for once, I find myself needing to stay still—and for her.

I give Damien a sharp nod, my eyes meeting his for just a moment, before turning back to Mariella. Her face is full of concern, her brow furrowed with worry.

"Alright," I say, my voice heavy with frustration. "You can help me, but only because I can't do this on my own right now."

She lets out a soft breath of relief, grabbing my hand and guiding me toward the bathroom. Her touch is gentle, but I can feel her urgency, like she's trying to keep me together when everything feels like it's falling apart.

As she helps me inside, I wince again when she accidentally brushes against my shoulder, and she gasps.

"Leon, this needs to be cleaned properly." Her voice is steady now, but her worry is palpable. She immediately heads toward the bathroom cabinet, pulling out a first aid kit.

I sit on the edge of the tub, trying to keep my focus, but my thoughts keep drifting back to Elena. What's happened to her? Where is she? Niko is the one behind this, I know it. And he's not stopping.

Mariella kneels in front of me, gently pulling at the fabric of my shirt. Her fingers are careful, but I can see the tremble in them. The weight of everything that's been happening hits her too. She's trying to stay calm for me, but I can feel the anxiety radiating off her.

"Leon, please. Let me help you." She presses softly as she pulls my shirt up and begins to examine the graze on my shoulder.

"It's just a scratch," I grunt, but it's obvious from the way she's looking at me that she doesn't believe me. And I don't blame her.

She works efficiently, cleaning the wound and bandaging it, her touch tender yet determined. I watch her, unable to stop myself from admiring how composed she is, even in the midst of everything happening.

"Mariella..." I start, but she cuts me off, her voice shaky but firm.

" Leon, it'll get infected if I don't treat it. We'll deal with everything else after."

I don't argue. It's hard to argue when I'm sitting here, feeling her care for me in the most simple, yet important way.

Once she finishes, she stands up, inspecting her work. I stand up as well, ready to move. But there's something in her eyes—an unspoken worry—that tells me she's not just worried about the fight.

"You're not okay, Leon." She says softly, her voice laced with concern.

I look at her, wanting to reassure her, but I can't. Not yet. There's too much to handle.

"I will be," I finally say, my voice softer than I expected.

Mariella looks at me, her lips trembling as she pulls me into another hug, this time tighter than before.

"Be careful." She whispers, her breath warm against my neck. "I can't lose you too."

I close my eyes for a moment, the weight of her words hitting me harder than the wound on my shoulder. I can't lose her. Not like this. Not with everything we're about to face.

"I won't let that happen." My voice is a promise. And I'll make sure it's one I keep.

I stand there, my mind racing, the stress tightening my chest. Everything feels like it's closing in on me. Niko—he's too dangerous. Marco's dead, and Elena's been taken. It feels like I've failed everyone I care about, and it's suffocating.

Mariella's voice cuts through the chaos of my thoughts, a quiet, trembling question. "Niko killed M-Marco and took Elena?"

I look back at her. Her eyes are wide, filled with concern and the shadow of fear, the soft blue almost too bright against her pale face. My heart aches for her. She shouldn't be seeing me like this.

I take a deep breath and step toward her, my legs feeling like lead. As I reach her, I lift her up, pulling her into my arms. She doesn't resist, her body small in my hold, but her eyes are searching mine, desperate for answers, trying to understand the weight of everything I've just said.

My fingers brush gently against her cheek, the wetness there from the tears she's shed earlier. Her skin is soft beneath my fingertips, but it feels like I'm crumbling with every touch.

"Yes," I murmur softly, barely more than a whisper, because the words are so heavy, so painful to say. I hate that she has to hear this.

Mariella doesn't say anything at first. Her face tenses, and she turns away, her jaw tightening as she pulls in a breath like she's holding something back. But I see it. The sadness. The anger. It's all there, building in her like a storm waiting to break.

"He died in my arms..." The words leave my lips, sharp and full of the emotion I can't hide, the weight of Marco's lifeless body still imprinted on my memory. The look in Marco's eyes as he bled out, the way his hand weakly gripped mine, the way I couldn't save him.

I feel the tears threatening to fall, but I can't let them. Not now. Not with everything falling apart.

Mariella turns back to me, her expression softening, and for a moment, I feel her warmth wash over me. She reaches up, her hand trembling slightly as it rests against my cheek. Her touch is delicate, like she's afraid to break me, but it's also firm—reassuring.

"Leon..." she whispers, and her voice cracks with the weight of the moment. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine how much you're hurting right now. But you don't have to carry this alone."

I close my eyes, the words sinking in. It's the first time in a long while someone's tried to comfort me. But this isn't something I can just shake off. Marco was more than just a man I trusted—he was my brother in arms. He was the one who had my back when everything went to hell. Now he's gone, and Niko is the one who took him away from me.

Mariella pulls me closer, pressing her forehead gently against my chest. I feel her breath, warm and steady, and her touch eases some of the sharpness of the pain in my chest. Her hands slide down my arms, wrapping around me in a tight hug. She holds me like she's afraid I'll disappear if she lets go.

"I know you're strong, Leon," she murmurs, her voice steady despite the tears. "But even the strongest need to grieve. And you don't have to do it alone. You don't have to hold everything in."

I want to argue, to push her away. I want to keep it all locked inside me because that's what I've always done. But the way she holds me, the warmth of her hands against my skin, it makes the walls around my heart crack just a little.

I let out a breath, one I didn't realize I was holding. And then, with her still in my arms, I whisper, "I don't know what to do anymore."

She pulls back just slightly, her hands moving to hold both sides of my face, making me look at her. Her eyes are filled with empathy, sadness, and the kind of understanding that only comes from shared pain.

"You fight, Leon. That's what you do. You don't give up." Her voice is a soft but unyielding force, a lifeline pulling me back from the edge. "Marco wouldn't want you to fall apart. He'd want you to get back up, just like you always do."

I nod, her words grounding me, but there's still this hollow space inside, a reminder of the loss. I feel like I'm losing too many people. The ones who matter.

Mariella presses a gentle kiss to my forehead, a quiet but powerful gesture that feels like she's trying to heal something inside me. Her arms tighten around me once more, and this time, I hold her just a little bit tighter too.

He won't get away. And when I find him, there won't be mercy. Not for him. Not for anyone who's ever hurt the people I care about.

✧✧✧✧✧✧

NOOO MARCO DIED

WHYYYY!!!

ngl i was gonna kill off Antonio originally but i realized he's just too good to kill off...or is he?? hehhe jk

Bye, lovies! (っ◔◡◔)っ

Maddie♡

*Mariella's Outfit*