Chapter 1: Prelude
Chapter Text
At the illustrious Arcadia Grand, a five-star hotel perched atop a cliff with panoramic views of the city of Los Angeles. Beneath the obsidian canopy of the night sky, the hotel's sprawling terrace glittered with rich night life. The event had transformed the space into a haven of opulence, where soft amber lighting from wrought-iron sconces blended seamlessly with the silvery glow of the moon. A string quartet played Schubert's "Allegro ma non troppo" from his No. 13 in A Minor, their music weaving a delicate and complex web of emotion that danced through the cool night air.
The terrace opened onto a luxurious infinity pool, its surface a mirror reflecting the constellations above. Subtle ripples also caught the light from overhead chandeliers strung on suspended cables. Around the pool, oversized urns brimming with white orchids and cascading ivy stood as something beautiful yet silent testament of the event’s extravagance. 
Guests mingled, a parade of couture fashion with glittering gowns of silk and tailored suits adorned the city’s elite, their laughter and murmured conversations a counterpoint to the music. Waitstaff wearing crisp, white gloves glided seamlessly between them, balancing trays of crystalline champagne flutes and canapés that looked too beautiful to eat.
At the far end of the terrace, a bar crafted from illuminated onyx stood as a centerpiece. The bartender stood behind the crafted bar shaking and stirring drinks with a subtle rhythmic grace about him. 
The cocktails, adorned with edible flowers or glinting flecks of gold leaf, became conversational icebreakers in their own right.
Beyond the terrace, manicured gardens stretched into the horizon, their paths lit by lanterns that flickered like fireflies. The scent of jasmine wafted from the hedgerows, mingling with the briny tang of the ocean breeze. Alongside the gardens, a cigar lounge offered a quieter escape, where leather armchairs and low tables were nestled beneath a canopy of trees strung with fairy lights.
As the shimmering music of Schubert swirled through the air, forty-two year old Leonardo Andrea Andolini, Founder and CEO of ImperialReach Telecom, dressed in his custom-tailored suit, moved through the crowd with surprising grace for someone his size. At 7'2½" and 670 pounds, he was an unmistakable presence, his towering frame carving an almost unreal silhouette against the backdrop of glittering lights and refined elegance. The sea of guests parted instinctively as he approached, their chatter faltering into hushed whispers, their gazes snapping to him.
Leonardo wore a custom three-piece suit of midnight black, tailored to perfection to accommodate his massive proportions. The fabric stretched taut over a chest as broad as a barrel, the jacket expertly cut to frame his very broad shoulders. His tie was a deep crimson that made his attire stand out among the crowd. His long, midnight black hair, brushed back yet slightly tousled, framed his face, cascading in soft waves at his shoulders. A faintly trimmed beard traced the line of his jaw almost enhanced his facial features.
For those who had never seen him before, his appearance was nothing short of shocking. One such woman in a sequined dress clutched her champagne flute tighter, her eyes wide as she leaned to whisper something incredulous to her companion. A man, young and full of bravado moments earlier, now stood stock-still, his confident grin faltering into awe.
The light from overhead chandeliers cast shadows across his striking features, accentuating the planes of his face from his Romanesque nose to the sharp edge of the scar on the left side of his face – a jagged scar cutting from his temple down to his jawline, fading everso slightly as it neared his cheekbone but leaving a deep, uneven ridge across his otherwise smooth skin. At one point, it caught the ambient light as he moved, adding an air of danger and mystery to his already predatory visage. Continuing his way though the people, Leonardo’s almost golden coloured eyes swept the crowd, his gaze seeming to see straight through the polished veneers of the elite.
Coming to a stop, Leonardo paused to greet a small group of influential guests, his handshake was firm yet controlled, his colossal hand enveloping theirs with an almost ceremonial precision. The newcomers struggled to compose themselves, their surprise lingering in their expressions as they exchanged pleasantries with the man.
Even among the city’s elite—individuals accustomed to excess and spectacle—Leonardo was an anomaly whose presence disrupted the expected rhythm of the evening. Yet, there was something undeniably magnetic about him, something primal in his charisma that left even the most skeptical unable to look away.
As the night unfolded, a small group of women, each dressed in their finest couture, gathered near the edge of the terrace, their voices a soft murmur against the majestic melodic lines of Schubert. They were speaking in whispers, stealing glances at the man who commanded the crowd — Leonardo Andrea Andolini.
Hippolyta Valkarion, a tall woman whose posture perfect, exuding confidence and elegance. Hippolyta’s hair is long and midnight-hued, and is styled in soft waves that cascade down her back, catching the light in delicate strands. Her face is both youthful and timeless, with high cheekbones and a delicate jawline, framed by a few loose tendrils of hair that gently caress her skin. Her eyes were a beautiful, deep and captivating shade of blue. Her full lips curve into a serene, almost regal expression, giving her the air of someone who has seen much of the world but remains calm and composed, always in control of her emotions. A true stoic woman. 
Her gown is a shimmering midnight blue silk that hugs her figure in all the right places. The bodice is intricately embroidered with silver threads of weaving patterns. The dress flows out from her waist in soft, layered tulle, giving it a soft, ethereal quality. Throughout the fabric are tiny gemstones are scattered throughout the fabric, adding a subtle sparkle as she moves through the room. The gown’s deep neckline is balanced by delicate straps that cross her shoulders, showcasing her collarbones and the soft curve of her neck.
“I’m sure you’ve all heard by now," Hippolyta’s voice rang out softly but with undeniable authority to the small group of women she was with, "but Leonardo Andolini is about to be named one of Forbes' 500 Self-Made Billionaires this year." Her words fell easily, almost casually, but there was a weight behind them. She paused for effect, letting the significance of the statement settle in the air, as her deep blue eyes glinted with intelligence and a quiet, poised confidence.
The women around her exchanged startled glances, their eyes widening as the name "Leonardo Andolini" lingered in their thoughts. Each one of them had heard the name before, but to hear it spoken by Hippolyta Valkarion herself seemed to give the announcement a new kind of weight.
One woman, a particularly ambitious entrepreneur, quickly recovered her composure and asked with a touch of awe, "You mean... the telecommunications tycoon? The one who’s been making headlines everywhere?"
Hippolyta gave a subtle, knowing smile, her full lips curving gently upward. "Yes, the very same," she replied, her gaze steady and unbothered by the hushed whispers that followed.
Looking at the mountainous man across the room, a younger woman nodded in appreciation and said, “Frobes’ 500 Self-Made Billionaires, huh? Well, I’ve never been into someone that huge, but even I have to admit that he looks delicious in that suit.”
As the women continued talking about Leonardo’s Mediterranean good looks, which of course were in no way connected to his fame and wealth, another person had just joined the party.
Emily Taft, exudes a different kind of power at the same elite party, while shorter in stature than Hippolyta, Emily’s presence is far more commanding, radiating authority, influence, and a deeper sense of control over the room.
She made sure that every movement was purposeful and deliberate. Her hair is strawberry-blond, cut into a sleek, chin-length bob that frames her face beautifully. The soft waves in her hair gave her appearance a polished, sophisticated look, while the subtle color contrasts elegantly against her fair skin. Her face, though less youthful than Hippolyta's, holds a quiet, ageless beauty. Her features are understated yet alluring; however, her eyes are her most captivating feature. Emily’s eyes, a deep shade of green, are observant and quite calculating, gleaming with intelligence and sharpness. Her gaze is sharp, often locking onto people as if she can read their thoughts with a single glance, giving her an air of someone who is always in control of a situation.
Emily's gown is less ethereal than Hippolyta’s, but it carries a refined, almost utilitarian elegance. She wears a tailored, form-fitting dress made of deep crimson velvet, with a high collar and long sleeves. The fabric clings yet compliments her body. The gown has subtle yet striking details: fine silver threading at the cuffs, and a discreet, almost imperceptible pattern along the hem that adds texture and depth without overwhelming the elegant design.
Around her neck, she wears a diamond pendant, a family heirloom that glimmers with an otherworldly brilliance. The pendant's design is reminiscent of a silver serpent wrapped around an emerald crystal. 
While she may not possess the exquisite, mesmerizing beauty of Hippolyta, Emily Taft’s presence is undeniable. She commands respect through her poised and calculated presence. The room respects her, but they also understand that crossing her would come with consequences.
As she moves through the gathering, akin to Leonardo’s presence, people part in her wake.
Mingling with the some of the other guests, Emily’s conversation is fluid and engaging: her laughter, light and melodic, is rare but infectious, and when she speaks, it’s with the voice of someone who has mastered the art of diplomacy over many years.
At some point though, her gaze had settled on Hippolyta across the terrace, standing among a group of women who seemed captivated by her every word. Emily’s lips curled into a subtle smile—not one of warmth, but one of intrigue. Excusing herself with an almost imperceptible nod to the financiers, she turned and began making her way toward the group.
As Emily approached, her movements were unhurried but deliberate, cutting through the throng of glittering gowns and tailored suits with ease. Guests instinctively stepped aside as if sensing the gravity of her presence. The air around her seemed to shift, the hum of conversation softening as her path became clear. By the time she reached Hippolyta and the others, her arrival had already drawn their attention.
Hippolyta turned first, her calm blue eyes meeting Emily’s calculating green ones. For a moment, the two women regarded one another in silence, the stark contrast between them impossible to ignore. Where Hippolyta exudes elegance, Emily embodied authority.
The group of women parted slightly to make room for Emilu, their conversations momentarily forgotten. “Hippolyta,” Emily began, her voice smooth and composed. “It seems I’ve interrupted something intriguing.”
Hippolyta’s lips curved into a polite smile, her posture as graceful as ever. “Emily,” she replied, her tone light but unwavering. “Not at all. We were just discussing… remarkable men and their accomplishments.”
Emily’s smile widened just enough to reveal a glint of amusement. “Ah, Leonardo Andolini, I presume,” she said, her voice laced with subtle irony. Her eyes flicked briefly toward the other women, gauging their reactions, before returning to Hippolyta. “He’s certainly a topic worth exploring. From his business accomplishments to his personal life.”
“What personal life?” a woman in the group said, swirling her martini glass, “Rumor has it that he never lets the women he dates touch him.” Her tone was half intrigued, half skeptical, as though daring anyone to confirm the mystery surrounding Leonardo Andolini. She sipped her drink, narrowing her eyes as if trying to deduce her own statement. “Does he… prefer men?”
The question hung in the air, a ripple of uncertainty passing through the group. Emily, however, didn’t miss a beat. Her posture remained upright and unyielding, her back straight and shoulders squared. Her lips curved into a knowing smile, one that hinted at secrets she held close, secrets these women could only speculate about.
“I’ve thought about that too,” Emily said, her voice smooth and measured, yet edged with a hint of mischief. She glanced briefly at the woman who had posed the question before shifting her gaze to the others. “But no,” she continued, her tone confident, dismissing the notion with an almost playful certainty.
Her smile deepened, and she paused for effect, letting the suspense build. She shifted her weight slightly, the subtle movement drawing the group’s attention even closer. “The truth is,” Emily began, her voice dropping just enough to make them lean in, “I’ve been seeing him lately… if you could call it that.”
A collective intake of breath swept through the group, their curiosity piqued to the breaking point. Emily’s eyelids fluttered briefly, her expression momentarily softening before her lips pursed, her demeanor both coy and compelling. “And yes,” she added, with deliberate slowness, “he won’t let me touch him.”
The confession landed like a spark in dry tinder, igniting a wave of murmurs and exchanged glances. Emily’s smile remained, enigmatic and unshaken, as she reveled in the attention her statement had drawn. She raised her own glass to her lips, taking a measured sip of champagne, her eyes watching the group over the rim as though daring them to ask more.
Another woman with auburn coloured hair ventured cautiously, “Why do you think that is?”
Emily set her glass down with a faint clink on the bar table behind them, her gaze sweeping the circle again before resting briefly on Hippolyta, as though testing her reaction. “Ah, now that ,” Emily said, her voice tinged with amusement, “is the question, isn’t it? Perhaps it’s a matter of control. Or…” She let her voice trail off, her smile deepening as though she relished leaving them in suspense.
Hippolyta’s blue eyes narrowed ever so slightly, her calm smile unwavering but her interest clearly piqued. Emily’s calculated performance had captured the group, but Hippolyta, as always, remained an unreadable force of composure.
“No. I’ll just say this,” Emily concluded, leaning back slightly but still commanding the space around her. “Leonardo Andolini is a man of many layers, and not all of them are meant to be peeled back by just anybody.”
The group fell into contemplative silence, the enigmatic aura of Leonardo deepened by Emily’s revelations. Around them, the party continued, the quartet playing on, but here in this small cluster, the intrigue surrounding one man—and the woman who claimed to know him—held the floor.
Away from them, Leonardo's towering frame loomed above the group of tycoons, but his thoughts were far from their conversation. The laughter and clinking of glasses around him felt distant, muffled beneath the weight of his swirling mind. Evelyn Freeman's words from the evening before echoed relentlessly, each syllable carving deeper into his thoughts.
Without a word, he excused himself from the group, his departure as seamless and commanding as his presence had been. He moved past Emily, Hippolyta, and the circle of women without so much as a glance in their direction, his focus turned inward. Emily’s eyes tracked him, her lips tightening ever so slightly at his complete and utter disregard of her presence, though she kept her outward composure.
Leonardo reached an unoccupied couch tucked in a quieter corner of the party. With deliberate care, he lowered his massive frame onto the seat, the sofa groaning loudly in protest as his weight nestled into it. The sound briefly turned a few heads, but Leonardo paid no mind, settling in with an air of quiet preoccupation. He leaned back with one hand coming up to support his face. His thick brow furrowed deeply, and his eyes stared into the distance, unfocused.
His thick long legs crossed, and his long thick fingers traced the sharp line of his scar as he murmured a single word: “Why?”
Seeing her opportunity, Emily leaves her circle of admirers without explanation and with quiet grace, she approaches the quiet corner where the enormous man sat, her heels clicking softly against the tile floor, and seated herself beside him.
Leonardo didn’t even notice. His gaze remained fixed somewhere far beyond the glittering party, his thoughts locked in the moment Evelyn’s surprise announcement shattered his carefully ordered world. The cool detachment he prided himself on had cracked in that instant, leaving him exposed in a way he could not reconcile.
Emily adjusted herself on the couch, her tailored dress smooth against the cushions, and leaned slightly toward him. “Hey,” she ventured softly, her voice warm yet probing. “‘Why’ what?”
Leonardo’s head turned slightly, his expression stoic and unreadable. He inhaled deeply, the rise and fall of his chest was slow. When he finally spoke, his voice was even, though it carried a faint tone of disbelief beneath its surface. “I don’t understand what’s wrong with Secretary Freeman.”
Emily blinked, her unflappable confidence faltering for a moment. Shock flickered across the landscape of her face, her lips parting as if she hadn’t heard him correctly. Then confusion crept in, her perfectly arched brows knitting together as she tried to process his words. Secretary Freeman? Of all things, that’s what consumed his thoughts tonight ?, she thought in shock.
Her expression hardened just slightly, giving way to a flicker of annoyance. Her gaze flicked over his face, searching for some sign he was joking, but his stoic demeanor left no room for doubt. She leaned back against the couch, crossing her legs, her body language subtly shifting to a more closed stance.
For a moment, Emily simply studied him, her frustration bubbling beneath the surface. The glamorous party, the elaborate gowns, the admiring glances from nearly every woman in the room—none of it seemed to register with him. Instead, he sat there, consumed by some mystery involving his personal assistant.
She smoothed her dress over her lap, her voice quiet but with an edge she couldn’t entirely hide. “Evelyn Freeman,” she repeated, as though tasting the words. “That’s what’s on your mind?”
Leonardo didn’t respond immediately, his distant gaze unwavering. Emily exhaled softly, her lips pressing into a thin line as she tilted her head back to compose herself. She had expected many things tonight—but this wasn’t one of them.
...:TBC:...
Chapter 2: Chapter 1
Chapter Text
Weeks before the event, the warm, early morning amber rays cast long shadows across an immaculately manicured lawn, highlighting the symmetry of the arched portico and the elegant terracotta-tiled roof of a beautiful Mediterranean mansion. Dew still clung to the blades of grass, shimmering faintly like diamonds, while the scent of freshly watered greenery lingered in the air. Its lush greenery bordered the driveway and entry path, with manicured hedges and patches of emerald lawn creating a harmonious setting. Mature trees provided a sense of permanence and shelter, framing the house like a natural crown.
The house stood at the end of a gently curved driveway, a testament to timeless Mediterranean elegance imbued with modern refinement. Its white stucco façade glowed softly in the light of the rising sun, complemented by deep black shutters and wrought-iron accents that lent an air of understated luxury. The structure was balanced and symmetrical, with its central arched entrance drawing the eye immediately. 
The entrance itself was an arched portico soaring high, framed by two slender Mediterranean cypress trees flanking the portico swayed gently in the morning breeze, their dark green contrasting with the brightness of the house's white façade. Beyond the towering arched window on the left, the warm light of the rising sun streamed through the large windows and the grand glass doors beneath the arch, catching the curvature of the staircase’s bannister inside and illuminating the intricate black ironwork within.
On either side of the entrance, large picture windows with black mullions extended almost to the ground, their warm glow hinting at the opulence within. To the left, a two-story section of the home featured an impressive arched window, its dark framing standing out boldly against the smooth white stucco. This window offered a glimpse of a sweeping staircase, the curvature of its bannister mimicking the flowing lines of the exterior arches.
The roof was crafted from dark terracotta tiles, their deep hues contrasting beautifully with the pale façade, giving the home its Mediterranean character. Trimmed eaves with ornate brackets added an air of timeless charm, while modern lighting fixtures placed strategically along the exterior emphasized its architectural details.
To the right of the structure, an elegant extension housed what appeared to be a gallery or an enclosed veranda, its glass walls shimmering faintly. Beyond that, the garage doors blended seamlessly into the overall aesthetic, their design echoing the house’s dark accents.
It was seven in the morning, and the day’s early calm had a way of lingering in the air, carrying on a cool breeze that rustled the dew-kissed grass and the petals of nearby flowering shrubs. Thirty-four year old Secretary Evelyn Freeman strolled up the polished driveway with a natural yet understated elegance.
The curve of her straightened hair—usually wavy—was gathered into a simple yet refined ponytail at the nape of her neck, allowing her features to shine. Her delicate jawline, gently sloping nose, and the subtle arch of her brows gave her face a blend of confidence and approachability. Evelyn’s rich, deep brown eyes carried a quiet warmth as they darted briefly to the grand portico, taking in the home’s outer magnificence, before settling forward with quiet resolve.
Her outfit was a picture of professionalism. A white chiffon blouse, its light fabric catching the faintest stirrings of the breeze, was tucked seamlessly into a tailored grey pencil skirt that emphasized her hourglass silhouette. The skirt fell to just below the knee, with a slit at the back that allowed her steps to remain graceful yet purposeful. Over her shoulder, she carried a tan Salvatore Ferragamo purse, its structured lines and gold hardware a perfect complement to her ensemble. Her tan high-heels understated yet chic, made a soft clicking sound against the smooth concrete driveway with every step.
Evelyn moved with purpose, her head held high, the breeze carrying the faint, citrusy scents of her jasmine-infused perfume. Reaching the portico, she paused for a moment, glancing up at the intricate archway and the cascading light that spilled through it. With a slight adjustment of her purse, she stepped forward, her figure was framed by the house’s grandeur, a harmonious blend of personal and stately magnificence surrounding her.
As she entered the house, the heavy front door gliding open effortlessly at her touch while the air inside was cool, kissed by the faint hum of central air, and carried the faint, earthy scent of polished wood and fresh lilies. Her heels clicked softly against the gleaming tiled floors as she stepped into the expansive foyer. With a practiced hand, she slipped the iPad from her purse, tapping it awake as she moved deeper into the house.
Leonardo’s schedule appeared on the screen, colour-coded and neatly organized—a testament to her meticulous planning. Evelyn’s brown eyes scanned the list, and her full lips pressed into a slight, thoughtful line.
Lunch meeting at noon with the board. He’ll need the latest figures from Falcone—make a note to print the updated reports , she thought as her thumb flicked across the screen, marking the task for later. Charity party with Emily Taft as his date at seven... great. I’ll have to make sure he has the talking points for that dinner conversation ready.
As she walked through the house, Evelyn mentally pieced together the day. And then there’s the call with Minister Giovanni at three. He’ll want privacy for that. I’ll need to block off that time and move the investor update. She sighed softly, pushing a stray thought from her mind with a small accomplished smile. Busy day, but what else is new?
The house was quiet save for the faint sound of birds chirping outside. The early morning light spilled through the oversized windows, painting the creamy walls with streaks of gold. Evelyn navigated the expansive hallways with practiced ease, her movements instinctive despite the house’s labyrinthine size. She passed the grand staircase with its sweeping bannister and a cluster of modern art pieces that adorned the walls, heading straight for the kitchen.
The kitchen space is dominated by dark, custom-built cabinetry, crafted from deep-stained oak with a subtle grain that adds texture to the sleek, modern aesthetic. The matte black finish is accented with brushed gold hardware, a striking contrast that enhances the regal feel of the space.
At the heart of the kitchen is a sprawling eat-in island, topped with a dramatic slab of natural stone—obsidian black with white and gray veining, reminiscent of a storm frozen in time. The same exotic stone extends seamlessly into the backsplash, creating a cohesive, sculptural backdrop behind the professional-grade range. A minimalist range hood in matte black with a gold trim floats above, blending seamlessly into the design.
Encircling the island are several high-end upholstered counter stools, their deep caramel hue standing out against the dark cabinetry. The stools, with their plush velvet fabric and sculptural armrests, provide both comfort and style. Their tapered black legs, accented with gold footrests, add a sense of grounded sophistication.
Soft, ambient lighting cascades from a pair of statement chandeliers—multi-tiered fixtures of smoked glass and brushed gold that cast a warm glow, refracting elegantly against the polished stone surfaces. The warm light highlights the subtle sheen of the countertops, making the space feel inviting yet undeniably commanding.
Sleek, handle-less built-in appliances—an espresso machine, a double oven, and a state-of-the-art refrigeration unit—are seamlessly integrated into the cabinetry, ensuring the kitchen maintains its pristine aesthetic. A gold-rimmed tray sits on the island, stacked with curated reading materials and a glass decanter of aged whiskey, a nod to Leonardo’s appreciation for fine spirits.
A striking floral arrangement—deep crimson roses or vibrant peonies—rests in a brushed gold vase at the center of the island, a rare but intentional burst of color amid the dark, moody tones. Nearby, a small tray holds a selection of artisan pastries or imported chocolates, ready for guests or a quiet moment of indulgence.
Floor-to-ceiling windows with black steel frames allow natural light to filter into the space, balancing the dark hues with a sense of openness. Beyond the kitchen, glass doors lead to a terrace with an outdoor lounge, providing seamless access to al fresco dining.
Quite familiar with her surroundings, Evelyn placed her iPad on the counter and moved with practiced efficiency. She reached for the French press from its usual spot, selecting Leonardo’s favourite blend of coffee beans from a jar beside it. The rich, nutty aroma filled the kitchen as she ground the beans and measured them out. While the water boiled, she glanced back at the iPad, her mind already ticking through the finer details of the day.
Once the coffee was ready, she poured it into a very large black mug and set it on a tray alongside a small pitcher of oat milk and a teaspoon. Leonardo didn’t need to ask—she always remembered his preferences. Balancing the tray with one hand and picking up her iPad with the other, Evelyn made her way toward the area of the house where the master suite was located, more specifically his walk-in closet.
The walk to the closet took her through another hallway and past the master suite’s entry. She pushed the door open to reveal a space that could rival any high-end boutique. The closet faintly hummed with the climate-controlled air as it whispered through the ebony-paneled walls of Leonardo’s closet.
The scent of expensive wool and leather hung in the air, as she set the tray down on a small side table and turned her attention to the rack suits before her.
Rows of impeccably pressed suits, each a different shade of charcoal, navy, or midnight blue, hung in perfect alignment. Each perfectly tailored suit hung on sleek, dark wood racks, sorted by color and occasion. The tailored lapels reflected the soft light of the minimalist LED strip lighting overhead, highlighting the impeccable stitching and luxurious fabrics. Evelyn ran a hand over the crisp silk lining of a navy suit, the texture smooth and cool against her skin.
Drawers with polished chrome handles housed accessories, from cufflinks to ties, each perfectly organized.
Her fingers brushed over the fabrics as she considered his schedule. Board meeting first, then the call… something sharp but not overly formal. The charity party with Emily will need a stronger statement piece , she thought.
She selected a deep navy suit, paired with a crisp white shirt but as she approached the aisle counter in the middle f the closet, her eyes briefly flicked to the small photograph perched on the closet island. Encased in a sleek black frame, it depicted a haunting yet serene image: a small boy, unmistakably Leonardo in his youth, sitting between two massive female lions. All three were covered in blood, their expressions calm, even tranquil, as though frozen in a moment of perfect understanding and peace. The macabre serenity of the image had always intrigued her. Despite its unsettling nature, the bond it captured—between a human child and the majestic predators—was undeniable and profoundly moving. Evelyn knew better than to ask about it.
Returning her focus to the task at hand, Evelyn retrieved yhe deep purple pastel patterned tie in order to complete the ensemble. The ensemble was powerful yet understated —perfect for a day that required focus but always authoritative. After laying the suit out on center aisle counter, she then surveys the row of four meticulously arranged wristwatches, her eyes briefly lingering on each one—the glossy silver chronograph, the understated gold timepiece, the modern black ceramic design, and the classic leather-strapped option. After a moment’s consideration, she selects the silver chronograph, its polished finish and versatile style perfectly suited for the day ahead. After finishing this ritual, Evelyn glanced at her iPad one last time.
I’ll need to double-check Pam’s notes on tomorrow’s project report, she reminded herself.
Picking up the tray once more, she left the closet, her mind already moving to the next task. As always, Evelyn was one step ahead, ensuring every detail of Leonardo’s day unfolded with perfect precision.
As she stood just outside the door of Leonardo's walk-in closet, iPad in hand, tapping out a few last-minute reminder notes for herself, Evelyn heard the muffled sound of water shutting off, signaling Leonardo's shower had ended. A few moments later, the rhythmic, heavy thud of his footsteps reached her ears as he moved past her to enter his closet. She waited patiently, her eyes practically glued to the to-do list displayed on the screen, her mind already running through the priorities for the day.
Moments later, the closet door opened with a gentle swooshing sound, and Leonardo stood in the doorway, his damp, dark hair combed back and a faint scent of cedarwood and bergamot drifting out with him. Fully dressed in his crisp white shirt and tailored navy trousers, he gave her a slight nod, a silent signal for her to step inside.
"Good morning, Evelyn," he greeted, his deep voice carrying its usual calm authority, softened by familiarity.
"Good morning, Mr. Andolini," she replied, slipping into the walk-in closet with a professional yet friendly tone. She set the iPad down on the closet island and reached for the small step ladder tucked neatly beside the row of his suits, pulling it out with practiced ease.
Climbing up two steps, Evelyn stood just tall enough to reach his neck. She retrieved the deep purple tie she had chosen earlier and looped it around his collar. Her slender fingers moved deftly, forming the knot with precise efficiency, as though she could do it in her sleep.
As she worked, Leonardo watched her silently, a faint flicker of gratitude in his unique golden-esque eyes. "You could delegate this, you know," he teased lightly, his lips curving into a half-smile.
"And deprive myself of my daily victory over stubborn silk? I don’t think so," Evelyn quipped back without missing a beat, tightening the knot and adjusting it until it sat perfectly against his collar.
Satisfied with her work, she stepped down and gave him a once-over, nodding with approval.
Leonardo chuckled softly, smoothing the tie with a large hand and walked with his personal assistant/secretary to the dining room.
The dining room had full-length, almost-sheer dark grey curtains framed the tall windows, diffusing the morning light into a soft glow that cast gentle shadows on the polished floor. The space was divided by sleek white columns, lending it an air of openness while subtly defining its boundaries. Leonardo and Evelyn sat beside one another at the rectangular table, its surface a rich, dark wood that gleamed under the soft light of an overhead chandelier.
Their breakfast, meticulously prepared the night before by Evelyn, reflects their contrasting routines. For Leonardo, a light breakfast meant a substantial plate: five ounces of bison, six eggs—two incorporated into pancake batter, four scrambled into the bison—and three medium pancakes. Evelyn, on the other hand, had opted for something simpler but no less nourishing: scrambled eggs with fresh spinach and a slice of whole-grain toast.
The two ate in companionable silence, the clinking of cutlery the only sound breaking the stillness. Evelyn occasionally glanced at her iPad, jotting down a note or two while Leonardo read the news on his phone, his expression unreadable as he scrolled.
As they neared the end of their meal, Evelyn’s phone vibrated on the table, the screen lighting up with the name Executive Director Benigno Gagliardo . She glanced at the screen, then at Leonardo, raising an eyebrow slightly. “It’s Mr. Gagliardo. Should I answer it?”
Leonardo didn’t look up immediately, taking a deliberate sip of his coffee before responding. “No,” he said, setting the cup down. “He’s going to tell me that the expansion deal in New Mexico didn’t go well. I don’t want that guilty man to ruin my morning mood.”
Evelyn tilted her head slightly, giving her boss a polite but curious smile. “What do you mean by ‘guilty man’?”
Leonardo leaned back in his chair, folding his arms as he gave her a patient but direct look. “Hurting someone or stealing something isn’t the only thing that makes you guilty,” he said. “Incompetence, and being unaware of your incompetence, makes you guilty too.”
Evelyn considered his words, nodding slightly. But before she could respond, Leonardo paused, his eyes narrowing slightly in thought. “I do wonder though,” he said, his tone almost reflective.
“What?” Evelyn asked, leaning forward slightly, her curiosity piqued.
“How can a man be that incompetent?” he mused aloud, his brow furrowing briefly.
Evelyn smiled politely, masking her amusement at his bluntness. “I wonder that too.”
Leonardo let out a short, quiet laugh before adding, “If your goal is to do something, you don’t just simply do it but you should strive to win at it, too. Why on earth can’t people do such a simple thing?”
“Well, sir,” Evelyn began, her tone thoughtful but sincere, “not everyone is like you. There are very few people who can dedicate themselves to such a high standard.”
She surprised herself with how honest the statement was, but it was true. Leonardo’s standards were exceptional, bordering on superhuman at times.
Leonardo studied her for a moment, his expression softening slightly as he gave her a small nod of acknowledgment. “Perhaps,” he said simply, his voice carrying a hint of satisfaction. With that, he turned his attention back to his phone, and Evelyn made a mental note to revisit the New Mexico issue later, when the timing was right.
The peaceful silence of the dining room was interrupted by another buzz from Evelyn’s phone. She glanced down, her eyes scanning the screen briefly. Leonardo, mid-thought as he finished the last bite of his bison, noticed and looked at her expectantly.
“Who is it?” he asked, his deep voice calm but laced with curiosity.
“This time,” Evelyn began, her tone deliberately neutral. She paused, but only for a fraction of a second, before continuing with a touch of wry humor, “it’s a call from an ‘absolute sinner.’ What do you want me to do, sir?”
Leonardo sighed deeply, leaning back slightly in his chair and turning his gaze toward the tall curtains. “Let it ring,” he said, dismissing it with a wave of his hand. Evelyn nodded, silencing the call without another word.
Immediately after breakfast, Leonardo’s custom-made Maserati Quattroporte pulled out of its driveway and the two occupants were on their way to tackle their day.
Its black exterior gleamed under the morning sun, while the dark crimson interior hinted at a refined but dangerous taste. Evelyn sat beside Leonardo in the passenger seat, her posture immaculate, her iPad resting on her lap as she reviewed the day’s itinerary.
As they pulled up to the headquarters of ImperialReach Telecom , the valet was already waiting. The imposing structure of Leonardo’s empire loomed ahead of them as a modern fortress of steel and glass.
Leonardo stepped out first, his sheer size and presence drawing the attention of the valet, who instinctively straightened up. Evelyn followed, clutching her tan purse, her heels clicking softly against the stone pavement as they made their way into the building.
Inside, the air was cool and hushed, the pristine lobby bustling with subdued energy. Without pausing, Leonardo and Evelyn made their way to a private office tucked deeper into the building. Sitting behind a heavy desk was Alan Giamatti. Alan was a stocky, balding man with a flushed fair complexion and small, round glasses perched on the bridge of his nose. His thinning hair was combed over in a futile attempt to conceal his receding hairline, and his suit jacket, slightly askew, hinted at his perpetually nervous demeanor.
Seeing Leonardo and Evelyn standing in the doorway, both with stern expressions, Alan immediately stood, his hands raised in a placating gesture. His voice quivered as he almost blubbered, “Mr. Andolini, you’re mistaken. There’s been a huge... colossal ... misunderstanding.”
Leonardo’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile, revealing his strikingly predatory teeth. His upper canines, 1.5 inches long and slightly curved, caught the light menacingly. The slanted lateral incisors, sharp and almost chipped-looking, added to the feral effect, while the shorter but equally sharp lower canines completed the unnerving image. 
“Really?” Leonardo said, his tone a low growl that sent a shiver through the room. “So you weren’t caught by the tabloids at a Gentleman’s lounge during office hours?” The question hung in the air, daring Alan to lie.
Alan’s resolve crumbled instantly. His gaze dropped to the floor as he mumbled, “I’m sorry, sir.”
Leonardo’s tone was icy as he responded. “‘Sorry’? Why couldn’t you have been sorry before you did this? Why didn’t you think about my company’s image? You’re a senior managing director, for goodness sake.”
“I am sorry, sir. I will make sure this doesn’t happen again,” Alan stammered, his voice wavering.
While they spoke, Evelyn stood nearby, her fingers scrolling through the Daily Bugle ’s column on her iPhone. The scandal was plastered across the page, an embarrassing snapshot of Alan that left little to the imagination.
“Evelyn,” Leonardo said sharply, breaking her focus.
“Yes, sir,” she replied, her gaze snapping to him.
“What’s next?” he asked, his tone carrying a note of annoyance.
“You have a board meeting about the company’s recent overall progress,” she answered crisply.
Leonardo nodded, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. He was just about to place it in his mouth when Evelyn deftly plucked it from his fingers.
“You know you’re not allowed to smoke inside,” she said, her tone firm but respectful.
Leonardo sighed in resignation, his irritation barely masked as he turned to Alan, fixing him with a deathly glare. Alan immediately dropped his gaze again, muttering, “How can I make this right, Mr. Andolini?” But there was no answer. “Mr. Andolini?” he tried again.
Ignoring the man completely and without a word, Leonardo turned and strode out of the office. Alan sank into one of the plush chairs, his face a mix of regret and defeat.
Evelyn walked over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Mr. Giamatti, don’t worry too much,” she said, her tone calm and measured. “Your last two projects failed, and you did get caught at that lounge. But it’s because Mr. Andolini had high hopes for you. That’s why he’s disappointed. He’s trying very hard to cover up that scandal from Jameson’s article about you.”
Alan nodded slowly, looking up at her with watery eyes. “Ms. Freeman, why did I do something so stupid ?” He huffed out a breath. “I must’ve been possessed or… something.”
Evelyn offered him a small smile. “Regardless, don’t forget about this moment. You just work harder.”
Alan nodded again, this time with a bit more determination. “Okay,” he said quietly.
She patted his back gently. “Why don’t you go home early today? Maybe get some rest.”
Alan stood, looking slightly more composed. “Alright, then.”
As he walked out, he turned to his secretary, Selene Barile, with an unrepentant smirk. “See you tomorrow, Ms. Barile.”
Once he was gone, Selene looked at Evelyn, confused. “Mr. Giamatti is really going to keep working here?”
Without answering, Evelyn smiled and pulled out her phone, making a quick call. “Maintenance? Yes, please clear out Mr. Alan Giamatti’s desk and all other furniture now.” Hanging up, she turned to Selene, her expression chill-inducing yet knowing. “Have you ever seen Mr. Andolini give someone a second chance?”
With that, she left the room, leaving Selene both relieved and anxious.
The boardroom was a showcase of ImperialReach Telecom's dominance: a vast space with high ceilings and a panoramic view of the city skyline. At the far end of the room stood Gruccio "Gru" Cooper. Gru was a wiry man with sharp features, his short black hair sprinkled with salt-and-pepper strands was slicked back neatly. His glasses perched slightly askew on his nose, and his tailored suit—always a size too snug—seemed to accentuate his eccentric charm. His expressive face was alive with enthusiasm as he gestured to the large PowerPoint display behind him. 
The slides were filled with graphs, bar charts, and bullet points, highlighting ImperialReach’s recent milestones and future projections. Gru’s voice was animated, punctuated with his signature inflection that made even the driest figures sound engaging.
“Ladies and gentlemen, what you see here,” he pointed to a towering bar graph, “is not just growth. It’s unprecedented growth. This quarter, we’ve seen a 22% increase in international expansion revenues. That’s up from 19% last quarter!” He turned to the table, his eyes lighting up. “Do you know what that means? It means we’re unstoppable ! Like a snowball rolling down a mountain—except, you know, with less... snow... and more cash.”
A few of the board members chuckled, though most remained stone-faced, stealing occasional glances toward the head of the table where Leonardo Andolini sat. Leonardo’s imposing presence dominated the room, even as he silently observed Gru’s presentation. He leaned back in his chair, his massive frame almost too large for the custom-made seat, his keen eyes fixed on the screen. Evelyn Freeman, seated to his right, typed swiftly on her laptop, her calm professionalism a stark contrast to Gru’s energetic delivery.
“And this,” Gru continued, clicking to the next slide, “is where we’re headed. The next phase of our expansion plan targets underserved regions in South America. Why? Because where others see obstacles, we see opportunities .” He emphasized the last words with dramatic hand gestures, his enthusiasm palpable.
Leonardo’s lips twitched upward slightly—a rare sign of approval. As Gru launched into another set of figures, Leonardo raised a hand, his voice deep and commanding. “That’s enough, Mr. Cooper.”
Gru paused mid-sentence, blinking. “Oh! Uh, sure. Of course, Mr. Andolini.” He stepped aside, nervously adjusting his glasses.
Leonardo stood, his towering figure casting a long shadow over the room. “The growth is satisfactory,” he stated simply, his tone final. He glanced at Evelyn, who immediately closed her laptop and stood as well. Without another word, the two exited the room, leaving an air of authority in their wake.
As soon as the door closed, the tension in the room dissipated slightly. A few board members exchanged glances before one muttered, “Well, that was... intense.”
Another nodded, loosening his tie. “He didn’t even say much, but it felt like he was dissecting each of us with his eyes.”
“I thought the meeting went well,” a third member chimed in nervously.
“Sure, but when he’s in the room, it’s like walking on eggshells. Even when he’s satisfied, you’re not sure if you’re about to get fired or not,” the first board member said with a nervous laugh.
Gru, who had been quietly packing up his notes at the front of the room, perked up at their conversation. He straightened, his face suddenly serious. “Oh, hello again, Mr. Andolini!” he said loudly, looking toward the door.
The board members froze, their faces draining of color as they whipped around toward the entrance. Seeing no one there, they slowly turned back, only to find Gru grinning mischievously.
“Gotcha,” Gru said, snickering as he picked up his papers and headed for the door. “You should’ve seen your faces. Classic.”
As he left, the grumbling of the board members followed him, but Gru didn’t seem to care. He was still chuckling to himself as he disappeared down the hallway, muttering, “Amateurs.”
Later that same night at the grandeur of a charity gala, set in the sprawling estate of a renowned art collector. The mansion’s marble floors gleam under dazzling crystal chandeliers, while a live string quartet serenades the elegantly dressed guests. Men in sharp tuxedos mingle with women in resplendent gowns, the air buzzing with conversations laced with power and influence.
Leonardo enters the main hall, commanding attention without effort. His tuxedo is nothing short of impeccable—a custom-made black velvet jacket with satin lapels, paired with a crisp white shirt and a classic bow tie. His polished leather shoes reflect the opulent surroundings, and his sheer presence turns heads. Evelyn walks beside him, a vision in a floor-length red gown that hugs her figure and flows gracefully as she moves. Her hair is swept into an elegant updo, and her diamond earrings catch the light with every step.
As they ascend the staircase leading to the ballroom, Evelyn leans closer to Leonardo and whispers, her tone professional yet discreet. “The man to your left, across the room—he’s the newly appointed CEO of Serrano Energy in Spain.”
Leonardo’s sharp eyes lock onto the man in question. Without missing a beat, he strides confidently toward him, extending a hand. “Buenas noches,” he begins in perfect Spanish, his deep voice resonating warmly. The CEO is momentarily surprised but quickly reciprocates, engaging in a brief but engaging exchange.
After a few moments of polite conversation, Leonardo excuses himself and moves toward another cluster of guests. Evelyn, always one step ahead, whispers as they approach a statuesque woman in an emerald gown. “She’s the CFO of Avantix Technologies, one of the biggest tech firms in France.”
Leonardo nods imperceptibly and greets the woman in fluent French, his charm as smooth as his transition between languages. Evelyn stays in the background, her role as the ever-prepared confidant shining through.
Across the grand ballroom with its elegance and excess and a lavish display of wealth stood Lucien Sayers, owner of a pharmaceutical and technological company. Lucien knew Leonardo Andolini was present, though not within sight. Which is exactly how Lucien preferred it. He had no interest in a direct confrontation tonight—at least, not yet. Instead, he stood near the edge of the ballroom, his hand wrapped loosely around a glass of red wine, the liquid reflecting the dim, golden glow of the chandeliers. And in front of him, poised yet visibly unsettled, was Karina Fiorella Ricci.
Karina was known for her striking beauty. Even as frustration burned in her chest, she had the air of a queen unwilling to bow. Her deep auburn hair cascaded over her shoulders in soft, controlled waves, framing a face of sharp elegance—high cheekbones, full lips painted a deep shade of crimson, and her unique reddish-brown eyes that could pierce through any deception. But tonight, those eyes burned with a frustrated defiance.
Karina had long since tired of Lucien’s games, of the gilded cage he had trapped her in. She wanted to leave, to be free, to carve her own path away from his suffocating control. But just as she turned on her heel to walk away, Lucien’s hand caught her wrist.
"Don't even think about it, my flower," he murmured, his voice carrying the deceptive softness of a spider coaxing its prey. His smile never reached his eyes, which gleamed with unshaken dominance. "You are going to mingle and see if you can gather any intel about your old island companion, Leonardo."
Karina’s breath hitched as she stared at him, loathing written in every tense line of her body. But Lucien had already stepped closer, closing the space between them. From the inside pocket of his tailored black suit, he produced a small, palm-sized remote.
A cold, familiar horror settled in her stomach.
He held it just above her chest, his fingers idly grazing the buttons. She knew exactly what it was—the remote control that dictated the fate of the chip in her heart. The chip that kept her alive.
“You see this?” Lucien's voice was smooth, almost tender, but dripping with venom. “As long as I control this, I control you. If you try to leave or betray me, I can destroy it, and you will vanish along with it. You can’t run from me.”
The room around them carried on, oblivious. To everyone else, it was merely a conversation between a powerful man and an enchanting woman. No one saw the tightening of Karina’s fingers at her sides, or the way her pulse quickened as she fought against the helplessness clawing at her.
A shiver ran down her spine, but she forced herself to remain still, to not give him the satisfaction of seeing her fear. She knew Lucien wasn’t lying. And that knowledge weighed heavier and heavier with each passing moment.
Later, during the dinner portion of the evening, Leonardo sits at a private table for two, reserved for only the most exclusive interactions. The table is tucked into an alcove, offering a measure of privacy. The soft clinking of silverware and murmured conversations fill the air as Emily Taft makes her entrance. Her strapless black gown is sleek and sophisticated, paired with a string of pearls that accentuate her graceful neckline. She approaches Leonardo with a mix of confidence and a surprising amount of what could be discerned as vulnerability.
As she takes her seat across from him, Emily’s voice is soft but charged with emotion. “Why haven’t you called me? You didn’t…” she begins, but Leonardo interrupts, his expression unchanging.
“I was busy,” he replies curtly, his tone leaving little room for further questions.
Emily’s words falter, but she presses on, her frustration evident. She mentions something about a necklace and gratitude, but Leonardo’s focus drifts momentarily. He glances at his vintage Breitling wristwatch, the gold and steel catching the light. As he looks up again, even seated his towering frame allows him to easily spot Evelyn across the room. She is engaged in conversation, but her eyes meet his, and she smiles—bright and genuine. He returns a brief, tight-lipped smile before refocusing on Emily.
Her mention of the necklace finally registers. Evelyn’s subtle gesture to her own neck earlier had pieced it together for him. He leans forward slightly, his tone polite but distant. “You’re welcome. Glad you liked it.”
As the night winds down, Leonardo and Evelyn are chauffeured back in a beautiful midnight black-coloured car. The silence between them is broken when Leonardo’s deep voice cuts through. “When did you learn Spanish?”
Evelyn glances at him, her calm demeanor intact. “Oh, some time ago now. Thanks to being around you, I taught myself Spanish, Italian, and Korean to do my job to its fullest.”
Leonardo’s brow furrows slightly. “Does your job include flirting with those men?” His tone is measured, but Evelyn catches a faint edge of something—jealousy, perhaps?
She smiles, amused rather than flustered. “When men try to make a move on me, I touch my earring with my left hand.”
Leonardo tilts his head. “Why your left hand?”
Proudly, Evelyn holds up her left hand, showing a simple gold band. “When I show them my ring, everything gets sorted out. It’s the ring I won last year at the company’s annual sports day.”
His expression softens as he regards her with rare admiration. “You are amazing.”
Now caught off guard, Evelyn struggles to hide her surprise. “Thank you.”
Leonardo looks away, his gaze distant. “You need to be properly rewarded for your achievements, today in particular. I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer.”
Evelyn’s smile fades as she shifts uncomfortably. “Well, sir, I do have something to tell you.”
He turns to her, his face unreadable. “What is it?”
Deciding to simply rip the bandage off, Evelyn’s voice is steady but tinged with finality. “I’m resigning. This is my two month’s notice.”
The words hit Leonardo like a freight train. His vision narrows, and an almost imperceptible ringing fills his ears. For a moment, he says nothing, staring straight ahead.
Finally, he speaks, his voice devoid of emotion. “Okay, Evelyn. I accept your resignation.”
The rest of the ride is consumed by silence, but for Leonardo, the quiet is anything but peaceful. Even as he lies awake later that night, staring at the ceiling of his vast bedroom, the reality of her departure reverberates in his mind, leaving him restless and unsettled.
The room buzzed with the low hum of activity as Vincent D’Amato entered the shared office space of his team. A man in his mid-40s but brimming with youthful energy, Vincent had the presence of someone who could turn even the most mundane news into an Oscar-worthy performance. His stocky frame moved with a sort of deliberate swagger, his rounded features still reminiscent of his younger self—sharp, expressive eyes beneath bushy eyebrows, a sly smirk often curling at the edges of his mouth, and a receding hairline that didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. Despite the years, his charisma was undiminished, his voice carrying the same gravelly cadence that made every sentence sound like the punchline to a joke.
With a dramatic sigh, Vincent slapped his palms against his hips and addressed the room, his voice cutting through the faint typing and idle chatter. “Well, I just heard some crazy news.”
Toni Halstead, seated in the far corner of the room, didn’t even look up from her screen as she rolled her eyes. Her deep brown skin glowed under the overhead light, and her strong, angular features radiated a subtle command. With her hair styled in neat, natural waves and her fitted blazer exuding effortless professionalism, she had a presence that commanded respect. When she finally turned her sharp gaze toward Vincent, her tone was laced with skepticism. “Yeah, sure… what’s this ‘crazy news’ ?”
Vincent pointed at her dramatically, his lips curling into a knowing grin. “Looks, this is real, crazy news.”
Margot Castellano leaned forward in her chair, her petite frame nearly disappearing behind the large desk she occupied. Her wiry frame and expressive face belied her sharp wit, her quick comebacks often keeping the team on their toes. Her curly gray-streaked hair framed her face, and her wide, curious eyes sparkled with mischief. She clasped her hands together like a kid eager to hear a ghost story and urged, “Okay, come on then! What’s up?”
At her prodding, the rest of the team began to shift their attention.
Tony Rodriguez adjusted his glasses, pushing them up the bridge of his nose as he leaned forward. His sharp jawline and neatly trimmed beard gave him a sleek, polished look that matched his tailored clothing. He was the most composed of the group, his expression rarely betraying emotion, though there was always a glint of curiosity in his dark eyes.
Beside him, Noah Peacott slouched in his chair, his sandy-blond hair sticking out in multiple directions as though he hadn’t touched a comb in days. He was lanky, with an almost boyish face despite being in his mid-30s. His smirk deepened as he watched Vincent’s theatrics, already bracing for whatever melodrama was about to unfold.
Even Toni, who had initially dismissed him, leaned in slightly, folding her arms across her chest as if daring Vincent to impress her.
With all eyes on him, Vincent drew out the moment with a dramatic pause, his hands gesturing theatrically as though he were delivering a Shakespearean monologue. “Evelyn… Evelyn… is resigning!”
The reaction was instantaneous.
Noah broke into a slow, sarcastic clap. “Bravo, Vin. Truly groundbreaking. Next, you’ll tell us the sky is falling.”
Margot shook her head, her curls bouncing. “Seriously, Vin, Evelyn would never, ever , never quit this job. I mean, for what?”
Tony added with a chuckle, “Yeah, besides, Mr. Andolini couldn’t function without her. So yeah, what you said is nons—”
Before he could finish, a voice interrupted him from behind.
“It’s actually not nonsense.”
Evelyn stepped into the room, her subtle authoritative presence instantly silencing the group. Her tailored blouse and pencil skirt was professional, but there was an ease in her posture that suggested she wasn’t here to entertain their skepticism. Her eyes met theirs with a quiet resolve, and her words carried weight. “I really am quitting.”
The room erupted again.
Vincent grinned smugly, pointing at the group. “See?! That’s what you guys get for doubting your leader.”
Margot shot him an annoyed glance before turning to Evelyn. “Why? Are you getting married?”
Toni chimed in with a raised eyebrow. “Or going back to school?”
Noah added, “New job offer?”
Evelyn shook her head, a small smile playing on her lips. “None of those things, guys.”
Tony leaned in conspiratorially, lowering his voice. “Then is it because of Mr. Andolini’s… behavior?”
The smile faltered slightly, but Evelyn quickly regained her composure. “It’s not that either,” she replied evenly. “It’s just a personal reason.”
Before anyone could press further, the sound of firm footsteps echoed down the hall. The five team members froze as Leonardo Andolini passed by their office, his towering frame cutting an imposing figure even as he walked by. His piercing gaze didn’t stray from his destination, but his very presence commanded silence.
Evelyn glanced back at the group, offering a faint smile before following him to his office.
As she rounded the corner, the team erupted into whispers, their disbelief turning into speculation as they tried to piece together the reason behind Evelyn’s decision.
Leonardo’s office was a perfect reflection of the man who occupied it. The centerpiece of the room was a grand window dominating the side wall, overlooking a lush, emerald-green soccer field. It wasn’t just any field; it belonged to Leonardo’s personally owned national soccer team, the Riots. The freshly painted white boundary lines stood out starkly against the manicured grass, and the team's logo—an upturned fist—was prominently displayed at the center of the field. Players were visible in the distance, going through drills, their movements purposeful and coordinated.
Inside, the room's interior design showcased dark wooden beams framed the ceiling, their rich tones grounding the space and providing a sense of structure. A black leather sofa was set near a glass coffee table supported by gold, geometric legs, lending a touch of opulence to the seating area. Two matching side tables flanked the sofa, each topped with modern lamps featuring cylindrical bases and crisp white shades, adding a warm, symmetrical ambiance.
Leonardo’s desk sat opposite the seating area. Its surface adorned only with a high-tech desktop computer, a polished telephone set, and an intricately designed hourglass with gleaming gold accents. Behind the desk was his massive swivel chair, a black leather throne that creaked audibly as he lowered himself into it. The sound, incongruous with the rest of the office's pristine elegance, drew a glance from Evelyn, who was already tapping notes into her phone.
Leonardo, noticing her reaction, leaned back slightly in his chair and arched a thick eyebrow. “You’re thinking about changing my chair, aren’t you?” he asked, his deep voice carrying an edge of amusement.
Evelyn looked up, smiling slightly. “Yes, sir. It shouldn’t be long before I have an adequate replacement for you.”
His piercing gaze lingered on her as he placed his elbows on the desk, lacing his long, thick fingers together. “You don’t really mean to leave, do you? You’re not really going to resign.”
Her expression faltered briefly at his sudden pivot from something professional to personal. Blinking, she composed herself and replied, “You’re wrong this time, sir.”
Leonardo pursed his full lips, leaning forward slightly. “What’s the reason?”
Evelyn hesitated, surprised by his persistence. Before she could form an answer, he pressed further. “Is it because I’ve been making you work late hours and on weekends?”
Ignoring his line of questioning, she shifted the conversation back to business. “I will post a job advertisement this morning, Mr. Andolini. We’ll work to sort out the best candidates, and you’ll only need to interview the finalists.”
Leonardo leaned back, his massive frame dominating the chair, though his expression was unreadable. “Fine,” he said shortly, though there was no harshness in his tone.
True to her word, Evelyn returned to her large desk just outside his office and began drafting the qualifications for her position. As her webpage loaded, she felt a presence looming. Looking up, she saw Leonardo standing over her desk, his massive arms crossed over his chest, the light from the circular window casting his shadow long across her desk.
Startled, she stood quickly. “Oh, Mr. Andolini. Did you need something after all?”
For a moment, he didn’t respond, his uniquely coloured eyes studying her as if trying to decipher a hidden meaning. Finally, he said, “I’m going to Gru’s office. Push my conference call to the afternoon.”
Evelyn nodded. “Yes, sir.”
As she finished speaking, he added in a quieter tone, “I’m eating at home today. You can take care of your own lunch.”
Without waiting for a reply, Leonardo turned and walked away. Evelyn watched him go, her gaze lingering on his broad back before sitting down and smiling to herself. Picking up her phone, she quickly dialed a friend, her fingers light on the keypad, her earlier tension momentarily forgotten.
President of ImperialReach Telecom Gruccio ‘Gru’ Cooper’s office was a sharp contrast to Leonardo’s sleek, imposing workspace. It was smaller, yet undeniably cozy, filled with quirky knick-knacks that spoke of his humor and eclectic taste. A plush carpet with mismatched patterns covered the floor, and the walls were adorned with motivational posters—albeit tongue-in-cheek ones, like “Keep Calm and Carry Snacks” and “It’s Only Paranoia If You’re Wrong.” His wooden desk, though cluttered, had an air of organized chaos, littered with sticky notes, half-empty coffee mugs, and a miniature bobblehead of himself. Behind the desk, an open window offered a modest view of the company parking lot, a far cry from Leonardo’s breathtaking soccer field vista.
A brown leather loveseat sat against the wall near the desk, but it looked comically undersized as Leonardo reclined on it. With his wide frame, he filled it completely, sitting on it as though it were a chair, his broad shoulders spilling over the edges. He leaned back slightly, his massive hands resting on his thighs, his face drawn into a pensive expression.
“What could be her reason?” Leonardo mumbled, his deep voice resonating as he stared at the floor. His brows furrowed, and his usually sharp gaze softened, betraying an uncharacteristic vulnerability.
Gru, seated behind his desk, leaned back in his swivel chair and raised an eyebrow. “Reason?”
“The real reason why, out of the blue , she wants to quit all of a sudden,” Leonardo elaborated, looking up. His eyes were clouded with frustration. “Evelyn. What could possibly make her decide this?”
Gru’s expression lit up in recognition. “Oooh! You mean Ms. Freeman,” he said, dragging out her name with a knowing smirk.
Leonardo ignored the quip, his frustration spilling over. “There was nothing I couldn’t figure out about her before... but I really can’t figure out this one. This is becoming so frustrating that I’m getting a headache.”
Gru paused from typing on his computer, his fingers hovering over the keys. He glanced up fully, his face a mix of concern and amusement. “Really?”
Seeing how his friend was genuinely troubled, Gru stood up and walked to a mini-fridge tucked under a nearby bookshelf. He pulled out a couple of energy drinks and a bar of chocolate, holding them up triumphantly. “Well, chocolates and energy drinks are the best when your sugar’s low!”
Leonardo shook his head, his thick black hair shifting slightly. “No thanks. Just tell me—why do you think Evelyn is doing this?”
Sitting on the coach across from his friend, Gru flopped the chocolate bar onto the coffee table with a dramatic plop and stared at Leonardo, his face filled with exaggerated disbelief. “You really don’t know why? I’m surprised she managed to handle working for you for nine years. Lee, they call her ‘Wonder Woman’ wherever she goes! I mean, only a complete idiot would let an angel incarnate just walk out the—”
Gru trailed off, noticing Leonardo’s dark snarl. His long canine gleamed in the office light, giving him the appearance of a predator ready to strike. Gru’s hands shot up in a placating motion, his palms facing outward, fingers spread wide, as though to block an imaginary blow. “Whoa, whoa! What did I say? Did I say two years? I meant two! No! I meant nine years!”
Gru recovered quickly, his expression shifting into a mock-serious one as he adopted a professorial tone. “Now, see, there’s something called the ‘3, 6, 9 Rule.’ This rule dictates when burnout sets in.”
Leonardo relaxed before he leaned back in the loveseat, stroking the jagged scar on his cheek thoughtfully. His thick fingers traced the mark, a habit he often fell into when lost in thought. “Go on,” he muttered.
Leonardo nodded, his deep voice cutting in dryly, “Of course. But I’m also aware that she served you divorce papers instead of giving you a gift on your tenth wedding anniversary.”
Gru froze mid-gesture, his face blank as if someone had pulled the plug on his enthusiasm. “Ooh, you rude,” he muttered before shaking it off and continuing.
“At the beginning, we were burning with love. But looking back—on our third anniversary, she asked why she ever fell in love with me. On our sixth, she asked if she could smack the back of my head because, apparently, I had a ‘slappable head.’ By our ninth, when I gave her a cake, she didn’t even want to hear me breathe.”
The memory brought tears to Gru’s eyes, and he sniffled dramatically. Leonardo leaned forward, his deep voice tinged with incredulity. “Are... are you about to cry?”
Gru waved him off, sniffing loudly. “No. Anyway! Burnout, Lee. It’s like a bruised apple,” he said, holding out his hand as if presenting the imaginary fruit. “You cut away the rotten part, but who has the patience for that? So you grab a fresher apple instead. But if you leave that bruised apple in the bunch, guess what? The whole lot starts to rot.”
Leonardo narrowed his eyes, his voice flat. “What exactly are you getting at?”
Gru, clearly enjoying his metaphor, raised his arms dramatically, twisting and pivoting as though choreographing an interpretive dance. “Before everything rots, Lee, you’ve got to cut through all that and talk to her. Make a breakthrough!”
Leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees, Leonardo mumbled, “A breakthrough?”
Suddenly, his expression brightened. A new thought clicked into place. With a snap of his thick fingers, he stood up. The loveseat groaned under the sudden shift in weight. “That’s easy enough,” he said with determination, his towering frame casting a long shadow over the room.
At seeing his enormous friend stand, Gru leaned back in his seat on the couch across from Leonardo and said with a smirk, “Let me know if you need help making any sort of breakthrough with her.”
Leonardo glanced over his shoulder with a faint grin and retorted, “Well, you got a divorce because you couldn’t.”
Nodding in resignation, Gru picked up the chocolate he had earlier dropped and said with a shrug, “True… true.”
The late afternoon sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden hue over the city as the sleek black car navigated the winding roads leading to Leonardo’s estate. The warm glow filtered through the tinted windows, streaking across Leonardo’s sharp features as he sat in the backseat, one arm resting on the center console. Beside him, Evelyn sat with a quiet intensity, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her coat as she stared out at the passing landscape.
At the wheel, Samuel cut an impressive figure, the jacket hugged his shoulders, the fabric stretching just enough to reveal the sculpted muscles beneath. His posture was impeccable—straight, yet relaxed, with an air of effortless confidence. The crisp white shirt beneath it contrasted sharply against the ink that curled along his throat—a glimpse of an intricate tattoo just barely visible above the collar. His bleached-blond hair kept short, slightly tousled but effortlessly styled stands in stark contrast to his naturally darker features, giving him a striking appearance. His dark eyes, calculating and ever watchful, flicked briefly to the rearview mirror before returning to the road.
Samuel remained focused, his hands steady on the wheel. The smooth purr of the engine blended with the distant hum of the world outside—birds settling into the trees, the faint rustle of wind brushing against the car’s exterior.
The drive was uneventful, but Samuel knew better than to ever let his guard down. The mansion came into view just as the sun dipped toward the horizon, its towering silhouette outlined against the amber sky. The iron gates slid open with a mechanical hiss, welcoming them into the long, curving driveway lined with manicured hedges and stone lanterns that would soon flicker to life as dusk approached.
Samuel pulled the car to a smooth stop near the grand entrance. He glanced in the rearview mirror, his face unreadable as he watched his passengers.
“We’re here,” he said, his British accent clipped and professional.
Leonardo opened the door without a word, stepping out while Evelyn followed on her side of the car, stretching slightly before she smoothed her skirt.
Samuel waited, watching them disappear up the front walkway. Only when they both rounded a tree, completely disappeared from his view, did he finally exhale.
With a practiced motion, he reached into his pocket, pulling out his electric cigarette. He lifted it to his lips, inhaling deeply as the tip flared with an artificial blue glow. The soft light caught the intricate skull tattoos on his fingers, illuminating the inked bone structure.
Reaching into his jacket, he retrieved his phone and pressed a single button. The line rang once before a voice picked up.
"Hello," Samuel murmured, his tone even, unreadable. "It's me. Just reporting in, but there's nothing new as of yet."
His gaze drifted toward the mansion, his eyes cool and calculating.
"Yes. I'll keep watching."
The air surrounding Leonardo’s mansion later that same day was crisp, carrying the faint scent of roses from the garden, but the silence between Leonardo and Evelyn was almost tangible as they approached the massive double doors.
As they stopped at the threshold, Leonardo turned abruptly, his towering frame casting a shadow over Evelyn. His eyes locked onto hers. “I’m not someone who gives second chances,” he said, his deep voice steady but charged with unspoken emotions.
Evelyn, standing a full foot and a half shorter than him, met his gaze with a calm resolve. “I’m very well aware of that, sir,” she replied, her tone even but respectful.
Leonardo continued, his expression softening ever so slightly. “But, I will make a special exception and give you one more chance to stay. With this, I’ll even promote you to director.”
Evelyn’s eyes widened, her professional composure faltering for a brief moment. Her mouth parted in shock, and she stared at him, unsure if she had heard him correctly.
“And that’s not all,” Leonardo added, sensing her hesitation. “I’ll hire someone else to support you, and I’ll have the company provide you with a car. If you like, I’ll also ensure the company covers your housing and any other accommodations you need.”
Evelyn blinked rapidly, processing the magnitude of the offer. Her hands, which had been clasped neatly in front of her, loosened slightly as her surprise turned to disbelief. She opened her mouth to respond, but Leonardo wasn’t finished.
“Trust me,” he said, leaning in slightly, his voice lowering. “You won’t get such an offer from anywhere else.”
Evelyn took a deep breath, steadying herself. A polite but firm smile spread across her face, and she met his gaze squarely. “Thank you so much for this offer, Mr. Andolini,” she said, her voice warm but resolute, “but I’m still resigning.”
Leonardo stiffened, the weight of her words hitting him like a blow. For a moment, his composure cracked, and his expression shifted into one of utter shock. His brows furrowed deeply as he searched her face for an explanation. “So,” he began, recovering slightly, “you’ve already eyed another job then? Are you even staying in L.A.?”
Evelyn hesitated, her smile softening as she considered her response. “No,” she said finally. “I’ve not taken another job, and to be frank, sir, I’m not sure about staying in L.A. either.”
Her words left Leonardo visibly perplexed. His towering form seemed to shrink just slightly as he stepped back, his eyes narrowing with confusion. “Then why are you resigning without such basic plans?” he asked, his tone quieter, almost gentle.
Evelyn hesitated, then drew herself up, her expression resolute but kind. “I want to pick up my life now,” she said, her voice carrying a quiet conviction. “That’s all.”
Leonardo stood frozen, her words echoing in his mind. Life? Is not nine years with me not her life? The question gnawed at him as he watched her walk away, her steps light yet purposeful as she disappeared into the evening.
That night, those same questions haunted him relentlessly. For years, Evelyn had been an integral part of his world—his confidante, his anchor, and the person who understood him better than most. And now, the thought of her stepping away left a hollow ache he couldn’t quite comprehend. As he sat in his expansive study, staring at the swirling amber liquid in his glass of scotch, her words repeated in his mind like a refrain.
“I want to pick up my life now.”
The hours dragged on, but the answers eluded him. For the first time in years, Leonardo Andolini felt powerless.
...:TBC:...
Chapter 3: Chapter 2
Notes:
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some hints of child abuse and torture toward the end of the chapter.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyright material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. I only own my original characters.
Author's Note: Okay! We're off! Now I will say this chapter is LONG! When I get time and I go through for editing, I will be splitting this chapter into two separate chapters. Anyway, please let me know what you think so far!
Author's Note 2: Thank you to all of you who have read this new story and to Anubis248 who's been reading my works for a while and left me a review already! I'm so incredibly thankful that you all are here. It's seriously because of this that I went overboard for this chapter XD.
Chapter Text
Leonardo stormed into Gru’s office the day after a party he went to where he mostly sat on a couch with Emily Taft in silent contemplation. Standing in the doorway, his enormous physique making the space seem even smaller than it already was. Gruccio "Gru" Cooper, seated comfortably behind his cluttered desk, looked up from his computer, startled by the sudden entrance. The warm light filtering through the large window did little to ease the tension emanating from Leonardo’s rigid posture.
Gru leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest as he watched his boss and friend pace back and forth. “Alright, Lee, what’s got you all worked up today?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes curious.
Leonardo stopped mid-stride, turning to face Gru. “Evelyn,” he said simply, his deep voice carrying the weight of unresolved emotions. “She told me the other day that she’s resigning not because she’s found another job, but because she wants to ‘pick up her life.’”
Gru blinked, the statement catching him off guard. “Wait…what?” He let out a long whistle, leaning forward with his elbows on his desk. “She doesn’t have another job lined up? No plans? No nothing? Huh.” He paused, then asked, “Well…if she’s not looking for another job, maybe she’s looking to travel? Or even, you know, find Mr. Right?”
Leonardo’s brows furrowed at the suggestion, and he straightened to his full height. His voice was firm, almost indignant. “‘Mr. Right’…I’m her Mr. Right.”
Gru arched an eyebrow, tilting his head in disbelief. “How do you know that?” he asked, his tone gentle but probing.
Leonardo hesitated for a moment, then began pacing again, his strides long and resolute. Finally, he stopped and turned toward Gru, his voice resolute. “Because I know that Evelyn is someone whom I need.”
Gru nodded slowly, trying to unravel Leonardo’s thoughts. “Alright, but why?” he pressed, leaning forward slightly, his expression earnest. “Is it because she’s indispensable as your secretary, or is it something more? Man, I’m asking you about your feelings for her.”
Leonardo stilled, his golden eyes narrowing in thought. He raised a large hand, gesturing for Gru to elaborate, though the question clearly unsettled him. Gru sighed, deciding to push further. “Are you interested in Evelyn as a woman , Lee? Or are you just scared of losing the best secretary you’ve ever had? You need to figure this out.”
The room fell into a heavy silence as Leonardo contemplated the question. His brow furrowed, and after a moment, he spoke, his voice thoughtful. “I guess…she’s like a suit that’s perfectly made for me and me alone.”
Gru blinked at the analogy, his mouth opening slightly in disbelief. “A suit? Really?” he muttered under his breath. But before he could voice his thoughts, Leonardo turned sharply on his heel and left the office, his movements brisk and purposeful.
As the door swung shut behind the giant man, Gru sat back in his chair, shaking his head in exasperation. “He’s comparing people to clothes now? I guess it’s better than the alternative…being compared to food.” He shuddered slightly, a vivid image flashing in his mind of Leonardo’s elongated canines glinting in the light. “Yeah…definitely better than food.”
Gru gave himself a little shake, dismissing the thought as quickly as it came. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of unease—and a lot of curiosity—about what Leonardo might do next.
Leonardo decided to take Evelyn to lunch at La Serata , an opulent, five-star Italian restaurant renowned for its exclusivity and fine dining. The restaurant sat atop a skyscraper, its large windows offering breathtaking views of Los Angeles below. Leonardo, however, had arranged for a private room—an extravagant space adorned with hand-carved wood paneling, crystal chandeliers, and rich velvet drapes. The room had a polished mahogany table set for two, adorned with gold-trimmed porcelain plates and pristine white linen napkins. A soft orchestral music played in the background, its elegant notes creating a tranquil atmosphere.
Evelyn sat across from Leonardo, her back straight and her hands neatly folded in her lap, her expression calm but curious. Despite the luxurious setting, the mood was subdued. Their server had discreetly brought out the first course—a delicate burrata salad drizzled with aged balsamic and paired with a crisp white wine. Leonardo, however, barely touched his plate. His broad shoulders were tense, and his watching gaze remained fixed on Evelyn, who pretended not to notice as she picked at her food.
The silence stretched on, broken only by the faint clinking of silverware. Evelyn finally glanced up, meeting his intense eyes. But before she could ask what was on his mind, Leonardo abruptly broke the silence.
"I've thought about what you said the other day," he began, his deep voice resonating in the intimate space. He set his fork down deliberately and leaned slightly forward, his massive hands resting on the table. “About living your life.”
Evelyn blinked, surprised by his sudden declaration. “Alright…” she said cautiously, her tone inviting him to continue.
Taking a deep breath, Leonardo sat back, his monumental frame dominating the chair as he crossed one leg over the other. “So, I’m letting you know that I wish to court you in the most traditional sense, the end goal being marriage.” His expression was calm but resolute, his gaze unwavering. “In this marriage, you will want for nothing. Anything your heart desires, will be yours.”
The words hung in the air like a thunderclap. Evelyn’s fork paused mid-air, her eyes wide with disbelief. She slowly lowered the utensil, placing it on the edge of her plate. “I’m sorry,” she said. “Did you just say—” She paused, then narrowed her eyes at the glass of red wine in front of him. “Wait. Has your drink been spiked?”
Leonardo’s expression didn’t waver. “No,” he said firmly. “I’m completely serious.”
Evelyn stared at him for a long moment, her mind racing. Then she laughed—a short, incredulous sound that echoed in the elegant room. “Mr. Andolini, are…you…you can’t be serious.”
“Do not forget who I am,” he said, his tone steady. “I’ve considered this carefully. You’ve been a vital part of my life for nine years, Evelyn. I admire your intelligence and your dedication. I know what I want, and I want you . Not as my secretary, but as my wife.”
Evelyn felt her cheeks flush, but not from flattery. She shook her head, trying to gather her thoughts. “Mr. Andolini…” she began, her voice softer now, but firm. “I appreciate the…offer. But I can’t.”
His thick brows furrowed slightly. “Why not?”
“Because,” she said, leaning forward and meeting his gaze head-on. “I don’t want my marriage to be an extension of my workplace. You said it yourself—I’ve been your secretary for nine years. That dynamic doesn’t disappear just because you call it a marriage. I want a partnership, not an arrangement where I’m still managing your schedule—only then I’d be doing it from your home instead of the office.”
Leonardo’s lips pressed into a thin line, his jaw tightening. “It wouldn’t be like that,” he insisted. “You’d have freedom. Independence. I’d never ask you to—”
Evelyn held up a hand, cutting him off gently. “Sir, listen to yourself. You’re talking about providing me with everything I could ever want, but you’re still framing it like it’s a transaction. Marriage isn’t just about what one person can give the other. It’s about mutual respect, love, and…equality and complementary aspects.”
For the first time, Leonardo looked genuinely taken aback. He sat back in his chair, his broad shoulders sagging slightly as he absorbed her words. Evelyn sighed, offering him a kind but resolute smile. “I’m flattered, really. But my answer is no.”
The silence that followed was heavy, almost suffocating. Evelyn reached for her water glass, taking a small sip to steady herself. Leonardo remained quiet, his eyes darkened as they were fixed on the table as if deep in thought. Finally, he nodded, his movements slow and deliberate.
“I understand,” he said quietly, though there was an edge of disappointment in his tone. “Thank you for being honest.”
Evelyn nodded in return, relieved but also slightly uneasy at the weight of his response. The rest of the lunch passed in a strained silence, the tension palpable despite the room’s opulence. By the time they left La Serata , Evelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that this was far from the end of the conversation.
The day had been long and emotionally draining, but Evelyn remained composed as she sat in the conference room for the final interview of the day. She checked her watch, noting it was well past standard working hours, and sighed before straightening her posture. The final candidate entered, and Evelyn looked up, her gaze meeting that of Leia Young.
Leia has sharp, distinctive features softened by an air of friendliness. Her almond-shaped brown eyes were focused and observant, framed by long lashes. Her jet-black hair was lustrous, falling just below her shoulders, with a side part that highlighted her cheekbones and smooth, glowing complexion. She had a professional appearance to the way she carried herself—poised, but not overly rehearsed.
Evelyn gestured for Leia to take a seat, and the young woman did so gracefully. The interview began with the usual formalities—questions about Leia’s previous experience, her aspirations, and her understanding of the role. Leia spoke with clarity and confidence, occasionally showing a glimmer of wit that brought a faint smile to Evelyn’s lips. By the end of the interview, Evelyn was impressed but knew there was one final hurdle: the meeting with Leonardo.
After taking a short break, Evelyn escorted Leia to Leonardo’s office. The big man was seated behind his desk. He barely looked up as they entered, gesturing for Leia to sit in the chair opposite him. Evelyn took her usual spot beside the candidate, maintaining a professional demeanor despite the simmering tension that had been building between her and Leonardo all day.
Leonardo began the final stage of the interview with his characteristic bluntness. His intense gaze settled on Leia as he leaned slightly forward, his massive hands clasped together on the desk. "Ms. Young, let me ask you a straightforward question," he said, his deep voice steady and measured. "Will you be able to complete your job day in and out without giving vague excuses?"
Evelyn’s eyes narrowed slightly at his tone. She turned her own attention to Leia with an expression that was equal parts frustration and defiance. "Will you be able to do your job knowing that any loved ones or friends will never be seen again?" she countered, her voice calm but laced with a sharp edge.
Leonardo’s thick, dark brow arched slightly—the only outward indication that her words had any impact. Otherwise, his face remained completely impassive, his stare fixed on Evelyn for a moment before returning to Leia.
Leia, to her credit, remained composed despite the tension between her potential employer and his secretary. She swallowed once, the faintest tremor in her posture betraying her nerves, but she quickly steadied herself. "Yes," she said firmly, though there was a trace of shakiness in her voice. "I can."
Leonardo’s lips curved into a faint, approving smirk, and he nodded. "Good," he said simply. "You’re hired. Training starts tomorrow."
Leia blinked, clearly surprised by the abruptness of the decision, but she managed to keep her composure. Evelyn stood, shaking Leia’s hand and offering her a polite smile. "Congratulations, Ms. Young," she said warmly. "We’ll be in touch with the details."
After Leia left the office, Evelyn turned to Leonardo, her expression neutral but her eyes glinting with challenge. He leaned back in his chair, his golden eyes locking onto hers. "Are you happy now?" he asked, his tone almost accusatory.
Evelyn tilted her head slightly, her lips curving into a faint, bittersweet smile. "Happy?" she echoed, letting the word hang in the air for a moment. "Sir, let me answer that by adding more clarity to why I’m leaving."
Leonardo’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t interrupt, his expression unreadable as she continued.
"See, I’m not just leaving to inconvenience you," Evelyn said, her voice steady but tinged with smallest amount of emotion. "As cliche and cheesy as it may sound but … I want to be wanted. I want to want someone. I want to take care of someone while also being taken care of." Her gaze softened, but her tone remained resolute. "Tell me, Mr. Andolini... who could I turn to when I finally get on your bad side and you fire me? I’m alone. I’ve always realized that fact. I have no living family. The few friends that I have, have families of their own. Who will care for me when I’m sick? When times are slow and monotonous, who can I share my boredom with? Who can I laugh with? … … Who can I just be quiet with?"
She paused, shaking her head slightly as she searched his face for any sign of understanding. "Sir, I’m not doing this to spite you," she said softly. "I’m doing this because I truly want to answer those questions."
As if on cue, the sharp ring of Leonardo’s desk phone shattered the heavy silence. He glanced at the phone but didn’t move to pick it up, his gaze still fixed on Evelyn. She, however, took it as her cue to leave. Without another word, she turned and walked out of the office, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Leonardo watched her go, the sound of her footsteps fading into the distance as the phone continued to ring.
The following morning, Evelyn stood just outside the mini-cubicle area that sat a little ways off from Leonardo’s office, her posture as poised as ever. Leia Young stood beside her, hands clasped neatly in front of her, exuding a calm and collected demeanor despite the faint nervousness in her eyes. The mini-cubicle area was a cozy workspace shared by the core team, close enough to Leonardo’s office and Evelyn’s desk to allow for seamless communication but separate enough to ensure a degree of privacy.
“Everyone,” Evelyn began, addressing the small group of colleagues gathered around. “I’d like to introduce you to Leia Young. She’ll be stepping in as Mr. Andolini’s executive assistant. I know transitions like this can be challenging, but Leia comes highly qualified, and I trust she’ll adapt quickly to the role.”
Leia nodded politely, a soft smile on her face as she looked around the group.
Vincent D’Amato, the team’s logistical ‘wizard’, seated at his desk and tinkering with a set of files, turned in his chair. The older man’s round glasses caught the light as he grinned warmly. “Welcome aboard, kiddo,” he said, his gravelly voice full of encouragement. “If Evelyn says you’re good, then you’re already off to a good start..”
Margot Castellano, leaning casually against the edge of a nearby desk, chimed in next. Her petite frame radiated energy as she gave Leia a bright, friendly smile. “Welcome, Leia! Don’t let Vincent scare you with his gruffness, he’s a teddy bear underneath all that. Now that I think about it though, this bunch is a little rough around the edges, but we’re a family. I’m sure you’ll fit right in.”
Tony Rodriguez, standing with his arms folded, nodded in Leia’s direction. His sharp, angular features were softened by a polite smile, though his posture remained guarded. “Welcome,” he said simply, his tone friendly yet cordial, as if there was a hint of formality that suggested he was reserving judgment.
Tony watched the continued interaction with a practiced eye, his mind racing even as his face remained composed. She seems nice enough, he thought, studying Leia’s posture, tone, and expression. But I’ve seen this before. Someone new comes in, eager to prove themselves, and the next thing you know, they’re drowning in the job—or worse, they’re making life harder for everyone else. Evelyn’s shoes aren’t just big; they’re impossible to fill!
Noah Peacott, the team’s IT specialist, standing awkwardly near a tall stack of tech equipment, gave a small wave. He was tall and wiry, with an air of perpetual distraction. “Hey,” he said with a crooked smile. “Nice to meet you. If you run into any tech issues, just give me a shout. I’ve probably already broken and fixed whatever it is.”
Tony glanced at Evelyn, who was effortlessly guiding Leia through the introductions, her calm authority as natural as breathing. Evelyn didn’t just do the job: she mastered it. Heck, she made this job look easy , but it wasn’t. She fought tooth and nail to keep this place running like a well-oiled machine. What if this… Leia screws it all up? What if she’s not ready for the pressure?
Finally, Toni Halstead stepped forward, extending a hand. She was known to be authoritative yet approachable. “Good to have you with us, Leia. And don’t hesitate to ask if you need help finding your footing.”
Leia accepted the handshake, her own hand steady despite her nerves. “Thank you all,” she said. “It’s an honour to work with such an accomplished team. I’ll do my best to live up to the high standards Evelyn has set.”
Tony’s thoughts grew more critical, even as he forced a friendly expression. Transitions are hard enough without someone new messing up all the systems Evelyn put in place.
He caught himself frowning slightly and quickly smoothed his expression. Get a grip, Rodriguez. She hasn’t even started yet. Give her a chance. But if she screws up…
Tony forced a smile as Leia glanced in his direction, nodding at her politely. Outwardly, he appeared friendly, but inwardly, he resolved to keep a close eye on the new hire.
After the introductions, Evelyn escorted Leia to the next portion of their tour: their desk. Evelyn then gestured toward the massive desk that sat just outside Leonardo’s office. “And this,” she said, leading Leia over, “is where you’ll be working. It’s a shared space, designed for two people. You’ll primarily assist Mr. Andolini, but you’ll also support the team as needed. You’ll be the first point of contact for visitors as well, so it’s important to keep things organized and professional.”
Leia ran her hand lightly over the polished surface of the desk, her eyes taking in the dual monitors, neatly arranged supplies, and the general aura of efficiency. “It’s… impressive,” she said, her voice tinged with awe.
Evelyn smiled. “It is. And once you get the hang of things, it’s more manageable than it looks. I’ll be here for the next month or so to help you get acclimated.”
Neither Evelyn nor Leia noticed the faint outline of Leonardo standing behind the thinly veiled shades of his office windows. He stood silently, watching the interaction with an unreadable expression. The sunlight filtering through the blinds cast faint shadows across his face, highlighting the subtle tension in his jaw. He observed Evelyn’s elegant authority, the way she guided Leia with effortless ease, and for a moment, his gaze lingered and his jaw tightened.
After a few minutes of explanation, Evelyn and Leia settled at the desk to go over initial tasks and responsibilities. Leonardo stepped away from the window, retreating to his own desk. Lowering himself into his chair, his large hands rested on the arms of his new office swivel chair as his thoughts churned.
Why did she turn me down? he thought, replaying their conversation from the previous day. I offered her everything—security, comfort, companionship. Wasn’t that enough? She said she wanted more. Wanted to feel wanted. Isn’t that what I gave her?
His eyes flicked toward the door, where he could still faintly hear Evelyn’s voice as she spoke to Leia. Nine years of trust, admiration, and respect… What else could she possibly want?
The thought lingered, heavy and unresolved, as he turned his attention to the papers on his desk. But no matter how much he tried to focus, his mind remained far from the tasks at hand.
Unbeknownst to Leonardo lurking behind the blinds of his office and inner turmoil, Evelyn began her job of training Leia, a mixture of encouragement and practicality in her tone as she began laying out the essentials of the job. Her hands moved quickly but precisely, retrieving items from the desk and the nearby shelves, stacking them neatly in front of Leia as she spoke.
“These are Mr. Andolini’s business ledgers, sorted by year,” Evelyn said, placing two neatly labeled folders—one blue and one yellow—on the desk. “You’ll need to familiarize yourself with these, especially the last three years. And these,” she continued, adding a set of matching folders marked with overseas destinations, “are records of his overseas business trips.”
Leia blinked, trying to take it all in as Evelyn reached for another folder, this one a faded tan-green. “This is his visitors’ log. It tracks everyone who’s come through that door for the past six years.”
Without pause, Evelyn added yet another, larger tan-green folder to the growing pile. “And this is his schedule for the next six months. It’s critical you learn this as soon as possible, so you’re not blindsided when something comes up.”
Leia’s eyes widened at the growing stack of paperwork. “I have to learn all of this?” she asked, her voice carrying a note of disbelief.
Evelyn barely blinked. “And that, too.” She motioned toward the side of the desk, where six medium-sized filing boxes and four three-ring binders were stacked in a precarious tower.
Leia gasped softly, staring at the sheer volume of materials. It was daunting, to say the least. Evelyn, however, seemed entirely unfazed, her smile tinged with a touch of pride, as though the mountain of documents were a badge of honor.
“And then,” Evelyn continued, pulling a small, worn blue notebook from beneath her desk, “this is a list of the things the executives personally like. Memorizing it will earn you some serious bonus points. For example, Mr. Angelis prefers chamomile tea, not coffee, during late meetings, and Mrs. Magni always appreciates an extra pen when she’s reviewing contracts. Knowing these details will make your life—and theirs—much smoother.”
Leia took the notebook gingerly, flipping through the handwritten notes with a mix of curiosity and trepidation. “Memorize these things too? Well… okay,” she said, her tone hesitant but determined.
Evelyn, now consulting a single sheet of paper, suddenly brightened as though she’d remembered something particularly important. “Oh, and this one is quite critical,” she said, leaning over the desk to show Leia the note. Her voice carried an even more serious undertone as she explained, “When the circus is in town, and during Halloween, exaggerated smiles and painted clown faces are strictly forbidden.”
Leia looked at her, eyebrows raised in confusion. “Strictly forbidden?” she echoed.
“Definitely,” Evelyn said firmly, a hint of a protective fierceness lingering in her eyes. “Mr. Andolini does not take well to clowns in any capacity.”
“Right!” Leia replied quickly, her voice more serious as she jotted down the note.
Evelyn smiled, satisfied with the progress so far. “Good. You’re catching on faster than most would. This job is a lot, Leia, but once you get the hang of it, it’s rewarding. Just remember, it’s about staying organized, anticipating needs, and staying calm no matter what happens.”
Leia nodded, still processing the sheer weight of the responsibilities being handed to her. But there was a flicker of determination in her expression. She was overwhelmed, yes, but also intrigued—challenged, even.
“Let’s take it one step at a time,” Evelyn said encouragingly. “For now, start with the schedule and Mr. Andolini’s strict ‘No Clown’ policy. Everything else will come with time.”
Leia looked down at the mountain of work before her, then back up at Evelyn. “Got it. One step at a time.”
As Evelyn straightened up and gave her a reassuring smile, neither woman noticed the faint rustle of movement behind the partially drawn shades of Leonardo’s office. He had been standing there, silently observing the exchange. His sharp eyes took in Evelyn’s teaching and Leia’s earnest attempts to rise to the occasion.
Stepping back into the shadows of his office, Leonardo let out a quiet exhale, retreating to his own desk with his thoughts swirling.
As he retreated, Leia sat there flipping through the folders Evelyn had handed her moments ago. Her eyes caught on a few clipped photos tucked neatly into the folder from past business trips. One image in particular caught her attention—a younger Leonardo, likely in his thirties. His hair was cut short, giving him a more streamlined appearance, and he was slightly slimmer, though no less commanding. In the picture, he stood at a podium, addressing a conference, his passion and gesticulation practically radiating off the photograph.
“Oh wow! These pictures are interesting!” Leia exclaimed, her face lighting up with a smile as she held up the photo for Evelyn to see.
Evelyn, glancing over, couldn’t help but smile as well. “It’s because we take photos whenever there’s a huge event,” she explained, leaning in to get a better look.
Intrigued, Leia flipped to another page. This time, the photo showed Leonardo again, still youthful but slightly more relaxed, perhaps in a rare candid moment. In the background, however, her eyes caught something else—a much younger Evelyn. She was barely recognizable compared to the composed and confident woman now sitting beside her. In the photo, Evelyn looked timid and unsure, her posture tentative as she stood a little behind Leonardo, holding a notepad.
Leia tilted the picture toward Evelyn, a curious smile on her face. “When were these taken? You two look so young here.”
Evelyn studied the photo for a moment, her gaze softening as if she were peeling back layers of memory. “This was taken around eight years ago,” she said thoughtfully. “It was during an overseas trip to Milan with Mr. Andolini. One of my first big assignments.” She glanced at Leia, her smile warm and genuine. “It was around the time when I’d just started my job as a secretary, just like you.”
Leia’s eyes widened, impressed. “Just starting off? For some reason, I feel like you did a great job even back then!”
Evelyn let out a humble laugh, shaking her head. “No, no. I made so many mistakes back then. Looking back, I’m not sure how Mr. Andolini put up with me.”
Leia relaxed into her seat, an incredulous look on her face. “No way!” she protested, her tone light but sincere.
“ Way !” Evelyn chuckled, her laughter carrying a hint of self-deprecation. She glanced back at the photo, her expression turning nostalgic. “But I worked hard. I didn’t want to be a hindrance to Mr. Andolini, so I poured myself into the work. Little by little, I got better.”
She placed a hand gently on Leia’s arm, her smile full of camaraderie. “So don’t be scared. You’ll make mistakes—it’s part of the process. Just do your best, and you’ll improve faster than you think.”
Leia’s initial apprehension seemed to melt under Evelyn’s encouragement. Straightening in her chair, she gave a determined nod. “Thank you. Really. I’ll give it my all and do my best too!”
Evelyn smiled, seeing a flicker of herself in Leia’s earnestness. “That’s all anyone can ask for. You’ve got this.”
As Leia turned back to the folder, studying it with renewed focus, Evelyn sat back, satisfied. She allowed herself one last glance at the photo, memories of Milan and her early days with Leonardo replaying in her mind. It felt like another lifetime…
Nine years ago, a nervous twenty-five-year-old Evelyn sat in a large office lobby, her hands clasped tightly in her lap as she waited to meet the hiring officer for her new job. Her heart raced, each beat louder than the last. She adjusted the hem of her pencil skirt for the third time, her nerves threatening to overwhelm her.
“Well, congratulations are definitely in order! You made it! You got the job! It certainly wasn’t easy, let me tell you,” came a voice from her left. Evelyn looked up to see an older white woman with sharp blue eyes softened by a warm withered smile. Her silver hair was cut into a neat pixie style, and her tailored blazer spoke of professionalism. 
“There were over three hundred applicants who applied. Can you believe it? Crazy!”
Evelyn rose to her feet quickly, her posture snapping to attention. Over three hundred applicants for a secretary job? Insane , she thought.
“I’m Betty Portman,” the woman continued, extending her hand. Evelyn shook it, managing a polite smile. Betty turned on her heel and gestured for Evelyn to follow. “Anyway, let’s get you introduced to Mr. Andolini. It’d be a little weird if you don’t meet the man, am I right?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Evelyn replied, her voice steady despite the butterflies swirling in her stomach.
Betty glanced over her shoulder as they walked. “His office is just down this hall.”
Evelyn’s palms grew damp. She discreetly wiped them on her skirt, her pulse quickening as they neared the door at the end of the corridor. This is it. Keep calm , she thought.
Betty stopped, placing her hand on the door handle, and gave Evelyn an encouraging nod before pushing the door open. Evelyn took a deep breath and stepped inside.
The office was surprisingly modest for someone of Leonardo Andolini’s stature. A dark wooden desk commanded attention, flanked by bookshelves lined with neatly arranged volumes and framed certificates. A computer sat prominently on the desk, and beside it, a figurine of a lion and a lamb rested together in a deliberate arrangement. The muted grey walls added a professional touch, while the natural warmth of the wooden furniture softened the overall atmosphere.
And then there was him.
Seated behind the desk, Leonardo Andolini’s presence filled the room as though the walls barely contained him. His sheer size was the first thing Evelyn noticed: he was enormous, his broad shoulders and thick frame almost dwarfing the chair. Even seated, it was obvious he was over seven feet tall. His black hair was neatly combed back, which gently emphasized his groomed goatee, and his golden eyes, sharp and piercing, locked onto her with an intensity that made her feel as if he could see straight through her.
Her eyes briefly flickered to the scar that cut down the left side of his face—a jagged, pale line that disrupted his otherwise striking features. Evelyn felt a twist of unease but quickly pushed it aside.
Don’t react. Not my business . Her smile stayed firmly in place.
Still, she couldn’t deny he was handsome in a way she hadn’t expected. Not my type, which is great , she thought. But undeniably striking .
Leonardo’s eyes moved from Betty to Evelyn, dragging slowly over her like a predator sizing up potential prey. His expression was unreadable: no smile, no frown, just a faint flicker of what might have been boredom.
Evelyn forced herself to take the initiative, stepping forward and offering a polite smile. “It’s an honour to meet you, Mr. Andolini. I look forward to working with you,” she said, her voice as calm and professional as she could muster.
For a moment, Leonardo didn’t respond. His golden coloured eyes narrowed slightly, assessing her. She could feel the weight of his scrutiny, as though he were searching for cracks in her composure.
He’s studying me , Evelyn realized, her heartbeat pounding in her ears. Testing me .
Finally, he nodded, leaning back in his chair. His voice, low and smooth with a faint Neapolitan accent, broke the silence. “Let’s hope you last longer than the others.”
Evelyn’s smile didn’t falter, but internally, she exhaled a small sigh of relief. “I’ll do my best,” she replied evenly.
Leonardo’s eyes lingered on her for a moment longer, his expression inscrutable, before he returned his attention to the papers on his desk. It was a clear dismissal.
Betty motioned for Evelyn to follow her out, and they stepped back into the hallway.
“Well, that wasn’t too bad, was it?” Betty said brightly, leading Evelyn toward a small cubicle space.
Evelyn managed a faint smile, though her thoughts were still on the man she’d just met. Daunting. That was the only word for him. But she’d survived the introduction, and that was a start.
At that moment, movement next to her broke her flashback as Leia stood from the desk, smoothing her skirt as she gathered her phone. “I’m heading to the restroom,” she said brightly, her voice a contrast to the bustling office atmosphere.
“Sure,” Evelyn replied, glancing at her watch. “And it’s time for lunch. Take it, but be back in forty minutes.”
Leia nodded and left the room, her steps echoing faintly in the quiet hallway. As the door clicked shut, Evelyn’s eyes drifted to a folder on her desk—the one marked Milan: Initial Trip . A pang of memory washed over her, vivid and sharp. She picked up the folder and leaned back in her chair, her mind pulling her back to that defining moment.
Eight year sago in a hotel room in Milan, that was luxurious room was painted in muted tones of gray and white, Evelyn stood with her face flushed with embarrassment. The grandeur of the room was lost on her as she felt suffocated as Leonardo literally loomed over her, his towering frame casting a shadow that seemed to engulf the room. His voice, deep and resonant as his accent became thicker the angrier he became as he lashed at her like a whip.
“Do you even understand how much you’ve embarrassed me today?” he barked, his Italian accent sharpening his words. “A simple lunch meeting, Evelyn! Just a pranzo veloce ! But you— you didn’t even know the customs, the language . You embarrassed us both!”
Evelyn’s hands twisted nervously in front of her, her cheeks burning with humiliation. “I… I’m sorry, Mr. Andolini. I didn’t realize…”
“Didn’t realize?” Leonardo’s laugh was cold, devoid of humor. “That’s your excuse? You should have learned , Evelyn. Prepared! How can you work for me and not understand something so basic?” An almost primal growl rumbled deeply in his chest, he repeated himself, “It was a simple task, Evelyn. A quick lunch meeting. That’s all. And you managed to completely ruin it!”
“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Andolini,” Evelyn stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. Her hands clenched tightly in her lap, trying to steady her trembling.
“Sorry?” Leonardo barked, his golden eyes blazing. “Sorry doesn’t fix the impression you’ve made. You didn’t understand the menu. You didn’t know how to greet them properly. You nearly fell for a bracelet scam. You couldn’t even keep the schedule tight because you don’t understand the language!”
Evelyn opened her mouth to defend herself, but Leonardo cut her off, his tone icy. “You probably can’t even do something as simple as tie a tie for me.”
Her jaw tightened at the jab, and she started to protest, but before she could speak, Leonardo was already pulling the tie from around his thick neck, the silk sliding through his fingers as he yanked it off in one fluid motion. He bent down, his massive frame bringing him to her eye level, his scarred face mere inches from hers. The jagged line on his cheek and the glimpse of his elongated canines as he snarled were even more intimidating up close, but Evelyn didn’t dare react.
With him bent down, his extremely intense gaze locking onto hers. “Oh, you can?” he challenged, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Do it,” he said, low and biting “ Fallo adesso! ”
She stared at the fine silk, her mind racing. She had seen people tie ties before, but her nerves were shot. Her hands reached for the tie, trembling as they approached the fabric around his thick neck. But the weight of his scrutiny, the enormity of his disdain, made her fingers falter before they even touched the fabric. Her hands dropped, and she hung her head in shame.
Leonardo straightened with a sneer, his expression a mix of disappointment and contempt. With a dismissive huff, he turned on his heel and strode out, the door slamming shut behind him.
The moment he left, Evelyn sat on the edge of the hotel bed, her emotions a storm inside her. Tears spilled freely, carving hot paths down her cheeks. She had always tried her best, done everything he asked. Maybe not perfectly, but she was learning. Couldn’t he see that? Couldn’t he care ?
But the answer was clear, stark and painful.
He doesn’t care.
Not about her as his employee. Not even as a person. To him, she was nothing. Just another cog in the machine, a tool to be used and discarded. The realization hit her like a blow, leaving her breathless.
Why am I still here? she wondered, her tears slowing as a new clarity settled over her. Am I hoping he’ll notice me someday? Thank me? Maybe even praise me?
Her hands balled into fists. No. She wouldn’t let herself spiral into self-pity. If Leonardo thought she couldn’t tie a tie, she’d prove him wrong.
Evelyn’s gaze fell on the wooden coat rack by the door. She dragged it to the bed, pulled a spare tie from her suitcase, and set to work. Looping the tie around it, she set to work.
At first, her fingers fumbled. The fabric slipped out of her grip, the knot collapsing over and over again. But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.
The second attempt was more frustrating than embarrassing, the knot collapsed, uneven and loose. Frustration bubbled, but she pressed on.
Every failure only fueled her resolve. Hours passed in a haze of trial and error. The hotel room darkened as evening turned to night, but Evelyn didn’t stop. Her focus was razor-sharp, her persistence unyielding. Each failed knot fueled her resolve. Finally, as dawn broke and golden light filtered through the curtains, she succeeded. The tie hung perfectly, its Windsor knot crisp and symmetrical.
She stared at the completed knot, a surge of pride swelling in her chest. Her pride didn’t even waver as she looked at the clock.
Six o’clock.
Exhausted but triumphant, Evelyn allowed herself a small, tired smile. Her pride was short-lived, though, as a new worry took its place. Do I even still have a job?
Her stomach churned with anxiety, dread coiling tight within her. But she swallowed her fear, grabbed the tie, and made her way to Leonardo’s suite.
Knocking softly on the door, she waited, each second stretching into an eternity. When the door opened, Leonardo stood before her, already dressed in a crisp white shirt and black slacks, his expression unreadable.
Evelyn held up the tie, her red-rimmed eyes meeting his. “Mr. Andolini,” she began, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat, “I’m here to finish dressing you by tying your tie. And if you’ll allow me, I’ll work for you as long as possible, giving you no less than my absolute best. My best will be so precise, it’ll be deadly.”
Leonardo studied her for a long moment, his sharp gaze flicking over her tear-streaked face, the tie in her hands, and her posture straighter than the previous night. Without a word, he stepped aside, allowing her in.
As she stepped into the room, Evelyn’s chest heaved with relief and prayed a prayer of gratitude. Thank you, GOD, she thought, her mind immediately drifting to her practically adopted, sickly mother. Ma-Two won’t have to worry about medical bills or even her groceries now.
Like the day before, Leonardo bent down, his intense gaze locking onto hers while her hands still shook slightly as she tied the tie around his neck, but this time, she didn’t falter.
Snapping back to the present, Evelyn blinked and adjusted her gaze, now focusing through the half-shaded blinds of Leonardo’s office window. The slats framed the imposing silhouette of her boss seated at his desk, his deep voice reverberating faintly through the glass. She couldn’t make out the words, but she could see his hands move in fluid gestures as he spoke animatedly into the phone.
Her eyes lingered on him for a moment longer, recalling the countless days and nights she’d spent working alongside him. In her years as his secretary, Evelyn had navigated the full spectrum of Leonardo’s moods, each as distinct and intense as the man himself.
She had withstood his righteous fury when employees’ actions tarnished his company’s reputation, his frustration erupting like a storm as he demanded answers and swift resolutions. She had witnessed his wrath on others over deals gone wrong, the room seeming to shrink under the weight of his anger.
But there had been other, quieter moments too. She’d witnessed his somber reflection during late nights in the office, when the world outside was silent, and he sat lost in thought, his vibrant presence dimmed to a haunting stillness. Those moments, rare and raw, revealed a man haunted by his mysterious past.
And then there were glimpses of joy. She remembered the way his face lit up when his beloved team, the Riot, scored a pivotal goal, his booming laugh echoing through the room. The transformation was so startling it almost made her forget the harsher edges of his personality.
Evelyn exhaled softly, a sense of quiet pride unfurling in her chest. She had been there through it all, growing stronger, more capable, and more confident with every challenge. The memory of that first, disastrous trip to Milan felt like a lifetime ago.
Back then, she had been overwhelmed, unsure, and riddled with self-doubt. Now, she was steady, poised, and assured of her worth. The countless struggles, the late nights, the biting words—all of it had forged her into someone she barely recognized, someone she actually admired.
A deep sense of completion settled over her like a warm embrace. She had not only endured Leonardo’s ferocity but thrived in its shadow. She had grown into her role, and more importantly, she had grown into herself.
The sharp ring of her desk phone pulled her from her thoughts. She picked up the receiver with practiced ease.
“Evelyn, my office,” Leonardo’s familiar baritone commanded.
“Yes, Mr. Andolini,” Evelyn replied calmly, the serenity in her voice a testament to how far she had come.
Placing the phone back in its cradle, she stood from her desk, smoothing her pencil skirt and gathering her iPad. Each step toward his office carried the weight of her growth and triumphs, but there was no heaviness—only lightness, as if she were gliding.
Opening the door to his office, she stepped inside and met his gaze. “Yes, Mr. Andolini?”
“I want to go over some of the figures for the art school we’re opening,” Leonardo said, rising from his desk. He moved to the large leather sofa that stretched across one side of the room. Though the piece could easily seat three or four, Leonardo’s size claimed most of the space, leaving only enough room for one more.
Evelyn followed, sitting gracefully at the opposite end of the sofa with her iPad poised in her lap. She glanced at him, noting his relaxed posture and measured tone.
For a moment, she allowed herself a quiet sigh of relief. The storm had passed. Things were back to normal—or at least, what passed for normal in her world with Leonardo.
Still, a question lingered in her mind. Was this really “normal”? Should the thought end with a period, signaling certainty, or a question mark, reflecting doubt?
She decided it didn’t matter. What mattered was that she was here, stronger than ever, with a deep well of calm and resilience to draw upon. Whatever came next, she was ready.
By two in the afternoon, Evelyn had returned to her post outside Leonardo’s office, her thoughts lingering on the day’s earlier discussions. She busied herself with reviewing her schedule, the soft hum of office activity providing a steady backdrop.
Inside the labyrinth of ImperialReach’s executive suite, Leonardo Andolini strode purposefully through the corridors, his towering figure and commanding presence drawing the gaze of every passing employee. Turning a sharp right, he made his way toward Gru’s office.
Gru, the company’s president and one of the few individuals who could hold a casual conversation with Leonardo without feeling dwarfed by his presence, was mid-bite into a gourmet tuna sandwich when Leonardo entered.
Gru considered The sandwich to be a work of art, nestled between two slices of freshly baked ciabatta. The bread was lightly toasted, the edges golden and crisp, with a soft, pillowy interior. Inside, the tuna filling was a luxurious blend of finely flaked albacore, creamy aioli, capers, and a hint of Dijon mustard. A layer of thinly sliced heirloom tomatoes and crisp butter lettuce added freshness, while a sprinkling of microgreens completed the culinary masterpiece.
Gru glanced up, chewing as Leonardo delivered his statement.
“You did what?” Gru asked, his voice tinged with both amusement and disbelief.
“I proposed,” Leonardo said, as if it were the most logical course of action.
Gru set his sandwich down, shaking his head. “You thought that was effective because…?”
Leonardo’s golden eyes narrowed as he looked at Gru incredulously. “Well, who doesn’t want to live easier? Not to worry about nearly anything.”
Gru paused, tilting his head as if conceding the point. “Good point. But this is Evelyn Freeman we’re talking about.” He picked up his sandwich, taking another bite and savoring the harmony of flavours before continuing.
Leonardo folded his arms, his expression darkening slightly. “And what exactly do you mean by that?”
Gru gestured vaguely with his sandwich, swallowing before speaking. “The way you’re acting right now? It reminds me of something.”
He chewed thoughtfully, then with a swallow his face lit up with realization. “Ah, I remember. This is exactly how you reacted during your first merger.”
Leonardo raised a single thick, dark eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “And?”
Gru leaned back in his chair, his expression growing smug. “You rushed it back then too, Lee. You wanted it all done in a day. But, as you know, deals don’t work like that, and by the way, neither do people. Think of this as a merger. How would you approach it?”
Leonardo remained silent, his eyes narrowing in contemplation.
Gru didn’t wait for a response. Waving his sandwich like a pointer, he continued, “Step-by-step. Check the requirements. Make the offer. Negotiate. You know…basic business strategy.” He took another bite, shrugging casually. “Or, you know, you could try something crazy like a normal person. You could try asking her out on a date before dropping a marriage proposal on her.”
Leonardo tilted his head slightly, his expression unreadable. “Hmm. Good talk.”
Standing abruptly, he nodded at Gru and turned to leave, his movements deliberate and confident.
Gru watched him go, a wry smile playing on his lips as he reached for his sandwich again. “This is going to be fun,” he muttered to himself, taking another satisfied bite.
The evening sun cast a warm glow over the bustling streets as Evelyn stepped into Magnolia Haven , a four-star soul food restaurant renowned for its rich flavours and cozy yet upscale ambiance. The soft hum of chatter and soulful melodies filled the air as Evelyn joined her three best friends at a corner booth adorned with candlelight and rustic charm.
Carla Reed, effortlessly chic with her impeccable style, greeted Evelyn with a bright smile. As a career-driven talent agent, Carla exuded confidence and a natural ability to command a room, her laughter ringing out like a melody as she recounted her day. Beside her sat Viviane Montego, whose curvaceous figure and glowing complexion made her the picture of self-assurance. A successful gossip columnist, Viviane had a knack for finding humour and humanity in even the most scandalous tales. Across from her, Amaya Thompson, a struggling actress, wore a vibrant scarf and large hoop earrings, her expressive hands punctuating every word as she recounted an audition mishap.
The table was laden with indulgent dishes—golden fried chicken that glistened under the restaurant’s dim lighting, creamy macaroni and cheese topped with breadcrumbs, collard greens simmered to perfection, and cornbread so soft it practically melted in their mouths. The women chatted animatedly, laughter interspersed with bites of food, their camaraderie palpable.
Toward the end of their meal, Evelyn set her fork down, her face contemplative. Her friends picked up on her mood instantly, their conversation tapering off as they waited for her to speak.
“So, I got something to tell you guys.” She paused for a moment before continuing, “I’ve decided to quit my job,” Evelyn said, her voice steady but laced with an undercurrent of vulnerability.
Three pairs of eyes widened in shock.
“Wait, what?” Carla asked, her tone sharp with disbelief.
“You’re joking,” Amaya said, leaning forward with her mouth slightly open.
“You? Quit? No way,” Viviane added, her brow furrowing.
Evelyn nodded with a shrug. “Yeah, me. I’m tired of pretending I don’t care if I meet the one. Everyone says it’s okay to fight for your career, but marriage? That’s treated like some cosmic prize you only get after you’ve accepted that it’ll never happen.”
“Ouch,” Carla breathed under her breath, her usually poised demeanor faltering.
Not stopping, Evelyn continued, her voice stronger now, “But how do you beat impossible odds while pretending you’re not even trying? It’s exhausting. And honestly, it feels like my hidden shame. On top of the outer shame that no one wants to marry someone who’s at the beck-and-call of a billionaire.”
Her friends exchanged glances, each processing her words in their own way.
“Honey,” Viviane said softly, her tone empathetic. She reached out to place a comforting hand on Evelyn’s arm. “I’ve been where you are. It’s not easy, but you’ll figure it out. You’re too smart not to.”
Evelyn offered a weak smile, grateful for the support.
“You know what?” Viviane said, lifting her glass of sparkling water with a wry smile. “To the outer shame.”
The women laughed and clinked their glasses together, a small but meaningful gesture of solidarity.
“You could get one of your clients to write that script, Carla,” Evelyn joked, her mood lightening slightly.
“Amaya could be the lead,” Viviane added with a teasing grin.
“I’m down,” Amaya said with a laugh, raising her glass.
Their banter was interrupted by their waiter, a young man balancing a stack of papers and pens. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said politely. “We’re conducting a survey with our customers. If you don’t mind filling these out, we’ll give you a free entrée under sixty dollars.”
“Really?” Viviane perked up immediately, her eyes lighting up. “Pass it over!”
Her friends chuckled, knowing Viviane’s frugal tendencies despite her wealth.
As the waiter distributed the surveys, the women picked up their pens with varying levels of enthusiasm.
“Oooh,” Amaya said, scanning the paper. “There’s a box for relationship status: single, married, divorced. Wonder why that matters.”
Evelyn checked the ‘single’ box and skimmed a few of the questions, her brow furrowing slightly.
- If you have a boyfriend, where would you want to go with him? Write your answer.
- If you have a boyfriend, what would you like to do with him? Write your answer.
- If you have a boyfriend, what would you like to get as a gift? Write out your answer.
Evelyn rolled her eyes slightly. These are so bossy and nosy. I wonder if they’re planning to sell this info. Shrugging off her suspicions, she decided to fill out the questionnaire truthfully.
Around her, her friends teased and joked, the camaraderie of the group lifting Evelyn’s spirits. For the first time in weeks, she felt lighter, as though a weight she hadn’t fully acknowledged was starting to lift.
Later this same night at Leonard’s mansion, two people were in the luxurious sitting room with dramatic dark wood framing contrasting against the crisp white walls and ceiling beams. Dark-stained wood floors anchored the space, complementing the plush furnishings that added both glamour and comfort. A massive burgundy sectional sofa, custom-built to accommodate Leonardo's imposing size and provide ample room for growth, commanded the room. Black and gold accent chairs flanked a crackling fireplace, its mantel an artful blend of modern design and old-world charm. Above it, a large television was mounted, casting a faint glow against the subdued lighting provided by an antler chandelier. Near a small circular table filled with paperwork, Gru sat hunched, his brow furrowed in concentration.
Leonardo sat sprawled on the sofa, effortlessly filling its expansive space, the remote in his oversized hand flicking through television channels with languid ease. Gru, seated at the smaller chair, leaned forward over the papers, the tip of his tongue poking out as he focused.
Gru broke the silence with a dramatic sigh, pushing a pile of papers aside. "You want me to find the one Evelyn filled out?"
Without looking up, Leonardo rumbled, "That's the idea."
Gru leaned back in his chair, his arms flailing for emphasis. "You could just ask her directly, Lee! This—" he gestured wildly at the stack of surveys, "this is madness. And hiring Magnolia Haven to do this? Come on man…why would you do that?"
Finally turning to his friend, Leonardo smirked. "I had the time, Gru. Call it creative delegation."
Gru threw his arms up in mock surrender. "Creative delegation?! I'm the President of your company, not your… your—" he struggled for words before declaring dramatically, "personal Cupid!"
Leonardo chuckled, the low sound reverberating in the room. "Think of it as corporate strategy."
Gru stood abruptly, puffing his chest out in a mock display of authority. "Well then, as President , I demand overtime pay!" He clenched a fist in mock defiance, but as Leonardo turned his sharp, knowing gaze on him, Gru quickly deflated, awkwardly pivoting into a "stretch." He yawned exaggeratedly, his arms arcing overhead. "But you know what, buddy? For you, I'll do it. Because I'm dedicated . Also, I need something to complain about next time you annoy me."
Leonardo merely arched an eyebrow, bemused.
Gru dove back into the stack of papers, mumbling names as he skimmed. "Amy McClain... Russell Hawkins... Karen Moody... Evelyn Thompson—aha! I found it! I found it!" He waved the paper triumphantly like a trophy.
Leonardo rose from the couch with a fluidity that belied his massive frame as he crossed to Gru. He took the paper from Gru's outstretched hand and settled into the now-vacant chair.
Gru leaned over his chair, craning his neck. "Okay, okay. What does she say? What's on it? Tell me she didn't write anything about poodles. I can't deal with another poodle incident—"
Ignoring Gru's rambling, Leonardo read the survey silently, his expression shifting from stoic to something more curious. His lips quirked into a crooked smile as he finished.
Gru squinted at him, suspicious. "That smile. No, no, no. Don't tell me... Are you planning to give her exactly what she wrote about?"
Leonardo turned, his sharp canines glinting faintly as he grinned. He leaned forward, folding the survey deliberately and slipping it into his jacket pocket. "Time to set the stage."
Gru groaned, dragging a hand down his face. "You’re impossible, you know that? I can’t believe I’m part of this madness. But I have to admit," he added with a sheepish grin, "this might actually be entertaining."
Leonardo chuckled again, rising to his full height and heading back to the sofa, leaving Gru shaking his head but grinning nonetheless.
Evelyn was lounging on her cream-coloured sofa, a soft blanket draped over her legs, and a book resting open in her hands when her phone buzzed on the side table. The evening was quiet, her home bathed in the warm glow of a few scattered lamps. She reached over to pick up the phone, glancing at the caller ID.
“Mr. Cooper,” she said, answering the call with mild curiosity.
“Evelyn,” came Gru’s voice sounded through, laced with an unusual urgency. “I need you to meet me at the local amusement park.”
She sat up straighter, setting her book aside. “The amusement park? Mr. Cooper, what’s this about?”
“It’s a last-minute thing I need,” he replied vaguely, then hesitated before adding with a hint of frustration, “and my secretary, Yvette, is… not as thorough, I’m afraid.”
Evelyn rolled her eyes but smiled. “Alright. Give me twenty minutes.”
“Thank you,” he said, his tone softening slightly.
The call ended as abruptly as it had come, leaving Evelyn wondering what could possibly require her presence at an amusement park of all places. She didn’t dwell on it for long, though, slipping into her room to change.
She chose a soft off-white, shoulder-baring sweater that gently hugged her frame, emphasizing her collarbones and shoulders while creating a look of casual sophistication. The lightweight fabric was soft and breathable, perfect for the evening’s calm but cool air. She paired the sweater with fitted dark blue jeans, adding a subtle contrast to the lightness of her top.
Her accessories were minimal but tasteful — a pair of gold hoop earrings that glinted softly, complementing her skin tone. Her makeup was understated and natural, enhancing her features without drawing too much attention, and her smooth, straightened black hair cascaded effortlessly over her shoulders, its sheen catching the light.
Pulling on her favourite pair of comfortable yet stylish flats, she grabbed her small leather purse, slinging it over her shoulder as she hailed a taxi. The soft glow of the city lights blurred past as the cab made its way toward the park. Evelyn leaned back, glancing at her reflection in the window and wondering what Gru needed her for.
As the taxi pulled up to the amusement park gates, Evelyn stepped out and found the area eerily quiet. The gates were wide open, but there were no visitors, only the brilliant lights of the park illuminating the empty attractions. She walked through the entrance and made her way toward the central plaza.
The carousel stood at the heart of the plaza, its golden crown glowing softly under the neon hues that bathed the park. Evelyn stopped, scanning her surroundings. Not liking the sense of solitude, she quickly pulled her phone out of her purse, her fingers hovering over Gru’s number.
But just as she was about to call, every light in the park surged to life. Neon bulbs, colorful spotlights, and fairy lights on the trees flared in unison, creating a spectacle of vibrant energy. Evelyn froze, her heart racing as the silent park transformed into an illuminated wonderland.
From around the corner, a familiar figure emerged. As tall and commanding as ever, Leonardo walked toward her, his suit as impeccable as ever. But it wasn’t just his sharp attire that caught her off guard but it was his expression.
His usual air of cold confidence had melted into something warmer, something gentler. His closed-lip grin was soft and sincere, almost glowing under the bright lights. His eyes, typically intense and unreadable, now held a warmth that left Evelyn stunned.
Stopping a few steps in front of her, Leonardo spoke, his voice low and steady. “Evelyn. I hope you weren’t waiting too long.”
His presence, combined with the surreal beauty of the park, left Evelyn at a loss for words. This was a side of Leonardo she had never seen before, and for a moment, she didn’t know whether to be more surprised by him or the magical world they now stood in.
“Mr. Andolini? What are you doing here? I’m here to meet Mr. Cooper,” Evelyn said, her voice tinged with confusion and shock.
Leonardo smiled at her, his expression warm and disarmingly sincere. “Mr. Cooper isn’t coming,” he explained calmly. “I told him to ask you.”
Evelyn’s thoughts swirled in confusion. Whaa? Why not just ask me? You never had any problems with that before?
As if he could read her mind, Leonardo continued, his tone gentle yet matter-of-fact. “If I asked you to meet me, you would’ve felt uncomfortable. I don’t blame you for that, of course. It is what it is.”
Before she could process his words, he turned slightly, motioning ahead with a subtle nod of his head. “Come on, let’s see what this place has got to offer.”
“B-but Mr. Andolini, this place is already closed,” Evelyn stammered, still trying to make sense of the situation.
Leonardo’s smile broadened, revealing his elongated canines. Evelyn no longer found them strange—she had grown used to this particular feature of his—but the softness and sincerity in his expression were entirely new to her.
“Closed? Not for me,” he said confidently. “I have an all-exclusive pass, which means you have an all-exclusive pass.” With that, he gestured for her to follow him.
Evelyn hesitated for a moment, her thoughts too scattered to form a coherent response, before her feet moved almost instinctively to follow him.
Their first destination was the roller coaster. The ride operator, clearly working overtime, greeted Leonardo with a respectful nod before guiding them to the front row. The roller coaster’s design was wide enough to accommodate Leonardo’s massive frame, and Evelyn took her seat next to him.
Leonardo, in contrast, sat stone-faced with his arms crossed, as if the wild twists and turns of the ride were of no consequence to him. If Evelyn hadn’t been so focused on keeping her heart from leaping out of her chest, she might have burst out laughing at his stoic demeanor.
When the ride ended, Evelyn’s legs were still trembling as they walked to the next attraction: a giant pirate ship ride. The open-seated gondola loomed before them, swaying gently in the night breeze.
As they settled into their seats, Evelyn glanced at Leonardo nervously. “Mr. Andolini… I can’t… I can’t…”
Leonardo smirked, the expression almost teasing as he interrupted her. “Don’t be so polite. Just enjoy your time off.”
“But still, this is… this… this…” Evelyn trailed off as the ride groaned to life. Her hands instinctively gripped the bar as the gondola began to swing. “Wait!” she exclaimed, but her protest was drowned out by the creak of the machinery.
The pirate ship swung higher and higher, the wind rushing around them. Evelyn screamed, a mix of fear and exhilaration, her voice breaking into laughter as she felt the thrill of the ride. “Mr. Andolini! Mr. Andolini! Save me!” she cried out between giggles.
Leonardo glanced at her, his expression softening at her unrestrained joy. “Do you like it that much?” he asked, raising his voice to be heard over the noise. Then, on impulse, he reached over and engulfed her small hand in his paw-like grip. Raising their joined hands high, he shouted, “Forza!” The word carried over the wind, his deep voice resonating with energy. He repeated it, louder this time: “Forza!”
When the ride finally slowed to a stop, Evelyn’s legs felt like jelly as she stepped off the gondola. Leonardo noticed her unsteady gait and instinctively reached out, his massive hand gently gripping her arm to steady her. “Evelyn, what’s wrong? Are you alright?”
Surprised by both his touch and the unexpected gentleness of his gesture, Evelyn craned her neck to look up at him. “Yeah, I’m alright. Thank you,” she replied, her voice soft. After a moment’s pause, she asked, “But are you okay, Mr. Andolini?”
Seeing that she was steady, Leonardo released her arm, tucking his hands into his pockets. “I’m fine. But now, why don’t you choose what you want to ride next, Evelyn.”
Her eyes lit up with excitement as she pointed toward the merry-go-round. Leonardo followed her to the colorful carousel, which was illuminated by a thousand tiny bulbs.
As the ride came to life, Evelyn perched herself atop a beautifully painted faux-horse, her smile radiating pure joy. Due to his size, Leonardo stood off to the side, watching her. He found himself captivated by her happiness, a warmth spreading in his chest that surprised even him.
When Evelyn waved at him from her spot on the carousel, he waved back, his usual stoicism replaced by an uncharacteristically tender expression.
As the ride slowed to a stop, Evelyn walked back to his side, her cheeks warmed with exhilaration. “I wish you could ride, sir. It’s so much fun,” she said earnestly.
“I’m fine,” he replied, his tone warm. “But I’m glad you liked it so much.”
“I always wanted to ride something so beautiful when I was a kid but never could…” Evelyn’s voice trailed off as she looked at the carousel wistfully.
Leonardo tilted his head slightly, his curiosity piqued. Never could, huh? he thought. I’ll keep that in mind to ask about later.
“This was so amazing,” Evelyn continued, her smile bright. “I can’t believe that one of my wishes was granted today.”
Leonardo returned her smile, his tone low and sincere. “Glad to hear it.”
The two sat at a quaint restaurant within the park, its ambiance warm and inviting despite being completely empty. Soft amber lights glowed against rustic wooden walls, while the faint hum of carousel music floated in the distance. Their table was by a wide window overlooking the park’s central fountain, illuminated by twinkling fairy lights.
Leonardo had ordered two portions of braised short ribs, served over creamy mashed potatoes with a side of roasted seasonal vegetables. The ribs were perfectly tender, falling off the bone, glazed with a rich, tangy sauce that glistened under the light. Evelyn, opting for something lighter, had chosen a grilled salmon fillet atop a bed of lemon-infused wild rice and a fresh arugula salad with balsamic drizzle.
Leonardo’s plate looked almost comically small in front of his massive frame. As he carved effortlessly into the ribs, Evelyn noticed how precise and deliberate his movements were, but then again, he always did treat his meal with a quiet reverence.
Between bites of her salmon, Evelyn finally worked up the courage to ask the question burning in her mind. “Mr. Andolini, how do you have such a pass for this place? I’ve never seen something like this for you in all the time I’ve worked for you.”
Leonardo shrugged lightly, his broad shoulders rising and falling. “You wouldn’t have seen a pass like this because I rented the place,” he said simply, cutting into another rib.
Evelyn blinked, her fork frozen mid-air. “You rented the whole park?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.
Leonardo nodded, chewing thoughtfully before swallowing. “Yes. For tonight.”
She stared at him, the weight of his words sinking in. “What’s been going on with you today, sir?” she asked cautiously.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, his eyes flicking to hers. “You’ve worked so hard for me, for so long,” he began, his voice low and steady, “but I feel like I never once properly thanked you. This is my farewell gift to thank you for all of your hard work.”
Evelyn’s heart swelled, and she quickly blinked away tears threatening to spill. “A gift?”
Leonardo nodded again, taking another bite. After swallowing, he continued, “I remembered what you said earlier, about the merry-go-round. You loved it but couldn’t ride it as a child. If you don’t mind me asking—why?”
Evelyn hesitated, glancing down at her plate. Her fingers toyed with the edge of her napkin before she spoke. “When I was maybe three or four years old, my parents said they were going on a business trip. My dad worked for a pretty profitable furniture store, and I didn’t want them to go. But to appease me, I guess, they promised when they returned, they’d take me to ‘ride the horsies’ at the amusement park.” She paused, her voice faltering. “But they never came back. The plane they were on crashed moments after it took off.”
Leonardo’s fork hovered in the air before he placed it on the table. “I—I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice softer than she had ever heard it.
Evelyn smiled sadly, shaking her head. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. Anyway, because they died and I had no living relatives, I was sent into foster care. It was …horrible, and they never allowed us—me and the other kids—to go to amusement parks. They always used their money on booze and drugs.”
Leonardo stared at her, his usually stoic face etched with a hint of something softer—compassion, perhaps. He didn’t speak, but his eyes seemed to study her, as though seeing her for the first time.
Sensing the heaviness in the air, Evelyn shifted uncomfortably and said, “Sorry. Didn’t mean to bring down the mood. What about you? Did you have any favourite rides as a kid?”
Leonardo shifted in his seat now as she asked him that question. “Unfortunately, my childhood wasn’t filled with rides or happy memories either.”
Evelyn froze, barely daring to breathe.
“My mother was a drunk,” he began, his voice steady but distant. “So much so that she rarely ever left her room sober. And my father was an ambitious man. But a failure. He wanted so badly to have power. Fame. So, to prove his worth and loyalty to the local mafia, he gave me to them when I was seven years old.”
Evelyn’s eyes widened, but before she could speak, Leonardo added, “Before you ask—no, I never did anything for them then. And you control my entire work life, so if there was anything amiss, legal or illegal, you’d know.”
She let out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. He noticed and huffed a small laugh. “In truth,” he continued, “this little beauty mark of mine,” he gestured to the scar on his cheek, “was given to me when I refused to hurt someone..”
Her eyes filled with unshed tears again, but this time they were for him. “I—I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Leonardo gave her a thin, regretful smile. “I guess it’s my turn to apologize. We’re just two peas in a pod, as they say.”
Evelyn shrugged, a small smile tugging at her lips. “True, but our pasts could’ve suffocated us, and we could live as victims. But we didn’t let them, right? We’re victors now.”
He stared at her for a long moment before nodding. “Victors,” he repeated softly.
They returned to their meals in companionable silence, a newfound understanding settling between them like a quiet bond.
The evening began its transition into night as Leonardo glanced at his watch. The subtle gleam of the gold timepiece reflected the soft restaurant lights, and he said with a low, thoughtful tone, “It’s quite late.”
Evelyn, feeling the weight of the quiet but enjoyable meal they'd shared, offered warmly, “I can escort you home, sir, if you’d like.”
Leonardo shook his head, his demeanor composed but purposeful. “No,” he replied with a slight, enigmatic smile. “There’s somewhere else we need to go.”
The two stepped outside, the crisp evening air wrapping around them as they strolled along the park’s illuminated paths. The gentle rustle of trees in the breeze and the faint hum of distant chatter accompanied them until they reached the water’s edge. Before Evelyn could question where they were headed, her breath hitched.
A beautiful boat rested on the calm lake, glowing softly with strings of warm, dangling lights that framed its elegant silhouette. The scene felt almost surreal, like something plucked from a dream. Evelyn couldn’t help but gasp softly.
“This…” she began, her voice trailing off in awe.
Leonardo motioned for her to step aboard, offering his hand for balance as she ascended. “Come. There’s more to see.”
As they stood on the deck, surrounded by the soft glow of the lights, Evelyn turned to take in her surroundings. The gentle ripple of water mirrored the golden lights above, creating a shimmering sea of stars below. Despite the serenity of the moment, something else soon demanded her attention.
“It’s… so cold,” Evelyn admitted, rubbing her arms in an attempt to fight off the chill.
Leonardo, ever observant, couldn’t ignore her discomfort. Sliding off his tailored suit jacket, he draped the enormous garment over her small shoulders. The fabric, imbued with his warmth, enveloped her completely.
Surprised by his gesture, Evelyn glanced up at him, ready to protest. But Leonardo cut her off with a soft, reassuring voice. “It’s alright, Evelyn. I can’t have you getting a cold.” He chuckled lightly and patted his broad stomach, adding with self-deprecating humor, “Besides, I have enough blubber on me to keep warm.”
Evelyn couldn’t suppress a giggle, touched by his chivalry. Just as she was about to thank him, a sudden whoosh of air broke through the quiet night. A second later, the sky exploded in vibrant colors.
Fireworks.
Bright bursts of light painted the darkness in reds, blues, purples, and golds. Evelyn’s gasp of wonder was immediate as she craned her neck to take in the display. “There must be something happening tonight for this to be going on,” she mused aloud.
Leonardo, his hands clasped behind his back, replied casually, “Actually, I prepared this.”
Evelyn spun to face him, her expression caught between disbelief and astonishment. “What?”
“I told you earlier—I wanted to thank you,” he said simply. “This is your farewell gift.”
Emotion swelled within her, and Evelyn found herself blinking back tears. “Thank you, sir. Thank you so much!” she said, her voice thick with gratitude. She turned back to the sky, watching the dazzling display. “Aren’t they pretty?” she murmured without looking away.
Leonardo, however, wasn’t watching the fireworks. His gaze remained fixed on her, the way her face lit up with pure joy, how her wide eyes sparkled more brightly than the sky above. She was breathtaking.
“Yes,” he murmured softly, a smile tugging at his lips. “Quite pretty.”
The fireworks show ended with a thunderous finale, the last of the colours fading into the night sky. The boat gently turned and began its journey back to the docks, where Leonardo’s car awaited.
Once on land, the two climbed into the Leonardo’s personal vehicle and began the drive toward Evelyn’s small townhouse. The ride passed mostly in a comfortable silence, the kind shared by those who don’t feel the need to fill the air with idle chatter.
When they neared her home, Evelyn broke the quiet. “Thank you so much for today. I really had a great time. I guess I could say that I got everything I ever wanted, all thanks to you.”
Leonardo glanced at her briefly, his eyes soft. “I know,” he replied simply.
The weight of his words caused Evelyn to pause. Her thoughts drifted back to earlier, to the suspicious survey she and her friends had been presentedwith. The questions and her answers replayed in her mind, each one aligning too perfectly with the events of the day.
- If you have a boyfriend, where would you want to go with him? An amusement park.
- If you have a boyfriend, what would you like to do with him? Watch fireworks.
Her heart raced as she processed the implications. Glancing at Leonardo, she noticed the faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, a knowing expression, like a lion who had just indulged in a satisfying meal.
Before she could dwell on it further, they arrived at her townhouse. Stepping out of the car, Evelyn turned to face him. “Thank you for driving me home, sir. And again, thank you for a wonderful evening.”
Leonardo nodded, but instead of bidding her goodbye, he said, “Wait. There’s one last surprise.”
He walked to the trunk of his car and opened it, revealing a large shape. Evelyn’s eyes widened as she remembered the third question on the survey:
- If you have a boyfriend, what would you like to get as a gift? A huge stuffed doll.
“Don’t tell me…” she began, her voice incredulous.
Leonardo emerged, holding a massive Djungelskog bear in his arms. “His name is Paul Wheeler,” he announced with a sheepish grin. “He wheels and deals.”
Evelyn couldn’t help but laugh, her disbelief melting into genuine delight. Taking the bear from him, she hugged it tightly. “I thought it was such a strange survey,” she admitted with a knowing smirk.
Shrugging, Leonardo said, “I wanted to give you what you wanted.”
Smiling warmly, Evelyn replied, “Well, I certainly appreciate that you prepared all of this just for me.”
Leonardo’s expression softened as he looked at her. “I’m willing to do anything for you,” he said, his voice sincere.
Caught off guard by his candor, Evelyn stammered, “T-thank you again, sir.”
As she turned to leave, Leonardo stopped her once more. “Wait. There’s something else on your list.”
Evelyn froze, remembering the additional note she had written on question three: A romantic kiss in front of my house.
Her breath hitched as Leonardo stepped closer, leaning down slowly. Panicking, she pressed Paul the bear between them, stopping him mid-motion.
Chuckling, she said with a bright smile, “Drive safely.”
Leonardo stood there for a moment, stunned before a low laugh escaped him. As she disappeared inside, he leaned against his car, shaking his head in amused disbelief.
For the first time in years, Leonardo felt something stir deep within him. Something he hadn’t thought possible. And it was all because of his beautiful, endearing secretary.
The night was still, with a calm quietness settling over the city. Evelyn lay in her small bed, cocooned in a fluffy blanket. The dim light of her bedside lamp cast a soft glow on her room. Paul the Djungelskog Bear, her newest companion, sat proudly on a chair nearby, a silent witness to the evening’s events. Evelyn’s phone rested on the nightstand, its screen lighting up periodically with notifications she ignored, lost in her own thoughts.
Her mind replayed the events of the night: the fireworks, Leonardo’s thoughtful gestures, the stuffed bear, and that almost-kiss. She groaned, covering her face with the blanket as if to shield herself from her own emotions.
On the other side of town, Leonardo sat in his sprawling bed pf his master bedroom. The city lights twinkled through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting shadows that danced across the walls. He leaned back against the headboard, the bed that was custom-made to accommodate his size.
His phone rested on his broad chest as he stared at the ceiling, lost in thought. Tonight had been… different. Evelyn’s laughter and the awe in her eyes had stirred something in him he hadn’t felt in years, if ever. She was so small, so delicate, yet so full of life.
After a moment, he picked up his phone and opened their text conversation. The cursor blinked on the blank screen as he hesitated, wondering if he should even message her.
Finally, he typed:
Leonardo: Evelyn. Thank you for everything.
He hit send before he could overthink it and stared at the screen, waiting for those three little dots that would tell him she was typing.
Back at her place, Evelyn’s phone buzzed softly. She reached for it, expecting another generic notification, but her heart skipped a beat when she saw his name. Opening the message, she smiled at the simple yet genuine words. Without hesitation, she replied:
Evelyn: No, thank you! Tonight was… amazing. I feel so spoiled. Paul Wheeler and I are already best friends. 😊
Leonardo chuckled as he read her response, imagining her hugging the bear tightly. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, wanting to say more but knowing it was late. Instead, he replied:
Leonardo: I’m glad you liked him. Goodnight, Evelyn.
Evelyn smiled at the screen, her heart warm.
Evelyn: Goodnight, Mr. Andolini. Sweet dreams!
With that, Evelyn placed her phone back on the nightstand and turned off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. She lay there for a moment, clutching her blanket and smiling to herself.
Leonardo placed his phone on the bedside table and exhaled deeply, a rare, genuine smile lingering on his face as he settled back into his bed. For the first time in years, he felt something close to peace.
...:TBC:...
Chapter 4: Chapter 3
Notes:
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some more hints of child abuse but they're at the beginning of this chapter.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyright material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. I only own my original characters.
Author's Note: Ooohh! This is so much fun! Please R & R!
Chapter Text
Unfortunately, the night pressed heavily on Leonardo as he lay in his bed, his massive frame twisting against the sheets. Beads of sweat glistened on his brow, his breathing uneven. His chest rose and fell as he fought against the memories that clawed their way to the surface. The weight of his past memories descended upon him like a smothering fog, leaving him helpless to escape.
In the shadow of Mount Cerreto, the town of Vulci simmered with unspoken despair. Rusted balconies leant precariously over narrow streets, their railings twisted like arthritic fingers. Cobblestones bore the scars of countless trudging footsteps, and the occasional echo of a distant siren broke the uneasy quiet. The sea breeze, thick with salt, offered little reprieve from the oppressive atmosphere.
Leonardo was no stranger to the weight of this place. The walls of his childhood home seemed to absorb the rancor and bitterness within. His father, Santino Di Cecco, was a man consumed by ambition, his eyes perpetually searching for respect he could never earn. His mother, Trisola, sought refuge in the numbing embrace of cheap alcohol, her words slurred and her temper unpredictable.
The arguments were a near-constant backdrop to Leonardo’s childhood, each one louder and more vicious than the last. On nights when the shouting turned to the sound of breaking glass, Leonardo would hide in the shadows of his small bedroom, his small frame trembling with fear. Sometimes, when the fights grew too violent, he would creep out barefoot into the night, sitting on the stoop under the open sky. There, he would stare at the stars, where he whispered prayers for deliverance.
But salvation, it seemed, was not meant to come easily.
Santino’s fury was as relentless as the tides. The man’s frustrations over his failures turned to fists and words of venom aimed at mostly his son. “Why can’t you be more like the other boys?” Santino would sneer, his voice dripping with disdain as his hand lashed out. Each strike left more than just physical marks — it etched scars deep into Leonardo’s battered young soul.
School offered little solace. Though he excelled in his studies, his success only made him a target. The other boys taunted him mercilessly, their words cutting as sharply as his father’s blows. “Look at Rattino ! Always sneaking around!” they’d jeer, shoving him into walls as he walked home. But even amidst the cruelty he faced daily, Leonardo found an escape in books. They became his sanctuary, a world where he could lose himself and dream of a life far removed from Vulci.
Aside from books, the port was another refuge, a place where he could sit by the water’s edge and watch the fishermen haul in their catch. He would trace the ripples on the surface, imagining them carrying him far away to a place where his father’s fists couldn’t reach.
Yet dreams were fragile things, and reality always had a way of intruding.
One stifling summer evening, Santino returned home with a wild look in his eyes. Fueled by cheap wine and desperation, he sat Leonardo down at the rickety kitchen table. “The Don needs loyalty…someone who’s a blank page that he can mold,” Santino said, his voice unsteady. 
“My short comings aside, our family needs to be known for its greatness. You’ll prove our bloodline’s worth. This is our chance… your chance.”
Leonardo’s heart pounded. His father’s words, though intended to inspire, filled him with dread. He didn’t want to meet the Don. He didn’t want to be part of his father’s schemes. But he had no choice.
The Zeno estate was a world apart from the crumbling streets of Vulci. Its sprawling grounds were immaculate, every hedge trimmed immaculately, even the cobblestone was was a perfect tapestry of smoothness and had a timeless look to them. Yet beneath the opulence lay a darker truth.
Leonardo, dressed in his best—a threadbare shirt and patched trousers—stood before Don Cecilia ‘The Bat’ Zeno. 
The man’s presence was indomitable, his sharp eyes dissecting Leonardo with unsettling precision. His sharp suit was tailored to perfection, and his short silver hair gleamed under the light. Despite his refined demeanour, there was an unmistakable air of menace about him.
“Young Andrea,” Don Zeno said, his voice smooth yet laced with quiet authority. “Your father speaks of your potential. But potential means nothing without action.” He smiled, a gesture that sent a chill down child’s spine.
Leonardo’s mind raced. In his childish defiance, he resolved to do nothing—to defy both the Don and his father. He thought his refusal would hurt them both, that his inaction would be a small victory in a life where he had so little control.
But he was wrong.
So very wrong.
Leonardo’s breath hitched as the memory surged forward, pulling him back into that suffocating cellar beneath the Zeno mansion. The air had been damp and stifling, reeking of mildew and old blood. Shadows flickered in the dim light of a single bulb, dancing across the walls lined with chains and tools that whispered of pain. The man Don Zeno wanted him to harm sat slumped in the corner, trembling. His face was battered, his eyes pleading, mumbling prayers fell from his battered lips.
In Leonardo's all too small, trembling hands, the Don’s lieutenant had placed a knife. The handle was cold, its weight far too heavy for a child of just seven years old. The blade shimmered faintly, a cruel beacon in the darkness. Behind him, one of the enforcers attempted to encourage the young boy in a sharp voice, dripping with desperation masked as pride. “Do it, boy! Show him! Prove to Don Zeno that you are worth something!”
Don Cecilia Zeno, the towering figure in the room, watched silently. His eyes—frightening, cold, calculating—bore into Leonardo almost as if he were dissecting him, weighing his every breath. Zeno’s smile was unsettling, a mix of amusement and menace. He said nothing, allowing the tension to simmer.
Leonardo’s heart pounded in his chest, a drumbeat of panic. The man on the floor whimpered again, and the boy’s grip on the knife tightened. He felt Don Zeno’s eyes burning into him, the weight of expectation crushing him. But inside, something else erupted within him—a defiance that had been molded by years of torment and scorn.
“No,” Leonardo whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling silence of the cellar.
The room froze. One of the enforcers’s sharp intake of breath was deafening. “What did you say?” the overweight man barked, his voice quaking with disbelief.
Leonardo lifted his gaze, meeting the Don’s fixed stare. His small shoulders squared, and though his small hands trembled, his voice came steadier this time. “Non lo farò. I don’t want to. I won’t do anything you or my father want me to do.”
The silence of the room crackled with tension. The Don’s face remained impassive, save for the slightest twitch of amusement at the corner of his mouth.
“Well,” Zeno said, his voice smooth as silk, as he looked to his men. “It seems the boy has more spirit than his father, Santino.” He turned his gaze back to Leonardo, his expression unreadable. “Unfortunately for you, I don’t waste time on boys who don’t know their place.” Looking to the men again, he said, “Take him away.”
Leonardo’s relief was short-lived. As soon as the Don turned his back, the lieutenant grabbed him roughly by the collar, dragging him out of the room. The boy’s defiance had bought him no favour, only condemnation.
Leonardo’s current body jerked violently in his bed, his mind trapped in the nightmare of what followed. The cellar blurred into a haze of screams—his own, high-pitched and desperate, mingling with the mocking laughter of the Don’s men and a woman with grotesque clown painted makeup. They didn’t kill him; no, Zeno believed death was mercy. Instead, they broke him, piece by piece, with the calculated cruelty of adults who had long since forgotten empathy.
The sharp snap of a whip echoed in his mind. The sting of leather, the burn of salt rubbed into wounds, the relentless agony of being bound in barbed wire and left in the cold—all of it came rushing back. The metallic scent of blood filled his senses, suffocating him. He thrashed in his bed, his massive frame twisting against the sheets as if trying to escape invisible chains.
Even now, years later, he could still feel the rough hands that had held him down, the mocking words whispered into his ear as they reminded him of his powerlessness. “ You’re nothing ,” they had said. “ A weakling. A disappointment .”
Leonardo gasped awake, his chest heaving, his pulse hammering in his ears. The room was dark, the faintest glow of the city beyond the window barely illuminating the walls. He sat up, his head in his hands, his broad shoulders trembling under the weight of his memories.
As the first light of dawn began to seep into the room, Leonardo sat there in silence, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He had survived that night, and countless others like it, but survival came at a cost. Only a few of the scars on his body had long since faded, but others, including the ones inside him, remained, deep and immoveable.
He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. The boy who had defied his father and the Don still lived within him, but so did the boy who had suffered for that very same defiance. And though the man he had become was stronger, smarter, and more powerful than anyone could have imagined, those old ghosts refused to let him rest most nights.
The faint glow of dawn spilled into Leonardo’s home gym, a sprawling space lined with reinforced flooring and state-of-the-art equipment, custom-built to accommodate his extraordinary frame and strength. The room, outfitted with industrial-grade racks, bars, and plates, was a testament to discipline and almost inhuman strength.
Leonardo’s massive form moved fluidly across the space as he went about his routine. At 7’2½” and 670 pounds of carved muscle mixed with soft fat, he was a colossus in motion. His broad shoulders stretched nearly three and a half feet across, every sinew and striation of his traps and deltoids visible under his sleeveless black compression shirt. The thick column of his thick neck connected seamlessly to his expansive chest, which rose and fell rhythmically as he prepared for his next set.
As he warmed up, his thoughts drifted to Evelyn. He could still hear her laugh from the day before, light and melodic, cutting through the otherwise serious atmosphere of the office. Her presence had surprised him, not just because she had seamlessly handled a meeting fraught with tension, but because she brought warmth where he expected only professionalism. Evelyn had a way of making people feel comfortable, even him, and it lingered in his mind like a soft melody.
With a deep inhale, Leonardo began his morning routine: fifteen minutes of rowing on a machine modified to handle his size and strength. The custom-made rower groaned under his grip, his enormous hands—each nearly a foot long—curling around the handles with ease. His arms, with biceps measuring 30 inches, moved in perfect synchronization with the drive of his legs. His thighs, each as thick as an average man’s torso, flexed powerfully as he propelled the machine.
He replayed the moment Evelyn had turned to him in the meeting, her smile genuine as she wished him 'good job, sir'. It was a simple gesture, yet it had resonated deeply with him. She reminded him of something he had almost forgotten: kindness, in a world where strategy often took precedence.
Next came the sled push. Leonardo loaded nearly 1,500 pounds onto the massive sled, his hands gripping the bars as his forearms flexed with unshakeable force. As the sled scraped against the reinforced floor, he pushed harder, imagining what it might feel like to see Evelyn genuinely happy in her final days at his company.
She deserves that, he thought, his jaw tightening as he drove the sled forward. After all she’s done, after how much she’s given… I owe her that much.
The workout continued, his movements were rigorous and intentional.
Tire flips followed – the massive tire, weighing 1,200 pounds, slammed down with a thunderous echo. As sweat poured down his back, he couldn’t shake the thought of Evelyn’s resolve and her resilience despite the challenges she faced.
By the time he moved to clean-and-jerks, Leonardo was lost in the rhythm of exertion and reflection. He powered the bar from the floor to his chest, then pressed it overhead in a smooth, controlled motion. He pictured Evelyn laughing at his stoicism at the amusement park, her shoulders shaking slightly as she teased him about his ‘stone face.’ He didn’t mind; in fact, her lightheartedness made him feel more human, less like the indomitable scarred figure the world often saw.
When he transitioned to cardio, his massive physique seemed almost incongruous with the speed and deftness with which he moved. His footsteps were heavy but measured on the treadmill, the custom belt groaning underneath him. His breathing deepened as he pushed himself harder, the rhythmic pounding of his feet blending with his thoughts.
She’s leaving soon, he mused, his chest tightening at the realization. But while she’s here, I’ll make sure every day is better than the last. I want her to know her work mattered—not just to the company but to me.
Finally, he approached the heavy bag, his fists wrapped tightly. The bag, weighted at 400 pounds, absorbed the force of his punches, each strike reverberating through the gym. His enormous hands moved with precision, his footwork sharp despite his size. The sound of his blows echoed, but his mind was elsewhere.
She deserves to smile every day, he thought between strikes. I’ll see to it.
As he landed a final, powerful blow, the bag swung violently before settling. Leonardo stood there, his broad chest rising and falling as he caught his breath. Sweat glistened on his olive toned skin, tracing the ridges of muscle and fat that defined his physique.
Tossing the wraps onto a nearby bench, he grabbed a towel and draped it over his shoulders. His reflection in the gym’s mirrored wall caught his eye, and for a moment, he studied himself. He found that his reflection seemed happier somehow. Knowing exactly why, Leonardo made his way out of his home gym.
Walking toward the shower, Leonardo made a silent vow. Whatever time Evelyn had left at the company, he would ensure it was unforgettable. She deserved that, and perhaps, in doing so, he could build something more with Evelyn.
If she so chooses, of course.
But what if she doesn’t…she’ll be out of my life forever , his mind pointed out to his dismay.
As the early morning hours passed , Leonardo entered the bustling office floor with an air of quiet reflection. Despite his towering frame and commanding aura, his movements were unusually subdued, his shoulders slightly hunched. His fierce gaze remained fixed straight ahead, avoiding the curious stares of his employees. The dark circles beneath his eyes told a story of restless torment though, one he had no intention of sharing.
As he approached the desk where Evelyn and Leia were stationed, both women stood in unison, offering their polished greeting.
“Good morning, Mr. Andolini,” they said together, their voices professional and poised.
Leonardo barely glanced at them. He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment, his jaw tightening as he passed without a word. The tension radiating from him was palpable, leaving a noticeable ripple in the atmosphere.
Leia, still new to the company, sat back down and returned to her work, her focus shifting back to the stack of folders she needed to review. Evelyn, however, lingered, her eyes narrowing as she watched the broad expanse of Leonardo’s retreating back. She knew him well enough to recognize when something was wrong. The way his broad shoulders sloped, the heaviness in his stride—it was all too telling.
With her instincts propelling her forward, Evelyn moved around the desk, adjusted her blouse, and approached the closed door to his office. With a brief knock, she entered, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor.
Leonardo stood near the massive window, his imposing figure silhouetted against the morning light. His hands were buried in the pockets of his tailored slacks, and his gaze was fixed on the sprawling soccer field below. There was an unusual stillness to him, as though he were a statue carved from stone.
“Are you alright?” Evelyn’s voice broke the silence, soft yet laced with concern.
He didn’t turn to face her. “Yes, I’m alright. Just having an epiphany, I suppose.”
Her brows knit together at the unusual response. “An epiphany, sir?” she echoed, stepping closer but maintaining a respectful distance.
Still looking out the window, Leonardo’s deep voice carried a weight that matched the somber expression etched across his face. “I’m selfish. I always have to win. I crush those in my way. In business, those are necessary qualities to succeed.” He paused, his massive frame tensing. “But in relationships—friendships, colleagues, or otherwise—those are terrible qualities.”
Evelyn’s breath hitched, taken aback by the vulnerability in his words. She had seen him dominate boardrooms and handle crises with unflinching persistence, but this side of him—a man confronting his own flaws—was entirely foreign.
Finally, Leonardo turned to face her. His expression was calm, but there was a flicker of sadness in his deep-set eyes. “That’s why I can understand why you want to quit.”
“Uh…S–Sir…” Evelyn began, but her words faltered. She couldn’t find a response, her usual sharp wit failing her in the face of his uncharacteristic honesty.
Leonardo’s lips curved into a faint, almost wistful smile. “Hang in there for your last month to train up your replacement properly, okay,” he said, his voice steady but tinged with an undercurrent of regret. After a pause, he added quietly, “Please.”
The room seemed to hold its breath. Evelyn stood frozen, her thoughts spinning as an inexplicable ringing filled her ears, drowning out everything else. The man before her, the indomitable titan of his industry, was almost unrecognizable.
“I…” she began, but the words caught in her throat.
Leonardo didn’t press her to respond. Instead, he took a step closer, his massive frame exuding a gentleness that belied his size. “Thank you for all your hard work. Truly.”
Evelyn felt her chest tighten at the sincerity in his voice. She didn’t know what to say, didn’t know how to process the sudden shift in their dynamic. For years, she had worked under a man who seemed untouchable, a force of nature who rarely showed any vulnerability or care for others, even at times care for even herself. And now, here he was, peeling back the layers of his armour, if only for a moment.
He turned back to the window, his broad shoulders eclipsing the light. “Look, Evelyn, I’d like to be alone now,” he said, his tone signaling the conversation’s end.
Still reeling, Evelyn managed a whispered, “Yes… sir.”
She turned and left the office, closing the door softly behind her. For a long moment, she stood just outside, her hand resting on the cool metal of the doorknob. Inside, Leonardo remained by the window, his thoughts rushing from how to cope with no longer having Evelyn by his side, making her happy in her final days with him and the company, and with his increasing nightmares.
Hours passed, and the weight of the day lingered. Leonardo's call to Evelyn was brief and efficient. His low, commanding voice over the desk phone relayed his instructions: “Evelyn, let’s have a working lunch at my place. Bring Leia along; she needs to familiarize herself with the layout.”
Evelyn quickly agreed, relaying the information to Leia, who straightened with a mix of excitement and nerves. It wasn’t every day one was invited to Leonardo Andolini’s private residence.
Leonardo left the office shortly after, driving himself in his sleek, jet-black custom made Aston Martin, its engine humming. Meanwhile, Evelyn and Leia were chauffeured by Samuel in one of the company’s luxury sedans.
As the vehicles approached the mansion, Leia’s breath caught. The house loomed ahead like a vision from an architectural magazine.
The mansion was framed by pristine, emerald-green lawns, edged with hedges so meticulously trimmed they appeared sculpted. The Mediterranean-style home was nothing short of breathtaking. Each detail spoke of impeccable attention to detail.
Leia stepped out of the car, her heels clicking faintly on the driveway as she stared. “This is... amazing,” she murmured, almost to herself. Evelyn gave a knowing smile but said nothing.
Leonardo was already at the front door and with a turn of the key, he opened the double doors, revealing the interior of the large home.
“Welcome,” he said simply, stepping aside to allow the women to enter.
Leia stepped into the foyer, and her eyes widened. It was as though she had walked into another world.
The floor was a geometric mosaic of black and white marble tiles, each piece fitting together in sharp, angular exactness. The pattern seemed to ripple with movement as the sunlight, filtered through tall windows, danced across the polished surface.
Above, a chandelier dominated the space above, its multi-armed design radiating light like a golden sunburst. The illumination cast a warm glow over the foyer, softening the stark contrast of the walls, which were painted a deep, velvety black.
Directly ahead, a console table stood as an introduction to Leonardo’s eclectic taste. Its base, shaped like curving tusks, gave it an almost primal elegance. On its surface rested a curated collection of items: tall, ivory candles in crystal holders; a stack of leather-bound books with gilded titles; and a small, abstract sculpture of twisting metal.
Leia turned her head, taking in the symmetry of the space. On either side of the foyer, tall black doors matched the grandeur of the entryway, their polished surfaces gleaming faintly. Everything was designed to impress, yet there was a warmth to the home—a sense of intention and personality in every choice.
“Holy crap,” Leia finally said, her voice barely above a whisper.
Standing beneath the chandelier's glow, Evelyn turned to Leia, offering a warm smile and a small chuckle. “I’ll show you around after lunch if we have time,” she said, gesturing for Leia to follow her and Leonardo through a wide doorway to the left.
As they walked, Leia continued to glance around, her eyes catching details: some bold, modern artwork adorning the walls, the sleek furnishings with their clean lines and luxurious looking materials, and the subtle hints of red and gold that broke up the monochrome palette.
As they entered the kitchen’s seating area, Leia's breath caught once again at the scene before her. The space was bathed in sunlight streaming through a wall of black-framed windows draped with sheer curtains that swayed slightly in a gentle breeze. The windows opened to a view of a perfectly manicured backyard, where lush greenery framed a large patio.
At the heart of the space was a dark, round table, its rich wood gleaming beneath the crystal droplets of a bronze chandelier. Around the table sat four plush, olive-green chairs with pleated upholstery, the kind of seating that invited one to linger. Nearby, a towering fiddle-leaf fig added a splash of vibrant green, its leaves catching the sunlight. 
Leia paused by the window, her gaze drifting to the lush backyard beyond. She was about to comment when Leonardo pulled out a chair for her and Evelyn, before motioning for Leia to sit.
“This is beautiful,” Leia finally said, addressing Leonardo but glancing at Evelyn. “This home... it’s seriously breathtaking.”
Leonardo took a seat at the table, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Thank you. But the credit goes to Evelyn. She found this home and brought it to life with her vision.”
Leia turned to Evelyn, her expression a mix of surprise and newfound respect. “Really?”
To which, Evelyn chuckled softly. “It was a team effort,” Evelyn said modestly, though her pride was evident. “See, About five years ago, Mr. Andolini was living in a penthouse, it was nice but it just wasn’t practical for him anymore.”
Not sure whether or not to continue, she looked to her boss and Leonardo gave her a nod of encouragement to continue, and she continued, “He wanted a home that could accommodate his lifestyle, especially his workouts. The apartment gym wasn’t designed for someone his size or his routines, so he asked me to find a house—or have one built—that met his needs. Luckily, this home had just been finished and was on the private market. I knew instantly it would be perfect for him.”
Leonardo added with a chuckle, “I also told Evelyn to decorate it as if she were living here too.”
Leia blinked in surprise, glancing between the two. “Why?”
“Simple,” Leonardo said. “She spends as much time here as I do—sometimes more. It only made sense for her to feel at home.”
Evelyn smiled at the memory. “It was such a thoughtful gesture.” But she continued with the story, “The apartment’s décor was beautiful but lacked that … ‘ oomph ’ factor. So, with the help of a professional, I blended his style with mine. That’s how this color scheme of white, black, gold, and touches of red came to be.”
Leia nodded, clearly impressed. “So, in a way, this really is your home away from home.”
Evelyn’s expression softened as she looked around, the realization sinking in. “It really is…” After a moment, she shook herself from her reverie, gesturing for Leia to follow her. “Come on, let me show you the pantry.”
They passed through the butler’s pantry, a narrow yet stunning space that exuded both function and beauty. White shaker-style cabinets stretched to the ceiling, their crisp lines accented by brushed brass hardware. Dark wood floors added warmth, leading the eye toward a sleek black and gold geometric wallpaper that lined the walls. A spiky, starburst chandelier cast dramatic shadows, its black shade and golden arms reflecting light off the brass drinkware and decorative vessels arranged on the granite countertops. 
Stopping before another massive off-black refrigerator, Evelyn turned to Leia with a small smile. “This is where you’ll come in. Mr. Andolini has a specific diet plan, and his meals are carefully prepared by his part-time chef. When the chef isn’t here, you’ll handle finishing or cooking his meals. For today, his chef has already prepped lunch.”
Evelyn pulled out a labeled container and opened it, revealing a generous portion of angel hair pasta smothered in rich, red meat sauce. “This is organic, grass-fed ground beef. It’s easier for him to digest and fits his dietary needs. The chef also prepares lunch for staff. Today, we’ll have spinach, shrimp, and shredded steak tortellini.”
Leia nodded, her mind racing as she absorbed the information. Evelyn’s warm smile returned. “Don’t worry; you’ll get the hang of it quickly. Now, let’s head back to the table and get this lunch-meeting started.”
Not too long after, the scent of fresh basil and roasted garlic lingered in the air, mingling with the subtle citrus of Evelyn’s perfume. The ambiance of the kitchen’s seating area area was warm, a gentle reprieve from the general demands of their day.
Seated at the head of the table, Leonardo leant forward, gesturing toward the digital schematics on Evelyn’s tablet. “You’ve been caught up on the academy I’m building?” he asked Leia, who nodded thoughtfully, her fingers gliding over her own tablet as she jotted notes.
“Good,” his voice, deep and resonant. “Where are we on the funding allocations? Have the grants been approved?”
Evelyn answered with her characteristic efficiency. “Most of them. But we still need to secure a few key backers. We’ve allocated fifteen million for the first phase—ten for operational costs and five for scholarships.”
Leonardo tapped the table lightly with his fingertips, his sharp gaze fixed on Leia. “This isn’t just a project; I want this to be a legacy. Make sure the narrative reflects that when we present it.”
After lunch, Evelyn escorted Leia to the door, giving her a quick rundown of tasks for the afternoon and promising a house tour for another day. To which Leia nodded as she departed with Evelyn returning to the kitchen seating room, clearing the dishes with practiced ease while Leonardo retreated to the living room.
He lowered his substantial frame onto the expansive sectional couch, the soft leather creaking under his weight. The city hummed faintly beyond the thick glass windows, a distant backdrop to the growing quiet within the room. Exhaustion pulled at him, and he let his eyes close, succumbing to the brief respite of sleep.
But his sleep was anything but peaceful.
His mind transported him back to the cellar. The cellar was damp and suffocating, the air heavy with the stench of mildew and iron. Eight-year-old Leonardo huddled in the corner, his knees drawn tightly to his chest. The single bulb above him swung lazily, casting long, distorted shadows across the cracked stone walls.
The sound of footsteps echoed from the stairwell, each step sharp and deliberate, sending jolts of terror through his small, trembling frame. A voice, coarse and cruel, cut through the silence. “Time for a little fun.”
Mantis and Butcher entered, their silhouettes filling the doorway. Mantis’ wiry frame moved with a predatory grace, while Butcher’s hulking presence exuded menace. The laughter that followed was jagged and mirthless, a mockery of joy.
They yanked Leonardo to his feet, their grip bruising, dragging him toward the heavy steel door. It groaned open, revealing the grim expanse of the room beyond—a gurney stood in its center, its surface marred by stains that whispered of agony. He struggled, small fists pounding against their hands, but his resistance only seemed to amuse them.
“Look at Rattino fight,” Mantis sneered, shoving him onto the gurney. They bound his wrists and ankles with leather straps, cinching them tight. “Let’s see how fast you can scurry .”
Leonardo’s breath came in ragged gasps, panic choking him as he twisted against the restraints. The room seemed to close in around him, the walls alive with unseen malice. A faint creak from the shadows made his heart race.
Then she appeared.
The woman emerged from the darkness, her face painted with grotesque clown makeup—garish red lips stretched unnaturally wide, her cheeks smeared with uneven crimson circles, and thick black lines jaggedly framing her eyes. Her smile was too large, her teeth crooked and yellowed. She moved with an unsettling amount of grace, her steps deliberate and almost playful.
“Welcome back, dear,” she cooed, her voice dripping with false sweetness. “Did you miss me?”
Leonardo whimpered, his voice barely a whisper. “Please... d-don’t.”
Her laughter was shrill and dissonant, a sound that made his skin crawl. She leaned over him, her gloved hand brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. The touch was cold, deliberate, and suffused with malice.
“Oh, sweet Andrea,” she purred. “You know this is just the beginning.”
She snapped her fingers, and the room erupted into chaos—a cacophony of screams and clinking metal. Mantis and Butcher grinned, selecting their instruments of torment from the cattle prod to the pliers with cruel glee. The woman’s face loomed closer, her painted smile the last thing he saw before the world dissolved into a blur of pain and shadows.
Leonardo awoke with a start, a sharp gasp tearing from his throat as he bolted upright on the couch. His massive chest heaved with laboured breaths, his hands trembling as they gripped the couch cushion. Sweat clung to his brow, and his goldenesque eyes were wild, searching the room for the specters that haunted him.
“Leonardo?” Evelyn’s voice was soft, steady, pulling him back to the present. Her drop in formality did not register to either of them as she knelt beside him, her hand resting lightly on his arm. Her calm demeanor belied the concern etched into her features. “It’s okay… you’re safe,” she said gently, her voice a grounding force. “It was just a dream.”
He shook his head, running a hand through his damp hair. “No… it wasn’t just a dream,” he murmured, his voice raw. “It was…,” Leonardo started but he trailed off, not wanting to divulge secrets of his past.
Evelyn didn’t press him. Instead, she stayed by his side, her presence a quiet reassurance. Slowly, his breathing steadied, and the shadows of his nightmare receded.
Evelyn started to push herself up from where she had been kneeling beside Leonardo, her fingers barely leaving the fabric of the couch before her foot slipped against the smooth wooden floor. With a startled gasp, she lost her balance, tumbling and twisting forward—directly onto him.
A sharp inhale of breath caught in her throat as she found herself pressed against his broad chest, her palms splayed against the heat of his body. His sheer size enveloped her, the solidity of him beneath her was both reassuring and overwhelming. The tension of the moment hung thick between them, and she felt the deep rise and fall of his breath beneath her fingers.
Her face burned with embarrassment as she scrambled to push herself up, muttering an apology, but his large hands caught her wrists—firm, yet without force. The weight of his touch sent a ripple of warmth through her skin, making her breath hitch. Slowly, deliberately, he held her there, his grip steady as he gazed at her with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.
Evelyn stilled, unsure whether it was his presence that held her captive or something deeper—something unspoken threading between them. The room seemed impossibly quiet except for the lingering echoes of his harsh, uneven breathing as he fought to shake off the remnants of his nightmare.
Steeling herself, she turned her head back to him. He was inches away, close enough that she could see the faint sheen of sweat along his brow, the way the dim light softened the sharp lines of his face. This close, he was impossibly large, his presence almost suffocating in its sheer magnitude.
The warmth radiating from his body was intoxicating, an unspoken invitation that coaxed her closer despite the warning bells in her mind. His scent—dark, rich, and unmistakably him—wrapped around her senses, flooding her lungs with something deep and heady, something that made her fingers twitch against him as if she might dare to press in just a little more.
His golden eyes flickered to her lips for the briefest moment before meeting her gaze again. The slow, deliberate way he leaned forward sent a shiver down her spine, his movements careful, as if testing her reaction.
The world outside this moment ceased to exist. No business meetings, no pressing responsibilities, no nightmares clawing at the edges of his mind—just this, just the unspoken tension thickening between them.
His breath, warm and uneven, ghosted over her skin as he inched closer still.
Just as the space between them seemed to vanish, Gru Cooper rushed inside, his attention buried in the newspaper he clutched in one hand. His expensive shoes clicked against the floor as he made his way in, oblivious to the scene before him—until he looked around the couch.
The moment his gaze landed on Leonardo and Evelyn, tangled together on the couch in a position that could be misinterpreted a hundred different ways, he froze mid-step. His face twisted into something caught between embarrassment and panic.
“Oh! Uh—” Gru’s voice cracked as he fumbled over his words. “I—uh—oh my, um—excuse me! I—I didn’t mean to—”
Evelyn startled violently, mortification slamming into her like a freight train. In her haste to separate herself from Leonardo, she pushed against him without thinking—only for her palm to land squarely against his cheek with a sharp smack .
Leonardo’s head barely moved, but the sound echoed through the room.
Gru, for his part, turned a shade paler, instinctively taking a step back. “S-Sorry, Lee! I didn’t—uh—”
Evelyn, still flustered beyond belief, quickly intervened before Leonardo’s frustration boiled over. “It’s okay, Mr. Cooper,” she rushed to say, trying to ease the tension. She cast a wary glance at Leonardo’s rigid posture before turning back to Gru. “What’s wrong?”
Gru swallowed hard, still shifting uncomfortably under Leonardo’s glare. “It’s about the academy,” he stammered.
Leonardo’s expression didn’t soften in the slightest. “What about the academy?” His growl hadn’t fully faded, and this time, it was deeper—more guttural, vibrating through his chest like a primal warning.
Gru hesitated, his nervous fingers tightening around the newspaper. “Well… Lucien Sayers is attempting to open his arts academy sooner.”
That got Leonardo’s full attention. His brows furrowed, the lingering irritation in his gaze sharpening into something far deadlier. “How much sooner?” he asked, his voice a low with restrained fury.
Gru took a deep breath before delivering the final blow. “As in four weeks sooner,” he clarified. “He announced it on Just the Facts radio with J. Jonah Jameson about twenty minutes ago. I was trying to see if there were anymore details in the Daily Bugle, but there was nothing.”
Silence crashed over the room like a held breath before the storm.
Leonardo’s jaw clenched. The muscles in his arms flexed as his hands curled into fists against his thighs. The rage brewing behind his eyes was no longer just from interrupted intimacy—it had transformed into something far colder, far more calculating.
Evelyn swallowed hard, already knowing what this meant.
Lucien Sayers wasn’t just making a move—he was declaring war.
The moment Leonardo and Evelyn stepped into the office, the air seemed to tighten with tension. Conversations stilled, the rhythmic clacking of keyboards faltered, and every set of eyes turned toward them, sensing a shift in course.
Leonardo wasted no time. His voice was steady, authoritative. “We’ll advance our opening date to next month.”
The weight of his words settled like a thunderclap. Silence stretched for a long beat.
Vincent and his team stared, unmoving. Noah, mouth slightly agape, was the first to break. “B-But that’s only a few days left in this month.” His voice carried a note of disbelief, his wide eyes darting between Leonardo and Vincent.
Leonardo’s expression remained impassive, his sharp gaze nearly daring anyone to challenge him. The fierceness of his silence emanating from him made it clear—this was not a request.
Before hesitation could fester, Evelyn stepped forward, her voice ringing with absolute certainty. “Okay, sir. We’ll get things ready.”
Leonardo turned to her, his expression softening slightly, approval flickering in his golden eyes. The corner of his lips twitched upward in a small, satisfied smile.
That was all the team needed.
Leia, who had been lingering by the water cooler, straightened as the energy in the room flipped from shock to movement. Vincent exchanged a knowing glance with Noah before nodding, his hands already reaching for his phone. One by one, the team snapped into action. Some rushed to their desks, typing out urgent emails, while others grabbed their phones, hastily dialing contacts. Papers shuffled, voices rose, and the office became a controlled whirlwind of activity.
“I’ll deal with J.J. first,” Margot muttered as she leaned back in her chair, already steeling herself for the inevitable headache of dealing with the Daily Bugle’s owner and CEO and main personality J. Jonah Jameson. “Can you start phoning other companies in the meantime?”
Vincent turned to her with something dangerously close to glee. This was exactly what he wanted to hear.
Margot let out an exaggerated sigh, rubbing her temples. Before she could react, Vincent seized the moment and enthusiastically planted a sloppy kiss on her cheek.
She groaned immediately, wiping it away with an exaggerated shudder. “Ugh, Vincent! Gross!”
“Thank you!” he declared, utterly unbothered. “Have I told you I love you? Because I really, really do.”
Margot shot him a dry look. “Don’t thank me yet. The beast is yet to be slain.”
“Oh, please. You’ll be fine.” Vincent waved a dismissive hand, already composing himself as he strode away with renewed determination.
Leonardo watched all of this unfold, arms crossed, surveying his team with quiet approval. They had been caught off guard, but they were moving, adapting.
That was what he needed.
Satisfied with their progress, he nodded to Evelyn, signaling that it was time to move on. Together, they turned and walked out of the room, their exit swift and purposeful, setting the stage for what came next. Leonardo and Evelyn arrived at the art center with a commanding presence, flanked by a team of seven lawyers, all dressed in sharp black suits. Their synchronized movements and piercing gazes gave the impression of an unstoppable force. The moment they stepped through the grand entrance, the energy in the space shifted. Employees and staff straightened, some whispering to one another as the entourage passed.
The director of the center, a distinguished man in his fifties with silver-streaked hair and a confident demeanor, strode toward them with an easy, practiced smile. He extended a hand to Leonardo, who accepted it with a firm grip.
“Mr. Andolini, Ms. Freeman, welcome,” the director greeted, his tone warm but professional.
Without wasting a second, Leonardo got straight to business. His voice, deep and unwavering, echoed in the vast hall. “Can we open the museum next month without any problem?”
The director’s expression shifted slightly, as though preparing for bad news. “Well, unfortunately, the main art piece of the outdoor exhibition is not complete yet. It requires much time to move and install.”
Evelyn didn’t hesitate. “Support the artists so that they can move the materials first and complete the piece here.”
The director blinked at the quick solution, his brows lifting with interest. “That... that’s actually a fantastic idea. It would cut installation time nearly in half.” His hesitation vanished as he nodded decisively. “Okay, we’ll move forward with that.”
Leonardo gave a single nod of approval before moving on.
The group advanced through the halls of the academy, their footsteps a steady rhythm against the polished floors. The next stop was the concert hall that was designed for grand performances. The golden lighting reflected off the polished wood of the stage, the seating arranged in elegant tiers. Leonardo took it all in with a calculating stare.
“Can we open the concert hall next month without any problem?”he asked.
The director hesitated before shaking his head. “Unfortunately, we can’t. The sound system installation is behind schedule, and some of the seating arrangements require adjustments to meet safety standards.”
Before the conversation could stall, Evelyn stepped in, her sharp mind already working through possible solutions.
“If it’s just the acoustics and seating, then why not prioritize finishing one section at a time? You can open it gradually—small performances first, while other sections are fine-tuned.”
The director tilted his head, considering. “That... could actually work.” He glanced at his assistant, who was already taking notes. “We can implement that plan.”
Leonardo’s gaze lingered on Evelyn for a moment, impressed but unsurprised by her resourcefulness.
Next, they made their way through a corridor that led to another wing of the academy—a sprawling library. Towering bookshelves stretched from floor to ceiling, each filled with carefully curated texts. Large windows cast soft pools of sunlight onto the reading tables, giving the space a grand yet inviting atmosphere.
Leonardo took one glance around before cutting straight to the point. “Can we open the library next month without any problem?”
The director winced, the hesitation in his stance obvious.
Leonardo’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Let me guess, it’s not ready either?”
The director let out a breath, nodding apologetically. “I’m sorry, Mr. Andolini. We’ve had to deal with copyright issues regarding video aids such as movies and documentaries. We can’t legally display certain films just yet.”
Before the issue could fester, Evelyn once again stepped in.
“That won’t be a problem as long as we don’t hold a movie screening for particular films. Instead, you can host screening events only for films with settled copyright issues. That way, we’re not delaying the library’s opening, and we can gradually introduce media as the legalities are handled.”
The director’s eyes lit up with admiration. “That’s brilliant,” he said with a nod. “We’ll implement that immediately.”
Leonardo turned slightly, his gaze settling on Evelyn, a small yet unmistakable smile forming at the corners of his lips. He was well aware of how resourceful she was, and this only reinforced it.
With the logistics steadily falling into place, the grand opening would happen—sooner than expected, but precisely on his terms.
The library was a vast, open space, its towering wooden shelves stretching high toward the ceiling. The scent of polished oak and fresh parchment lingered in the air, mingling with the faintest trace of ink. Though the shelves were nowhere near full—only a few hundred books occupied the space where thousands should have been—their placement was intentional, each volume carefully selected for its importance. Even in its incomplete state, the library exuded an undeniable grandeur.
Soft golden light poured in from the high windows, casting gentle shadows on the dark wood floors. Plush reading chairs were strategically placed near the larger windows, and long tables with brass reading lamps lined the center of the room, awaiting eager scholars and dreamers alike.
Evelyn's footsteps echoed lightly as she walked beside Leonardo, taking in the sheer majesty of the space. Her eyes swept across the rows of books, the warm tones of the wood accentuated by the sunlight filtering through the glass panes above. It wasn't just the scale of the room that took her breath away—it was the promise it held.
She exhaled, her voice soft with admiration. "It's so beautiful."
Leonardo glanced at her, noting the way her expression softened as she looked around. His lips curved slightly, just the faintest ghost of a smile. "It will be even better when it's full," he remarked, his deep voice reverberating in the quiet space.
Evelyn nodded, but her eyes still gleamed with awe. "Even now, you can tell what it’s meant to be."
Leonardo didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he let the moment settle, his gaze drifting over the empty shelves. He could already picture it—this library, filled with books, knowledge, and people eager to learn.
The library was completely engulfed in darkness, the towering wooden shelves stretching into nothingness. The air was thick with silence, save for the faint rustling of fabric as Evelyn shifted beside him, pulling out her phone. A pale beam of light flickered on, cutting through the void and casting eerie, elongated shadows along the shelves.
Leonardo, visibly annoyed, exhaled sharply. "I can't believe this," he muttered, his deep voice carrying through the empty space. "Isn't it about time they finished dealing with facility problems?"
He turned to look at Evelyn, expecting her to be standing calmly as she usually did, ready with a solution. But instead—
“AAAAAAAHHHHHH!”
The sound that ripped from Leonardo's throat was loud, guttural, and entirely uncharacteristic of the giant man. His massive form actually jerked back a step, his muscles coiling instinctively.
Because standing before him was not Evelyn.
At least, that’s what it looked like.
Her face was bathed in an eerie, ghostly glow, her features twisted into something monstrous. The harsh light from her phone, positioned directly under her chin, exaggerated every shadow—her eyes looked hollow and sunken, her cheekbones sharpened to a near skeletal level, and her lips, caught in a slightly parted smirk, seemed unnatural and chilling.
His instincts flaring before his rational mind caught up. His breath hitched for just a fraction of a second more before he narrowed his eyes at her, the initial startle quickly morphing into something else—annoyance.
“Damn it, Evelyn.” His deep voice rumbled through the darkened space, reverberating against the empty shelves.
Evelyn snorted, lowering the phone a little as she giggled. "I’m sorry, sir. I wanted for you to see properly, so I turned my flashlight on for you.”
Regaining his composure with a slow inhale, Leonardo scowled, rubbing a hand over his face before grumbling, “Right. Sure. For me.”
Before she could say anything else, Leonardo let out a low, grumbling growl, but the corners of his mouth twitched slightly. "Let’s go. Before you give me another reason to leave you in the dark.”
Still smiling to herself, Evelyn bit her lip to keep from laughing and followed, her flashlight guiding their path through the shadowed library.
As they moved through the darkened halls of the library, Evelyn took the lead without hesitation. Despite being much shorter than him, she walked with swiftness, her pale high heels striking the tile floor with a steady, rhythmic click-click-click . Leonardo, for once, trailed behind, his much larger frame moving at a slower, more measured pace.
He watched her for a moment, his brows slightly furrowed in curiosity. “Did you always walk this fast?” he asked.
Without turning back, Evelyn replied smoothly, “I walked fast to keep up with your stride, so it's become my own habit and stride.”
Leonardo let out a low hum, processing her words. “Well, my strides are much longer than others'. It must've been hard to keep up with me.”
“I'm completely used to it now,” she said without hesitation, her tone light but matter-of-fact.
Leonardo’s gaze flickered downward, watching the way she moved—how effortless it seemed for her now, how she no longer needed to struggle to match his pace. It was so natural, so ingrained in her, that he hadn’t even noticed. And that unsettled him.
Almost as if speaking his thoughts aloud, he murmured, “Why didn’t I notice your walking pace before, though?”
Without breaking stride, Evelyn answered, “It’s said that your senses become sharp in the dark, so you notice things that you otherwise wouldn’t have in your daily life.”
She continued forward, but Leonardo stopped completely.
A thought struck him, heavy and undeniable.
I’ve truly taken her for granted.
He had always expected her to be there, right by his side, effortlessly keeping up—without ever once considering how much effort she had put into doing so.
As Evelyn continued walking, she noticed the absence of Leonardo’s heavy footsteps behind her. Stopping abruptly, she turned around—only to accidentally shine her phone's flashlight directly into his face.
Leonardo winced, instinctively raising his hand to shield his eyes. His golden irises narrowed against the harsh glare.
Realizing her mistake, Evelyn quickly tilted the light downward. "What're you doing? You might trip if you fall behind," she chided.
Before she could think about it, she reached out and grabbed his massive hand, her fingers wrapping around his much larger ones. Without hesitation, she pulled him forward, urging him to walk in step with her.
For a few moments, they walked like that, her small yet purposeful grip guiding him. But Leonardo wasn’t paying attention to the path ahead. Instead, his gaze was locked onto their joined hands.
It was rare—so rare—that he allowed anyone to touch him, especially a woman. His past made it difficult, his skin remembering every unwanted grip, every moment he had to fight a losing battle to reclaim his own autonomy.
But Evelyn’s touch…
It didn’t set off alarms in his mind. It didn’t make him want to pull away.
It was warm.
Steady.
Unlike anything he had ever felt before.
Slowing his steps, he tightened his grip slightly, forcing them both to a halt. His golden eyes remained fixed on their entwined fingers as he murmured, “You’re right… about my senses becoming sharper in the dark.”
Evelyn, now fully registering what she had done, looked down at their hands—and her breath hitched. With a sharp intake of air, she swiftly pulled her hand away, stepping back as if she had just overstepped an invisible boundary.
But Leonardo’s hand, starved of warmth for so long, tingled with the loss of her touch almost immediately.
Before she could turn away completely, he reached out, catching her hand again. His grip was firm yet careful, as if he feared she might pull away a second time. Evelyn’s eyes widened in shock.
And then, in one smooth motion, he plucked the phone from her grasp.
“So we don’t trip.”
His voice was calm, composed, as if this was the most natural thing in the world.
With that, Leonardo turned and took the lead, using her phone’s flashlight to illuminate the way.
But he didn’t let go of her hand.
And this time, she didn’t pull away.
...:TBC:...
Chapter 5: Chapter 4
Notes:
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some threats are made
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyright material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. I only own my original characters.
Author's Note: I have an extremely minor character mentioned in this chapter, an opera singer named Sir Billy Elliot (played by Sir Thomas Allen). But a bit of fun little trivia is that Tom Holland played a character named Billy Elliot in the movie called Billy Elliot (2000) and it was actually inspired and loosely based on the 20th century acclaimed opera singer Sir Thomas Allen. It’s an amazing film and I highly recommend anyone to watch it and any operas starring Sir Thomas Allen. Okay I’m done! Back to your regular schedule story update! 🙂
Chapter Text
The office was bathed in the soft glow of desk lamps, the only source of light left as the city skyline glittered beyond the towering glass windows. Papers were neatly stacked, emails had been sent, and every last detail for the art academy’s opening was finalized. The once-bustling office now stood empty, save for Leonardo and Evelyn, the only two remaining at this late hour.
At his expansive desk, Leonardo’s broad shoulders were relaxed, but his presence still filled the space. Evelyn, ever the diligent secretary, sat nearby, her fingers idly brushing over a closed planner. The weight of a long day lingered in the air, but so did something else—something unspoken, lingering just beneath the surface.
As Leonardo exhaled, a slow and steady breath, he turned his head toward her. His eyes, sharp yet softened by an unreadable depth, settled on Evelyn.
She felt it immediately—his gaze, intense yet searching. But she didn’t flinch, didn’t shy away. She never did. Instead, she looked to him and met his stare, unwavering and composed, as if daring him to speak whatever thought had gripped him so completely.
The silence stretched between them, thick with something neither had addressed before.
Finally, Leonardo broke it. His voice was low, steady. "Evelyn, you did great work today."
A smile curved her lips, effortless and warm. "Thank you, sir. It was a group effort, after all."
Leonardo hummed softly, his gaze never leaving her. He allowed her that—her humility, her inclination to credit others. But there was more to be said, more that he couldn’t push down any longer.
"But…" he continued, his voice taking on a gentler edge, "I can’t help but feel something else now."
Evelyn’s smile lingered, but curiosity flickered in her eyes. "Something else?"
Leonardo held her gaze, something deep and unguarded passing through his expression. And in that quiet, charged moment, everything changed.
Leonardo stared at Evelyn, his deep, contemplative eyes searching hers as the office hummed in quiet stillness.
Leonardo leaned forward, his voice soft yet certain. "Evelyn… I admire you more than you know. The way you speak, the way you think… it’s never just conversation with you. It’s engaging, intriguing, something I look forward to every single time I’m with you. Your voice has a warmth to it, a depth that I can’t quite explain, but it pulls me in every time you speak. You challenge and inspire me, your resolve, your commitment to your beliefs, your steadfastness, and your sharp insight, Evelyn—is just the beginning of the things that I love about you. And your smile… no matter the circumstances, it lifts my spirits. I could be buried in the weight of the world, but one look at you, and suddenly, everything feels lighter."
Evelyn’s lips parted slightly, but she remained silent, listening.
"Your laughter," he continued, a rare, subtle smile playing at his lips, "it gives me energy, joy—something I never expected to need so desperately. And your kindness, Evelyn… your thoughtfulness, the way you care, not just for me but for everyone—it’s something I’ve never encountered before. You make me feel…" He exhaled, as if struggling to find the right words. "Like I’m more than the sum of my flaws."
Evelyn’s expression softened, her eyes searching his, as he paused in his speech.
Leonardo’s fingers twitched slightly against the desk, resisting the urge to reach for her. "You support me in ways I never imagined needing. You never hold me back. You help me grow, not just as a businessman, but as a better person. Your strength, your balance of grace and… fire—it’s rare. It’s you."
She swallowed, her heart hammering, but Leonardo wasn’t done.
"We balance each other in ways I never imagined. You bring logic where I bring instinct, and emotion where I bring calculation. And somehow, together… we’re better. I’m better, with you by my side."
The air between them grew heavier, charged with something unspoken yet undeniable.
"Evelyn," he said, his voice low, "I adore you. Dare I say it, but I love you. Not just for one reason, or a few, but for everything that makes you, you . And I can’t ignore it any longer."
Silence settled between them, but it wasn’t empty. It was full of meaning, of emotion, of something that had been building for far too long.
The weight of his words settled between them, heavy with meaning, thick with sincerity. Leonardo’s voice, deep and unwavering, carried a tenderness Evelyn had never quite heard before—not like this. He was never a man of half-measures, never one to speak without intent. And now, as he sat before her, staring into her eyes with quiet certainty, she knew this was no impulsive confession.
"You’d do me the greatest honour if you would allow me to court you."
Evelyn’s breath hitched, her eyes widening ever so slightly. She had expected something—perhaps a revelation of his feelings, but this? This was something different. More profound.
"C-court?" she echoed, her voice uncharacteristically unsteady. There was something almost hopeful in her expression, something that made Leonardo’s gaze soften.
"Yes, court," he affirmed, his voice gentle yet firm. "I intend to marry you. Not for any other reason other than I want to spend the rest of my life loving you. To make you smile. To take care of you when you're sick. To be quiet with you."
Her lips parted, but no words came. His confession wasn’t grandiose—it wasn’t rehearsed or poetic in a way that begged to be admired. It was honest, straightforward, and unmistakable in its sincerity. A vow spoken before it had even begun.
As he continued, Evelyn realized—he remembered. He had remembered everything she told him weeks ago, and more than that—he understood.
"I want to discover what you want to do," he went on, his deep voice unwavering. "What you're passionate about, and help you reach those goals. I want to celebrate your victories, as you have done with me. I want to be there to share every moment with you, not just the joyous ones, but the boring ones and even your sorrows."
At that last word, he hesitated, his brow furrowing slightly before he winced.
"Not that I want any sorrow to come to you, but..."
He trailed off, struggling to phrase what he meant, but before he could fumble further, Evelyn reached out. Her smaller hand, warm and steady, slipped over his.
"I know what you mean," she murmured, her fingers curling around his much larger ones.
Leonardo let out a slow breath, relief flickering across his face before something even deeper settled in. A quiet sort of joy. His expression softened, his sharp features losing their usual look as he gazed at her with a look only meant for her.
Slowly, deliberately, he leaned forward.
His face drew closer to hers, the warmth of his breath mingling with hers in the space between them. His eyes searched hers, not just for permission—he would never take without it—but for understanding. For the silent, unspoken answer that only she could give.
And in that moment, time stood still.
The moment was perfect.
Leonardo could feel it—something fragile, something precious hanging in the space between them. The air was charged, thick with anticipation, their breaths mingling as they leaned closer. His hands had barely ghosted over hers, his fingers twitching with the instinct to hold, to claim—not as possession, but as a promise. Evelyn’s eyes fluttered shut, her lips parted just so, inviting, trusting.
His own eyes closed.
And then—it came.
Like an ambush from the dark corners of his mind, the memory crashed over him.
A woman’s face—painted white, her lips smeared red in a grotesque mockery of affection. The exaggerated curve of her mouth twisted into something monstrous. She leaned in, puckering her lips in mockery, her breath reeking of cheap candy and something sickly sweet.
" C’mere, Rattino! Gimme a kiss !"
He was a child again, small, helpless, screaming. Screaming.
A high-pitched, terrified wail—his own voice, but not his own anymore. It echoed in his head, wrapped around his lungs like a vice. His heart slammed against his ribs, every muscle in his body tensing like he was back in that moment, trapped, cornered—
No.
His body reacted before his mind could stop it. His large hands, so gentle just moments ago, shoved.
Hard.
The chair beneath Evelyn buckled backward with an unexpected jolt, propelling her away from him in an almost slow-yet not slow-motion glide. The wheels hissed against the smooth surface of the floor, sending a high-pitched screech through the room as her body jerked slightly, trying to adjust. Her hands instinctively gripped the armrests, her fingers tightening with the sudden shift, while her eyes flew open in alarm, her heart thudding in her chest. Her breath caught as she tried to steady herself amidst the unexpected force, struggling to make sense of what had just happened.
Leonardo watched in horror as she rolled backward—too far, too fast.
Everything stretched into slow motion.
Her expression—eyes wide, lips still softly puckered from their almost-kiss—froze in place for a fraction of a second before shifting into sheer confusion. The warmth in her gaze turned into bewilderment, then flickered with something deeper—confusion, hurt, uncertainty.
The moment shattered.
Leonardo’s breath came in sharp, uneven pulls, his entire body locked in place. What had he done?
His hands—the same hands that had cradled her so gently, that had longed to touch, to cherish—were now the same hands that had pushed her away.
His chest heaved.
The echo of that laughter, that sickly voice, still slithered through his mind, but it was fading, dissolving into the horrified silence that now filled the office.
Evelyn was staring at him.
Still gripping the armrests of her chair. Still waiting for some kind of explanation.
His mouth felt dry. His hands curled into tight fists on his desk, his nails pressing into his palms as if the pain could ground him, could pull him back to the present, to her.
He had pushed her away. Physically. Violently.
Not out of anger. Not because he wanted to.
His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists on his desk as he swallowed down the sharp sting of shame.
Evelyn, now a few feet away, still gripping the armrests, stared at him.
Still stunned. Still processing.
Leonardo’s breath was uneven, his throat thick with something he couldn't swallow. His hands, usually so steady, so sure, trembled as they rested on his own armrests. He wanted—needed—to say something, to fix it, to explain, but the words tangled in his throat, knotted by the weight of his own self-loathing.
“I—” His voice cracked. He winced, cursing himself. “Evelyn, I—”
She stood abruptly, the chair rolling a few inches behind her as if the motion itself wanted to escape the moment. He barely registered the distance between them now—so much distance—more than just physical.
Her posture was poised, collected, but her fingers twitched at her sides, clenching into fists for the briefest moment before relaxing. That alone told him how rattled she was.
“Mr. Andolini,” she said, her voice measured, cool.
Leonardo felt something in his chest tighten at the sound.
‘Mr. Andolini.’
Not in the way she usually said it—soft laced with unspoken warmth. But this time it was just a title, spoken with detachment. Like a wall had slammed down between them.
“Yes,” he answered quickly, too quickly, his own anxiety leaking through. He had no idea what she was about to say, but he feared it would be the beginning of something he couldn’t mend.
She inhaled sharply, then exhaled in a slow, steady breath. When she finally spoke, her words were calm, but the impact of them hit him like a punch to the gut.
"I'm taking tomorrow off."
His stomach dropped.
Her words might as well have been a blade to his ribs.
“What?” he breathed, not entirely sure he had heard her correctly.
Evelyn lifted her chin slightly, the polite smile she gave him so carefully placed it might as well have been carved from glass—beautiful, brittle, and dangerously sharp. But behind it—behind the mask—there was something else.
Something he had never seen directed at him before.
Danger.
Not fear. Not anger. Something colder, more resolute.
Evelyn had always been strong, confident, and fiercely independent, but this was different. This was a warning. A boundary drawn so clearly he could practically feel the line burning between them.
She wasn’t making a request. She was informing him.
Leonardo’s mind scrambled for a response, anything that would soften the moment, that would pull her back to him.
He hadn’t meant to hurt her—goodness, he’d rather rip his own heart out than make her look at him like this.
Evelyn didn’t wait for his reply. She turned, already walking away, her heels clicking against the floor in precise, controlled steps.
Panic flared in his chest. No. He couldn’t let her leave like this. Not like this. His body moved before his mind could catch up, his powerful frame moving from around his desk to follow.
But before he could take even a single step—
She turned.
And the look she gave him—
Everything inside him froze.
Her expression was serious, sharp, and unreadable in a way that unsettled him deeply.
Then—four words.
Quiet. Firm. Uncompromising.
"Don't even follow me."
Leonardo stopped.
His feet felt like they had turned to lead, his entire being locked in place by the weight of her words.
For the first time in a long, long time—he obeyed without question.
And then, she was gone.
The warm, golden glow of Amaya's apartment gave the illusion of comfort, but Evelyn still felt the icy sting of what had happened earlier that night. She sat curled into the plush couch, nestled between Carla and Viviane, while Amaya lounged on the armrest with her legs crossed. The four women clutched their respective pints of ice cream, each lost in their thoughts—except for Amaya, who was staring at Evelyn with an expression of pure disbelief.
"So he pushed you," Amaya repeated slowly, emphasizing each word like she needed to fully process the absurdity of it. “As soon as your lips touched?”
Evelyn sighed through her nose and took an aggressive spoonful of her strawberry ice cream, nodding in frustration. "Yep. One second we were about to kiss, the next, I was rolling away from him like a freaking bowling ball."
Viviane, who had been lazily digging into her own pint, let out a dramatic huff. “Well,” she said, stretching her legs out on the coffee table, “it sounds like he has a sexual dysfunction.”
Evelyn nearly choked on her spoon. She sat up so fast that her ice cream wobbled in her grasp. “S-se-sexual dysfunction?” she spluttered.
Viviane nodded as if she were presenting a well-researched theory. “I mean, think about it. The man’s huge. In his own way, he’s attractive. He has all this confidence in business, yet the moment things get intimate, he physically recoils? Classic sign.”
Evelyn opened her mouth, then closed it, then opened it again like a malfunctioning ventriloquist dummy. "B-but—"
Misreading Evelyn’s reaction, Viviane reached over and patted her arm reassuringly. “Oh, come on now, Evelyn. There’s no crime in suffering from sexual dysfunction.”
Carla snorted into her spoon while Amaya let out a barely suppressed laugh at their shell shocked friend. But the room fell into an awkward silence as Evelyn stared down at her ice cream, her mind racing in all directions.
Sexual dysfunction? That couldn’t be it… could it? No, no, that doesn’t make sense , she thought. Leonardo had never given off the impression of being uncomfortable in his own body—if anything, he exuded confidence. Even when he was brooding or deep in thought, there was an undeniable aura to him.
Then Carla, always the perceptive one, tilted her head and mused aloud, “Well, in my opinion, I think it’s more of a psychological problem.”
Evelyn looked up. “What?”
Carla shrugged, tapping the side of her pint absentmindedly. “I mean, his reaction was extreme for something that barely even happened. If it was just about intimacy, he’d probably have made some excuse or shut down in a different way. But pushing you away like that?” She shook her head. “That’s trauma. I’d bet money on it. Either something with women in general or something specific about kissing.”
Evelyn blinked, her spoon pausing midway to her mouth. The gears in her brain started turning.
Trauma, huh?
That... actually makes sense. A lot of sense .
Leonardo had always been controlled, deliberate. He didn’t let people get too close—physically or emotionally. And despite his stoic demeanour and imposing stature, there was something guarded about him when it came to women.
He was comfortable around her, sure. He trusted her. But had he ever truly let his guard down with anyone?
The more she thought about it, the more pieces started clicking into place.
“That would explain some things,” she muttered under her breath, stirring her ice cream absentmindedly.
Amaya, who had been watching Evelyn’s expression shift, raised a perfectly shaped brow. “You’re thinking something. Spill.”
Evelyn hesitated, then sighed. “I don’t know, I just… I’ve always noticed he keeps a strict distance from most women. Even when he flirts, it’s more… calculated, like he’s keeping control of the situation at all times. And now that I’m thinking about it, I can’t recall him ever mentioning past relationships.”
The women exchanged looks.
Viviane let out a low whistle. “Crap. That man is more mysterious than I thought.”
Carla pointed her spoon at Evelyn. “If it is trauma, that means it’s not about you. Which means—”
Evelyn sighed and rested her head back against the couch. “It means I shouldn’t take it personally.”
“Exactly,” Carla confirmed.
"But it was personal," Evelyn mumbled, almost to herself. "I mean, I was the one he pushed away."
Amaya gave her a knowing look. “That doesn’t mean he doesn’t care about you. If anything, it probably means he cares too much and doesn’t know what to do with it.”
Evelyn let out a deep breath, rubbing her temples. “ Maaannn , why couldn’t he just be normal about it?”
“Because men are never normal about their feelings,” Viviane said dryly, earning a chorus of agreements from the others.
Evelyn shook her head, but she couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at the corner of her lips. Leave it to her girls to dissect the situation in a way that made her feel both grounded and slightly less like an idiot.
She didn’t know what she was going to do about Leonardo. But at least now, she had a better idea of what might be going on in that frustrating head of his.
The grand opening of the art academy was nothing short of spectacular. Every detail exuded opulence, from the towering crystal chandeliers casting a golden glow over marble floors to the soft strains of a string quartet filling the vast gallery. Guests in tailored suits and designer gowns sipped the finest champagne, their conversations blending into a low hum of admiration, critique, and thinly veiled business negotiations.
Tonight was an exclusive affair, a private preview for the elite before the academy opened to the public the next morning. The walls bore masterpieces both modern and classical, carefully curated to impress. Sculptures stood like silent sentinels, their fine details reflecting a deep mastery of form and technique. The architecture of the academy itself was a marvel—where old-world grandeur met sleek, contemporary elegance.
Jonah Jameson, ever the gruff and outspoken media mogul, roamed the gallery with a whiskey glass in hand, his sharp eyes scrutinizing the artwork. His mutterings were less about technique and more about practicality—whether any of this could truly be considered more important than real news. Yet, despite his grumbling, intrigue flickered behind his scowl as he paused longer at certain pieces than he cared to admit.
Lucien Sayers was in his element, navigating the crowd with effortless charm. The owner of the Lamarck Foundation, a powerhouse in pharmaceuticals and technology, had little interest in the art itself. His focus was on the people—on alliances, leverage, and opportunity. He spoke in hushed tones with corporate elites, no doubt weaving another web of influence as he barely glanced at the masterpieces around him.
Lance Harper, the influential bookstore magnate, lingered near a display of literary-inspired paintings. His appreciation for storytelling extended beyond books, and he engaged in thoughtful discussions about the way visual art could interpret and expand upon classic literature. His quiet but respected presence brought an air of sincerity to the evening.
Hadeon Aidoneus carried himself with the manipulative coldness of a man who had long since mastered the art of power and indulgence. Dressed in a sharp black suit, his crisp white-and-gold tie hinted at his wealth without the need for extravagance. As the owner of a vast all-you-can-eat restaurant empire and an extreme sports chain, he thrived on the fusion of excess and thrill, and tonight was no different. His dark, piercing eyes gleamed with knowing amusement, always seeming three steps ahead in a game only he understood. With his clean shaven face and slicked-back hair, he exuded regality—an image of a king who reveled in his domain.
Gideon Khan, the executive vice president and chief technology officer of Tera Core Energy, observed everything with a sharp, analytical eye that missed no detail. He studied the technological aspects of certain installations, noting the use of innovative techniques. His mind was less on the artistic value and more on the engineering behind it, pondering how technology and creativity could intersect in new ways.
Gene Balasco, the king of Las Vegas casinos and luxury hotels, leaned casually against the bar, swirling a drink in his hand. To him, art was just another form of entertainment—another way to dazzle high-rolling clientele. He eyed several pieces, already calculating which ones would look best in his newest resort.
Benjamin Alger, CEO of SolCal Power & Light, listened intently as the academy’s curators spoke about energy-efficient lighting for exhibits. He was not particularly passionate about art, but he understood the importance of supporting cultural institutions, especially ones that could serve as showcases for sustainable solutions.
Emily Taft, regal in a deep emerald gown, moved through the gallery with an air of calculated observation, every step measured. As the head of Trisco Capital, she was here to evaluate more than just the paintings. Every conversation was a strategic move, every glance a measure of investment potential. Her sharp eyes darted between the art and the guests, weighing value in more ways than one.
But beyond business, her attention was drawn to one man in particular—Leonardo Andolini. A force of power and intrigue, he was unlike any man she had ever encountered. His presence was magnetic, his towering frame and terrifying aura making the room bend around him. She had decided long ago that he was a challenge worth pursuing. Tonight, she intended to push further, to test the waters of his interest.
What she didn’t know—what she couldn’t see through her carefully curated confidence—was where his heart truly lay. But at times she couldn’t help but noticed Evelyn’s presence at his side far too often, had observed the ease with which they moved around each other. But to her, Evelyn was merely a secretary, someone who managed his affairs, not someone who could possibly command his devotion.
Right? Her mind haunted her mind haunted her with the unsettling realization—Evelyn was the only woman who had remained by Leonardo’s side for so long. More than that, she was the only one he allowed to touch him, to stand so close without a trace of resistance. It wasn’t just familiarity; it was something deeper, something Emily didn’t want to name.
Emily dismissed the thought, convinced that whatever connection Leonardo had with Evelyn was nothing more than habit. He was a man of power, a force of nature—someone who thrived on strategy and control. But as the evening wore on, something nagged at her.
Leonardo had never been overly attentive toward her, but there had always been a certain courtesy, a subtle acknowledgment of her presence. Tonight, however, it was as if she had become utterly invisible to him. It wasn’t just indifference—it was absence, a complete and effortless disregard.
That wouldn’t do. Not at all.
As the evening progressed, the atmosphere remained electric with possibility. The art may have been the official reason for the gathering, but the true masterpiece of the night was the intricate dance of power, wealth, and influence unfolding within the room. Deals were being made in hushed tones, rivalries simmered beneath polite smiles, and among all the beauty on display, it was the people themselves who proved to be the most compelling subjects of the evening.
As the night drew on, the energy in the room shifted, as if preparing for something more refined. The concert hall was bathed in a warm golden glow, the rich wood paneling amplifying the lush sounds of the orchestra as they played the introduction to So in Love from Kiss Me, Kate. Sir Billy Ellliot's voice, a deep and velvety lyric baritone, resonated through the grand space, filling every corner with effortless elegance. His timbre carried a warmth that was both powerful and intimate, his phrasing immaculate, caressing each note with a tender expressiveness that made the lyrics ache with longing. His voice wrapped around the melody like a lover’s embrace—smooth, controlled, and profoundly moving.
Seated beside Evelyn, Leonardo barely heard anything but the way her breath hitched slightly at the music. He had always admired her poise, her discipline, but now, in the soft flickering candlelight of the concert hall, she was something else entirely. The amber glow of the chandeliers caught in the fine strands of her hair, making them shimmer like spun gold. He watched the subtle rise and fall of her chest as she inhaled, the curve of her lips as she pressed them together in thought, completely absorbed in the performance.
And yet, it wasn’t the music he was enchanted by. It was her.
Leonardo’s eyes softened, his usual sharp, piercing focus giving way to something else—something far more vulnerable. His gaze lingered on the side of her face, drinking in the delicate slope of her nose, the way her eyelashes cast faint shadows against her cheek. It was rare for him to be still, to not be calculating, to not be plotting his next move. But here, now, beside her, all he could do was feel .
The final notes swelled, the orchestra pulling the song into a triumphant yet yearning resolution. The audience erupted into applause, and Evelyn turned slightly, smiling at the performance. That simple gesture nearly undid him.
When the concert concluded, guests scattered into different areas of the academy—some filtering into the art showroom to discuss the evening’s inspirations, others retreating to the library, while the rest indulged in drinks at the open bar. Leonardo, however, had only one destination in mind.
He found Evelyn in the library, standing near a tall window, absently running a finger along the spine of an old book. The dim lighting cast a soft halo around her, making her seem almost untouchable. But Leonardo wasn’t one to be deterred. Stepping forward, he presented her with a glass of sparkling water.
Evelyn blinked, caught off guard. “Thank you,” she murmured, accepting it.
“Of course.” His voice was low, steady. But there was something else—something unfinished.
Before she could say anything, he pressed on. “Listen, Evelyn, about what happened a few nights ago…”
She stiffened slightly, glancing around before whispering urgently, “Urm, sir, I don’t think this is the right time.” Her wide eyes pleaded for discretion.
Leonardo tilted his head, acknowledging her concern but not backing down. “True,” he admitted. “But I don’t think you want me showing up at your place to talk later.”
Evelyn opened her mouth to object, but he leaned in just slightly, his voice barely above a murmur. “I won’t make a scene. But please, just a few moments.”
She hesitated, glancing around the room. They were alone, the hushed atmosphere of the library giving them a temporary reprieve from the world outside. After a beat, she sighed. “Fine. But please, sir, make it short.”
A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. It amused him, how she—out of everyone—could essentially boss him around.
His expression turned serious again. “I have no excuse for what happened the other night.” He met her gaze fully, unflinching. “Just give me a chance to make it up to you. I’ll do anything for you.”
Evelyn studied him for a long moment, weighing his words. Truth be told, I had already forgiven him, she admitted to herself. But between my day off and rushing to finalize the academy, I never got the chance to say so.
Craning her head to meet his gaze, she finally said, “Alright. But we’ll discuss terms tomorrow.”
Leonardo exhaled, the weight on his chest lifting. He smiled— really smiled—at her, something genuine, something rare.
And for the first time in a long while, he felt something close to hope.
The soft hum of conversation filled the grand hall as Leonardo and Evelyn moved through the crowd, seamlessly slipping into discussions with the academy’s distinguished guests. Laughter rang out in intervals, glasses clinked, and the air buzzed with an intoxicating mix of art, intellect, and wealth. The scent of fine champagne and delicate hors d’oeuvres lingered as servers in crisp uniforms wove through the clusters of attendees.
Leonardo, ever the strategist, engaged in sharp yet effortless conversation with Gideon Khan about Tera Core Energy’s latest breakthroughs. His deep voice, smooth and compelling, carried over the murmur of the room, effortlessly holding the attention of those around him. Evelyn stood beside him, poised and engaged, occasionally exchanging pleasantries with Lance Harper and Benjamin Alger when they drifted into their orbit.
But despite the glamour of the evening, a shadow lurked at the edges.
In the far corner of the hall, near the entrance to the art showroom, a man watched.
Standing just outside the pools of warm candlelight, he exuded a deceptive charm—his sharp, refined features framed by neatly styled jet-black hair, his piercing dark brown eyes constantly calculating, always watching. He held a glass of scotch loosely in one hand, his fingers tracing its rim absentmindedly, though his focus never wavered. Every detail of his appearance was meticulously curated—the expensive dark navy suit tailored perfectly to his lean yet muscular frame, the polished shoes, the crisp white shirt just unbuttoned enough to suggest a deliberate yet a subtle defiance of convention, a reminder that he could be both polished and untouchable.
But beneath that carefully crafted exterior, something darker simmered.
His gaze trailed Evelyn as she smiled politely at Gene Balasco, exchanging a few words before excusing herself with practiced poise. He had watched her enough to know her mannerisms, the little flickers of emotion she allowed to slip through. He had spent months tracking her movements, learning the details of her daily routine. She was always so composed, so proper. That same quiet elegance had first drawn him in at a charity gala nearly a year ago.
That night, he had approached her, certain that his charm, his wealth, and his status would be enough. Women chased him—hung onto his words, yearned for his attention. He had seen it time and time again. Yet when he made his move, Evelyn dismissed him effortlessly, lifting a delicate hand to flash a ring on her finger.
Married.
That should have been the end of it. He had accepted her rejection with a polite nod, masking his irritation, and walked away. But then—then he saw her slip the ring off the moment she left the event.
She lied .
That single act ignited something inside him, a slow-burning rage that he couldn’t extinguish. It wasn’t about love—it was never about love. It was about control. About the way she had dismissed him so easily, as though he was nothing.
That’s when Lucien had gotten in his head.
The owner of the Lamarck Foundation had an uncanny ability to feed insecurity, to twist the knife where it hurt the most. Over expensive whiskey in a dimly lit lounge, Lucien had leaned back in his chair, regarding him with amusement before murmuring, "How could she, a mere secretary, turn you away? You're successful, powerful, wealthy. I can tell women chase you. But she dismissed you like you were nothing."
The words had burrowed deep into his mind, festering like an open wound.
And so he had watched. Waited.
Tracked her movements, learning her routine, her acquaintances.
His fingers tightened around the glass as he watched Leonardo approach her while she was looking at a painting and hand her a fresh drink, he watched the way she blinked up at him in surprise before smiling softly. How long had they known each other? How long had she been looking at him like that?
He forced his grip to relax, schooling his features into an unreadable mask. He couldn’t let his emotions show—not yet.
He had all the time in the world. With a final glance, he turned on his heel, the click of his shoes echoing through the quiet room as he made his way toward the door, his departure as composed and intentional as a chess player setting up his next move.
As the grand opening drew to a close, the final notes of laughter and clinking glasses faded into the opulent halls of the academy. Guests bid their farewells, stepping into luxury cars that waited beneath the soft glow of streetlights. The warm evening air carried the faint scent of champagne and fresh paint from the academy’s newly opened galleries. Leonardo stood near the entrance, exchanging a few last words with Gideon Khan, while Evelyn, ever the perfect hostess, thanked the departing guests with a composed smile.
As the last of the esteemed guests made their way out, Emily seized her moment. She approached Leonardo with the effortless grace of a woman who had never heard the word “no” and had no intention of starting now. Her emerald gown shimmered under the academy’s golden lights as she stepped into his space, her perfume—a carefully chosen blend of jasmine and oud—hanging thick in the air between them.
“You’ve been avoiding me tonight,” she purred, her voice low, intimate. “I can’t imagine why.” With deliberate ease, she reached out, letting her fingers graze the sleeve of his tailored jacket, tracing upward in a slow, lingering motion toward his forearm.
The moment her skin met his, Leonardo moved with terrifying swiftness. His massive hand clamped around her wrist, his grip unyielding, just shy of crushing the delicate bones beneath his fingers. A warning. Emily’s breath hitched, her confidence faltering as his golden eyes darkened. He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling back just enough to expose his canines—long, predatory, gleaming under the warm glow of the chandeliers.
“First,” he murmured, his voice low and lethal, “never touch me.” His grip tightened just a fraction, enough for her to feel the power coiled beneath his control. Her pulse stammered beneath his hold. “Second,” he continued, his tone edged with finality, “I’m done with you.”
Emily swallowed, struggling to maintain her poise despite the growing sense of unease knotting in her stomach. “You don’t mean that,” she countered, though there was a waver in her voice now. “You and I—we understand each other.” She gave a small, breathless laugh, attempting to reclaim the upper hand. “You enjoy the game just as much as I do.”
Leonardo’s expression remained unreadable, but the quiet menace in his eyes deepened. He leaned in slightly, his next words brushing the space between them like a cold wind. “Go manipulate someone who’ll actually fall for it.”
The dismissal struck harder than she expected. The sheer finality of it sent a sharp pang of humiliation through her. He wasn’t just rejecting her advances—he was severing her completely. The realization made her stomach twist. For months, Leonardo had humoured her, tolerated her presence, and though he had never truly indulged her, he had at least given her some level of attention. But now? He had stripped her of that, as if she were nothing more than a trivial nuisance.
He released her hand abruptly, the absence of his grip making her wrist feel almost weightless. For a fleeting moment, she considered pushing further, trying one last tactic to regain control, but the look in his eyes told her that would be a mistake. A very dangerous mistake.
Face flushed with humiliation, she straightened, masking her shaken composure behind an indignant scoff. “Fine,” she said coolly, lifting her chin. “I wouldn’t waste my time on a man who prefers the company of his secretary anyway.”
Leonardo didn’t react—not with anger, not with amusement. And that, more than anything, sent a chill down her spine.
She turned sharply on her heel, ready to leave with what little dignity she had left, but before she could take a step, his voice—low, calm, and edged with something far more dangerous than mere rejection—stopped her cold.
“Oh, and Emily,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, but it carried like a death knell. “If you even think about retaliating—if you so much as whisper my name in the wrong circles, try to play the victim, or sabotage me in any way—I will make sure Trisco Capital is gutted from the inside out.”
Emily felt her breath catch.
“I’ll dismantle your empire brick by brick,” he continued smoothly, his tone almost conversational, but there was a cruelty beneath it that made her blood run cold. “Your investors will vanish. Your credibility? Shattered. Your reputation?” He let out a quiet, almost amused exhale. “You won’t even have a seat at the table anymore.”
Emily forced herself to turn back to him, her nails digging into her palm as she tried to mask the unease clawing at her stomach. “You wouldn’t—”
His head tilted slightly, his golden eyes glinting in the dim light.
“I don’t make threats,” he said simply. “I make guarantees.”
A beat of silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating.
Emily clenched her jaw, her pride screaming at her to snap back, to fight, but deep down, she knew—he meant every word. And worse, he had the power to follow through.
With a sharp turn, she strode away, her exit punctuated by the clicking of her stilettos against the polished marble floor. The lingering eyes of a few remaining guests followed her, but she didn’t dare look back. She had lost this game, and for the first time in a long time, she had no idea how to turn the board in her favor.
But away from the warmth and elegance of the academy, in the shadows beyond its golden-lit windows, a black sedan sat idle at the curb. The vehicle was sleek and understated, blending seamlessly into the night. The driver, a young Asian man with a lean build, gripped the wheel, his expression unreadable. He didn’t glance in the rearview mirror, didn’t acknowledge the presence of the man sitting in the back seat. He simply waited.
Lucien Sayers reclined in the back, the glow of his phone screen illuminating his features. His fingers drummed lightly against his knee as he listened intently to the voice on the other end of the line. The conversation was low, measured—just above a whisper—but the weight of his words carried smooth yet calculated tone.
“Keep working for Leonardo,” he instructed, his tone smooth yet firm. “I don’t care how tedious the assignments get—stay in his inner circle and keep listening.” A slow smile curled at the corner of his lips as he listened to the response on the other end.
He adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit, gaze flickering toward the academy through the tinted window. Even from this distance, he could see Leonardo, standing tall, his presence impossible to ignore. Evelyn was at his side, her posture poised, her delicate features half-lit by the golden lights from within. Lucien’s gaze lingered on them for a moment before he looked away, his expression unreadable.
“We’re close to finalizing everything we need,” he murmured, his voice carrying an almost gleeful undercurrent. “Not just to take down Leonardo—” he leaned back into the leather seat, exhaling slowly, his eyes gleaming with something far more ambitious “—but to crack the code for human evolution.”
The words hung in the air, the weight of them pressing into the silence of the car.
The driver gave a small nod, acknowledging the unspoken command.
Without another word, Lucien ended the call, slipping his phone into his pocket. The sedan pulled away from the curb with a smooth purr of the engine, disappearing into the darkened streets.
The night wasn’t over.
Not for him.
The morning air was crisp and fresh, the quiet hum of a waking neighborhood settling over Evelyn’s small townhome as she approached from her usual Saturday walk. She had slept in a little later than planned—8 AM was indulgent for her—but the slow, peaceful morning had been exactly what she needed. After brushing her teeth and pulling on her usual workout attire—leggings, a fitted zip-up jacket, and running shoes—she had stepped out for a walk to clear her mind and enjoy the calmness of the early weekend hours. Now, as she neared her home, she absentmindedly brushed a few loose strands of hair from her face, already thinking about a hot shower and breakfast.
But then she saw him.
Leaning casually against a beautiful black Maserati, Leonardo Andolini was a striking contrast to the quiet suburban surroundings. His sheer size and presence made him impossible to miss, even from a distance. Dressed in a crisp dark collared shirt and tailored trousers, he looked perfectly at ease, arms folded loosely as if he had all the time in the world. The morning sunlight caught in the inky black of his hair, slicked back with meticulous precision, and when he shifted slightly, she could just make out the glint of his watch beneath the cuff of his sleeve.
Evelyn’s steps slowed, her pulse inexplicably quickening as her gaze lingered on him. He's here! The thought sprang up so suddenly, so unexpectedly, that she almost stumbled over it. Why does that make me feel... She quickly blinked the thought away, straightening her posture as she composed herself. He was her boss. That was all. And yet, something about him waiting outside her house, looking like he'd stepped out of a high-end magazine, sent an odd mix of nerves and curiosity rippling through her.
By the time she reached him, she had regained her usual cool demeanour, masking her surprise with an easy smile. “Good morning, Mr. Andolini,” she greeted, her voice even, though she searched his expression for any indication of why he was here.
Leonardo’s lips curved into a slow, knowing smile. Without a word, he opened his car door, reaching inside to retrieve a large To-Go bag. Holding it up like a prized offering, he declared with casual satisfaction, “I wanted to bring you breakfast and spend the day with you.”
Evelyn blinked. Of all the things she had expected him to say, that wasn’t on the list. Her arms folded instinctively, skepticism arching her brow as she studied him. “And how exactly do you know I’m not busy today?” she challenged. “I could literally be on my way out of town right now.”
Leonardo remained utterly unruffled. “Well,” he said smoothly, his smirk deepening, “if you were leaving right this moment, you probably wouldn’t be coming back from a workout.”
Mother of pearl. He had a point. Evelyn averted her gaze briefly, lips twitching despite herself. Crap. He’s not wrong.
Leonardo, of course, caught her reaction instantly. Amusement glinted in his unique coloured eyes as he tilted his head slightly, as if waiting for her next move. “So,” he pressed, voice rich and velvety, “if you’re not actually leaving, does that mean we can spend the day together? Like I said yesterday, we’ll do whatever you like.”
Evelyn exhaled slowly, letting her gaze settle on him. The way he stood there, effortlessly confident, made it clear he had no doubt she would agree. And maybe that was the most frustrating part—because he wasn’t entirely wrong. Finally, she reached out, taking the To-Go bag from his hands.
“Okay,” she said, giving him one last assessing look before turning toward her door. “Come on in.”
Leonardo’s smile widened just enough to reveal a hint of satisfaction, his massive frame moving with a subtle grace that belied his size as he followed her inside.
As they stepped inside, Leonardo had to duck under the doorway and squeeze his way inside, his sheer size almost comically mismatched with the small entryway of Evelyn’s townhome. The moment he straightened, the top of his head brushed against the ceiling, and he let out a quiet, amused huff. It wasn’t the first time he had encountered spaces not built for someone of his stature, but somehow, in Evelyn’s home, it felt less like an inconvenience and more like an endearing quirk of the space she had made for herself.
Evelyn had moved toward the kitchen, setting the To-Go bag on the counter and beginning to unpack it. She was just about to reach for the plates when Leonardo’s deep voice interrupted her.
“Today’s your day. Let me plate it.”
She blinked in surprise, turning to him. “O-oh! Sure! Well, you know, while you do that, let me go freshen up, and we’ll eat together.”
Leonardo gave a small nod, already stepping into the kitchen as Evelyn disappeared down the hall. The space was compact—much smaller than the sprawling, state-of-the-art kitchen he was used to—but it had a warmth to it. He moved carefully, mindful of the delicate balance of the surroundings, and took his time familiarizing himself with where she kept her dishes and cutlery. As he methodically plated their meal, the distant sound of water running signaled that Evelyn had started her shower.
For a moment, Leonardo simply stood there, listening.
This feels oddly domestic. The thought crept in unexpectedly, catching him off guard. This is better than I could’ve imagined. He had spent years commanding boardrooms and navigating the controlled chaos of his empire, but there was something profoundly different about this—about the quiet normalcy of preparing breakfast while she showered in the next room. It was a simple, unspoken intimacy he hadn’t realized he wanted.
No more than ten minutes later, Evelyn emerged, dressed comfortably in a soft, fitted long-sleeve top and a pair of relaxed joggers, her hair still slightly damp from her shower. As she approached him, Leonardo turned, smoothly passing her a plate with pancakes, eggs, turkey sausage, and fresh strawberries.
“Thank you,” she said with a smile before glancing toward her small dining table and chairs. Then, looking up at him—really seeing how out of place he looked in her modest kitchen—she hesitated before suggesting, “Why don’t we eat on the sofa?”
Leonardo nodded, effortlessly agreeing as he picked up his own plate and followed her. They settled onto the couch, the coffee table situated in front of them acting as their makeshift dining space. However, the moment Leonardo fully seated himself, a loud crack echoed through the room.
Evelyn barely had time to react before the slats underneath the couch gave way, sinking Leonardo lower into the frame with a heavy thump.
Leonardo went rigid. A rare flash of embarrassment crossed his features before he exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand down his face. “Evelyn, I’m so sorry. I’ll buy you another one today.”
Evelyn, to his surprise, simply touched his arm, a gentle, reassuring gesture that grounded him. “It’s okay. Really,” she said, her voice filled with amusement rather than frustration. “You’re a big man, and it comes with the territory.”
She glanced at their food, still safely perched on the coffee table, and gave a small, playful smile. “The good thing is our breakfast is saved… and I get to spend the day with you.”
Leonardo stilled at her words, warmth flickering through him before he let out a low chuckle. She wasn’t upset. If anything, she was taking it in stride, as if this—him breaking her furniture—was just something to be expected.
Evelyn’s hand lingered briefly on his arm in gratitude before she reached for her fork. Leonardo smiled in return, shaking his head slightly at the absurdity of it all, and followed her lead.
Before long, the two ate in companionable silence, the morning unfolding in a way neither had quite expected.
After breakfast, Evelyn quickly tidied up while Leonardo made good on his promise to replace her broken couch, calmly pulling out his phone and arranging for a new one to be delivered. Evelyn shook her head, both amused and impressed at how easily he handled things. Once that was settled, they finally stepped out into the crisp morning air, ready to start their day together.
“So,” Leonardo began as they walked to his car, “what’s the plan? An opera? Fine dining? A quiet walk through the park?”
Evelyn grinned mischievously. “Actually, I was thinking… a city tour.”
Leonardo slowed his steps, turning his head toward her. “A city tour?” His deep voice held a note of skepticism.
She nodded, her grin widening. “You know, one of those open-top tour buses where they tell you all about the city’s history and fun little trivia?”
Leonardo blinked, as if he hadn’t quite heard her correctly. Then he scoffed, shaking his head with an amused smirk. “You’re telling me that, out of all the things we could do, this —a tourist trap—is something you’ve always wanted to experience?”
Evelyn shrugged, looking up at him with an innocent expression. “Hey, don’t knock it! I’ve lived here for years but never got around to it. Figured today’s the perfect excuse.”
Leonardo exhaled, giving her a long, unreadable look before chuckling softly. “You continue to surprise me, Evelyn.” He opened the passenger door of his Maserati for her. “Fine. If this is what you want, I’ll gladly endure it.”
She slid into the seat, grinning. “You’re gonna love it.”
“I highly doubt that,” he muttered, though there was no real protest in his tone.
The tour bus was already half full when they arrived. A group of retirees, a few excited tourists, and a cluster of teenagers armed with cameras were scattered across the upper deck. As Leonardo and Evelyn stepped aboard, the casual chatter among the passengers gradually died down, replaced by hushed murmurs and wide-eyed stares.
Leonardo was used to it. At 7’2 ½” and built like a walking fortress, he tended to draw attention wherever he went. He pretended not to notice the stunned expressions and outright gawks as he made his way toward an open seat. Unfortunately, the seats weren’t exactly designed for someone of his size.
Before he could maneuver into one, Evelyn swiftly slid in ahead of him, taking the spot with an easy grin. Leonardo narrowed his eyes slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in mild amusement. Without a word, he lowered himself onto the tiny remaining space beside her, his massive frame instantly consuming the entire bench. His knees scrunched uncomfortably against the seat in front of him, and his broad shoulders nearly spilled into the aisle.
Evelyn bit back a laugh as she looked up at him. “Comfy?” she teased.
Leonardo gave her a deadpan look. “Exceedingly.”
A few rows ahead, an elderly woman whispered something to her husband, who stole a not-so-subtle glance at Leonardo before whispering back. A pair of teenagers across the aisle snapped quick photos, pretending to take selfies but clearly aiming their cameras at him. One particularly brave little girl turned to her mother and asked, “ Mommy, is he a giant? Like the one with Jack and the beanstalk?”
Evelyn stifled a giggle while Leonardo pinched the bridge of his nose. “I should start charging for these appearances,” he muttered.
The tour guide, a chipper young man in a headset microphone, barely missed a beat before welcoming everyone aboard and launching into his rehearsed introduction. Meanwhile, Evelyn leaned into Leonardo’s shoulder slightly and murmured, “Admit it, this is already fun.”
Leonardo huffed but allowed the faintest smirk. “We’ll see.”
As the tour bus rumbled away from the curb, Evelyn was practically bouncing in her seat, her iPhone gripped tightly in her hands. She had always wanted to do one of these tours but never found the time—or, in all honesty, never wanted to go alone. Now, with Leonardo beside her, the day already felt perfect. She turned to him with a beaming smile.
“I still can’t believe you’ve never done this,” she teased, elbowing him lightly.
Leonardo exhaled, shifting uncomfortably in the too-small seat, his long legs wedged awkwardly between the rows. “I live in this city, Evelyn,” he pointed out dryly, casting an amused glance at her. “Why would I take a tour bus when I can just drive anywhere I want?”
Evelyn rolled her eyes, lifting her phone to snap a picture of the passing street. “That’s not the point! It’s about the experience. Sometimes it’s fun to just be a tourist, even in your own city.”
Leonardo hummed noncommittally but didn’t argue. If she was enjoying herself, that was reason enough for him to go along with it. He ignored the occasional double takes and murmurs from other passengers, some of whom were clearly stunned by his sheer size and presence. A young boy sitting with his parents a few rows ahead kept sneaking glances at him, his eyes wide with fascination. An elderly woman across the aisle whispered something to her companion, nudging her toward Leonardo with a knowing smirk.
He was used to the attention, the stares, the whispers. But today, he found it all easy to ignore. His focus was on Evelyn.
Their first stop took them through the historic district, where cobblestone streets wove between grand, old buildings with intricate facades. Evelyn gasped in delight as the tour guide spoke about the area’s rich history, pointing out the courthouse, a towering structure with massive stone pillars. Without hesitation, she lifted her phone and snapped a picture, angling the shot just right to capture the morning light hitting its edges.
“Look at that!” she said, turning her phone toward Leonardo, excitement in her voice. “Doesn’t it look incredible?”
Leonardo glanced at the photo, then at her. “Not bad,” he admitted, a slow smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
Evelyn huffed. “You could at least pretend to be impressed.”
“I am impressed,” he said, amused by how much joy she found in something so simple.
The bus continued on, rolling past a beautifully painted mural covering the side of an old brick building. Evelyn eagerly lifted her phone again, snapping shot after shot. “This is amazing. I need to come back here and take some better pictures.”
Leonardo tilted his head, observing the mural with mild interest. “You really like taking pictures, don’t you?”
She nodded. “I love it. I mean, I’m not a professional or anything, but I like capturing moments. Little things that make me happy.”
He watched as she took another shot, this time of a flower stand on the sidewalk, her expression glowing with unfiltered joy. Seeing her like this—relaxed, happy, completely in her element—made every bit of discomfort he was enduring worth it. The cramped seating, the staring passengers, the rattling bus—all of it faded into the background.
They passed a grand old theater, its bright marquee announcing a classic film screening. Evelyn took another quick picture before pointing toward the riverwalk coming into view. “Oh, look at that! The way the sunlight is hitting the water—it’s perfect.”
Leonardo turned his gaze toward the river, watching the way the morning light shimmered across its surface. He had seen views like this before—more breathtaking, more cinematic—but this one felt different. Maybe it was because of the way Evelyn’s face lit up at the sight of it. Maybe it was because, for the first time in a long time, he felt like he was seeing the city through fresh eyes.
Evelyn turned back to him with a knowing grin. “Okay, I know you’re pretending to be indifferent, but I see you watching. You’re enjoying this.”
Leonardo chuckled low in his throat, shaking his head. “Let’s just say… the view is better than I expected.”
Evelyn’s cheeks warmed slightly, but she covered it with a playful roll of her eyes. “I’ll take that as a win.”
As the bus rolled forward, Evelyn went back to snapping pictures, and Leonardo simply watched, content.
The next stop on their leisurely day together was a charming, two-story bookstore nestled in a quiet corner of the city. As they stepped inside, the scent of old paper and fresh coffee wrapped around them like a warm embrace. The soft murmur of hushed voices blended with the occasional rustle of turning pages, creating a peaceful ambiance.
Evelyn, her eyes gleaming with excitement, led the way toward the fiction section, while Leonardo, with his usual measured pace, gravitated toward the history shelves. After browsing for a few minutes, they reconvened in a cozy seating area in the corner of the store. It had long, sturdy wooden benches at a shared table, clearly built to last, much to Leonardo’s relief. He settled down, stretching his long legs beneath the table with far more comfort than he’d had on the bus earlier.
Evelyn plopped down beside him, cradling a thick paperback in her hands. The cover depicted a fierce-looking silver-haired man with dog-like ears, his sword gleaming under a blood-red sky. She smiled to herself, already feeling drawn into the fantastical world. “Found something interesting?” Leonardo asked, his deep voice rich with amusement as he glanced at her book.
“Oh, absolutely,” she said, flipping it open. “It’s about this modern girl who falls into a well and winds up in feudal Japan. She meets a half-man, half-dog guy who’s grumpy and rude, and over time, she falls in love with him. Essentially, the two are on this mission and along the way they also gain an odd but pretty loyal group of friends, this pervy monk, a badass woman monster slayer, and an adorable little humanoid-looking fox.”
Leonardo raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “Half-man, half-dog?”
Evelyn grinned. “Yeah, I’ve heard some good reviews on it from my friends. They say he’s stubborn and a bit of an ass, though.” She chuckled, then glanced at his book. “What about you?”
He lifted the heavy hardcover slightly. “A historical analysis of Rome—particularly the myth of Romulus and Remus.”
Evelyn tilted her head. “The twins who were raised by a she-wolf?”
Leonardo nodded. “It explores how the legend shaped Roman identity and governance. One brother founded Rome, the other opposed him… and it didn’t end well.”
The bookstore hummed with quiet life as an hour slipped by, the passing time marked only by the occasional turn of a page or the soft clinking of coffee cups from the nearby café counter. The large windows filtered in golden afternoon light, casting long, lazy beams across the wooden floor. The scent of fresh paper mingled with the faint aroma of cinnamon from the pastries displayed near the register.
Evelyn was utterly absorbed in her book, her fingers idly playing with the edges of the pages as she read. Around them, other patrons lounged in oversized armchairs or perched on stools near the shelves, lost in their own worlds. The store felt like a haven, a quiet refuge where time slowed and words carried more weight.
Leonardo sat beside her, his posture relaxed but dignified, one massive forearm resting on the table as he turned a page in his book with the precision of someone cataloging every detail. He absorbed the account of Romulus and Remus, dissecting the historical interpretations with silent interest. The weight of responsibility, the inevitability of power struggles—these were things he understood intimately.
The atmosphere wrapped around them like a cocoon, isolating them from the outside world. Evelyn, however, was only partially focused on her book now. Her gaze kept drifting toward Leonardo in her peripheral vision, especially after she started noticing eerie similarities between him and the characters in her novel.
Evelyn stared at the pages of her own book, suddenly drawing unexpected comparisons. The hero in her novel—fierce, loyal, and a born protector—reminded her of Leonardo. But then there was also the hero’s older, stoic brother, who was formidable and seemingly heartless nature but slowly evolved over time, much like him. And, strangely enough, even the anti-hero of the wolf tribe—wild, unpredictable, and strong sense of loyalty—held echoes of Leonardo’s nature. The thought made her heart stutter slightly.
But Leonardo’s much more handsome than any of them…
The realization hit her so hard that she choked on her own saliva, coughing violently as her book nearly slipped from her hands.
Leonardo immediately set his own book down, his large hand rubbing slow, firm circles on her back. “Evelyn?” His brows furrowed in concern as she struggled to clear her throat.
“I—I’m fine,” she croaked between coughs, her face burning in mortification.
Without a word, Leonardo reached for his bottle of lemon water, twisted the cap off, and handed it to her. “Here. Small sips.”
Still flustered, she took the bottle and drank carefully, the cool liquid soothing her throat. “Thanks,” she mumbled, eyes darting anywhere but at him.
He studied her for a moment, then, with a small smirk, said, “Was it something in your book that surprised you?”
Evelyn stiffened. Oh, if only you knew.
Forcing a laugh, she waved him off. “No, no. Just… swallowed wrong.”
Leonardo’s smirk lingered, but he didn’t press. Instead, he leaned back and reopened his book, allowing her time to collect herself.
Evelyn took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus back on the words on the page. But her mind refused to quiet. The resemblance was undeniable, and now she couldn’t unsee it.
Stealing a glance at Leonardo, she found him completely immersed in his book, his expression calm and focused. A small smile tugged at her lips. Half-man, half-dog hero or not… none of them compare to the real thing sitting right next to me.
As they stepped out of the bookstore, the late afternoon sun had begun its slow descent, casting a warm, golden hue over the city streets. A cool breeze carried the distant hum of car engines and the occasional chatter of pedestrians, blending seamlessly with the comforting weight of books in their arms.
Evelyn turned to Leonardo with a smile. “Come on, I know the perfect place for dinner.”
He raised a brow but followed without question, adjusting his stride to match hers. She led him down the sidewalk, weaving through small clusters of people until they arrived at a bustling outdoor restaurant tucked between a café and a boutique shop.
The scent of sizzling meats, fragrant spices, and rich, savory sauces hit them immediately, causing even Leonardo to inhale deeply in quiet appreciation. The restaurant was a small Korean-Soul food fusion spot, its modest setup doing little to deter the crowd that had gathered. Wooden picnic tables with metal chairs lined the sidewalk, nearly all of them occupied by groups eagerly digging into heaping plates of food. A neon sign above the entrance flickered in warm orange hues, reading Seoul & Soul BBQ.
Evelyn grinned. “I take it from that look on your face you approve?”
Leonardo glanced at her, the corners of his lips lifting slightly. “It smells incredible. How did you find this place?”
“A friend recommended it a while back,” she said, glancing around for an open table. “Tried it once and immediately fell in love. They do this amazing bulgogi brisket, and their cornbread has this honey-gochujang butter that’s to die for .”
Leonardo hummed in interest, his sharp eyes scanning the menu posted near the entrance. “Korean and Southern fusion... Not a combination I expected, but I can’t argue with the aroma.”
Before Evelyn could respond, something caught her attention to the side. A claw machine stood just beyond the outdoor seating area, its glass display case packed with an assortment of soccer-themed plushies. There were small soccer ball plushies scattered throughout, alongside lions dressed in soccer jerseys, a white doll plushie wearing a USA soccer uniform, and a brown bear clutching a tiny soccer ball in its paws.
Evelyn’s eyes lit up. “Oh my goodness, look at that!” She pointed excitedly at the machine. “Tell me that little lion in the jersey isn’t the cutest thing ever.”
Leonardo followed her gaze, massive arms crossing over his chest as he studied the machine. “It’s certainly… enthusiastic,” he mused, eyeing the sheer number of soccer-related plushies crammed inside.
She nudged him playfully. “Oh, come on. No childhood claw machine nostalgia?”
Leonardo smirked. “I was a little busy.”
Evelyn winced, remembering the little he told her back at the amusement park some nights ago. “Okay, fair. But still, you have to admit it’s cute though.”
“Maybe later,” Leonardo said, amusement lacing his deep voice as he gestured toward an empty table that had just been vacated. “First, dinner.”
Evelyn shot one last look at the claw machine before nodding eagerly. “Fine, but I’m holding you to that admission.”
With that, they made their way to their seats, the promise of an incredible meal awaited them.
As they settled into their seats, the fragrant mix of sizzling meat, smoky spices, and deep-fried perfection enveloped them. The laminated menus in their hands showcased an array of fusion dishes, blending the bold, umami flavours of Korean cuisine with the rich, comforting warmth of Southern soul food. Conversations hummed around them as customers eagerly dug into their meals, and the rhythmic clatter of chopsticks and forks against plates added to the lively energy of the small, bustling restaurant.
Evelyn wasted no time in selecting a mix of dishes—crispy Korean fried chicken coated in a sweet and spicy glaze, tender bulgogi beef piled high with caramelized onions, and a decadent dish of kimchi mac and cheese, its golden, bubbly crust giving way to gooey, tangy perfection beneath. She also added a side of honey butter cornbread and collard greens, intrigued by the fusion of flavours.
Leonardo, ever decisive when it came to food, added even more to their order—an extra-large serving of bulgogi, hot, crispy tteokbokki fries dusted with Cajun seasoning, a plate of Korean barbecue ribs, and a basket of biscuits slathered in gochujang-infused honey butter.
By the time their food arrived, the table was practically overflowing with dishes, each one more enticing than the last. Evelyn took a deep inhale, savoring the rich aroma. "This might be the best decision I’ve made all day," she sighed happily before eagerly digging into a forkful of kimchi mac and cheese.
Leonardo hummed in agreement as he picked up a massive piece of bulgogi beef with his chopsticks and took a hearty bite. "I’ll admit, this was a good find."
As they ate, Evelyn kept sneaking glances at Leonardo, marveling at just how effortlessly he demolished plate after plate without ever seeming rushed or boarish. The sheer efficiency of it was almost mesmerizing—if not a little terrifying. She was about halfway through savouring a bite of bulgogi when she noticed Leonardo flagging down the server again.
“We’ll take three more orders of the same,” he said smoothly, setting his chopsticks down for a moment.
Evelyn nearly choked on her food. “ Three more?” she asked, her brows lifting in disbelief.
Leonardo gave a slow, knowing nod. “Yes.”
She blinked before shaking her head with a chuckle. “I mean, I know you can eat, but even for you, that’s…” She trailed off, realizing what she was saying. A flicker of embarrassment crossed her face as she hesitated. “Uh, never mind—forget I said anything.”
To her surprise, Leonardo let out a deep, genuine laugh. “Evelyn, you don’t have to censor yourself. You’re not wrong.” He gestured to himself, a hint of amusement gleaming in his sharp eyes. “You, of all people, should know that by now. How many suits have I outgrown since your first day with me?”
She thought about it for a moment, then groaned. “Oh my, so many. I’ve had to adjust the schedule for your tailoring appointments more times than I can count. At this point, I should just start investing in a fabric company.”
Leonardo smirked as he lifted a full piece of fried chicken to his mouth and took a clean bite. “Then you should’ve seen this coming.”
Evelyn shook her head but laughed anyway, relaxing back into her seat. “Fine, fine. But you better let me try a little of whatever’s left over.”
“No promises,” he said smoothly, though the mischievous glint in his expression suggested he might just save her a bite or two.
The night air was warm, the soft glow of streetlights casting an amber hue over the outdoor dining space as they continued eating. The restaurant was still packed, with people coming and going, some lingering at the claw machine next to the tables. A young boy cheered as he won a smiling soccer ball plushie, while another customer tried their luck at grabbing the white doll in a USA soccer uniform. The mix of chatter, laughter, and clinking plates created an atmosphere that felt almost timeless—an easy, unhurried moment in the midst of their otherwise fast-paced lives.
Evelyn found herself stealing another glance at Leonardo as he contentedly polished off another plate of bulgogi. Seeing him like this—relaxed, entertained, stuffed with good food, and thoroughly enjoying himself—made her smile. There was something about these simple moments, these pockets of time where the world outside didn’t demand anything from them, that felt irreplaceable.
The quiet comfort of the evening wrapped around them, the warmth of good food and easy conversation settling between them like a familiar rhythm.
As they stepped out of the restaurant, the warm night air wrapped around them, carrying the lingering scent of sizzling bulgogi and fried chicken. Leonardo carried two bags of leftovers in one hand with ease, his long strides naturally leading the way. Evelyn followed beside him, one hand resting on her full stomach as she let out a satisfied sigh.
“I don’t think I’m eating again for at least a week,” she muttered.
Leonardo chuckled. “Give it a few hours.”
She shot him a playful glare but didn’t argue, he was probably right.
As they walked past the outdoor seating area, Evelyn’s steps slowed, her gaze lingering on the claw machine standing just a few feet away. The bright neon glow of its screen cast a soft hue over her face as she stared at the assortment of plushies inside. The lion plush dressed in a soccer jersey sat among them, taunting her from its place near the center of the pile. She hesitated, though, clasping her hands behind her back, making no move toward the machine.
Leonardo noticed.
Before she could even blink, he turned and stopped in front of the claw machine, setting the bags down beside him.
Evelyn blinked in surprise. “Wait—what are you doing?”
He pulled a few bills from his pocket and fed them into the machine. “You should have something to remember our day.”
Her mouth opened slightly, as if to protest, but nothing came out. She could only watch in stunned silence as he gripped the joystick with the kind of intense focus usually reserved for high-stakes negotiations. The claw descended, grasping at the lion plushie—only for it to slip from its grip at the last second.
Leonardo’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“Alright,” he muttered. “Let’s try that again.”
Another attempt. Another near miss. The lion tumbled just out of reach.
Evelyn stifled a chuckle as she folded her arms. “You don’t have to—”
He held up a finger, cutting her off. “No. I almost had it.”
Five minutes passed. Then seven. Leonardo, undeterred, crouched lower, shifting to get a better angle. Then, to Evelyn’s absolute astonishment, he dropped onto one knee on the sidewalk, leaning in even closer as if analyzing the physics of the machine itself. His sharp gaze flickered between the joystick and the plush inside, his entire frame casting a massive shadow over the game.
Evelyn’s eyes widened. “Mr. Andolini, what are you doing ?”
“Adjusting my strategy.”
She stared, watching in disbelief as this 7’2 ½” behemoth of a man knelt in front of a claw machine, utterly engrossed in his task. People walking by cast amused glances, but Leonardo remained undistracted. He had faced corporate adversaries, men who tried to kill him, and even wild animals—this was just another challenge.
Another ten minutes passed.
Evelyn, unable to take it anymore, reached down and tugged one of his massive arms. “Okay, that’s enough.”
“One more.” He didn’t budge.
She huffed before pulling harder, managing to get him to his feet. “No, it’s okay,” she assured, shaking her head with a half-smile. “You tried. That’s what counts.”
He exhaled, rolling his shoulders before muttering under his breath, “Uno in più...”
Evelyn chuckled softly at his stubbornness before nudging him toward the car. “Come on, Mr. Competitive. Let’s go.”
With a reluctant sigh, Leonardo grabbed the bags of leftovers, and together, they made their way to his personal car. The plush lion may have won this round, but the night ended in quiet amusement as he drove her home, the echoes of laughter still lingering between them.
Leonardo pulled up in front of Evelyn’s small townhome, the hum of the engine fading into the quiet night. The streetlamp overhead cast a soft glow through the windshield, illuminating the tired but content look on Evelyn’s face as she unbuckled her seatbelt.
Before she could reach for the door handle, he grabbed both bags of leftovers from the backseat and handed them to her.
“Here.”
She blinked. “Both?”
“I won’t eat them,” he said plainly. “And I know you’ll actually enjoy them.”
She shook her head with a small laugh. “You’re going to spoil me at this rate.”
Leonardo smirked. “Maybe.” Then, in a more serious tone, he added, “Text me tomorrow when your new sofa comes in.”
Evelyn tilted her head at him, amused. “You really want an update on my couch?”
“Yes,” he said without hesitation. “Just to make sure everything gets delivered properly.”
She huffed in feigned exasperation but relented. “Alright, alright. I promise I’ll text you.”
Her voice softened as she held his gaze. “Thank you… for today. I had a great time.”
Leonardo inclined his head slightly. “So did I.”
She lingered for a second longer before stepping out of the car, adjusting the bags in her arms as she made her way to the entrance. He watched as she unlocked the door, pausing to give him one last glance. A small wave, a quiet smile—and then she disappeared inside.
Leonardo exhaled, rolling his shoulders before shifting the car into drive. As he pulled away from the curb, a rare sense of peace settled over him, the kind that didn’t come often.
An hour later, Leonardo lay in bed, one arm tucked behind his head, his phone resting on his chest. The evening played over in his mind—the easy conversations, the laughter, the way Evelyn’s eyes shined when she looked at him.
Then, his phone buzzed.
He lifted it, squinting slightly at the brightness of the screen before opening the message. It was from Evelyn.
His brow furrowed slightly.
He swiped to open it.
And then—
Leonardo’s entire body went still.
His fingers tightened slightly around the device, his golden eyes locked onto the screen, unmoving.
The text stared back at him, waiting.
Whatever he had expected—this wasn’t it.
His breath left him in a slow exhale.
And then, for the first time in a very long time—
Leonardo Andolini was completely and utterly caught off guard.
...:TBC:...
Chapter 6: Chapter 5
Notes:
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Some hunting scenes toward the end and animal death.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyright material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. I only own my original characters.
Author's Note: Another chapter! I'm on vacation and I'm writing like there's no tomorrow! Hopefully, I can have another chapter out by the end of the week. But please check this out and let me know what you think so far! 🙂
Chapter Text
Evelyn set the takeout bags on the counter, carefully putting each container into the fridge. The lingering scent of bulgogi and fried chicken filled her small kitchen, mingling with the warmth of her apartment. As she closed the fridge door, her gaze drifted toward the broken sofa in her living room.
She smiled.
It was ridiculous, really, how something so mundane—a piece of furniture she had been meaning to replace for months—could now remind her of him. Of today. Of the way they spent the entire afternoon together, moving from one place to the next, slipping into easy conversation as if this was just normal for them. As if they had always been like this.
And maybe, in a way, they had.
She liked being around Leonardo. More than she’d ever let herself admit before.
Pulling her hair loose from its tie, she padded toward her bedroom, peeling off her jacket and exchanging her day clothes for her favorite sleepwear—soft, comfortable, familiar. But her mind wasn’t on her usual routine. It was still on him.
She thought about how he had humoured her all day, trying things he normally wouldn’t—sampling food he wouldn’t have chosen himself, indulging her curiosity at the claw machine, even going so far as to kneel on the sidewalk just to get a better look at the prize inside.
He didn’t have to do any of that.
Leonardo Andolini, the man who could have anything at the snap of his fingers, who could buy an entire claw machine company if he wanted, had instead dropped to his knees on the pavement—all because she had hesitated for half a second while looking at a stuffed lion.
She inhaled deeply, sitting at the edge of her bed as the weight of the thought settled in her chest.
She had to be truthful with herself.
If she gave him a chance… it wouldn’t be so bad.
No—if she gave him a chance, it might be something good.
She lay back against her pillows, staring up at the ceiling as the realization took full form in her mind.
She didn’t want to be with him because of what he could do for her.
She didn’t want to be with him because he was wealthy, or powerful, or because he could spoil her with gifts.
She wanted to be with him because he had been letting her in —because he had spent the past couple of weeks, no, when she really thought about it, he had been letting her in the past couple of years by lowering those carefully constructed walls, bit by bit, allowing her to see parts of himself that no one else had.
Because he was him.
And because, if she was truly honest with herself…
She liked being with him.
Not just at work. Not just when he was playing the role of CEO. But when he was simply Leonardo.
The past few weeks during her time off had given her a glimpse of what life could be like with him beyond the confines of their professional world. And the truth was, it didn’t just feel good. It felt right.
They might not have come from the same background, but in every way that mattered, they were compatible.
They took relationships seriously—neither of them entertained the idea of something fleeting.
They shared the same faith.
They had similar tastes in music.
Politically, they shared the same views.
They shared an interest in health and fitness, both aware of the discipline it took to maintain their lifestyles.
Even their personalities balanced each other—his extroversion against her ambivert nature, his protectiveness against her supporting instinct.
She exhaled, pressing a hand against her forehead, as if trying to ground herself.
Then, before she could overthink it—before she could give herself the chance to hesitate—
She reached for her phone.
Sliding under the covers, she unlocked the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.
Her heart pounded.
She could hear Leonardo’s voice in her head, teasing her for hesitating over something so simple.
With a deep breath, she started typing.
Evelyn: I’ve been thinking about today. About us.
She paused. Deleted the last two words.
Then typed them again.
Evelyn: I’ve been thinking about today. About us. And I think…
She hesitated.
Then—
Evelyn: If you still want to—if you still mean it—I’d like to give this a real chance. You can court me, sir.
She hit send.
The moment the message left her screen, her heart slammed against her ribs, her pulse hammering in her ears.
And across the city, miles away in his own home—
Leonardo sat up in bed, the glow of his phone illuminating his face, his expression frozen in shock.
That Monday morning, Evelyn settled into her usual routine at the expansive shared desk she occupied with Leia. The office was already alive with the hum of productivity—keyboards clicking, muffled phone conversations, and the occasional rustle of paper. She felt completely at ease, fully prepared to tackle the day's workload. After all, work had always been her sanctuary, her anchor in a world that often felt chaotic. And now, with her budding courtship with Leonardo, keeping things as normal as possible felt like the best approach.
She had barely begun organizing her morning tasks when the door to their workspace opened, and in walked Leonardo Andolini.
As always, his presence was commanding. He strode in with effortless confidence, his movements measured, his expression unreadable as his gaze swept over the room. His sharp, tailored suit was impeccable—as it always was—but something about his demeanor made Evelyn hyperaware of the fact that this was the same man who, just last night, had been kneeling on a sidewalk, cursing at a claw machine in Italian.
“Mr. Andolini,” Leia greeted, her voice polite and professional, the way any employee would acknowledge their boss.
Leonardo gave both women a brief nod before continuing toward his office without pause.
Evelyn returned the nod in kind, keeping her face neutral. If she hadn’t been carefully attuned to him, she might have missed the extra second his gaze lingered on her before he walked away.
It didn’t bother her in the slightest that he showed no sign of familiarity—no hint that something between them had shifted just the night before. If anything, she preferred it this way. She wasn’t the type to flaunt personal relationships, and she especially wasn’t the type to let anything interfere with work. Keeping their courtship a secret wasn’t just necessary—it was exciting.
But her peace didn’t last long.
Not even thirty minutes later, the desk phone rang. Both she and Leia instinctively reached for it at the same time, but Evelyn, always one to defer, gestured for Leia to take it.
“Hello, this is Leia speaking,” Leia answered in her usual chipper tone.
There was a pause. Leia’s eyebrows lifted slightly as she glanced over at Evelyn.
“It’s for you,” she said, covering the receiver. “Mr. Andolini wants to see you in his office. Alone.”
Evelyn schooled her features into a neutral expression, but she could feel Leia’s subtle curiosity lingering in the air. It wasn’t uncommon for Leonardo to call her in for something, but there was something in Leia’s eyes—an almost imperceptible glint of intrigue—that made Evelyn quickly smooth out her blouse before standing.
“Thank you,” she said with practiced ease, before making her way toward his office.
The moment she stepped inside and the heavy door shut behind her, she turned to him with a pleasant, effortless smile.
“Good morning, Mr. Andolini.”
Leonardo, who had been seated at his desk reviewing some documents, glanced up. His posture remained relaxed, but there was a notable shift in his expression—a warmth in his golden eyes that wasn’t present in the hallway.
“Morning,” he murmured, his voice slightly lower, almost intimate. Then, without hesitation, he added, “I missed you this morning.”
Evelyn’s smile deepened, but she kept her tone light. “I’m sorry about that, sir. But I had to come in and put out some fires for your art academy.”
He nodded in understanding but then leaned back in his chair, his expression shifting to something more amused.
“That explains your morning,” he said. “But tell me… why did my personal security, Edgardo, feel it was necessary to attempt to help me tie my tie today?”
Evelyn blinked, momentarily caught off guard. Then realization struck, and she nearly let out a laugh.
Oh .
She had, in passing, told Edgardo to make sure Leonardo was set for the day, ensuring his usual routine went uninterrupted—even down to something as minor as his tie. She hadn’t meant for the overzealous, 6’4” security guard to take that so literally .
The mental image alone—Edgardo standing on his toes, awkwardly stretching to reach Leonardo’s collar, possibly grinning—was almost too much. She fought the urge to laugh outright.
“I apologize, Mr. Andolini,” she said, her voice betraying a trace of amusement. “It was a misunderstanding. I simply told him to make sure your morning routine remained the same.”
Leonardo exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed. “That’s fine, but I never want that man to try that again. He looked far too enthusiastic about getting close to me.”
Evelyn bit her bottom lip to keep from grinning. “Eddy is a very nice man,” she said diplomatically. “He just wanted to help in whatever way he could.”
Leonardo gave her an unimpressed look, the kind that told her he wasn’t buying it.
After a pause, she added, “If it helps, I think he has a crush on Toni.”
There was a beat of silence. Then, deadpan, Leonardo responded, “That actually doesn’t help.”
Evelyn, despite her best efforts, finally let out a small, muffled laugh.
Leonardo allowed himself a very small smile at her muffled laughter at his expense. He didn’t mind being the target of her amusement—if anything, he found himself enjoying it more than he should. But there was something on his mind, something he had been meaning to ask.
"But I do have a question for you," he said, his tone shifting just slightly, enough to make Evelyn snap out of her amusement.
Her professional instincts kicked in immediately. "Of course, sir," she replied, straightening slightly.
Leonardo exhaled, shaking his head with mild exasperation before leaning forward. "That. Why do you call me ‘Mr. Andolini’ and ‘sir’? You’ve known me for nine years now. The only other person who’s known me almost just as long is Gru, and even he calls me ‘Lee.’"
Evelyn blinked in utter surprise, mouth opening slightly as if to respond—but no words came out. She looked over her shoulder instinctively, ensuring no one was within earshot. His office blinds overlooking her and Leia’s desk were still drawn, giving them privacy.
Turning back to him, she hesitated, suddenly aware of how to categorize him. Boyfriend? That term felt juvenile. Lover? Far too intimate. Future fiancé? She nearly choked at the thought. She had no idea what to call this yet, but she did need to answer his question.
"Well, we are at work," she pointed out gently.
Leonardo shrugged, clearly unconcerned. "So? Even if we're keeping this private, you've known me for a long time. Only those closest to me can be casual with me. No one would think twice about it."
She shook her head, smiling. "That may be true, but if I suddenly start calling you something else after nine years, people will notice. It would seem too abrupt."
Leonardo spread his hands in mock defeat. "Alright. That makes sense. But when we’re not at work, call me something else."
Evelyn smirked. "Like what?"
"I’ll answer to any variation of my name that you like. I’ll also answer to fidanzato, honey, even hot shot."
She laughed outright, shaking her head. "I ought to call you BFG."
Leonardo frowned slightly, unfamiliar with the term. "BFG?"
Evelyn grinned. "Big Friendly Giant."
His lips curled into an amused smirk as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossing over his broad chest. "Only to you."
As Evelyn sat at her desk, her personal phone buzzed beside her. Glancing at the screen, she saw a text from Leonardo.
Leonardo: Would you prefer a sauna date or an overnight camping date?
Her eyebrows shot up. A date was unexpected enough, but camping? She hesitated before typing back.
Evelyn: Camping? I’ve never been. I hope you know what you’re doing.
Almost instantly, his response appeared.
Leonardo: Oh, I certainly know how to camp. 😏
She stared at the screen, feeling both intrigued and slightly wary. That smirking emoji didn’t sit right with her—it was the kind that hinted at some hidden knowledge, something he wasn’t saying. And with Leonardo, that could mean anything.
Later that afternoon, Evelyn stood outside her townhome, duffle bag slung over her shoulder, waiting for him. Right on time, a shiny black SUV pulled up to the curb. The engine barely made a sound as it idled, and the tinted windows reflected the golden hues of the setting sun. The driver’s door opened, and Leonardo stepped out.
Evelyn’s breath hitched—he looked completely different from how she usually saw him. Gone were the crisp suits and dress shirts. Instead, he wore jeans that fit him just right, and a short-sleeved shirt that stretched across his broad chest, the fabric clinging slightly to his powerful frame. What really caught her attention, though, were his exposed 30-inch biceps and 24.4-inch forearms—thick, solid, and defined in a way that made her feel embarrassingly aware of him.
Her eyes roamed, taking in the sight of a tattoo on his right bicep. She hadn’t expected that. The ink was bold yet intricate, a black and gray lion’s head with piercing eyes that seemed almost alive. The detailed shading made the mane appear thick and untamed, wild like the beast itself, and the triangular framing of the piece gave it an almost mythic quality. It suited him. A silent statement of power, command, and dominance.
"You have a tattoo?" she blurted before she could stop herself.
Leonardo smirked as he strode toward her. "A few, actually."
Evelyn’s gaze flickered down to his other arm but seeing no other, curiosity bubbling up. "Huh. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised, but… I don’t know, you don’t strike me as the type."
He let out a quiet chuckle, reaching for her duffle bag with ease. "And what type is that?"
She shrugged, watching as he lifted her bag effortlessly, as if it weighed nothing. "The kind to sit through hours of a tattoo session. You don’t exactly scream ‘patience.’"
He placed her bag in the SUV before turning back to her, amusement dancing in his unique coloured eyes. "I’m used to hunting and fighting. Think I can handle a few needle pricks."
She blinked at him, trying to determine whether or not he was joking. "You what ?"
His smirk deepened, but instead of answering, he simply opened the passenger door for her. "Shall we?"
Still watching him with mild suspicion, she slid into the seat, buckling in as he closed the door behind her. A moment later, he was in the driver’s seat, hands gripping the wheel with ease and quiet focus. As the SUV smoothly pulled away from the curb, they fell into a comfortable silence. The city slowly faded into winding roads surrounded by towering trees, the golden light filtering through the leaves. The soft hum of the engine and the occasional chirping of birds outside created a peaceful atmosphere, one that made Evelyn relax into her seat.
She stole a glance at Leonardo, who remained focused on the road ahead, the faintest hint of a smirk still on his lips. Whatever he had planned, she had a feeling this camping trip was going to be anything but ordinary.
The campsite was spacious, surrounded by towering evergreens that swayed gently in the evening breeze. A single picnic table sat near the center, aged but sturdy, with enough space for a comfortable meal. Just a few feet away was a fire pit, its ring of stones forming a perfect circle where countless campers had likely gathered before them. The ground was even, cleared of debris, and there was just enough open space to feel safe while still being immersed in nature.
As Evelyn stepped out of the SUV, she took in the scene with a mixture of hesitance and excitement. She had never done this before—never slept in the woods, never pitched a tent, never even sat around a real campfire that wasn’t just a decorative backyard pit. But as unfamiliar as it was, something about it felt… refreshing. Freeing, even.
Leonardo parked the SUV a short distance from the trees, ensuring they had enough clearance. Then, without missing a beat, he moved to the back and pulled out a large tent.
"Alright," he said, unfolding it with practiced ease. "Let’s set up our shelter before it gets too dark."
Evelyn watched as he worked, noting how naturally he handled the process. His massive hands made quick work of the stakes and poles, and when she joined in, he guided her through the setup with surprising patience. The tent was far larger than she had expected—tall enough that even Leonardo could stand comfortably inside, and wide enough for both of them to stretch out without feeling cramped.
"You’ve done this a lot, haven’t you?" she asked as she secured a corner.
"You could say that," he replied with a knowing smirk. "Survival was second nature where I grew up."
Evelyn raised an eyebrow but chose not to pry—at least, not yet.
As she turned to grab another stake, her foot caught on an uneven patch of ground. The world tilted, and she let out a startled gasp, bracing for impact—only for something solid and unyielding to stop her fall.
Leonardo had moved faster than she could process. One of his massive hands caught her wrist, the other pressing against the small of her back, steadying her effortlessly.
For a breathless moment, she found herself against him, her hands splayed across his broad chest. The fabric of his shirt was warm beneath her fingertips, the muscles beneath it impossibly firm. She hadn't meant to touch him like that, but the steady rise and fall of his breath under her palms held her there longer than it should have.
Realizing herself, she quickly withdrew, smoothing her fingers over the now-wrinkled fabric as though that would erase the moment. “Excuse me,” she stammered, taking a step back, her face heating.
Leonardo’s gaze bore into her, unreadable, though she swore she felt the ghost of her touch lingering on him. He said nothing, but the weight of his presence alone made her pulse quicken.
With a slight shake of her head, Evelyn cleared her throat and turned back to the tent, focusing intently on the task at hand. But even as she worked, she could still feel the warmth of his hands where he had steadied her, the way he had caught her without hesitation, as if it had been second nature.
With the tent securely pitched, they turned their attention to unpacking. As Leonardo sorted through his bag, organizing supplies with military precision, something caught his eye in Evelyn’s duffle. A sleek, well-maintained bow rested atop her belongings, accompanied by a quiver of arrows.
His brow lifted. "You brought a bow?"
Evelyn glanced up, smiling slightly as she pulled it out. "Yeah." She ran her fingers over the polished wood, a fondness in her expression. "I actually went to college on an archery scholarship."
Leonardo’s surprise was evident. "Really?"
"Yeah. My foster parents weren’t exactly thrilled about me going to college, let alone for something they saw as ‘useless.’" She rolled her eyes, then her expression softened. "But I had someone else who believed in me. A woman named Miriam. She was like a mother to me—an elderly Jewish woman had a sharp wit and a no-nonsense attitude, pushing me to challenge myself in ways I never expected. She taught me archery and gymnastics when I was a teenager. She was a retired Olympic coach—a bronze medalist, actually."
Leonardo listened intently, arms crossed over his broad chest. "Sounds like an incredible woman."
"She was." Evelyn’s voice was warm with affection. "She’s the reason I made it through. She taught me discipline, focus... and she paid for my training when no one else would."
Leonardo’s gaze lingered on her, admiration flickering in his dark eyes. "I’m impressed."
She smirked, playfully nudging his arm. "You should be."
He let out a deep chuckle. "Then I suppose I should get a demonstration before the sun sets."
Evelyn’s eyes sparkled with challenge as she lifted the bow. "I thought you’d never ask."
Leonardo smirked, nodding toward a nearby sign. "Good thing this is an archery-specific zone."
Evelyn let out a short, breathless laugh, then winced. She had completely forgotten about that. "Oh… right. I kinda forgot about that. I’ve been training at ranges so much lately, I didn’t even think about it."
Leonardo merely smirked at this and led the way to the forest.
The late afternoon sun filtered through the dense canopy of trees, casting golden streaks of light across the forest floor. The air was rich with the scent of damp earth, pine, and distant hints of wildflowers carried on the breeze. Birds called softly from the treetops, their songs blending into the background hum of the woods.
Evelyn walked carefully beside Leonardo, her steps practiced and light, her senses alert. Her foldable bow rested in her left hand, its weight familiar, while her quiver sat snugly against her back. Every now and then, she adjusted the strap to ensure easy access to her arrows. She wasn’t new to archery, but it had been a while since she had done anything outside of a controlled range. The wild was an entirely different playing field.
Her gaze flickered to Leonardo, who moved with a natural grace, his long stride carrying him effortlessly over uneven terrain. His broad frame should have made him easy to hear, but his movements were almost unsettlingly silent. Even as his heavy boots pressed into the leaf-covered ground, he barely made a sound. For a man of his size, he was almost too quiet.
Evelyn glanced down at his gear—or rather, his lack thereof. Unlike her, he wasn’t carrying any visible weapons. No rifle. No bow. No traps. The only thing remotely useful for a hunt was the hunting knife securely strapped in a sheath at his ankle, but that was hardly going to help bring down anything sizable.
She tilted her head, watching him from the corner of her eye. So, what exactly was his plan?
Before she could ask, Leonardo suddenly stopped, raising one massive hand in a silent command. Evelyn, recognizing the gesture, froze immediately, her body instinctively tensing.
Leonardo’s posture changed. His chest expanded slightly as he took in a deep breath, his nostrils flaring. His sharp amber eyes scanned the area, not in a frantic way, but in a focused, deliberate manner. It was like watching a predator in its element—completely at home in the wild, senses attuned to something unseen.
At first, Evelyn just stared at him. What exactly is he doing?
Then, realization dawned on her.
She narrowed her gaze incredulously, watching him more closely, and that’s when she caught it—the subtle way his head lifted, the slow inhale through his nose, the way his muscles shifted ever so slightly. He wasn’t just listening or looking for signs of prey.
He was scenting the air.
Her mouth parted slightly in astonishment. Did he just… sniff out our dinner?
Leonardo’s eyes locked onto a specific direction, and without hesitation, he pointed.
Evelyn instinctively followed the motion of his hand, her gaze sweeping across the area he indicated. How could he possibly know something was there? She had spent years training in archery, learning to track, studying how to spot the subtlest movements, yet she saw nothing out of the ordinary. No rustling of bushes. No snapped twigs. Not even a shadow moving in the underbrush.
Still, something about Leonardo’s certainty made her hesitate to question him outright. Either he’s got the best instincts I’ve ever seen, or he’s absolutely messing with me.
Before she could whisper a response, Leonardo moved.
And he moved fast.
For a man of his size, Evelyn expected him to have at least some trouble navigating the terrain, but he maneuvered through the forest with the ability of someone who had spent years in the wild. There was a purpose to his steps—each one carefully placed, avoiding noisy patches of dry leaves or unstable ground. It was the kind of skill that came from experience, not training.
Evelyn swallowed her initial skepticism and quickly fell into step behind him, making sure her movements were just as quiet. The weight of her bow in her hand felt more real now, her heartbeat picking up in anticipation. The thrill of the hunt was settling in.
Still, as they stalked forward, one thought lingered in her mind.
What kind of person tracks prey by scent alone?
A few moments later, the dense forest opened into a small clearing bathed in the fading golden light of the late afternoon sun. The air smelled of damp earth and crushed foliage, mingling with the musk of wild animals. It was here that they spotted them—two massive hogs, their bristled bodies grazing lazily among the undergrowth, oblivious to the danger lurking just beyond the tree line.
Evelyn reacted instantly, her body moving on sheer instinct. Years of training and instinct kicked in as she exhaled slowly, her muscles steady and controlled. She lifted her bow in one smooth motion, drawing back the string, feeling the familiar tension ripple through her fingers.
Her breathing slowed. Her mind cleared.
The nearest hog lifted its head slightly, exposing just enough of its broad side.
Hit the mark , she thought as she loosed the arrow.
The string snapped with a sharp twang , and in an instant, the arrow sliced through the air with a whistle, striking true.
A meaty thunk filled the clearing as the razor-sharp tip buried itself deep into the animal’s side, severing its vitals with deadly precision. The hog barely had time to register the impact before letting out a brief, startled grunt, its legs giving out beneath it. Its massive body crumpled to the forest floor with a resounding thud, its final breath escaping in one long exhale.
Evelyn held her bow steady, her heart pounding—not from nerves, but from the thrill. She stood motionless, keeping the bow lifted for a second longer, ensuring the kill was clean. The adrenaline coursing through her veins made her limbs feel both weightless and electrified at once. Whoa, that felt good , she thought.
But then, out of the corner of her eye, she caught movement—Leonardo was dropping to all fours.
Her head snapped toward him, her breath hitching in her throat as she took in the sight. It wasn’t a crouch. It wasn’t kneeling. It was something else entirely.
It was unsettlingly fluid, almost unnatural in how low and controlled he was.
His belly barely skimmed the earth. His right leg extended back, shoes digging into the dirt, giving him an anchor point. His left knee hovered just behind his elbow, his powerful arms pressed firmly into the soil. His fingertips dug into the earth, flexing slightly as though preparing for a launch. 
It was not a stance a man should take.
Evelyn felt her skin prickle.
Then she heard it—the soft grunt of the second hog.
The animal, still unaware of its fallen companion, continued foraging for another few moments before it paused.
Its ears flicked. Its nostrils flared.
And then—its gaze snapped toward Leonardo.
The moment their eyes met, the hog bolted.
Evelyn had expected that.
What she hadn’t expected was Leonardo. His physical response made Evelyn feel a strange chill prickle at the base of her neck.
The instant the animal moved, so did he.
Not just running but launching.
A blur of raw power, he erupted forward, his massive frame moving with an impossible speed that defied his sheer size. The air seemed to split around him as he surged ahead, his footfalls heavy yet eerily smooth, devouring the distance in mere seconds.
The hog, despite its desperate sprint, was completely outmatched.
Evelyn’s breath caught.
He’s—
Before she could even finish the thought, Leonardo pounced.
The force of his leap sent him crashing into the animal, his enormous arms snaring it mid-sprint like a predator trapping its prey. The sheer momentum sent them both skidding several feet, dust and leaves kicking up in their wake.
The hog screamed—a high-pitched, panicked squeal.
But Leonardo didn’t hesitate.
With one brutal motion, he bit down.
Evelyn’s eyes widened as his teeth sank deep into the pig’s thick, bristled neck.
Blood welled instantly, the scent sharp and metallic filled the air. The hog’s squeals grew frantic, its legs kicking wildly.
Then Leonardo’s arms tightened—crushing.
The animal’s ribs buckled under his grip, the last of its air forced from its lungs in a final, pitiful wheeze.
And just like that—silence.
Evelyn stood completely still, gripping her bow so tightly that her knuckles had turned white.
Leonardo slowly lifted his head, the dying light of the setting sun casting long shadows over his face. His lips and chin were slick with blood, but his expression was unreadable.
Evelyn forced herself to swallow, her throat dry.
Her mind scrambled for logic, but no rational explanation came.
She had known Leonardo was strong—unnaturally so—but this?
This was something else entirely.
Her heart hammered as she exhaled shakily.
"... holy crap," she finally breathed, forcing a nervous chuckle. "Remind me never to piss you off."
Leonardo wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "The only ones that need to fear me are those who come against you."
She wasn’t sure how to process that statement or even what she had just witnessed.
Still trying to process what had just happened, Evelyn looked between her clean, efficient kill and Leonardo’s, well… feral takedown.
She wrinkled her nose. "You know, technically, my kill was more refined." She gestured toward her downed hog, which still had an arrow neatly lodged in its side. "Mine had grace , precision —" She waved a hand dramatically. "—elegance."
Leonardo tilted his head, looking completely unbothered as he glanced at the lifeless animal at his feet. "Mine was efficient."
Evelyn scoffed. "Yours was a horror movie."
He shrugged, his smirk growing. "Dinner’s still dead, isn’t it?"
Evelyn rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the amused grin creeping onto her lips.
Leonardo merely smirked, then hefted the dead hog effortlessly onto his shoulder, as if it weighed nothing at all.
“Fine then, let’s hope no one saw you cheat,” he mused.
Evelyn let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head in disbelief as she moved to retrieve her own kill but Leonardo intervened, swiftly grabbing it and slinging it over his other shoulder.
And yet, as they walked back toward camp, she couldn’t stop the thoughts swirling in her head.
But she was certain of one thing.
Leonardo Andolini was not normal.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in rich hues of orange and deep purple, Leonardo and Evelyn made their way back to camp, their kills slung over broad shoulders. The fire pit remained cold and untouched, but the night air carried a crispness that promised a drop in temperature. Without wasting time, Leonardo set the hogs down near the clearing and pulled a hunting knife from his ankle sheath.
"Come here," he said, motioning for Evelyn to join him.
She hesitated, glancing at the lifeless animals before stepping closer. "I've never done this before," she admitted.
"Then it's time to learn," Leonardo replied with a small smile, kneeling beside one of the hogs. "Skinning wild game isn’t as complicated as it looks. You just have to know the right cuts."
With practiced efficiency, he ran the sharp blade along the pig’s belly, making a shallow incision. The steel sliced through the thick hide with ease, revealing the layers of muscle beneath. Evelyn swallowed but forced herself to focus. Leonardo’s massive hands worked with surprising gentleness, peeling the skin away as he carefully separated it from the meat. He worked quickly, explaining each movement as he went.
"You want to make sure you don't puncture the intestines or stomach," he instructed. "Ruins the meat and makes a mess. Just grip here"—he guided her hand—"and pull steadily as you cut."
Evelyn followed his lead, mimicking his technique with cautious precision. The initial sensation of skin peeling away made her stomach turn, but she pushed through. Under Leonardo’s patient guidance, she soon found a rhythm.
When they had finished, Leonardo washed his hands in a basin of water from a nearby jug and handed her a cloth to wipe her own.
"Not bad for your first time," he praised, giving her a brief nod of approval.
She let out a small breath of relief. "Well, I had a good teacher."
Leonardo smirked and stood, retrieving a bundle of spices from his bag. As Evelyn watched him season the meat with an expert hand, her curiosity got the better of her. "Okay, I have to ask—where did you learn all this?"
He tossed some salt and pepper onto the meat before glancing at her. "When I was younger, I spent a lot of time out in the wilderness," he said simply. "Cooking was just a necessity at first. Eventually, I got good at it."
Evelyn raised a brow. "So, you're telling me you used to cook like this all the time?"
Leonardo chuckled, the firelight casting sharp shadows over his strong features. "More than you’d think," he admitted.
She studied him for a long moment, intrigued by this new piece of information. She’d only ever known him in a professional sense—the powerful CEO, the strategic thinker, the commanding presence in any room. But here, in the flickering glow of the campfire, she was seeing a completely different side of him.
She didn’t push for more, but she made a mental note to add this to the ever-growing list of things she wanted to learn about him.
As the fire crackled softly, the rich aroma of roasted pork filled the air. The meat was perfectly cooked, tender and seasoned just right. Evelyn took a bite, her eyes widening slightly in appreciation.
"Okay," she admitted, pointing her fork at Leonardo. "This is ridiculously good. If you ever get tired of running a company, you could totally open a restaurant."
Leonardo chuckled, tearing into his own portion with ease. "I think I’d rather keep my cooking skills a secret," he mused. "Keeps people on their toes."
They ate in comfortable silence for a moment before Evelyn smirked. "Speaking of keeping people on their toes… have you heard the latest rumors at the company?"
Leonardo raised a brow, taking a sip of his drink. "Oh? Which ones?"
"Vincent and Margot." She gave him a knowing look. "Apparently, people have spotted them leaving the office together late at night—more than once."
Leonardo huffed out a laugh. "I wouldn’t be surprised. Vincent’s been circling her like a hawk for a long while. Took him long enough."
Evelyn grinned, enjoying the casual banter. "And then there’s Edgardo and Toni," she added. "I swear, they think they’re being sneaky, but everyone knows they take lunch breaks at the same time—every single day."
Leonardo smirked, shaking his head. "I don’t know why they bother hiding it. If anything, I’d be happy for them. Love should never be a secret. If someone tries to keep something as complicated as love stored up inside, it could make them sick."
Evelyn hummed in agreement, about to add another comment when a sound carried through the trees. At first, it was faint, barely audible over the fire and their quiet conversation. But within seconds, the voices became clearer—deep, rich harmonies floating through the night air.
An a cappella group, somewhere in the distance, was singing.
Evelyn tilted her head, listening as the melody became unmistakable.
The smooth, nostalgic notes of I Think I’m In Love by Buddy Lewis and the Cats wrapped around them like a warm breeze through the trees, as if the voices were right beside their campfire.
Evelyn turned to Leonardo, an amused yet enchanted expression on her face. "That is some ridiculously good harmony for the middle of nowhere."
Leonardo’s eyes softened as he listened, then, without a word, he reached for her hand. His grip was warm, steady—an invitation rather than an expectation.
Evelyn’s breath hitched slightly, caught off guard by the sudden gesture. But the firelight played in his dark eyes, the glow highlighting something rare—something unguarded.
Without hesitation, he pulled her gently to her feet.
"You know how to dance, don’t you?" he murmured.
Evelyn let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. "Not like this."
"Then let me lead."
Leonardo’s other hand settled lightly at her waist, his touch careful yet firm, guiding her into a slow sway. The crackling fire cast flickering shadows around them, the golden light catching in Evelyn’s hair as she let herself move with him.
The voices in the distance carried the melody higher, the gentle crooning of the love song blending with the rustling trees and the night’s cool breeze.
Evelyn couldn’t remember the last time she’d danced like this—if ever. Not for a purpose, not for a public event, but simply because the moment called for it.
And for the first time in a long while, she didn’t overthink it.
She just let herself be.
The Amazon rainforest was alive with its usual symphony—chirping insects, the distant cries of howler monkeys, the rustling of unseen creatures navigating the dense undergrowth. The air, thick with humidity, carried the scent of damp earth and wild flora, a stark contrast to the unnatural silence that hung over a particular section of the jungle.
There, nestled along the river’s edge, hidden from prying eyes, was a structure that did not belong. Unlike the primitive huts and makeshift shelters commonly found in remote expeditions, this one stood apart—fortified, sleek, and modern, a small yet powerful outpost carved into the wilderness. Inside, the sterile glow of artificial lighting illuminated state-of-the-art technology, an island of civilization in the heart of untamed chaos.
Lucien sat in the heart of this facility, a quiet figure surrounded by the hum of high-powered computers, the soft beeping of monitoring equipment, and the faint buzz of electricity coursing through his carefully constructed empire. He was a man of contradictions—refined, yet ruthless; calculating, yet driven by emotions he would never openly admit to. Standing at only 5’6”, he was not an imposing figure in terms of height, but what he lacked in stature, he more than made up for in sheer presence.
His features were sharp, chiseled in a way that once made him look distinguished, though now, time had softened those edges ever so slightly. His hair, still mostly dark, had begun to silver at the temples, a reminder of the years he had battled against. His suit, despite the jungle heat, remained impeccably tailored, though he had loosened his collar and rolled up his sleeves—concessions to the climate rather than any lapse in personal discipline. His hands, steady and precise, sifted through research notes while his keen, steely eyes flicked across multiple screens, absorbing new data at a pace no ordinary man could match.
His voice, when he spoke, carried a tenor’s smoothness, rich and deliberate. It was a voice that could persuade, cajole, command. He had used it to great effect in the past, manipulating investors, convincing desperate subjects, and coercing those who stood in his way with nothing more than a well-placed phrase.
Lucien’s facility was the result of decades of obsession. The laboratory contained the most cutting-edge scientific equipment money could buy—or steal. Long metallic tables were lined with samples of exotic plants, extracted carefully from deep within the jungle. Vials of strange biological material sat under observation in reinforced glass cases, illuminated by the cold, sterile light of the containment units. There were even genetic samples from rare animals, their unique properties cataloged and studied with meticulous precision.
But at the heart of this facility was something far more sinister—an operating room that gleamed under fluorescent lights, a place where science blurred into something else entirely. This was no ordinary medical bay; it was a place of experimentation, a surgical theater where Lucien played the role of a puppeteer, manipulating flesh and fate with chilling detachment, reshaping both body and mind for his own twisted and fanatical ideals.
Though he appeared to be in his late forties, the truth was far more unsettling—Lucien was actually in his early sixties. His unnatural youth was no mere genetic blessing; it was the result of years of methodical self-experimentation, trials that had begun nearly three decades ago.
The obsession had taken root when he was just thirty-three. His wife, the love of his life, had died in childbirth. The official cause had been complications—her body had been too weak, already ravaged by an illness that no amount of wealth or knowledge could cure. Her death had shattered him, leaving behind a hole that science alone could not fill. But grief did not consume him the way it did weaker men. No, Lucien had turned his sorrow into a mission. If he could not save her, he would dedicate his life to ensuring no one else suffered the same fate.
But then, fate struck again. Six years later, his daughter—his last remaining tether to the life he had lost—died in a freak accident. He had been too busy with his work, too engrossed in the pursuit of knowledge to see what truly mattered until it was too late. And when she was gone, something inside him snapped. He had wasted too much time. He had believed in the slow, methodical approach, but now, there was no more patience left in him. If the world would not yield its secrets willingly, then he would tear them from it.
His quest for longevity soon evolved into something greater. Human evolution. Strength. Perfection.
The rumours of an island that only a handful knew about called Genosha had reached him years ago—a place untouched by modern civilization, a land where nature thrived in its most extreme forms. It was said that the animals there were larger, stronger, more durable than any found elsewhere on Earth. More intriguing, however, were the whispers of children—runaways, survivors, outcasts—who had come to the island and, over time, exhibited traits beyond normal human limits. They ran faster, hit harder, healed quicker. Some even claimed they possessed the raw physicality of the creatures that roamed the land.
And then, catastrophe. A massive seismic event, followed by an underwater explosion. The mysterious meteorite that had once made Genosha so unique had destabilized, triggering a chain reaction that led to a cataclysmic tsunami. The island had seemingly been wiped from the map, lost to the ocean’s depths.
But Lucien did not believe in extinction.
Over the years, he had tracked down survivors—fragments of Genosha’s lost children scattered across the world. One such person was Karina, a woman whose genetic composition hinted at something extraordinary. But Karina was only the beginning.
Now, his search had led him to two more names.
The most notable was Leonardo Andolini.
The other was a mysterious figure known the few unfortunate people as the Marauder, but Lucien knew his island name.
Lucien leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he gazed at the glowing digital map before him. Pins marked key locations, threads of research connecting them in a web of intrigue and discovery. His expression remained unreadable, but deep within those cold, calculating eyes, there was the faintest glimmer of something dangerous—anticipation.
Genosha’s children were still out there. And he would find them.
After all, evolution waited for no one.
Lucien glanced up from his notes as the door to his lab burst open with a forceful shove. Karina strode in, her expression a mixture of irritation and exhaustion. She didn’t bother with pleasantries, her voice dripping with frustration as she snapped, “What do you want? You had me fly all the way down here to this forsaken land, I got bit by mosquitos that have to be armed with beaks, and I'm greeted by your creepy double agent with smoke to my face.”
Lucien merely smirked, unbothered by her outburst. In fact, he seemed rather amused. “Hello to you too, my flower,” he said smoothly, his British accent laced with its usual condescending charm.
Karina let out a short, exasperated huff, crossing her arms over her chest. She was in no mood for his theatrics, but she knew Lucien well enough to understand he wouldn’t have summoned her unless he had something significant to show her. And he was always deliberate with his actions—never one to waste time on anything trivial.
Lucien didn’t make her wait long. Pushing himself up from his chair with a casual grace, he gestured for her to follow. His long fingers curled around a metallic door handle, and with a deliberate pull, he led her into an adjacent chamber. The air inside was cold, sterile, thick with the scent of antiseptic and something faintly metallic. The hum of machines filled the space, their blinking lights casting eerie reflections across the glossy tiled walls.
“Tell me, my dear,” Lucien murmured, his tone as smooth as ever. “Do you remember a boy from the island named Vincenzo Ossian?”
Karina, who had been taking in the details of the room, froze in place. Her gaze darted to Lucien, then to the open doorway leading deeper into the operating chamber. A shape lay on the surgical table at the center of the room, hooked up to an array of wires and monitors.
Her heartbeat quickened as she stepped closer. “Vincenzo…” she whispered, barely breathing the name.
Lucien observed her reaction with satisfaction before stepping past her, moving toward the unconscious man on the table. He gestured to him with a flourish, as if presenting a fine work of art. “Yes,” he confirmed. “Your old acquaintance. Though, in a few moments, you may not recognize him at all.”
Karina’s gaze locked onto the man before her. Vincenzo’s face had matured, though the remnants of his youthful features were still present. His jawline was sharp, though partially obscured by several electrodes attached to his temples. His dark, wavy hair was cropped close on the sides, slightly longer on top, tousled in a way that suggested Lucien’s team hadn’t bothered to tame it. There was a haunting stillness to him, emphasized by the breathing apparatus strapped over his nose and mouth, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest dictated by the machine keeping him alive.
“What are you doing to him?” Karina demanded, her voice sharp with apprehension.
Karina’s stomach twisted with unease. There was always something disturbingly messianic about the way Lucien spoke when he was on the precipice of unveiling one of his twisted scientific breakthroughs.
With deliberate precision, Lucien reached out and flicked a final switch.
Instantly, a series of mechanical hisses filled the room as the syringes emptied their contents into Vincenzo’s veins. The effects were immediate. Karina took an instinctive step back, her breath catching in her throat as she watched his body react. His fingers twitched first, curling slightly against the restraints. Then, his muscles spasmed violently, his back arching off the table as veins bulged beneath his skin.
A grotesque, wet sound filled the room as his body began to change. His frame elongated, his limbs stretching unnaturally as the sinews in his arms and legs expanded. His torso widened, muscles growing in rapid, unnatural surges, his chest heaving as if he were gasping for air despite the respirator forcing oxygen into his lungs.
Karina’s wide eyes darted to Lucien, who watched the transformation unfold with an expression of sheer delight. “You’re making a monster,” she hissed.
Lucien chuckled. “No, my dear,” he corrected, eyes gleaming. “I’m making the future.”
Vincenzo’s skin darkened slightly as the tissue adapted to the mutation coursing through him. His fingers, now nearly twice the size they had been, curled into tight fists. His body trembled violently against the straps holding him down, until—
The restraints snapped.
Karina barely had time to react as Vincenzo let out a guttural, inhuman groan. His newly transformed body was monstrous, akin to something out of a nightmare. His muscles bulged grotesquely, like a living embodiment of raw power. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breaths ragged as he began to stir.
Lucien’s smirk widened as he whispered under his breath, “Magnificent.”
Karina, meanwhile, felt a sinking dread in her stomach. This wasn’t just an experiment. This was a horror waiting to be unleashed.
As Vincenzo’s transformation ended, the man lay still, unconscious, his body eerily motionless. The sterile light above cast harsh shadows over his altered form, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. The room was silent, save for the hum of machinery and the faint crackling of the monitor displaying his vitals.
Lucien exhaled, the ghost of a smirk flickering across his face as he finally turned his attention to Karina. She was still shell-shocked, her expression locked in disbelief as she stared at Vincenzo’s unmoving form. The weight of what she had just witnessed settled heavily on her, her mind racing with questions she dared not voice.
Lucien, ever the maestro of control, merely waved a hand, signaling the onlookers behind the glass to enter. The heavy steel door hissed open, and two figures strode into the room. Samuel moved with his usual measured calm, his dark suit immaculate, his expression one of quiet satisfaction. Beside him walked Meredith Wright of Valterra Laboratories, an imposing woman with an air of calculated coolness. Her shrewd eyes swept over Vincenzo, analyzing the results before even speaking. Her tailored black suit clung to her slender frame, exuding an air of efficiency. Her deep red lips curled into a smile—cold, professional, and knowing. 
“Impressive,” Samuel said first, his voice low and measured. “You’ve outdone yourself, Lucien.”
Meredith nodded, arms folded as she studied the unconscious Vincenzo. “This is beyond what we projected. If the physiological changes hold, we may be looking at the future of engineered evolution.” Her tone carried a detached fascination, as if Vincenzo were merely another test subject rather than a human being.
Lucien’s smirk widened. “And we are in the final stretches of my plan.” He turned toward Samuel, his gaze sharp. “The next stage is crucial. I need you to get Leonardo in position.”
Samuel inclined his head in agreement. “Of course. Consider it done.” There was no hesitation, no need for clarification. Samuel knew his role well—he was a man who thrived in the delicate art of manipulation.
Lucien then shifted his focus to Meredith. “Continue the trials with the formula. I want precise data on the long-term effects. Ensure our unsuspecting test subjects remain compliant.”
Meredith’s expression didn’t change. She merely nodded, her fingers already flicking through data on a sleek tablet she had brought with her. “They won’t even realize they’re being studied.”
Lucien then turned his gaze to Karina, his smirk softening into something more serpentine. “And as for you, my dear…” He took a measured step closer, tilting his head as he studied her reaction. “You’re going to help Samuel. Get Leonardo exactly where I need him.”
Karina’s breath hitched, her pulse pounding against her temples. “And how exactly do you expect me to do that?” she asked, her voice even, though there was a sharp edge beneath it.
Lucien’s smile never wavered. “With your shared past on Genosha, it should be easy to appeal to his nostalgia, his sentimentality.” He let the implication hang between them for a moment before adding, “And if all else fails, well… you’ve always known how to be persuasive.”
Samuel chuckled under his breath, and Meredith merely arched an eyebrow, intrigued but unconcerned.
Karina forced herself to nod. Outwardly, she played the part—calm, obedient. But inwardly, her mind raced. What was Lucien really planning? What could possibly require the former leader of the Brotherhood of Seven? And more importantly… how could she ensure she wasn’t caught in the crossfire?
...:TBC:...
Chapter 7: Chapter 6a
Chapter Text
The living room of Amaya Thompson’s home is cozy but modern, bathed in the warm glow of scented candles. Plush blankets are draped over the couch, and a coffee table is covered in an assortment of snacks—popcorn, a half-eaten charcuterie board, and glasses of wine in various states of emptiness.
Amaya, Evelyn, Carla, and Viviane lounge comfortably, dressed in relaxed loungewear, deep in conversation as they enjoy their girls’ night in. The occasional burst of laughter echoes through the space, mixing with the soft background music playing from the speakers.
“I’m telling you, this is the only way to spend a Friday night,” Amaya says, sipping her wine. “Spa masks, messy buns, good food, and absolutely no overpriced drinks.”
Carla grins. “And no dealing with random weirdos at the bar.”
Viviane chuckles. “Please, the last time we all went out, we couldn’t even get through one drink without someone trying to chat us up.”
Evelyn shakes her head. “Exactly. I’m way too grown to be dealing with ‘What’s your sign?’ conversations.”
Before they can continue, the front door clicks open, and the deep voices of the husbands of Amaya, Carla, and Viviane carry into the house.
Darryl Montego, Dre Reed, and Marquis Thompson step inside, loosening their jackets. Darryl, always charming and relaxed, makes a beeline for his wife, dropping a kiss on Viviane’s forehead before plopping onto the couch beside her. Dre, loud and animated as ever, dramatically stretches as if he just survived a battle.
“You ladies missed quite the show tonight,” Dre announces, rubbing his hands together.
Greg shakes his head, grinning. “Boys’ night was eventful .”
Amaya arches a brow. “Oh? Eventful like ‘we almost got into a bar fight’ or eventful like ‘we saw someone make a complete fool of themselves’?”
Marquis smirks. “Second one. And it was painful to watch.”
Viviane leans forward. “Okay, okay, spill.”
Darryl chuckles, settling into the couch. “So, there’s this dude at the bar, right? Early thirties, too much cologne, dress shoes that screamed ‘I’m trying way too hard.’ And this man would not shut up about his car.”
Carla snorts. “Oh no.”
Marquis nods. “He was going on and on about how he owns some rich guy car , I guess it’s one of those absurdly flashy, hyper-expensive ones. And every time a woman walked past, he’d drop the name like it was supposed to impress them.”
Amaya laughs. “And did it work?”
Dre shakes his head. “Not even a lil’ bit. Most of the women rolled their eyes and kept it moving. But the best part?” He grins. “Turns out, the car wasn’t even his.”
Marquis chuckles. “One of his own boys exposed him. Straight up roasted him at the bar. Bro said, and I quote , ‘Bro, stop acting like you’re Bruce Wayne when you drive a Honda Civic Monday through Friday.’”
Evelyn's mouth was agape for a long moment. “Oooohhh! That is so embarrassing.”
Viviane wipes a tear from her eye. “Yikes! He tried to flex and failed miserably.”
Greg leans back, smirking. “Alright, so we were debating something. Does that kind of thing ever actually work? Do women really fall for guys flexing their cars, money, status—all that?”
The women exchange glances, a mix of amusement and exasperation on their faces.
Carla is the first to answer, rolling her eyes. “Listen, if a man’s only selling point is his wallet, then he’s got nothing else going for him.”
Amaya nods. “Exactly. Confidence? Attractive. Intelligence? Attractive. But trying too hard and screaming ‘look at me, I’m rich’? That’s an instant turnoff for the majority of women.”
Viviane leans into Darryl. “Babe, the real flex is being secure .”
Evelyn nods, adding, “Look, resource potential matters—people have to think about safety, stability, and childcare. But more than anything, across all cultures, what women prioritize in a long-term partner is kindness. Even when extreme wealth is in the picture, the data shows that women consistently choose someone who treats them well over someone who just has money.” She shrugs. “So, it’s not about finding the richest guy in the room—it’s honestly about finding the one who won’t treat you like garbage.”
Dre groans dramatically. “Dang, so the dude had no chance?”
Eve shakes her head. “Not unless he wanted to impress a gold digger . Otherwise, nah.”
Greg chuckles. “Alright, fair enough. So basically, kindness and real confidence over performative wealth?”
Carla smirks. “Exactly.”
The group laughs, the energy lighthearted yet full of knowing nods. As the conversation drifts toward other topics, Evelyn can’t help but wonder— How many men in power actually understand this? And how many are still out there, just like that guy at the bar, flexing for the wrong reasons?
The late afternoon sun painted golden streaks across the sky, casting a warm glow over the townhome community. Inside one of the finest residences, Damon stood in his pristine master bathroom, the air tinged with the crisp scent of his cologne. The space was modern, cool-toned marble, chrome fixtures, and recessed lighting that created an ambiance of understated luxury. It was a reflection of him: polished, precise, and in control.
He adjusted his cufflinks with practiced ease, his movements fluid, almost mechanical. Tonight was important. His law firm’s charity gala was more than just an event—it was a strategic move, a gathering of the elite designed to foster connections, close deals, and solidify alliances. Among those attending was a name that carried weight, a name that had the potential to elevate his firm’s prestige significantly.
Leonardo Andolini.
The man was a mystery wrapped in power. His presence alone could shift the energy in a room. Gaining him as a client would be a defining moment for the firm, and Damon was prepared to ensure that happened. What had surprised him, though, was the confirmation that Andolini wouldn’t be attending alone.
His plus-one?
Evelyn.
Damon exhaled sharply through his nose, his fingers tightening slightly around the edge of the marble counter. He knew of Evelyn, had seen her at social functions, exchanged pleasantries. She was striking, the kind of woman who turned heads without effort, whose elegance wasn’t a performance but an intrinsic quality. And he had tried—once—to get to know her better.
His mind drifted back to that afternoon, playing the memory like a scene in a film, one that still lingered despite his best efforts.
It was a late spring afternoon, the kind where the sun draped the city in a warm, golden hue. Damon had been walking into another party given for the elite of Los Angeles when he first saw her. There was something about the way she moved—unhurried, poised, radiating an effortless grace that immediately caught his attention. He was used to admiring glances and flirtatious smiles from women, but Evelyn carried herself differently. She wasn’t seeking attention. She already had it.
Intrigued, he had approached her. Confidence was never an issue for him, and he had long since refined his approach to women—direct, self-assured, undeniably persuasive.
With a casual yet deliberate movement, he had adjusted his tie, his body language exuding quiet assurance. He gave her a small, confident nod, as if to say he knew exactly what he was doing, and that he was certain she’d be interested in hearing more. “Hello, I’m Damon, I’m one of the best lawyers in town. I’m single,” he had started, flashing a confident smile. “I have no trouble meeting women—I mean it, women approach me six to seven times a day. But I’m very particular about what I like.”
Evelyn had regarded him with polite curiosity, but he pressed forward, certain of his words.
“You’re extremely elegant, and I can’t take my eyes off of you. Elegant women are rare.” He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to create an intimate moment between them. “I’m a lawyer, I make great money, I have a beautiful home overlooking downtown, I’m lean with only 10 % body fat, I’m well-endowed and amazing in bed.” His smile never wavered. “I’ve done everything. So, I’m giving you an opportunity here. Let’s set a date, maybe even coffee, and let the romance begin.”
He had expected intrigue. Interest. Maybe even a playful challenge. Instead, Evelyn simply tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable.
“You look taken aback,” he had said, attempting to salvage the moment with an easy chuckle. “I hope that isn’t timidness and it’s just shock.”
And then—she reached up, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The movement was subtle, but it revealed something he hadn’t noticed before.
A ring.
Silence.
For the first time in a long while, Damon felt something unfamiliar coil in his stomach.
Evelyn had parted her lips as if to say something, but there was no need. The moment had already passed.
Damon had stepped back, nodding smoothly. “I see. My apologies.”
And just like that, he had turned and left.
But later that night, he saw something that made him stop in his tracks. Evelyn, standing beside the curb, her expression unreadable as she reached into her purse. With an almost absentminded flick, she pulled off the ring and dropped it inside. No hesitation. No second thought.
Then, as if on cue, Leonardo Andolini emerged from around the corner. Towering, composed, exuding an effortless dominance that made people step aside without him having to say a word. Without a glance at anyone else, Evelyn walked straight toward him. The giant didn’t break stride as the chauffeur opened the car door, and just like that, the two of them disappeared into the large black vehicle.
Damon had remained still, watching as the car pulled away. And in that moment, realization struck—hard. The ring had been fake. A shield. A convenient little prop meant to deflect.
Now, standing in his bathroom, he exhaled sharply, shaking off the memory. That moment had been an anomaly—an unexpected misstep in an otherwise calculated approach to life. He wasn’t a man who dwelled on rejection. And yet, it lingered, resurfacing now of all times.
Because tonight, Evelyn wouldn’t just be attending the gala. She would be there with Leonardo Andolini.
Damon’s jaw tightened slightly as he fastened his watch. What was she to Andolini? A casual companion? A serious interest? The thought unsettled him more than he cared to admit. He didn’t like uncertainty, and he especially didn’t like not having the upper hand.
But tonight wasn’t just about business.
Damon straightened his tie one last time, rolling his shoulders. Securing Andolini as a client was still the goal, but an even bigger prize had presented itself. Evelyn.
He had miscalculated once before, but that wasn’t going to happen again. She was elegant, rare—exactly the kind of woman he wanted by his side. And whatever she thought she had with Andolini… well, that was temporary. A man like that? He was a powerhouse, sure, but he was untamed. A giant with a past wrapped in mystery and danger. Evelyn needed stability. Refinement. Someone who could match her in both class and ambition.
And Damon was the man for that.
He smirked at his reflection, adjusting his cufflinks one last time. Tonight, he wasn’t just securing a client. He was setting the stage for something far more important.
With that, he grabbed his cologne, took one last look in the mirror, and walked out the door.
As he made his way through the lobby,the weight of the evening ahead settled in. Every detail counted, and this night was no exception. Damon adjusted the cuff of his tailored suit, stepping into the expansive event space of his firm. The charity gala was in full swing, a seamless blend of business and social maneuvering, where every conversation held the potential for lucrative deals or influential connections. Waiters moved smoothly through the room, offering champagne flutes and gourmet hors d'oeuvres to the well-dressed crowd of elite guests, legal powerhouses, and potential clients. The ambiance was polished and refined—warm lighting reflected off crystal glasses, the faint hum of classical music adding an air of sophistication.
From the corner of his eye, he spotted her.
Evelyn moved through the room effortlessly, a vision in an elegant yet understated gown that hugged her figure just enough to command attention without demanding it. A quiet, undeniable confidence radiated from her, the kind that didn’t need embellishment. She wasn’t here to impress anyone—she never had to try. Damon wasn’t the only one who noticed her presence; he caught more than a few men sneaking appreciative glances, their conversations pausing ever so slightly as she passed.
But Damon had long since realized that Evelyn wasn’t a woman easily impressed.
Andolini, however, was another matter entirely.
The towering businessman stood a few steps away, his deep voice carrying effortlessly across the room, drawing the attention of a group of high-profile attorneys. Dressed in an expertly tailored suit that somehow managed to contain his immense frame, Leonardo radiated quiet dominance, his presence alone creating an unspoken barrier around him. He was the kind of man who drew attention without seeking it, and Damon could admit—grudgingly—that there was something about him that made other men step back instinctively.
Damon had been watching, waiting for the right moment, calculating the exact point in the evening when he could finally speak to Evelyn alone. And when the opportunity presented itself, he didn’t hesitate.
“Evelyn,” he greeted smoothly, stepping into her path just as she retrieved another glass of rose and rhubarb soda from a passing waiter.
Evelyn arched a brow, her expression unreadable as she glanced up at him. “Damon.” She took a slow sip, offering nothing more.
“I wanted to clear the air,” he continued, lowering his voice just slightly. “I misread things before, and that’s rare for me. But I see things more clearly now.”
She tilted her head, amusement flickering in her gaze. “Do you?”
“I do.” He let a beat of silence stretch between them before adding, “But I’ll admit, I was thrown off. It’s not often I find myself in unfamiliar territory…” He let the sentence hang, watching her reaction.
Evelyn’s expression remained impassive, though he caught the faintest shift in her posture, the way she subtly squared her shoulders. “I’m seeing someone,” she said simply.
Damon exhaled slowly, his expression schooled into one of indifference, but inwardly, he felt the slow simmer of irritation. He had known—suspected, at least—but hearing it stated so plainly was something else entirely. “Your boss,” he said, letting the words carry just enough weight to suggest something more.
She blinked, a flicker of surprise passing through her gaze before she schooled her expression. “That’s none of your business, Damon.”
She turned to leave, and instinct kicked in—his fingers twitched at his side, the urge to stop her, to say something, to regain some semblance of control in this conversation gnawing at him. He wasn’t used to being dismissed.
Before he could act on it, a voice cut in smoothly.
“Damon.”
His jaw tightened as he turned to face the interruption.
Evelyn didn’t wait. Without another glance in his direction, she walked away, her poise untouched, leaving Damon standing there—cool on the outside, but simmering beneath the surface.
The early afternoon sun bathed the city in a hazy golden glow, the early spring air crisp but pleasant. Evelyn adjusted the strap of her purse as she walked down the sidewalk, her heels clicking against the pavement with a steady rhythm. She had planned for nothing more than a quiet break—a cup of coffee before returning to work. But as she neared the café, a shadow cut across her path.
“Evelyn.”
The voice was smooth.
She stopped mid-step, her instincts immediately alert, the unexpected interruption sending a flicker of tension through her.
Damon stood before her, impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit, his tie perfectly knotted, his expression composed. But there was something off beneath the polished exterior—a trace of impatience in his gaze, a glint of something too eager, too insistent.
Evelyn let out a quiet sigh, her patience already thinning. “Damon.”
He smiled, an easy, almost boyish grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ve been thinking,” he started, tilting his head slightly. “I may have misread things the first time we met.”
She arched a brow, unimpressed.
He continued, unbothered by her indifference. “But now, I get it. You’re in a tough spot. You work as a secretary—what’s that, maybe fifty, sixty grand a year?” His smirk deepened as if he’d just revealed a great truth. “That’s barely enough to live in this city. You deserve better.”
Evelyn’s lips pressed into a thin line. “I manage just fine.” She made more than he assumed, living well within her means, but she wouldn’t waste her time explaining that to someone so fixated on appearances.
Damon chuckled, shaking his head. “You don’t have to.” He took a step closer, lowering his voice just enough to make it sound like a secret meant just for her. “I’ll keep your little secret about your situation with Andolini. No one has to know.”
Evelyn felt a twinge of irritation but kept her expression neutral. “And in return?”
His smirk widened.
“You become my wife.”
For the first time, Evelyn blinked, taken aback by the sheer audacity of his words.
“Not legally, of course,” he clarified smoothly. “The government shouldn’t be involved. But think about it—I make over three hundred grand a year. You could quit your job, live comfortably, stay home. It’s easy. Just say yes.”
His confidence was staggering, as if the idea of rejection hadn’t even occurred to him.
Evelyn tilted her head slightly, studying him with quiet amusement. “Just like that?”
Damon shrugged, his expression the picture of nonchalance. “Just like that.”
She let out a small breath of disbelief before shaking her head. “Not a chance.”
His smile faltered, just barely. A flicker of irritation crossed his face, but he smothered it quickly, replacing it with forced patience. “You’re only saying that because you’re sleeping with a billionaire.”
Evelyn’s expression didn’t change, but Damon saw the slight shift in her posture—the way she squared her shoulders just a little more, the way her chin lifted ever so slightly.
“You women are all the same,” he continued, his voice growing sharper. “Always chasing the tallest, richest, most dangerous man.”
Evelyn sighed, shaking her head. “That’s not true, but explaining it to you would be a waste of time.”
Damon’s frustration boiled over into something uglier. His calm, self-assured demeanour cracked as his voice rose. “Women just use men for their resources! Deep down, you know you’re not special! Men are the prize!”
His voice cut through the street, loud enough to make a few passersby glance over. But Damon was too caught up in his tirade to notice.
“You—an ugly girl like you—should be grateful to be the first in my harem!”
Evelyn had already moved away from him. She didn’t flinch, didn’t engage. She simply walked toward the café door, her measured calm a stark contrast to his spiraling rage.
That, more than anything, infuriated him.
Damon lunged, his hand reaching for her arm—
But Evelyn had seen it coming.
The café’s large glass window reflected everything, and in a split second, she dropped down, slipping out of his reach with ease. His fingers barely grazed the empty air where she had been. Before he could react, she darted inside, the bell above the door chiming softly, an oddly peaceful sound compared to the chaos outside.
Inside, the café was a world apart—warm, filled with the rich aroma of coffee and quiet conversation. But the mood shifted as some customers turned, their attention snapping toward the entrance, while some others had seen enough.
A manager, a sharp-eyed man in his mid-thirties with a no-nonsense demeanor, stepped out from behind the counter. “You need to leave,” he said, his voice firm.
Damon was still breathing heavily, his hands clenched at his sides as he glared at Evelyn, his eyes narrowing with a mix of frustration and something darker, as if the tension in the room was somehow her fault.
Another customer—a man in a leather jacket—stood up from his seat. “Back off, man.”
Evelyn, unfazed, reached into her purse and pulled out her phone.
“911? Yes, I’d like to report an aggressive man outside the Daily Roast Café on Fifth and Madison.”
Damon slammed his fist against an empty table, his face twisting in fury.
Minutes later, the sound of sirens cut through the air.
The flashing red and blue lights cast long shadows across the pavement as police officers arrived, stepping out of their vehicles with calm efficiency. Damon, still fuming, barely had time to react before he was surrounded.
Evelyn watched as the officers spoke with him first, their voices level but firm as they asked him questions. Damon’s chest heaved, his jaw tightening with barely contained frustration, but he forced himself to answer, his tone clipped and defensive. Then they turned to Evelyn, speaking with quiet professionalism, jotting down notes as she recounted the events.
But before they could finish, the low hum of a powerful engine drew everyone’s attention. A sleek black car pulled up to the curb, its presence alone commanding authority.
Leonardo Andolini stepped out.
Even in broad daylight, his sheer size was imposing. The afternoon sun cast shadows across his sharply tailored suit, emphasizing his broad shoulders, his sheer mass making everyone around him seem small. His golden gaze swept across the scene with calculated detachment, but then his attention immediately locked onto Evelyn.
That was what sent Damon over the edge.
His already thin composure snapped like a brittle thread. His breathing turned erratic, his face contorting with fury. His muscles coiled, and before anyone could stop him, he lunged.
“I knew it!” he roared, trying to shove past the officers. “You think you can just—”
The cops were on him in an instant, gripping his arms, but Damon fought like a cornered animal. He thrashed violently, trying to break free, his movements desperate and erratic. He twisted, his shoulder jerking against their hold, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned white.
“Get your hands off me!” he bellowed, his body bucking against the restraint. A wild, misplaced swing nearly connected with one of the officers, and that was all the justification they needed.
One officer moved swiftly, sweeping his legs out from under him. Damon hit the pavement with a hard thud, his breath whooshing out in a sharp gasp. Still, he struggled, trying to push himself up, but they forced him onto his stomach, pressing a knee against his back to keep him pinned.
“You’re only making this worse for yourself,” one officer warned, his tone edged with annoyance.
But Damon wasn’t listening. His breath was ragged, his body jerking as if sheer rage alone could overpower the officers holding him down. It was only when they pulled out the Wrap —the reinforced restraint system for particularly aggressive individuals—that the reality of his situation seemed to dawn on him.
“No—get that thing away from me!” he snarled, but his protests were ignored as they secured his arms first, locking them against his torso. His legs were next, bound together tightly, preventing him from kicking or thrashing any further. He writhed against the restraints, his fury bubbling over into a string of incoherent shouts.
But it was only when he turned his head and caught sight of Leonardo—standing still, completely unaffected by his outburst—that his anger took on a new level of madness.
Leonardo hadn’t moved an inch. He simply watched with cold, unreadable eyes.
Damon sneered, his lips curling in pure hatred. “You—” He thrashed, but the Wrap held him firm. His voice rose, hoarse with rage. “You proved my point! Women only want—”
The police slammed the squad car door shut, muffling the rest of his screams.
Evelyn let out a slow breath, shaking off the tension in her shoulders. She turned away from the chaotic scene, and in that moment, her Ma-Two’s words echoed in her mind:
Don’t laugh. Learn.
As Evelyn stepped through the glass doors of ImperialReach Telecom, there was no time to breathe, no moment to decompress from the chaos of earlier. The air inside the office was thick with tension, the usual hum of quiet productivity replaced with hushed, urgent conversations.
She wove her way through the maze of cubicles until she spotted a cluster of people huddled around a single monitor. Vincent D’Amato, Margot Castellano, Noah Peacott, Tony Rodriguez, and Toni Halstead were all crammed together, their faces drawn with stress as they stared at the screen.
Sensing the weight in the air, Evelyn instinctively straightened her posture and approached. “Good morning.”
Vincent barely glanced up, muttering, “It’s not a good morning. We’re in a load of—” He caught himself, glancing at Evelyn before hastily correcting, “I mean, we’re in big trouble, Evelyn.”
Her stomach tightened. “What’s wrong?”
Noah ran a hand through his hair. “It seems like someone copied the design of our new cellphone—the one we’re launching next month.” His voice was edged with disbelief and frustration.
Evelyn’s breath hitched. “ What? ”
“Look.” Margot gestured for Evelyn to step closer.
Without hesitation, she squeezed in beside the group and peered over Toni’s shoulder at the screen. A corporate announcement from UK Electronics dominated the display. The company had just revealed the design of their upcoming flagship smartphone.
Tony’s voice was tight with anger. “We’ve been told that Hadeon and Lucien are shareholders in the company.”
Evelyn’s eyes widened. “You’re saying they —”
“Worse.” Vincent shook his head, his frustration palpable. “The design looks exactly like ours.”
Before Evelyn could respond, a deep, commanding voice cut through the tension.
“Evelyn.”
She turned to see Leonardo striding toward them, his expression unreadable but his presence sharp as a blade.
“Call for a board meeting immediately.”
“Yes, sir.”
As Evelyn hurried to make the call, the weight of the situation pressed on her. There was no time to dwell on the chaos outside—now, they had a crisis inside the company that could cost them everything.
Minutes later, she found herself walking alongside Leonardo and Leia, their footsteps echoing down the sleek corridors of ImperialReach Telecom . The energy in the office had shifted; whispers of concern buzzed among employees who had already caught wind of the disaster unfolding.
Pushing open the heavy double doors to the boardroom, Evelyn took in the sight of the company’s top executives already seated at the long, polished table. Some whispered among themselves, others sat rigidly, their faces grim. The tension was thick, but when Leonardo stepped inside, the murmurs ceased. His presence commanded absolute focus.
Leonardo’s broad shoulders filled the doorway, swallowing the hallway light like an eclipse and casting long, creeping shadows that stretched into the room like silent warnings.
He took his place at the head of the table, Gru to his right, while Evelyn and Leia settled near the door with their laptops open, ready to document every word. Without preamble, Leonardo leaned forward, elbows resting on the table, his fingers interlaced.
“We don’t have a lot of time, so let’s get straight to the point,” he said, his tone brooking no nonsense. “What do you think happened?”
Gru was the first to speak. “UK Electronics is launching a new product in about a month. Out of nowhere, they suddenly revealed the design first. It seems like they pushed it out early because they know there’s going to be a patent infringement controversy.”
Leonardo exhaled slowly, considering the implications. “Is it possible to change the design now?”
A woman further down the table answered regretfully, “Unfortunately, sir, if we change the design now, we’ll delay the release. That would create a domino effect, pushing back production and causing a failure in our entire product line for the rest of the year.”
Gru nodded. “Realistically, it’s difficult.”
Leonardo tilted his head slightly in acknowledgment before his voice dropped, carrying a sharp edge. “Then what other options do we have?”
A man near the middle of the table hesitated before suggesting, “To give it a competitive edge, we could lower the price slightly and offer a discounted data plan?”
Leonardo’s gaze flicked toward him, unreadable at first—then his expression hardened.
“It hasn’t even been released yet, and you want to lower the price?” His voice was quiet, but the room went still. “I wasn’t aware I was in the business of clearance sales.”
The man’s face turned red as he ducked his head, clearly regretting the suggestion.
Leonardo wasn’t finished. “Do you call that an opinion ?” His tone alone made it clear he expected better.
Silence.
“If we can’t change the design, our function should differ ,” he continued, shifting gears. “Is there any new technology aspect we can borrow from next year’s lineup?”
Gru hesitated before nodding. “Yes, but that will affect the release of the next model.”
Leonardo met his gaze, unflinching. “Do we have a guarantee that there will be a next?”
Another long silence. Then, in a crisp, decisive tone, he ordered, “Improve the picture resolution by thirty percent. Boost the battery life by twenty. Upgrade everything—quality, design, performance. Do everything you can to ensure that by the time this launches, it will outclass whatever they’ve put out.”
He scanned the room, his unique coloured eyes holding each executive in place. “We will reconvene tomorrow. I expect solutions.”
Without another word, he stood, his towering presence making the entire boardroom seem smaller. With a sharp turn, he strode toward the door, leaving no room for discussion.
Evelyn closed her laptop and followed. She knew one thing for certain—this was only the beginning.
As the boardroom doors clicked shut behind Leonardo, a heavy silence settled over the room. The executives exchanged wary glances, their postures still stiff from the weight of the meeting. No one dared to speak at first, as if the residual force of Leonardo’s presence might still be lingering, waiting to catch anyone who let their guard down.
Evelyn and Leia had just risen from their seats when the executive who had suggested the price reduction quickly stepped forward, intercepting Evelyn with an outstretched hand.
“Ms. Freeman,” he said, his voice hushed but urgent. “Look, we just found out about all this this morning too, and the meeting was held before any of us could make countermeasures.” His brows were drawn together, frustration mixing with unease.
Another executive beside him nodded, his voice lower, almost pleading. “We’re all just a bit flustered. Please talk to him on our behalf.”
Evelyn met their anxious gazes, her own expression calm despite the whirlwind of problems that had just landed on their plates. She understood why they were nervous—Leonardo was a force to be reckoned with, and his standards for competence left no room for hesitation. Still, she wasn’t about to let them spiral.
“Don’t worry,” she reassured them with a small but steady smile. “He must already know.”
That much was certain. Leonardo never walked into a meeting unprepared. If he had come in with such a decisive strategy, it was because he had already accounted for the immediate fallout.
Knowing they needed clear direction, she continued, “Within the day, he’s going to ask you about how you’re going to handle the press. It would help if you find out exactly when the design was patented and gather a summary of any evidence that might prove they stole our design.”
A flicker of relief passed over their faces. They nodded, grasping onto the clarity she had just given them like a lifeline. “Understood,” the first executive said, straightening up.
“Thank you, Ms. Freeman,” the second added before turning away to begin his task.
Evelyn watched as the group dispersed, each of them snapping back into action, their earlier panic replaced with purpose. Once they were gone, she exhaled, mentally shifting gears. There was no time to rest—not with everything that needed to be done.
She turned on her heel and strode back to the main team’s cubicle area, clipboard in hand. As she approached, she could already see them hunched over their desks, eyes darting between computer screens filled with reports, legal documents, and internal project data.
She didn’t hesitate. “Noah, check how each department is doing,” she instructed firmly.
“Got it,” Noah responded immediately, fingers already flying over his keyboard as he accessed a company-wide dashboard.
“Toni and Leia,” Evelyn continued, shifting her focus to the two women nearby. “Go to the legal team and discuss the lawsuits. We need to know exactly what angle we can take and how strong our case is.”
Both women nodded, already reaching for their phones before she had even finished speaking.
“Tony,” she said, glancing toward him, “attend the marketing team’s meeting and get the minutes. I want a full breakdown of how they plan to handle this mess.”
“Of course,” Tony replied without hesitation, pushing back his chair and heading straight for the marketing department.
Evelyn then turned to the last two members of the team—Vincent and Margot. She didn’t need to tell them how serious this was; their expressions already told her they knew.
“Please stay on top of everything,” she said, her voice leaving no room for uncertainty.
Vincent exchanged a glance with Margot before nodding firmly. “We’ve got it covered,” he assured her.
“Whatever happens, we’re not letting them walk all over us,” Margot added, crossing her arms.
A small sense of reassurance settled in Evelyn’s chest. Despite the chaotic morning, despite the sudden crisis, the team was already pulling together.
The hum of typing, the sound of quick conversations, the ringing of phones—everything picked up pace around her. The office was no longer frozen in shock. It was a machine shifting into motion, gears turning, minds working.
And as Evelyn took a step back, letting her team do what they did best, she realized that despite the challenge ahead, they weren’t backing down.
They were ready for a fight.
The crisis wasn’t averted until well into the night. The initial chaos of the day had faded, replaced by a quieter, more focused determination as the final pieces of damage control were set into motion. Only a handful of employees remained, their voices low as they coordinated over calls and reviewed reports. The hum of computers, the occasional shuffle of papers, and the distant clink of a coffee mug against a desk were the only sounds breaking the silence.
Evelyn stretched in her chair at the shared desk she occupied with Leia, rolling her shoulders and tilting her head from side to side to ease the stiffness in her muscles. It had been an exhausting day, but as she exhaled slowly and picked up her iPad, she realized something unexpected—she wasn’t dreading the exhaustion.
Her eyes flicked to her calendar, a notification glowing at the top of her screen:
One week left at ImperialReach.
It was a simple reminder, but it sent a ripple through her.
For so long, she had been bracing herself for this moment. The thought of leaving had once felt like an anchor around her, pulling at her mind with uncertainty. She had spent years here, pushing herself, proving herself. This company had been her world, and now that world was about to close its doors behind her.
But as she sat there now, looking at the date, she realized she wasn’t anxious about it. She didn’t feel the nervous apprehension she had expected.
Instead, she felt... steady.
When had that changed?
Was it because she had worked so hard to ensure a smooth transition? Because she had poured everything she had into making sure she left her mark? Because, deep down, she knew she had outgrown this place?
Or was it because of him?
The thought made her pause, her fingers tightening around the iPad.
Dating Leonardo Andolini had changed things in ways she hadn’t anticipated. He had always been a commanding force in her life—larger than life, impossible to ignore—but now he wasn’t just her boss. He wasn’t just the man she had spent years trying to match in efficiency and drive.
Now, he was something more.
And suddenly, leaving didn’t feel as simple as it once had.
For the first time, she wasn’t sure what came next.
A soft exhale left her lips, but she didn’t dwell on it long. Now wasn’t the time to get lost in what-ifs. There was still work to be done.
Straightening, Evelyn gathered the stack of folders she had accumulated throughout the past hour and headed toward Leonardo’s office.
The doors were slightly ajar, the warm glow of his desk lamp casting soft shadows across the hallway. She stepped inside, her heels making soft, measured clicks against the polished floor.
Leonardo sat behind his massive mahogany desk, a picture of unshaken authority despite the long hours. His suit jacket was draped over the back of his chair, and his shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing his thick, muscular forearms. Even at this hour, he carried himself with an air of control, his powerful frame leaned slightly back in his chair, fingers interlaced over his broad stomach.
His golden eyes lifted as she approached, taking her in with that sharp, unreadable gaze of his.
“Mr. Andolini,” Evelyn began, placing the first folder on his desk. “I talked to the development team. They said they can do the upgrade you wanted.”
Leonardo’s brows lifted slightly, his voice carrying a note of intrigue. “It’s already done?”
She nodded, setting another light blue folder on top of the first. “Yes. The legal team also provided their opinion on the design patent in this report.”
Before he could respond, she placed yet another folder on the growing stack. “And the marketing team prepared press releases regarding the stolen design.”
Finally, she set down the last folder. “And this is the plan for managing the extra budget.”
Leonardo let out a low chuckle, shaking his head slightly as he regarded the neatly stacked reports. There was something almost amused in the way his lips curved. “Things got done faster than even I imagined.”
Evelyn smiled, a light laugh escaping her. “You are pretty fast, sir. But then again, I’ve learned to keep up.”
His chuckle deepened at that, the sound rich and warm. He leaned forward, unfolding his hands and flipping open the first report, his gaze scanning the contents with sharp precision.
Evelyn watched him for a moment, taking in the way his expression shifted as he read—first curiosity, then satisfaction. Even after all these years, she still found it fascinating to watch the way his mind worked. He absorbed information quickly, dissected it even faster, always a step ahead before anyone else had a chance to catch up.
And for so long, she had been running to match his pace.
Now, she was about to stop running.
A week left.
One more week of moments like this.
She wasn’t sure how to feel about that.
But for now, there was still work to be done.
The silence hung for a moment, the weight of unspoken thoughts settling between them. Leonardo flipped through the reports with practiced ease, his large hands moving fluidly over the crisp pages. For a moment, the only sound between them was the faint rustling of paper as he examined the contents. Evelyn took the pause to adjust the folders slightly, smoothing the edges as she waited for his response.
Then, without looking up, he spoke.
“How are you doing, Evelyn?”
His tone was steady, but there was something deliberate in the way he asked—something that made her blink in mild surprise.
“I’m fine,” she said instinctively.
Leonardo finally lifted his gaze, steady and assessing, his eyes searching. “Since Damon’s arrest.”
The words caught her off guard, and for a moment, she had no idea how to respond. She hadn’t thought about Damon once today. Not once.
Her lips parted slightly, then closed again as she tried to process the realization. Damon’s betrayal, his schemes, the way he had used her—it had been a heavy weight on her shoulders for so long. And yet, here she was, standing in Leonardo’s office after an entire day of dealing with a company-wide crisis, and it hadn’t crossed her mind at all.
The corner of her lips quirked upward, not in amusement, but in quiet revelation. “You know... I hadn’t thought about it.”
Leonardo tilted his head slightly, waiting.
Evelyn exhaled, crossing her arms loosely as she considered it. “This crisis—handling everything, coordinating everyone—I guess it kept me too busy to dwell on something that probably would’ve made me very upset.” She let out a small chuckle. “I should probably be mad that I didn’t even get the chance to process it properly.”
Leonardo leaned back slightly, his expression unreadable at first. Then, slowly, his lips curved into a small, satisfied smile.
“Well,” he said, “while I’m not particularly thrilled that this crisis happened…” He tapped his fingers lightly against the desk, considering his next words before settling on something honest. “I am glad you’re not upset. And more importantly—I’m glad you’re safe.”
There was something firm in the way he said it. Not just words of comfort, but a simple, resolute truth.
Evelyn felt her heartbeat slow, a warmth spreading in her chest. She hadn’t realized how much she had needed to hear that—how much it truly mattered. She thought of Damon then, how he had once spoken of power, of possession, of what he expected from her. He and Leonardo had made the same demand, both powerful men with the means to shape the world around them. But it wasn’t their wealth or status that made the difference—it was who they truly were beneath it all.
Damon’s ‘love’ and attention had been a cage, gilded and suffocating, built on expectation and control. Leonardo’s was something else entirely. It was strength without cruelty, dominance without entitlement. He didn’t just want her by his side—he wanted her to be whole, to be safe, to choose him.
And she did. More than ever, she did.
A small, genuine smile softened her features. “Me too.”
Leonardo watched her for a moment longer, then nodded slightly before turning back to the reports, the moment settling comfortably between them.
It wasn’t the grandest of conversations, but somehow, it meant more than either of them said out loud.
Thus, she left his office, and some hours later, the pizza for the team had been ordered and delivered. The scent of garlic and melted cheese lingered in the air as the team gathered around open pizza boxes, the exhaustion of the day melting away under laughter and conversation. The tension from the crisis had finally eased, replaced by the comfort of shared accomplishment. Evelyn sat among them, chewing absentmindedly on a slice of pizza, but her mind was already elsewhere. After a while, she pushed her plate away and stood, stretching before heading back to her desk.
As she settled into her chair, her eyes naturally drifted toward her computer monitor. Along the side, a collection of sticky notes had been carefully placed over the years. Some were curled at the edges, the ink slightly faded from time, but their messages remained clear. ‘Let’s Smile, Evelyn!’ ‘Keep your cool.’ ‘Keep your heart warm.’ And one that had always made her pause—‘Jump in the fire!’ She let out a quiet breath, shaking her head slightly. These little reminders had carried her through countless challenges, pushed her forward when she doubted herself, and now, they stared back at her as she neared the end of this chapter. Just one more week, and it’s over. The thought should have left her with a sense of relief, but instead, there was something else—something unexpected lingering beneath the surface.
Reaching for her purse, her fingers brushed against something thick and sturdy, wedged at the corner of her desk. She hesitated before pulling it out, tilting the cover to read the title. Abroad Business Trip Records. A quiet curiosity pulled at her as she flipped it open, her eyes scanning the pages.
The binder was filled with reports, notes, and most strikingly, photographs—moments she had nearly forgotten. She saw images of herself and Leonardo from various trips, their relationship unfolding like a slow-moving film reel. In the earliest ones, they barely acknowledged each other, standing at opposite ends of the frame, their interactions cold and professional. There were captured moments of heated discussions, tense meetings, and long flights where neither spoke a word. But as she flipped further, the tone of the pictures changed. Their stances were closer. Their expressions more open. One photo showed Leonardo leaning over her shoulder as she pointed at something with a pen, another of them deep in conversation over a shared tablet screen. Then, one where she was laughing at something, and though he wasn’t looking at the camera, the smallest trace of amusement was visible in his expression. These weren’t just work trips. They were pieces of something more, fragments of a connection that had evolved before she had even realized it.
The sound of approaching footsteps pulled her from her thoughts. She quickly closed the binder and looked up just as Leonardo rounded the corner, his imposing frame blocking the dim hallway light. His golden eyes, always sharp and observant, flickered toward her.
“I’ll take you home,” he said simply, his voice deep but softer than usual.
Evelyn hesitated for a moment before nodding.
The drive was quiet, the hum of the car engine filling the space between them. Leonardo’s hands rested on the wheel, his movements steady and relaxed, but his silence held a weight to it. Evelyn found herself glancing at him every so often, studying the man beside her. It was strange to think about how far they had come. How much had changed between them. She wondered if he was thinking the same thing, but his expression was unreadable.
When they pulled up to her small townhome, he stepped out without hesitation, rounding the car to walk her to her door. The air was crisp, and the night was calm, save for the distant chirping of crickets. As they reached her doorstep, Evelyn slowed to a stop and turned to him.
“Sir… Leo,” she corrected herself, feeling the shift in what she was about to say. “I have something to tell you.”
Leonardo waited, his piercing gaze locked onto hers, patient but intent.
“I… I won’t quit my job.”
For the first time that night, surprise flickered across his face. His brow lifted slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I want to stay beside you as your secretary.”
Leonardo’s eyes searched hers, as if trying to decipher the reasoning behind her words. “Is this because of what happened earlier?” His voice was gentle, careful. “You don’t have to worry about the company. You know I can adapt to almost any situation. So go—feel free to find what you want to do.”
Evelyn exhaled a small laugh and shook her head. “I found it,” she said simply. “I think staying as your secretary is what I want to do. Maybe I’ve been doing the job that I’m not only good at but is actually perfect for me. I’ve gotten too used to it, and I didn’t even realize it until now.”
Leonardo didn’t speak, didn’t interrupt, just listened as she continued.
“I like assisting someone. I like solving problems that break out. I love the sense of achievement when everything comes together after the chaos.” Her voice softened as she looked up at him. “And most importantly, I don’t want the person I love to be in trouble.”
Leonardo’s breath caught, his lips parting slightly, but no words came out. He looked utterly, completely stunned. The sharp, composed CEO, the man who always seemed to have control over every situation, was now speechless.
Evelyn smiled at his expression. “Honestly, who else would be able to handle you?” She took a step closer, her presence warm against the cool night air. “You tried to let me go because you love me. But because I love you, I want to stay beside you.”
Leonardo’s throat moved as he swallowed, his broad chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths. His goldenesque eyes, always so guarded, shimmered in the dim porch light. He didn’t speak, but the emotion in his gaze said enough.
Evelyn reached for the doorknob, pausing for only a second before tilting her head toward the inside of her home.
“Come in,” she offered, her voice light but inviting. “I’ll make some tea.”
Leonardo stood still for a moment longer, as if processing everything she had just said. Then, with a slow, steady nod, he followed her inside.
...:TBC:...
Chapter 8: Chapter 6b
Notes:
Rating: PG-13
Warning: THERE'S A LOT OF BLOOD, TORTURE, ANIMAL FIGHTS, MINOR CHARACTER DEATH. Turn back now if that's not something you want to read. You hath been warned.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyright material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. I only own my original characters.
Author's Note: Where there are words and phrases underlined and italicized this shows that the speakers are talking in a completely made up language.
Author's Note 2: Leonardo is known by three names: Andrea, his childhood birth name/now middle name. His island name from the island kids were Leochiro. (This is a combination of the three italian words: Leone meaning lion, Occhi meaning eyes, and d’Oro meaning golden.) And Leonardo given to him by an older man in his childhood.
Author's Note 3: Okay! Last update for the week! Thank you all for reading my story so far! It's been so much fun to write and I can't wait for you all to see how it all turns out!!! As usual, please R&R!
Chapter Text
A month had passed since that night on her doorstep. True to her words, Evelyn remained by Leonardo’s side, her resignation long forgotten. The days had fallen back into their familiar rhythm—early mornings, back-to-back meetings, solving problems before they even reached his desk. But something was different now. There was a warmth between them, a a subtle understanding that had developed in the quiet moments, unspoken yet undeniable, woven into their interactions.
Now, she found herself preparing for yet another business trip, this time to San Lorenzo. The small country, once a British colony, had gained independence in 1969 and now served as a rising economic hub. Leonardo had arranged the trip with Gru and his secretary, Yvette Nichol, to finalize a major telecommunications partnership.
As Evelyn approached the polished, silver-lined private jet on the tarmac, she glanced at Leonardo, who stood beside her with an expression that hinted at amusement. She raised an eyebrow.
“You’re flying the jet?” she asked, noting the way he carried himself with the quiet confidence of a man entirely in his element.
Leonardo smirked, leading her up the steps. “Surprised?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “I thought you hired pilots for this sort of thing.”
“I did. For this trip, you’re looking at him.”
Evelyn shook her head, but a small smile tugged at her lips as she stepped into the luxurious cabin. Gru and Yvette were already inside, settling in for the flight. Evelyn took her usual seat, quickly pulling out her tablet to review the itinerary.
Hours passed in smooth flight. The hum of the engines blended with the occasional conversation from the cabin. Evelyn had just finished typing a note when the overhead speaker crackled to life.
“Evelyn, join me in the cockpit.”
She blinked, momentarily caught off guard, but stood and made her way forward. As she entered, the door closed behind her with a soft click.
Leonardo kept his eyes on the horizon, one hand steady on the controls as the other adjusted a few dials. The cockpit was dimly lit, the glow of the control panel illuminating his sharp features. He didn’t turn to face her just yet, but his tone was quieter when he spoke.
“How are you feeling?”
Evelyn hesitated. “About what?”
Leonardo’s goldenesque eyes flickered toward her. “About Damon.”
Her breath caught for a moment. The news had come in just yesterday—Damon had been granted bail. Not only that, but he had managed to slip past authorities and flee the country.
She let out a slow exhale. “I don’t know,” she admitted, crossing her arms. “It’s frustrating, of course. But… I guess I haven’t really processed it yet.”
Leonardo studied her for a long moment before nodding. “That’s understandable.” His voice was steady, reassuring. “It’s not something you have to carry alone.”
Evelyn glanced down, a small part of her grateful for the way he always seemed to know when to check in. “I appreciate that,” she said softly.
As Leonardo gave her that look—steady, unwavering—Evelyn felt the truth in his words settle in her chest. Then, after a brief pause, his expression shifted just slightly, the corner of his mouth tilting up in a way that softened the intensity of the moment.
“Now, go sit down before Gru starts thinking I kidnapped you mid-flight.”
The light teasing in his voice made her roll her eyes, but the chuckle that escaped her was genuine. As she turned back toward the main cabin, the weight that had been pressing on her shoulders felt just a little lighter.
The private jet hummed around them, its sleek interior bathed in the dim, ambient glow of warm LED lights. Plush leather seats lined the space, the scent of polished wood and faintly lingering cologne giving an air of effortless luxury. Across the aisle, Gru leaned back in his chair, stretching with a groan at the same time as his secretary stood up from her seat.
“Oh, while you’re up, can you pass me my herbal medicine that I packed?” he asked his secretary.
Yvette, known for her occasional lack of coordination, nodded with a smile. She moved a bit hesitantly, as if trying to avoid drawing attention to her slight awkwardness toward the mini-fridge, her crisp white blouse catching the soft overhead lighting. Opening the small compartment, she retrieved one of the two drink pouches inside. But then, after a brief hesitation, she plucked the second one as well. Closing the fridge, she returned to Gru’s side, handing him a pouch while keeping her own.
Looking at Evelyn, Gru smirked. “It’s an amazing energy booster, but it’s pretty expensive.”
Evelyn mirrored his grin. “That means it’s worth every drop.”
Satisfied, Gru tore open the pouch and began drinking, the thick green liquid vanishing in a matter of seconds. He rolled his shoulders, exhaling as a renewed energy surged through him. Flexing his fingers, he felt the subtle tingling sensation spread through his chest and stomach. He gave his sternum a few satisfied pats, reveling in the immediate effects.
“Oh yeah, I can already feel it working,” he mused, blinking rapidly as if even his vision had sharpened.
But then—
A sharp gasp cut through the moment.
Yvette, still holding her own pouch, had frozen in place. Her wide eyes darted between Evelyn and Gru, her fingers nervously toying with the drink in her grasp.
“Oh no…”
The sudden shift in her tone sent a spike of unease through Gru. He furrowed his brows. “What? What happened? Please don’t ruin this for me. I’m feeling alive again.”
Yvette swallowed, her voice tight with guilt. “Well, sir… I drank… your herbal medicine energy drink.”
Inside Gru’s mind, it was as if a record player had come to a screeching halt, his thoughts grinding to a sudden, jarring stop.
Gru’s gaze dropped to the pouch still clutched in his hand. Slowly, he lifted it, scanning the label.
Weight Loss Aid & Appetite Suppressant.
His eye twitched.
“Whaaa?!” His voice pitched slightly as realization dawned.
Yvette winced. “That was my herbal medicine… for weight loss.”
A beat passed.
Gru looked back at his pouch. Then at Yvette. Then at the pouch again. His fingers tightened around it before he slowly, almost ceremoniously, crumpled the empty packet in his hand.
With a tight, almost too-calm smile, he exhaled. “I wonder if there’s an herbal medicine that reduces the need to scream and suppress volcanic anger.”
Yvette’s expression was equal parts regret and fear. “I… don’t think so, sir.”
“Really? Too bad.” He leaned back in his seat, his lips pressed in a thin line. “’Cause I really need that kind of medicine right about now.”
The two exchanged awkward laughs, tension breaking into something bordering on absurdity. Meanwhile, Evelyn bit her lip, struggling to contain her amusement. With a barely restrained smirk, she excused herself and made her way to the cockpit, where Leonardo was flying, leaving Gru to silently mourn his lost energy boost.
The days in San Lorenzo passed in a relentless blur of negotiations, strategic discussions, and high-profile meetings. Leonardo, Gru, and their respective teams had worked tirelessly to finalize the business acquisition, securing not only a lucrative partnership but also a dominant foothold in the region for ImperialReach Telecom. Meetings stretched for hours inside large boardrooms, the air thick with the scent of polished wood, freshly brewed coffee, and the occasional tang of expensive cologne. Deals were struck, quite a few contracts revised, and power shifted in subtle but undeniable ways.
Despite the weight of their work, the atmosphere was lighter than expected—Gru’s animated energy an entertaining contrast to Leonardo’s more calculated intensity. Gru would even sparingly throw in an exaggerated sigh or a dramatic flourish mid-negotiation, his theatrical exasperation earning him a sharp but amused glance from Leonardo. Evelyn and Yvette, ever-efficient, handled logistics behind the scenes, ensuring that schedules remained tight and that their bosses were where they needed to be at the right time, with the right information. It was a delicate balancing act, but by the time their final meeting concluded, a tangible sense of accomplishment filled the air.
As Evelyn stepped out of the grand stone building where they had spent the better part of the day, the golden hues of the setting sun bathed the city in a warm, amber glow. San Lorenzo was alive with its usual rhythm—laughter spilling from open-air cafés, the chatter of locals and tourists mingling in the streets, the enticing aroma of grilled meats and spices drifting from nearby food stalls. The gentle hum of street performers playing traditional melodies mixed with the distant honking of cars navigating the cobblestone roads. The city felt vibrant, welcoming, even as dusk began to settle.
Adjusting the strap of her bag, Evelyn exhaled, feeling the slight tension in her shoulders begin to ease. She turned to Leonardo, who stood beside her, his broad frame subtly tensed, golden eyes scanning their surroundings. Even in the warm evening light, there was a sharpness to him, something instinctual—protective.
“Not bad for a business trip,” she mused, her tone light. Yet, even as she spoke, she noticed how his gaze never stopped moving, sweeping over the shifting crowds with the precision of a predator monitoring potential threats.
Leonardo smirked slightly but didn’t immediately respond. Instead, he let his gaze drift toward Gru and Yvette, who stood a few feet away engaged in a discussion about their separate evening plans. There was something different about him in that moment—his usual aura of dominance remained, but a quiet alertness layered over it, as though he were waiting for something.
Evelyn frowned, concern threading through her voice. “Are you alright?”
Before he could answer, the sharp, unmistakable crack of a gunshot split the air.
The sound sent a jolt through Evelyn’s body. Panic flickered in her mind, but she barely had time to register it before an iron grip closed around her wrist.
One moment, she was standing—the next, she was being yanked down with staggering force. Leonardo moved with the speed of instinct, his massive frame shielding her just as a bullet tore through the air, striking the stone column behind them. Debris burst outward in sharp fragments, peppering the pavement.
Screams erupted from the bystanders, people scrambling for cover as the lively street transformed into chaos in an instant. The scent of gunpowder mingled with the evening air, thick and acrid. Footsteps pounded against the cobblestone as people ran in every direction, the once-bustling street now a frenzied scene of fear.
Evelyn’s breath hitched, heart hammering in her chest. She twisted beneath Leonardo’s heavy weight, struggling to process what had just happened. Another shot rang out—a second bullet, aimed directly at Leonardo.
And then—
A pained cry.
The shooter—a disheveled man in dark clothing—staggered back, a fresh wound blooming in his arm. His fingers spasmed, and for a brief second, the gun slipped from his grip, clattering onto the pavement. But desperation fueled him. Gritting his teeth, he lunged for the weapon, snatching it up with his uninjured hand. His breath came in ragged gasps as he steadied his aim once more, this time locking onto Leonardo with wild determination.
Evelyn inhaled sharply, her mind racing as another shot rang out. Just as the trigger was pulled, a pained cry tore through the chaos once again. The gunman's body jerked violently, his shot going wide as fresh blood seeped between his fingers. His strength faltered completely this time, and the gun slipped from his grasp for the last time, landing on the pavement with a dull clink.
Then, from the shadows of a nearby alley, a figure emerged with controlled precision. His steps were deliberate, his presence undeniable.
Edgardo!
Evelyn had never seen him in action before, but now she understood exactly why Leonardo trusted him implicitly. He moved with a speed and efficiency that was almost unnatural for someone his size, closing the distance between himself and the shooter in an instant. Before the man could react, Edgardo delivered a brutal strike to his gut, sending him sprawling onto the pavement. The hitman barely had time to gasp for breath before he was flipped onto his stomach, his arm wrenched back at an angle that made him scream.
Leonardo exhaled slowly, his expression disturbingly calm for someone who had just been the target of an assassination attempt. He adjusted the cuffs of his suit, dusting off invisible debris before finally glancing at Evelyn, who was still catching her breath.
“You knew,” she accused, eyes narrowing.
Leonardo didn’t deny it. Instead, he tilted his head slightly, the corner of his mouth twitching in faint amusement. “Of course.”
Evelyn’s heart was still pounding. “You set him up.”
“No,” Leonardo corrected smoothly, his voice almost casual. “He set himself up the moment he agreed to work for Damon.”
At the mention of the name, Evelyn felt something cold settle in her stomach. “Damon sent him?”
Leonardo nodded. “He followed us here. Hired this idiot to take care of the job.” He cast an unimpressed glance at the struggling hitman, who was groaning beneath Edgardo’s weight. “But I don’t leave loose ends.”
Evelyn shivered slightly at the finality in his tone.
Within minutes, the San Lorenzo authorities arrived, weapons drawn. But rather than escalating the situation, the officers seemed to recognize Leonardo immediately. One of them nodded in his direction before turning to the downed hitman with clear disdain.
“We’ll take it from here,” one of the officers stated, his tone clipped.
“Make sure he’s comfortable,” Leonardo replied smoothly, the irony in his voice unmistakable.
The hitman, still pinned, let out a desperate, breathless wheeze. “Wait—wait! I’ll talk!” he gasped. “I’ll tell you where Damon is! Just—just don’t lock me in the tombs!”
At this, Evelyn saw the briefest flicker of satisfaction cross Leonardo’s face.
“Good choice,” he murmured.
The information was extracted swiftly. The hitman, desperate to save himself from a fate worse than death, gave up Damon’s exact location without hesitation. The San Lorenzo authorities wasted no time. By the time the authorities stormed the secluded villa he had been hiding in, the sun was barely peeking over the horizon, casting long shadows over the estate’s marble courtyard. The luxurious property itself was perched on a cliffside balcony overlooking the dense San Lorenzo jungle, and a private pool glistening under the early morning light. But all the luxury in the world couldn’t protect Damon from what was coming.
The moment the San Lorenzo police breached the front entrance, chaos erupted. Officers in tactical gear swarmed the premises, their boots thudding against the pristine floors as they cleared room after room with military precision. Damon, who had been lounging in the upstairs suite with a glass of expensive brandy in hand, barely had time to register the noise before his bedroom door was kicked open.
“What the hell?!” He shot up from his chair, eyes wild as he reached for a pistol sitting on the nightstand.
“Don’t even think about it,” one of the officers growled, leveling a shotgun at his chest.
Damon froze, his fingers twitching just inches from the weapon. The lead officer, a stern-faced man with graying hair, stepped forward, his dark eyes filled with disgust.
“Damon Mackenzie,” he announced, his accent thick with the sharp edges of San Lorenzo’s native dialect. “You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, attempted assassination, and illegal entry into San Lorenzo.”
Damon scoffed, though there was an unmistakable hint of panic creeping into his expression. “This is ridiculous. I’m an American. I’m a lawyer, not some common criminal!”
The officer smirked. “Oh? Then I suppose you’ll be happy to explain why an amateur hitman with two broken ribs just gave us your exact location in exchange for a lighter sentence?”
Damon’s face paled. “That little rat—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the officers seized him. One grabbed his wrist, twisting his arm behind his back with practiced ease. Damon let out a strangled grunt as his other hand was wrenched behind him, cold metal cuffs snapping around his wrists.
“This is a mistake,” he hissed through clenched teeth. “You have no jurisdiction over me! I demand extradition—”
The lead officer chuckled darkly. “San Lorenzo doesn’t recognize extradition treaties.”
Damon’s struggles became more frantic. “You can’t do this! I have rights!”
“Not here, you don’t.” The officer’s voice was laced with amusement as he gave Damon a rough shove, forcing him forward.
As they dragged him down the grand staircase, Damon’s protests turned into desperate pleas. “Listen! I can make you an offer! Money—whatever you want, just name your price!”
No one even acknowledged him.
The walk to the transport vehicle felt agonizingly long for Damon, but for the officers, it was just another routine capture. By the time they threw him into the back of the armoured truck, his arrogance had shattered completely.
“You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice almost frantic now. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with.”
The officer standing at the door simply smirked. “No, Mackenzie. You don’t.”
With that, the doors slammed shut, sealing him in darkness.
The officer’s footsteps faded, the sound of the heavy door slamming shut echoing in Damon’s ears. The moment the metal thud reverberated through the room, the weight of his situation began to settle in. The trial was over within mere hours. San Lorenzo had little patience for criminals who disrupted their peace, and even less for foreign fugitives who thought they could outmaneuver their system. There was no drawn-out court battle, no back-and-forth arguments. Just cold, efficient justice. Damon was sentenced to life imprisonment, locked away in the Tombs —an ancient underground prison beneath Parliament, infamous for housing only the most irredeemable criminals. No extradition. No second chances. As the heavy iron doors of the Tombs slammed shut behind him, Damon’s fate was sealed.
Early the following morning, Evelyn and Leonardo were informed of Damon’s capture over a quiet breakfast at their hotel. The atmosphere was relaxed, almost eerily so, as Leonardo sipped his espresso, listening to the report.
“He put up quite the fight,” the officer mused dryly. “Thought he could bribe his way out. He’s not the first to make that mistake.”
Leonardo hummed in amusement, setting his cup down. “And now?”
The officer chuckled. “He’s already in the Tombs. Trial lasted less than three hours. The judge didn’t even bother leaving the courthouse—just signed off on the life sentence and had him transferred.”
Evelyn blinked, momentarily taken aback. “That fast?”
“San Lorenzo doesn’t waste time,” the officer replied. “People like him? They don’t get second chances.”
Leonardo’s golden eyes glinted as he leaned back in his chair. “Good.”
Evelyn exhaled, staring down at her plate, suddenly finding it difficult to process how swiftly justice had been delivered.
“He’s really going to rot there, isn’t he?” she murmured.
Leonardo didn’t answer immediately. He simply reached for his espresso again, taking a slow sip before meeting her gaze.
“He made his choice.”
And with that, the matter was closed.
By the time Evelyn and Leonardo boarded the private jet home, the ordeal was over. The world moved on as if nothing had happened. But as Evelyn settled into her seat, staring out at the vast sky beyond the window, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted between them—that their time in San Lorenzo had marked a change neither of them had fully processed yet.
After the whirlwind of events that had unfolded, the flight back to Los Angeles had been a quiet, uneventful one. By the time they touched down, the city’s skyline was bathed in the soft glow of twilight, the first stars beginning to pierce the dusky sky. The drive to Evelyn’s townhome was peaceful, the hum of the engine filling the space as the quiet comfort of the evening settled over them. Streetlights flickered on as they passed, casting long shadows over the rows of neatly kept townhomes.
As they drove through the quiet streets, the rhythmic motion of the car and the steady hum of the engine lulled Evelyn into a thoughtful silence. Her gaze flickered to the passing streetlights, their glow illuminating the contours of Leonardo’s face in fleeting intervals. There was an ease in the atmosphere, a stark contrast to the chaos they had left behind in San Lorenzo. Yet, amidst the calm, her mind drifted to her Ma-Two’s words, the wisdom passed down with the sharp clarity of experience.
"He doesn’t call you, he doesn’t like you. He doesn’t keep his word, he doesn’t like you. He’s inconsistent, he has someone else. He only calls you when he wants something, he’s using you. If he starts random arguments, he’s cheating on you. If he’s not investing in you, you’re not worth the investment. If you’ve never met his family, then you’re not the one. If you’ve been in a weird arrangement-relationship with him for five or more years—no ring, no marriage, and no real understanding of commitment—he’s still searching, and you’re a placeholder. Men are really not that complicated. Are they simple? No. But they are more simple than women. Men generally don’t talk with their words, they talk with their actions."
Evelyn let the words settle, rolling them over in her mind like smooth stones in her palm. She stole a glance at Leonardo. He had always been different—consistent in his own way, a man of action rather than empty promises. He was neither careless nor deceptive, but he was difficult to read, his intensity sometimes masking his intent. He had shielded her without hesitation, protected her without question. And yet, did that mean anything beyond instinct? Beyond the responsibility he carried for those in his inner circle?
The quiet stretched between them, comfortable yet laced with unspoken thoughts. When Leonardo finally pulled into her driveway and shifted the car into park, she turned to him, hesitating for only a moment.
“Do you want to come inside for dinner?”
Leonardo’s gaze flicked to her, unreadable for a beat before he gave a single nod. “Alright.”
Evelyn smiled, pushing open the door and leading him up the short path. Unlocking the door, she stepped inside first, setting her bag down before turning to see Leonardo standing just inside, his sharp gaze immediately settling on the new sofa in the living room.
“At least this one won’t break,” he remarked, smirking.
Evelyn let out a soft laugh, remembering the moment the last one had collapsed under his weight—with her sitting beside him. The sheer force had sent them both tumbling, but all she could remember was the way she had taken it in stride, uncaring about the sofa, because she loved him. She had reassured him that it didn’t matter, that she didn’t mind.
“You were a little too smug about that, you know,” she said, crossing her arms. “Wait… how do you know this one won’t break?”
Leonardo’s expression didn’t change. “I had it reinforced.”
She blinked, caught off guard. “You—wait. You had this sofa reinforced? With what?”
“Quality material.” He walked over and gave it an assessing nod. “Steel frame, weight distribution adjustments. It’ll hold.”
Evelyn stared at him, speechless for a long moment before shaking her head with a soft, disbelieving chuckle. “Of course you did.”
She huffed again, running a hand through her hair before giving him a wry look. “Well, I guess I should start dinner.”
Leonardo followed her into the kitchen, standing near the doorway as she moved to the fridge. Just as she began gathering ingredients, he spoke.
“I’ll help.”
Evelyn paused, her hands hovering over the counter as she turned to look at him. His offer took her by surprise, and for a second, she wasn’t sure she’d heard him right.
Leonardo must have noticed her shock because he sighed, giving her a knowing look. “I’m not going to be an entitled and selfish husband to you, Evelyn.”
The words struck her harder than she expected. She swallowed, searching his face, but there was no teasing, no smugness—just quiet certainty.
A warmth spread through her chest, though she quickly shook her head to clear it. “Alright then,” she murmured, turning back to the counter. “Let’s see if you can actually cook in the kitchen and not just in the wilderness.”
Leonardo smirked but didn’t argue. Instead, he rolled up his sleeves and stepped beside her, easily moving through the small kitchen. He took over chopping vegetables while she prepared the stove, and soon, they were working in sync.
Every so often, their hands brushed as they reached for the same utensil. His presence was impossible to ignore—too big, too steady, too much of everything she’d never let herself want. And yet, the simple act of preparing a meal together felt… natural.
Evelyn nearly fumbled the bottle of cayenne pepper when Leonardo moved—so fast, so fluid, it was almost unnatural. His agility was positively reptilian, a sudden shift from stillness to motion that never failed to unnerve her. One second, he was across the kitchen, and in the blink of an eye, he was behind her, close enough that she could feel the faint warmth radiating from him. No matter how many times she witnessed it, she never quite got used to the way he could move—silent, precise, as if gravity itself bent to his will.
He straightened to his full, imposing height, holding out the seasoning as if nothing had happened. Evelyn took it from him, but instead of stepping away, she caught his wrist, tilting her head up to meet his gaze. Something flickered in those golden eyes—something unreadable, curious.
Without thinking too much about it, she tugged him down to her level and pressed a light kiss against the scar on his cheek.
Leonardo froze. Not in the calculated way he usually did, but with the kind of hesitation that betrayed him. His breath hitched—just for a fraction of a second—before a slow, deep flush crept up his neck and onto his face. He gave a short nod, as if confirming something to himself, then quickly turned back to chopping vegetables, his focus suddenly far too intense for such a simple task.
Evelyn bit back a smile, shaking her head as she finished preparing the meal. Once everything was ready, they plated their food and carried it into the living room, the quiet warmth of the moment lingering between them.
Leonardo sat down first, lowering himself onto the new sofa with deliberate weight. He shifted slightly, testing it. It held firm.
Evelyn sat beside him, watching his reaction. “See? Told you it wouldn’t break.”
He shot her a dry look before taking a bite of his food. “You didn’t tell me that. I told you that.”
She grinned, nudging him playfully with her knee before turning her attention to her plate.
They ate in comfortable silence, the sounds of the neighborhood drifting in through the window. It wasn’t something grand or elaborate, but as Evelyn glanced at Leonardo—relaxed in her space, at ease in a way she rarely saw—she knew it meant something.
Maybe he wasn’t just replacing furniture. Maybe, in his own quiet way, he was trying to make sure he belonged here too.
After dinner, they worked side by side in the small kitchen, washing and putting away the dishes together. It was a quiet, shared rhythm—Leonardo dried as Evelyn rinsed, their movements seamless. Every so often, she’d glance up at him, catching the way he handled the plates with surprising care for someone with hands as massive as his.
When the last dish was placed in the cabinet, Leonardo didn’t make any move to leave. Instead, he followed her back to the living room, settling onto the sofa as if he belonged there. Evelyn curled up beside him, and with little hesitation, he rested an arm around her, his warmth wrapping around her like a second blanket.
The television hummed softly in the background, the screen glowing with images of the savanna. A nature documentary played, the narrator’s soothing voice explaining the intricacies of lion pride dynamics.
“Despite popular belief, the male lion rarely—if ever—participates in the hunt. The lionesses do most of the work, while the males—”
“That’s not entirely true,” Leonardo murmured.
Evelyn blinked, tilting her head up at him. “What?”
He didn’t immediately respond, his gaze still fixed on the screen, but there was something in his expression—something distant, thoughtful.
“How do you know?” she asked before she could stop herself.
Leonardo paused. The weight of his silence filled the space between them, stretching long enough that she felt she had overstepped.
“I—sorry,” she said quickly, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
His thumb moved against her arm in response—just a small, absent motion, but it caught her attention. The rough texture of his calloused skin against her smooth arm sent an unexpected warmth through her. The gentle yet coarse scratch of his touch was comforting, grounding.
The moment felt suspended in time. She should have been focusing on his answer—if he even planned to give one—but instead, she was distracted by how careful he was with her. For all his strength, for all his size, he was touching her like she was something precious.
When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter, tinged with something unreadable.
“I lived among them,” he admitted. “For years.”
Evelyn’s breath hitched. She lifted her head slightly, searching his face. “What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t raised by people,” Leonardo said simply, his thumb still moving in slow, absent strokes against her skin. “Not for a long time.”
Evelyn had always known there was something different about him—something deeper than his presence, his power, his intelligence. But this… this was something else entirely.
Evelyn hesitated for only a moment before lifting her hand, her fingers grazing over the long scar that stretched across his cheekbone. The ridges were uneven beneath her fingertips, a stark contrast to the warmth of his skin.
“You don’t have to tell me,” she said softly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”
Leonardo’s brows furrowed slightly, his expression unreadable. But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he reached up, gently guiding her hand back to the scar. His palm, broad and warm, covered the back of her hand as he held it there, as if grounding himself in the moment.
The rough pad of his thumb dragged slowly across the top of her hand, the friction leaving behind the faintest flush on her skin. The contrast between his calloused touch and her softness made her shiver—again, not from discomfort, but from the intimacy of it. His fingers, so capable of destruction, were impossibly gentle with her.
Leonardo exhaled, the tension in his frame easing as he relaxed into her touch. His lips quirked into a faint smile, one that barely reached his eyes. “It’s okay.”
Evelyn studied him, uncertain of her next question but unwilling to let the moment pass.
Her voice was careful, quiet. “Did this happen in the wild?”
Leonardo’s mind drifted back to Vulci, to the moment his father handed him over to Don Zeno. The memory was sharp, unforgiving. Even now, he could feel the phantom ache of every bone-breaking blow that had shaped him.
The boy had a fresh set of bruises that disfigured his face, swelling his eye shut, splitting his lip, and painting his skin in violent shades of purple, blue, and sickly yellow. But the worst of it wasn’t on his face—it was what lay beneath his tattered shirt, where the bruises no doubt overflowed onto his chest and back, a grotesque masterpiece of suffering.
His midsection had been a target for brutality, beaten relentlessly with fists, boots, and wooden rods until pain blurred into something constant, something inescapable. He had tasted blood for so long that he had forgotten what it was like not to. Bile had burned its way up his throat, and sometimes worse—thicker, darker things that told him something inside was broken.
There was no anesthesia in the Don’s cellar. No mercy. Only the disgusting lithe hands of a former surgeon, stitching him together like he was nothing more than a butchered animal. Every crude suture tugged at torn flesh, each twist of the needle sent shockwaves of agony through his small, battered frame. Bones were snapped back into place with brutal efficiency, set as close to normal as possible without care for his cries or the way his body seized against the restraints.
Pain became his only companion. His breath, a measured thing between waves of torment. He lived in suffering, endured it, adapted to it.
Until an unconventional saviour came—not with gentle hands or whispered reassurances, but with something more explosive.
Leonardo exhaled slowly, grounding himself in the present. The weight of the memories pressed against his ribs, but beside him, Evelyn was warm—solid. Her presence was an anchor, pulling him back from the abyss of recollection.
His thumb traced another slow, absent-minded circle over the back of her hand before he finally spoke.
"Do you remember what I told you about my parents?" His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—something restrained, something careful.
Evelyn nodded without hesitation. “Yes,” she said softly. “You told me they gave you away.”
Her fingers curled slightly against his, a silent reassurance. She didn’t pry, didn’t press, just waited.
Leonardo’s jaw tensed, his gaze distant. “There’s more. A lot more,” he murmured.
Evelyn said nothing, only held his gaze, offering him the space to continue at his own pace. The weight of his words settled between them like an unspoken promise—one he was finally ready to break.
Leonardo exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening around hers for the briefest moment before he let go. He leaned back, his broad shoulders shifting as if bracing for something unseen. When he finally spoke, his voice was quieter than before, rougher.
“I remember the day they left me,” he murmured. “I remember how beautiful it was.”
His eyes darkened, lost in something distant. “The sky was so blue—endless. The sun was warm, but there was a breeze, just enough to keep it from being too hot. It felt… comforting.” His throat tightened. “I think that’s what made it worse. That a day like that could hold something so ugly.”
His breath came slower now, more measured. “I was scared. I didn’t understand what was happening at first. But I constantly thought that they would come back.” A mirthless chuckle escaped him. “I waited.”
The words lingered, heavy and raw, before time folded in on itself.
Darkness—endless and suffocating—pressed in from all sides, the sting of salt in the air mixing with the sharp bite of the whip as it tore through his skin, each strike cutting deeper than the last. Time had no meaning here. Seconds, minutes, hours—it was all the same in the dark. Leonardo barely registered its passage, lost in the agony that stretched on without end. The whip came down again. And again. “ Please, no more. Please.” His voice was hoarse, barely a whisper, but he didn’t know if he had spoken the words aloud or if they were trapped inside his head. His body had long since given up fighting, but his mind still begged. “ I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He wasn’t sure what for anymore. Maybe for existing. Maybe for breathing.
Then, a particularly brutal lash tore through his back, and this time, he couldn’t hold it in. A scream tore from his throat, raw and guttural. It bounced off the damp stone walls, swallowed by the vast emptiness of the cellar. He sobbed, barely able to inhale between the spasms of pain.
The whip stopped.
Footsteps retreated, the heavy boots echoing in his ears as relief flooded through his shredded nerves. It was over. For now.
His barbed wire restraints still bit into his wrists and ankles, his own blood running sluggishly down his legs, sticky and warm. Every breath sent pain lancing through his ribs, but at least they weren’t hitting him anymore. At least they—
Laughter.
A sickening, high-pitched sound.
Young Andrea.
The boy laughed and laughed, the sound jagged, hysterical, and broken. He didn’t stop. He couldn’t stop. His laughter spiraled into dry, aching sobs, his throat too ravaged to make any real sound anymore. His body shook with the effort, but there was nothing left to give.
Then, footsteps.
Coming closer.
A fresh wave of nausea curled in his stomach. He tried to brace himself, but his limbs were useless, trembling and weak from hunger, from exhaustion, from pain. His stomach twisted, and suddenly, he was retching, dry heaves racked his frame, his body folding in on itself as bile burned its way up his throat, spilling hot and acrid down his chinn.
A hand. On his face.
Rough fingers gripped his chin, tilting it upward. His skin stuck to the blood drying on his cheeks. The touch wasn’t cruel, but it wasn’t kind either.
Andrea didn’t resist.
He had no fight left.
Let it end, he thought numbly. A quick snap. A blade. A bullet. I probably won’t even feel it. Please.
But they let go.
He was never that lucky.
Suddenly, strong arms lifted him. It was too deliberate to be another act of cruelty, and that unsettled him. He expected agony, but this was… gentle. The chains loosened. His legs collapsed beneath him, too weak to hold his weight, and he crumpled.
Pressure at his sides again. Lifting him.
Not back to his cell.
Something was shoved into his mouth. He gagged, the taste of copper filling his senses. Blood. It was blood. But there was something else, something solid. He tried to spit it out, but a hand clamped over his jaw.
A whisper, hot and rancid against his ear.
“Eat. You need your strength. What they are going to do next will hurt even more if you don’t.”
And suddenly, he realized—
It was gravel.
Again.
Sharp, jagged stones, the same ones he had coughed up before, now slick with his own blood, his own flesh.
A broken sob wracked his body as he choked it down, tears falling freely, unchecked.
This wasn’t survival.
This was something else entirely.
And then came the reminder—sharp, unrelenting, impossible to ignore. The cold bite of metal pressed harder against Andrea’s throat, the curved edge of the crowbar digging into his flesh with cruel precision. His pulse pounded against the steel, a frantic drumbeat beneath the suffocating weight of despair. He dared not move, dared not breathe too deeply, lest Zeno take it as an excuse to press harder—to make him struggle just for the pleasure of watching him squirm.
Mantis and Butcher held him firm, their fingers like vices around his arms, the pressure sending lightning bolts of pain through his already brutalized body. Every movement, every subtle shift, sent fresh agony spiraling through his limbs. His ribs protested with every shallow breath, a sharp, wet pain blooming beneath his skin, but he bit back the groan threatening to escape. No weakness. Not yet. Not now.
Zeno crouched in front of him, a vision of casual cruelty wrapped in fine silk. His suit, always pristine despite the blood that had undoubtedly touched it before, stretched as he leaned in, his dark eyes alight with a sick pleasure. He grinned, the kind of grin a predator gives when it knows its prey has finally given up running.
“Povera piccola cosa,” Zeno cooed, his voice almost affectionate as he reached out, running a gloved finger down the length of Leonardo’s bruised jaw. “I can’t imagine how painful it must be, realizing the truth. That no one wants you. That no one cares.” His lips curled as if tasting the words before whispering, “Che non sei niente.”
Andrea clenched his jaw so hard his teeth ached. His throat burned with unshed screams, his body trembling from exertion, from fear, from the unbearable weight of the words pressing down on him. He wanted to fight. He wanted to scream that Zeno was wrong, that someone—anyone—out there must have cared. But his silence was a surrender that had been beaten into him long ago.
Zeno sighed dramatically and stood, the crowbar lifting from the child’s throat, only to tilt beneath his chin, forcing his gaze upward. “But don’t worry, mio caro ragazzo,” he murmured, his voice syrupy sweet. “You belong to me now.”
And then it came.
The first strike.
The crowbar swung with deadly grace, slamming into Andrea’s ribs with enough force to send a white-hot explosion of pain across his vision. He choked, his body convulsing in Mantis and Butcher’s grip as the impact forced the breath from his lungs. The room tilted, a blur of a single, flickering light bulb swaying from the ceiling, its sickly yellow glow casting erratic shadows that stretched and shrank like specters against the cracked concrete floor. The rough surface was stained—dark patches seeping into the stone, some old, some fresh—marking the passage of suffering that had come before him. Dust and grit clung to his skin where he’d fallen before, mingling with the sweat and blood now pooling beneath him.
With another swing of the crowbar a sharp crack followed. Something inside him gave way.
Before he could even register the agony fully, yet another blow came. His shoulder. His thigh. His side. Each one precise. Each one meant to shatter him, piece by piece, but never enough to kill.
He would not be given that mercy.
Somewhere in the distance, he heard laughter. Zeno’s soft, indulgent chuckle. Mantis’ sharp snicker. Butcher’s low, guttural amusement. He was their entertainment, their fragile little toy, breaking apart in real-time.
Another strike, this time to his already bruised face. His head snapped to the side, and his vision blackened at the edges. Blood filled his mouth, thick and metallic, slipping past his cracked lips as he gasped for breath.
Dimly, through the haze of agony, he realized he had fallen to his knees.
Mantis and Butcher had let him go.
There was no point in holding him up anymore.
He wasn’t going anywhere.
Zeno crouched beside him again, tsking softly as he grabbed a fistful of Leonardo’s tangled, sweat-drenched hair and forced his head up.
“Ah, look at you,” he mused, feigning disappointment. “You’re breaking far too easily these days, Andrea. Such a shame. I thought you had more spirit than this.”
Little Andrea barely registered the words. His mind floated somewhere beyond the pain, beyond the reality of what was happening. The floor beneath him felt distant. The throbbing in his bones, the coppery tang of blood, the searing ache of each bruise—it all felt like it belonged to someone else.
And maybe that was better.
Maybe if he wasn’t here, if his mind drifted far enough away, he wouldn’t feel it when the next strike came.
Or the next.
Or the one after that.
His body swayed, barely conscious, but Zeno wasn’t finished yet. The man leaned in, voice dropping to a whisper, just for him.
“You will never leave me,” Zeno breathed, his lips ghosting over Andrea’s ear. “Even if you try, even if you run—where would you go, hmm? To the family who threw you away? To the streets, where you’ll die cold and alone?” He chuckled, low and menacing. “No, no. You’re mine, Andrea. Forever.”
Something inside him shattered.
It wasn’t a bone this time.
It was something deeper. Something unseen.
The last ember of hope—the last foolish, fragile belief that one day, somehow, he might escape—snuffed out, leaving only darkness in its wake.
Zeno smiled. He saw it.
Two weeks had passed since that moment, and the weight of time had settled into the compound like a slow, inevitable tide. The cellar was colder than the rest of the compound, the chill creeping through the damp stone walls like a living thing. Torchlight flickered from sconces bolted into the brick, their glow casting long, wavering shadows across the floor. The scent of mildew and copper clung to the air, thick enough to coat the tongue.
Don Zeno descended the narrow steps at a measured pace, his polished shoes clicking against the stone. He didn’t rush. There was no need. Anticipation was a pleasure best savoured. At the bottom, the heavy iron door loomed before him, its surface rusted around the edges, its hinges groaning in protest as the guards pulled it open.
Inside, the room was sparse—nothing but damp walls, chains bolted into the stone, and a single chair in the center, its wooden frame streaked with dark stains.
And in that chair sat an eight year old boy.
Young Andrea was motionless, his frame hunched, his wrists bound to the armrests with thick leather straps. His once-wild mane of dark hair was damp with sweat, clinging to his forehead. Bruises bloomed along his jaw and arms, stark against his olive skin. His chest rose and fell in slow, controlled breaths, though his fingers trembled where they curled into his palms.
Near him stood Allegra.
Allegra Quinzia. The clown-faced woman.
She wasn't like the others. The men, with their grunts and predictable brutality, were almost… comforting in their straightforwardness. Allegra was different. She moved with a disturbing precision, her movements fluid and unsettling. Her face, perpetually plastered with layers of thick makeup that distorted her features into a grotesque parody of a smile, was a mask that concealed something far more terrifying than mere anger.
Allegra was a failed med student, a detail she recited with a strange pride, as if her academic failings somehow legitimized her actions. She claimed unwavering loyalty to the Don, but Andrea suspected her allegiance ran deeper, fueled by a perverse pleasure she derived from inflicting pain. She called it "rehabilitation", "discipline." Andrea called it hell.
The beatings she administered were not simply about inflicting pain; they were about deconstruction. She possessed an almost artistic eye for suffering. She'd stand back, her painted lips pursed in concentration, observing the swelling bruises, the blossoming welts, the way the blood trickled down his face. She'd murmur about colour palettes and anatomical precision, her words a chilling counterpoint to the agony she was inflicting. "Vivid reds and pinks," she'd croon, her voice a sickeningly sweet whisper. "Luscious purples, blacks, and blues… a veritable masterpiece. Even the likes of Van Gogh or Picasso would envy the depth and intensity of these colours."
She seemed particularly fascinated by his nose. Allegra called it his "beak," a dehumanizing term that chipped away at his already fragile sense of self. Each time she broke it, and she broke it countless times, she'd examine the fractured cartilage with clinical detachment, as if studying a rare specimen. "Such delicate architecture," she'd sigh, before resetting it with a sickening crunch, her painted smile never faltering.
She broke more than just bones. She broke his spirit. She chipped away at his resolve, eroded what little hope he clung to, and twisted his mind into a labyrinth of fear and despair. She replaced the burning rage with a hollow emptiness, a chilling apathy that made him almost yearn for the oblivion she seemed so eager to deliver.
It had been Allegra who had finally extinguished the spark of rebellion within him.
One day, after a particularly brutal session,a metallic clang echoed through the pit, followed by the scraping of the iron door. Andrea flinched, his body tensing in anticipation as he saw Don Zeno stood silhouetted in the doorway, his towering form a menacing presence.
She turned at the sound of the door, her movements fluid, graceful. The lanternlight softened her clown painted features but did nothing to dull the cruelty in her gaze. She wore a dark dress, its silhouette sharp and fitted, its sleeves slightly rolled up, revealing faint smears of blood along her wrists—marks of her craft.
“Ah,” she murmured, voice warm with false sweetness. “You’ve come to see my progress.”
Don Zeno stepped forward, taking in the sight before him with quiet satisfaction. He tilted his head, studying the young boy with the same detached curiosity one might afford a caged animal.
“My, my,” he mused, amusement threading through his words. “What a difference a little discipline makes. When he first arrived, he had such fight in him.” His gaze flicked to Allegra. “And now?”
Allegra’s lips curled into a knowing smile. She crouched beside the chair, one hand resting lightly on Leonardo’s shoulder, her fingers pressing just enough to remind him of their presence. “Now,” she purred, “he listens. He understands the rules.”
Leonardo did not speak. He did not lift his gaze. He remained utterly still, his breathing even, his expression unreadable.
The Don let out a low chuckle, reaching into his pocket for a cigar. “Impressive. I had my doubts, you know.” He turned slightly, offering the guards a glance. “This one was like a feral dog when we dragged him in. Snapping, growling. But look at him now.” He leaned down slightly, eyes gleaming. “So well-behaved.”
Leonardo did not react. He simply stared ahead, his eyes fixed on nothing, empty and unblinking.
The Don exhaled, letting the tendrils of cigar smoke curl through the air. “Hai fatto bene, Allegra.” He tapped a stray ash onto the stone floor before giving her a sidelong glance. “But tell me, is he broken yet?”
Allegra ran a finger down Leonardo’s temple, slow, methodical. The boy did not flinch. “Not broken,” she murmured. “Raffinato.”
Don Zeno laughed, rich and indulgent. “Good. That means he’ll last longer.” He straightened, his rings catching the dim light. “Keep at it. I want him ready soon.”
Allegra inclined her head, ever the obedient artist with her canvas.
The Don took one last glance at the boy before turning away, his footsteps leisurely as he strode back toward the door. The guards fell into step behind him, and the heavy iron groaned shut once more, sealing the darkness in.
And in the silence that followed, Leonardo exhaled, slow and controlled, his gaze still fixed on nothing, his mind sinking deeper into the abyss where pain and fear no longer touched him.
Time seemed to slow, the weight of his thoughts pressing down like an unrelenting fog. The single bare bulb hanging precariously from the grimy ceiling did little to dispel the suffocating darkness of the cellar. It cast long, distorted shadows that danced to the rhythm of Andrea’s ragged breaths, each inhale a desperate plea, each exhale a testament to his dwindling hope. He was curled on the cold, damp tile floor, his thin frame shivering, not just from the chill, but from a bone-deep terror that had become a constant companion.
Allegra Quinzia, or rather, the grotesque parody of a woman that Allegra had become, surveyed him with theatrical amusement. Her face, plastered with thick layers of garish makeup, resembled a deranged clown. Crimson lipstick, cracked and peeling, stretched into a wide, unsettling grin that never quite reached her dead, black eyes. She clutched the cattle prod in her gloved hand, its metallic gleam reflecting the single, harsh light.
Andrea knew that grin. It was the prelude to pain, the fanfare before the orchestra of agony began its performance. His eyes darted around the cellar, searching for any semblance of escape, any glimmer of hope, but found only the familiar walls closing in on him.
"I think, today, you needs a little kickstart!" Allegra’s voice, raspy and laced with a sickening sweetness, echoed in the confined space. He knew what was coming. He always did. But knowing didn't make it any easier. It only amplified the dread, the anticipation of the inevitable.
He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself. The searing pain was always the same, yet somehow, always managed to shock him with its intensity. He felt the cold, sharp bite of the metal prongs sinking into the gash across his lower back, a wound that refused to heal, a testament to Allegra's twisted creativity.
He barely managed to stifle a yelp as the electricity surged through him. It was a white-hot lightning bolt that ripped through his flesh, searing every nerve in its path. Up his spine it climbed, a burning viper coiling tighter and tighter, before branching out to his limbs. His muscles spasmed, locked in a rigid dance of agony. His vision flashed white, and his fractured ankle, already throbbing with a dull ache, slammed against the unforgiving tile.
He remembered the first time. He'd been defiant then, screaming and struggling. Now, only a choked whimper escaped his lips. He'd learned that resistance only prolonged the torment, invited further punishment. He was broken now, a shell of the little boy he once was.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end, each follicle screaming in anticipation of the next jolt. He could still feel the phantom sting of the prongs, the ghost of the electrical current racing through his veins. It wasn’t as bad as the taser. The taser had been a different kind of hell, a complete system overload that left him twitching and vomiting for hours. But the cattle prod was a slow burn, a sustained torture that chipped away at his sanity.
His thin, sweat-soaked shirt clung to his back, offering no protection against the agonizing assault. He could feel the acrid smell of burnt flesh filling the air, his own flesh. And the psycho clown-woman, as he’d started calling her in his mind, would hold it there, against his raw skin, for an eternity that stretched on and on.
He didn’t see Allegra’s face, his eyes still clamped shut, his body still trembling in the aftermath of the shock. But he knew she was watching him, savouring his pain, feeding on his despair. That was her fuel. This cellar was her theater, and he was her unwilling performer.
Twin tears crept down his scarred cheeks, mingling with the grime and sweat. He was so tired. Tired of the pain, tired of the fear, tired of the endless cycle of torment.
He remembered a time before the cellar, before Allegra. He remembered sunshine, the gentle sway of boats by the docks, the soft murmur of the water lapping at the shore, the thrill of running barefoot through the grass. Those memories were fading now, becoming blurry and indistinct, like a photograph left out in the rain.
He wept not just for the pain he was enduring, but for the boy he had lost, the life that had been stolen from him. He wept for the innocence that had been brutally stripped away, replaced by the cold, hard realities of his existence.
He thought of what he had let himself become. A pathetic, broken creature, begging for mercy that would never come. He had promised himself he would never break. That he would never give Allegra the satisfaction of seeing him completely defeated. But now, lying on the cold tile floor, his body wracked with pain, he wondered if he hadn't already lost.
The air outside was thick with tension, the silence broken only by the occasional rustle of leaves, as if the very night itself held its breath. The moon hung high in the Italian sky, a lone witness to the restless whispers of the night. The Zeno mansion, a fortress of vice and cruelty, pulsed with life even at this hour. Shadows danced against cracked marble walls as distant shouts and the sharp crash of shattering glass spilled into the open air, carried on the wind like ghostly warnings. Inside, young Andrea curled into himself, his small frame lost in the vast emptiness of the cellar.
The stone beneath him was cold and damp, its unyielding surface pressing into his skin. He barely noticed. The bruises, the aches—those were constants now, as familiar as his own breath. His ragged, oversized shirt did little to ward off the chill, but he clung to it as if the fabric itself could hold him together.
Beyond the heavy wooden door, the grim symphony played on. Muffled thuds, the dull crack of flesh meeting flesh, and the occasional strangled cry wove into a rhythm Andrea had long since learned to decipher. Someone was being punished. Maybe it was Butcher, losing patience with one of the other captives. Maybe it was Allegra, perfecting her art of delicate cruelty. Or perhaps it was just another nameless soul bleeding out into the cellar’s floors, soon to be forgotten.
A sudden scream tore through the air, sharper, more desperate than before. Andrea's breath hitched. His muscles locked, every nerve in his body strung taut. His mind clawed through exhaustion, sluggish and disoriented. Had he fallen asleep? He wasn't supposed to sleep. Sleep meant pain. Sleep meant jolting awake to a slap, a kick, or worse.
He forced his eyes open wider, straining to listen past the hammering of his pulse in his ears. Heavy sounds—thudding, like dead weight hitting the floor. More than one. Something was wrong. The mansion was never silent, but now... now there was only stillness.
Andrea’s body trembled, though he wasn’t sure if it was from fear, cold, or sheer exhaustion. He didn’t move. He didn’t breathe too loudly. His instincts screamed at him to stay small, stay unseen.
What he couldn’t know, what he wouldn’t see, was the woman who had arrived just moments before. Dressed in the modest attire of a nun, her presence had stirred confusion rather than alarm. She had entered the Don’s study with a quiet grace, hands folded, head bowed in reverence. But beneath her veil lay a heart hardened by grief, and in the folds of her robe, she carried not scripture, but vengeance.
Her voice, calm yet edged with ice, had carried through the study as she spoke to the Don and his closest men. They listened, some scoffing, some amused, none realizing what she truly was.
"You took my brother," she had whispered, her eyes glinting like steel beneath candlelight. "Now I take everything from you."
The trigger in her hand was small, unassuming. A simple press of her thumb, and hell itself erupted.
The explosion tore through the Zeno mansion, swallowing its halls in a flash of fire and splintered wood. The world above Andrea trembled, stone groaning and cracking under the force. Smoke billowed through the corridors, curling into the cellar like grasping fingers.
Andrea gasped, his lungs burning as the air grew thick, choking, filled with the scent of fire, of death. Somewhere above, voices screamed, then fell silent.
Then suddenly, the world collapsed around him. Smoke curled into the night sky, the acrid scent of fire and blood thick in the ruins of what was once the Zeno mansion. Young Andrea lay half-buried beneath shattered stone and splintered wood, his frail body trembling as dust settled over his skin like a burial shroud. His breath came in sharp gasps, his ribs aching with each inhale. Somewhere deep inside, he knew he should be dead.
But he wasn’t. He was alive.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, Andrea felt something strange and unfamiliar.
Hope.
He swallowed, his throat parched and raw, his hands clawing at the wreckage with desperation. A dull ringing in his ears muffled the distant crackle of flames, the groaning of broken beams, and the occasional weak cries from the dying. He didn’t stop to think—he just dug. Pain seared through his fingertips as he pushed aside chunks of debris, the sharp edges cutting into his palms, but he hardly noticed. His mind was locked onto one singular instinct: survive.
A choked sob wrenched from his throat, and he forced himself to move, to look away. He had no time for the dead. He had to keep going.
His trembling fingers found the rusty latch of the back door, and with a weak tug, it creaked open, revealing a hallway barely standing. He staggered inside, his legs threatening to buckle beneath him as he pressed himself against the wall. His body was drenched in sweat, sticky with blood and grime. He had made it this far. He wasn’t dead.
Yet.
Andrea bit his lip, hard enough to taste iron, forcing himself forward. Each step sent jolts of pain up his legs, his right ankle screaming in agony, his bare feet torn and bleeding from the broken glass and jagged stone. He clenched his teeth and pressed on, using the corridor wall for support, dragging himself toward the exit. Every muscle in his body begged him to stop, to collapse, but he refused.
All the King’s horses and all the King’s men won’t be able to put me back together again …
The thought threatened to unravel him, but he shoved it away. He was not a broken thing. He was alive. And as long as he was alive, he could run.
As he limped forward, his gaze flicked to the devastation around him. Zeno lay amid the wreckage, alive but unconscious, his face half-covered in soot, his body sprawled like a toppled statue of a fallen god. The nun—whoever she had been—was dead, her broken body crumpled beneath the remains of a shattered beam. Butcher, the hulking enforcer who once delighted in making Andrea’s life hell, lay motionless, his skull split open like a cracked melon. And there—Mantis, the wiry henchman with eyes like a viper, groaning and shifting slightly, oblivious to the boy slipping past him.
Andrea did not hesitate. He stepped over the bodies, over the past that had nearly destroyed him, and slipped out through the wide-open door.
The cold air of the night slapped against his burning skin as he sprinted down the cobblestone path, his limbs screaming in protest, his breath ragged. He dove into the shadows of Vulci’s alleyways, his small frame disappearing into the veins of the city. He was a ghost now, a flicker of movement in the darkness, weaving through the labyrinthine streets with only one thought guiding him—escape.
The docks.
Andrea’s mind raced ahead of his battered body, picturing the cargo ships moored at the edge of town. He had watched the smugglers once, the way they loaded their crates, the way they whispered among themselves. He knew the docks were a gateway to a world beyond this one—a world where Zeno and his men could not find him.
By a miracle from GOD, his damaged legs carried him to the water’s edge, where ships loomed in the mist like slumbering beasts. He clenched his fists, forcing his aching body to move as he slipped through the shadows toward a ship marked La Libertà .
The Captain, a portly man with a beard like tangled fishing nets, barked orders at his crew, too preoccupied to notice the half-starved and severely abused child slipping onto the ship. Andrea’s heart pounded as he wedged himself between heavy burlap sacks in the cargo hold, curling into himself, his breath shallow.
But for the first time in his short, miserable life, Andrea felt something close to optimism seep into his broken mind.
Wrapped tightly in old, tattered sails, Andrea drifted into a restless slumber, rocked not by the comforting arms of a mother figure, nor the gentle embrace of safety, but by the unpredictable rhythm of the sea. Sleep did not come easily; it was fractured by nightmares and the persistent bite of hunger gnawing at his gut. He was adrift in more ways than one, lost between the echoes of his past and the uncertain horizon ahead.
Days blurred into one another as the ship cut through the silvery waters of the Mediterranean, its wooden belly creaking beneath the weight of its cargo and the whispers of fate. Time lost meaning. He ate only when he found scraps, drank only when rain blessed the deck, and spoke only to the silence that surrounded him. He had become a ghost aboard a vessel bound for the unknown, a boy without a name, drifting toward an uncharted destiny.
After a week at the mercy of the ocean, the ship finally reached a desolate island—a chaotic mixture of jagged cliffs and sandy dunes, where the waves lashed hungrily against the shore. The scent of salt and brine was thick in the air, and for the first time in days, Andrea felt a flicker of relief return after all this time. When dusk settled and the ship anchored near the shore, cloaked in twilight’s shadows, he seized his moment.
Slipping over the edge of the deck, he plunged into the cold, inky waters below. The sea wrapped around him like a lover, both cradling and punishing him as he struggled toward land. Every stroke burned in his weary muscles, every gasp of air tasted of salt and desperation. But he pushed forward. He had to.
When his trembling fingers finally clawed at the wet, coarse sand, Andrea collapsed, panting, chest heaving as he coughed up seawater. He lay there for a moment, unmoving, savouring the sensation of solid ground beneath him, before dragging himself upright. His limbs felt leaden, his breath ragged, but his eyes—driven by a mix of urgency and desperation—scanned the unfamiliar landscape before him.
The island loomed, vast and untamed, illuminated by the glow of a rising moon. Jagged cliffs, like the fingers of an ancient beast, jutted toward the sky. Wind-worn trees clung stubbornly to the rocky terrain, their roots gnarled and exposed, defying nature’s wrath. The night air was thick with the mingling scents of damp earth, wild herbs, and the lingering salt of the ocean spray. It was unlike anything he had known before—no city smog, no scent of spilled blood, no oppressive perfume of cigars and sweat that clung to the halls of Zeno’s mansion and cellar.
Andrea rose on unsteady legs and took his first cautious steps into this new world. Each footfall was a whisper against the sand, a declaration of fragile hope. Here, in this uncharted expanse, he was nameless and unclaimed. Here, the sins of his past had not yet found him.
As he wandered deeper inland, the beach gave way to clusters of vegetation. Patches of greenery sprouted defiantly among the rocks, their leaves trembling in the night breeze. Tiny bursts of colour—wildflowers in shades of yellow and violet—peeked through the undergrowth, untouched by human hands. Above, the sky stretched endlessly, an ocean of stars that glimmered in celestial indifference to the struggles of mortals below.
Near a rocky cove, Andrea discovered a tide pool, its surface shimmering beneath the starlight. Tiny fish darted between strands of seaweed, their scales flashing like slivers of moonlight. Hermit crabs scuttled over the rocks, seeking shelter in discarded shells, surviving as they always had—without thought, without fear. He envied them.
Andrea continued his slow exploration, drawn by the sounds of the island—the rustling of palm fronds, the distant cry of unseen birds, the murmur of waves kissing the shore. The wind carried whispers, voices long forgotten, lost to time and tides. It felt ancient, sacred, and yet… welcoming.
As exhaustion finally overtook him, Andrea sank onto a patch of soft, damp sand near the tide pool. His limbs felt heavy, his eyelids drooping despite the distant call of seabirds and the gentle hush of the waves. The rhythmic sound of water lapping against stone became a lullaby, and the salty breeze cooled his bruised skin.
His body surrendered first, muscles uncoiling as if the earth itself cradled him. His thoughts slowed, drifting like the tide, slipping further and further from the weight of memory. The pain, the hunger, the fear—they all faded, dissolving into the dark. He didn’t even realize when he slipped into sleep, only that the warmth of the sand beneath him and the sighing of the sea carried him somewhere far beyond consciousness.
It was a sleep without dreams, without the passage of time. There was only darkness, stretching endlessly, comforting in its silence. Hours or mere moments could have passed—he didn’t know. The world had ceased to exist for him.
When his eyes finally fluttered open, the sky had changed. The sun, once high, now hung low on the horizon, dipping toward the sea. Brilliant streaks of crimson, gold, and violet painted the heavens, their reflection shimmering in the tide pool beside him. Andrea blinked, disoriented, his body stiff from where it had molded into the sand. He sat up slowly, feeling as if he had slept for days or mere seconds—he couldn’t tell. But he was free. Freedom had never tasted so bittersweet. He was alive. But he was alone.
As darkness crept over the island, he found refuge atop a long past sun-warmed boulder, staring out at the restless sea. He thought of Vulci, of its rusted balconies and narrow streets. He thought of the Don and the shattered childhood he had fled. They would not find him here. Not in this forgotten corner of the world.
Here, in the embrace of the wild, Andrea was no longer just a boy running from his past. He was something new, something undefined. And for the first time in his life, he allowed himself to believe in the possibility of tomorrow.
As night fell, wrapping the island in a blanket of stars, he dared to wish for a tomorrow unmarred by fear. The rhythmic sound of the waves became his lullaby, and with it, he closed his eyes, ready to welcome whatever adventure awaited him as dawn broke over the horizon.
Under the following day’s slate gray sky, Andrea leaned against the rough bark of a gnarled tree that stood precariously on the edge of a desolate beach. The salty air stung his wounds, open and festering from forced encounters with the Don and his foot soldiers and the clown-faced woman back in Vulci. The boy, with tousled dark hair and a soul fraught with fear, limped away from the memories that haunted his very steps. Somehow, he had escaped—clutching onto life aboard a rickety cargo ship.
He wandered the sun-drenched shore, heart hammering, as he surveyed the island. It was a wild and unforgiving place, thick with dense foliage and jagged cliffs rising like sentinels from the slate-blue ocean. Every rustling leaf, every snapping twig, sent a shiver of paranoia through him. Desperation gnawed at him more than hunger; he needed a refuge, a sanctuary from his past persecution. His stomach twisted and churned, the sharp pangs of emptiness almost unbearable. But even greater than hunger was the crushing exhaustion settling into his bones.
As dawn broke and painted the horizon with hues of orange and gold, Andrea’s body could no longer endure. He limped towards a dark mouth of a cave that beckoned him—a promise of shelter. Shadows flickered like delicate dancers within, and as he limped inside, a soft pulse of light caught his eye.
In the center of the cave glimmered a tiny pool, not more than eight cups in volume. The water shimmered with an ethereal, dim glow—almost undulating like liquid silver beneath the cave’s flickering light. It seemed alive, whispering secrets, beckoning him closer. Andrea’s mouth ached with thirst, his dry tongue yearning to sip at the refreshing nectar that promised reprieve from his suffering. The cave itself felt ancient, as though it had existed long before time had a name, its walls smooth and cool beneath his trembling fingers.
Next to the pool stood a peculiar plant with heart-shaped leaves, each one a vibrant green laced with veins of pale gold. The leaves shimmered subtly in the cave’s dim light, akin to precious gems draped in the sunlight. Curious, he reached out and touched one, feeling a pulsing warmth emanate from it—a sign it was somehow connected to the mysterious water nearby. The very air around it felt charged, like the hum before a storm.
Driven by desperation, Andrea knelt by the pool, cupping his hands to gather the glowing liquid. The first sip was like swallowing the sky—cool and boundless, spreading through him with an uncanny awareness. A sensation washed over him—clarity blended with a sharp pang in his stomach, coursing through him like a wild river that knew no banks. With each sip, it felt as if the water cascaded through his body, fierce yet gentle, illuminating the darkness of his wounds, stirring the remains of his spirit to life. He shuddered as an almost electric pulse rattled through his veins, his skin tingling in response.
As he finished drinking, the small plant beckoned him, urging him to try its tender leaves as well. He gently bit into one, its texture crisp and slightly sweet, a nectar of earthy life that mingled with the cool sensation of the water still swirling in his belly. Yet, almost immediately, a jolt of pain lanced through his frame, causing him to gasp and lean heavily against the wall of the cave. His fingers dug into the stone as his body convulsed, waves of heat rolling over him like a fever.
Throughout the day, the miracle of the pool and plant began to unfold, igniting a brutal healing process. Each bruise, rough and swollen from the Don’s wrath, ignited in a fiery heat that made him cry out. The darkened skin lifted from his flesh, revealing fresh pink tissue beneath, raw and quivering, while new skin formed, tinged with a ghostly glow. It felt as if his very bones were being reshaped—shattered parts grinding back together in a way that sent violent shudders through him. He curled inward, clutching his ribs as if to hold himself together, afraid that if he let go, he might unravel completely.
His leg—a fragile remnant from the beatings—twitched mercilessly. He witnessed splinters of bone shifting and fusing as the water guided rejuvenation through him. It felt as if molten metal poured over the fractures swallowed deep within him. The agony surged, forcing him to bite his lip until the flood of blood quelled the voice of his pain. He knew that each wave of discomfort carried the promise of restoration. His fingers clenched into fists, nails biting into his palms as he rode the storm of healing, refusing to surrender to the pain that tried to drown him.
As the hours crawled by, every shred of torment suffocated by the relentless joy of renewal. The ache in his limbs subsided, replaced by strength surging back. Andrea lay hunched over the glowing pool, tears streaming as he felt the last remnants of agony subside into a gentle throb. His body sang a song of gratitude—of pains surrendered, and a body reborn through raw struggle and hope. He flexed his fingers, his touch no longer weak but firm. He pressed a palm to his chest, feeling the steady, resilient beat of his heart—proof that he had endured.
The sun began its descent outside the cave, casting long fingers of golden embrace into the darkness.
As he turned his gaze to the pool’s shimmering surface, something felt... different. The world had sharpened, every detail now strikingly crisp, impossibly vivid. He could see the faint ripples in the water, the intricate veins threading through each leaf, the precise patterns in the cave walls as if they had been carved with intention. It was as though a veil had been lifted, granting him sight beyond the ordinary.
His breath caught as he caught his reflection. His eyes, once a deep, rich brown, had transformed into a striking gold, gleaming like molten amber in the dim light. They glowed with an eerie brilliance, flickering with an intensity that felt almost alive. He leant in closer, his heart hammering against his ribs. This was not the boy who had stumbled into the cave, broken and beaten. This was someone else—someone stronger, someone irrevocably changed.
He gazed at his reflection in the pool, not as a victim of brutality, but as a survivor—tempered by suffering, renewed by the island’s gifts.
With the ability to walk without pain once again, he turned from the cave, towards the beckoning ocean beyond. This island, once a refuge, now felt like a launchpad into the unknown—a world waiting to be explored, and a future waiting to be claimed. He took a deep breath of the salty air, his senses sharpened, his spirit unshackled. The tides whispered his name, carrying his past away with each retreating wave. And for the first time in his young life, he stepped forward—not in fear, but in freedom, the weight of his past no longer holding him back.
For two weeks, Andrea wandered, embracing the solitude as though it were a long-lost friend. He fished in the crystalline waters that lapped against the shore, returning with glistening catches that he roasted over makeshift flames. He crafted a rudimentary shelter from palm fronds, the way he had seen children do at the port, building something strong that could withstand the elements—a fragile sanctuary from a world that had never held safety.
Despite the freedom enveloping him, an unshakeable feeling dulled the edges of his enthusiasm. While the island was a sanctuary, it was also rife with dangers hidden in its wildness. The rustle of leaves could have been merely the wind or an unseen predator stalking through the underbrush. At night, as shadows morphed into specters, the sounds of the island took on a sinister quality, and Andrea often lay awake among the fronds, haunted by dreams drenched in memories of his father’s drunken curses.
Days melted into one another, and as Andrea explored the island, remnants of his anguish faded. His skin began to soak in the sun’s warmth, and the pulse of life around him brought a sense of belonging he had never known. One smoldering afternoon, while wrestling with the lingering memories of his past, he heard a soft rustle in the underbrush. Out stepped a magnificent mother lioness, her golden fur shimmering under the sun. He froze, his heart racing.
In that moment, the world shifted.The lioness regarded him with curiosity, and to Andrea’s surprise, she approached slowly, trusting her instincts. In a surreal instant, the connection sparked between them. Her eyes, deep pools of amber, seemed to communicate an understanding that transcended words. Cautiously, Andrea extended his hand, and she nudged her snout against his palm. The boy and the lioness were bound by something mysterious yet unbreakable.
The lioness led him to her den, where three lively cubs tumbled over one another, playing in the soft sands of their new home. As he entered their world, laughter spilled from his lips for the first time in ages. The cubs bounded toward him, their tails high, whiskers twitching with mischief. Andrea was no longer a boy shackled by fear; he was a playmate, a brother.
The days passed like a golden dream. With the lioness's watchful eyes on him, Andrea learned the delicate balance of their shared existence. He would roll in the grass with the cubs, their paws playfully batting at him. Although their claws were sharp, they were gentle in play, leaving only light scratches on his olive-skinned body—reminders of the wild nature of life, now intertwined with his.
Andrea played savage games of chase, mimicking the lions’ swift movements as he darted through the underbrush. The cubs were relentless, but as he stumbled and they caught up to him, they would pounce with glee instead of aggression. They taught him the rawness of freedom, their high-pitched playful chirping-like sounds echoing through the trees alongside Andrea’s laughter. He became adept at climbing, scaling trees to escape their playful jaws, only to hear their delighted roars beneath him, encouraging his fearless spirit.
Feasting on ripe fruits and fresh fish found along the shore, Andrea learned to gather food like they did, adapting swiftly to life as one with the lions. Each meal was a celebration, marked by playful growls and the rumbling of bellies. It felt surreal, the intimacy they shared, the bond stronger than any he had experienced before.
When night descended, the lioness would curl around him, protecting her newfound son. His heartbeat synchronized with the low rumble of her purr, and together they would listen to the world around them: the sounds of rustling leaves, the calls of distant creatures, the rhythmic lapping of waves against the shore. Each night etched deeper into his soul, tearing away the last remnants of his past torment.
As Andrea grew close to the cubs, he embraced the fierceness of the life around him. He taught them games from his own childhood, mimicry of human antics that made them quirk their heads in confusion and delight. He became a part of their world—a boy without a past, who adoured the wild, whose laughter brought life to the island’s quiet heart.
However, as the sun began to set on their endless summer, shadows of the past would sometimes creep in. In moments of solitude, Andrea felt the whispers of Vulci tugging at him, reminders of a life once broken. Yet, as the lioness nuzzled him, comforting him with her warmth and sandpaper tongue, he realized that he had found something greater—the fierceness of loyalty, the strength of a family forged through bonds of love and survival.
Andrea was no longer the boy escaping torture. He was a wild spirit living among lions, learning to be one of them.
Under the pale, shimmering light of the moon, the vast expanse of grassland came alive with the whispers of the night. The cool breeze wove its way through the towering stalks of golden grass, carrying with it the scent of damp earth and distant water. Shadows stretched and shifted beneath the celestial glow, blurring the line between the real and the surreal. The air pulsed with the soft symphony of rustling leaves and the distant calls of nocturnal creatures—owls hooting in the trees, jackals yipping at the moon, insects harmonizing in an unseen chorus. The world did not sleep; it merely transformed, unveiling a kingdom ruled by silver light and primal instinct.
Eleven-year-old Andrea lay hidden in the tall grass, his body pressed against the cool, familiar earth. He could feel its heartbeat beneath him, steady and unwavering—a rhythm that pulsed through his very core. It was a rhythm he had come to know intimately, one that bound him to the land, to the creatures that roamed it, and most of all, to the pride of lions he had grown to admire and emulate.
A lion’s roar echoed across the plains, deep and resonant, rolling through the night like distant thunder. It sent a thrill through Andrea's spine, not of fear, but of exhilaration. He was not an outsider here. He had learned to listen, to watch, to move in harmony with the life that thrived under the moon’s quiet reign. He belonged.
With a stealthy determination, Andrea crouched low, the muscles in his legs coiled like springs. He blended seamlessly into the shadows, his silhouette lost among the swaying grass that danced lightly in the wind. His transformation into a creature of the night was both literal and metaphorical.
He wore an old orange shirt, its sleeves frayed and torn, hanging off his lean frame like a second skin. Once a vibrant hue, it had faded beneath the relentless sun, now resembling the muted glow of early dawn. His grey pants, threadbare and marked with the stains of earth and time, bore the evidence of countless adventures—scraped knees, grass-streaked fabric, and seams just barely holding together.
His feet, bare and calloused, told a story of their own. Hardened by years of travel, they had long since adapted to the unyielding terrain, their soles thick as leather, impervious to jagged rocks and scorching earth. He knew the land through the soles of his feet, each step revealing textures and terrain in ways shoes never could. The soft give of damp soil, the rough scrape of gravel, the deceptive smoothness of sun-warmed stone—he read them all as if they were an unspoken language, guiding him forward. He moved with the ease of someone who had never relied on barriers between himself and the earth.
And now, the night demanded more of him.
A lion cub, no older than a few months, dashed through the open plain, its youthful exuberance evident in the boundless energy of its movements. Its fur glowed beneath the moonlight, every muscle rippling as it weaved effortlessly through the landscape.
Andrea felt the instinct rise within him—a call he could neither ignore nor resist. The pounding of his heart matched the pulse of the earth, a primal drumbeat that urged him forward. Without hesitation, he dropped to all fours, fingers splaying against the cool soil as he launched himself into motion.
The chase had begun.
His body moved with fluid precision, every movement instinctual, his breath measured and controlled. His knees brushed against the earth as he propelled himself forward, his arms absorbing the shock of each landing, his feet barely touching the ground before springing off again. The cub darted ahead, swift and nimble, but Andrea gave chase with a determination born of endless practice.
The lions, scattered in the grass, lifted their heads to watch.
They had seen this before—the way the boy ran, the way he moved, the way he studied them. What had started as mere amusement had turned into fascination. He was different from the others of his kind. He did not merely observe from a distance. He became. Over time, what was once a simple game had evolved into something more—a test, a challenge, a silent conversation between species.
Andrea pushed himself harder, his body light and swift despite the worn state of his clothes. The cub zigzagged unpredictably, trying to shake him, but he was relentless. His calloused hands grazed against sharp stones and tangled roots, yet he barely registered the sting. His feet, hardened from years of running barefoot through the savannah, found their rhythm, each step a perfectly placed note in the symphony of the hunt.
The lions, now fully engaged, released deep, rumbling chuffs of approval. They had run with him before, felt the fire that burned within this strange, two-legged creature who did not fear them, who did not cower, but instead ran beside them as an equal.
Time stretched and warped under the spell of the chase. An hour passed, maybe more. The land blurred around him, the cool night air rushing past his face. His lungs burned, his muscles screamed, but he welcomed the pain. It was proof of his strength, his endurance, his very right to be here.
But then, reality intervened. The rough terrain bit into the calloused sole of his left foot, a jagged stone catching the arch just enough to send a sharp sting up his leg. A hitch in his step, a fleeting moment of hesitation—but Andrea did not falter. He adapted. His foot adjusted mid-stride, rolling slightly to avoid further injury, and he pressed on.
The cub, exhausted but unwilling to concede, gave one final burst of speed before slowing. Andrea, too, felt the limits of his endurance creep in, but he forced himself forward, matching the cub’s dwindling pace. His breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling in rhythm with the little lion beside him.
At last, the chase came to an end. The cub flopped onto the grass, panting heavily, sides heaving. Andrea followed suit, collapsing beside it, his heart pounding like distant thunder. The earth beneath him was warm, solid, alive.
A shadow loomed overhead. One of the older lions—a massive male with a thick, dark mane—stepped closer. His golden eyes, reflecting the boy beside his cub, held an expression of something beyond mere curiosity.
Respect.
The great beast lowered his head and nudged Andrea’s shoulder with his muzzle, a silent acknowledgment, a rite of passage.
The pride gathered around them, their warm breaths mingling with the night air. A bond had been forged, an unspoken covenant between a boy and the wild lions.
And as Andrea lay there, staring up at the vast, infinite night, he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he was no longer just a boy. He was something more.
A part of the pride. A part of the wild.
And in the moon’s soft light, as the lions settled in around him, he smiled.
He was home.
The night faded, giving way to the slow stirrings of morning. The jungle was alive with the quiet hum of dawn. Sunlight filtered through the thick canopy, casting speckled light on the undergrowth where Andrea and his pride lay in wait. The air smelled of damp earth and green things, thick with the scent of a fresh kill from the previous night.
Not far from their hiding place, a large, well-fed goat grazed lazily, unaware of the predatory eyes fixed upon it. Its ears twitched every so often, but no immediate danger seemed to register.
Andrea crouched low, shifting his weight carefully so as not to disturb the foliage around him. His pride mirrored his stillness, their young bodies tense with focus. This was how they survived—stealth, patience, and precision. One mistake, and the meal would be gone.
He lifted a hand, signaling his second-in-command to move left. The others understood, fanning out like shadows, each step measured and deliberate. Their eyes gleamed in the dim light, muscles coiled, ready to strike.
Andrea could already taste the success of the hunt.
And then—
Laughter.
Loud, unmistakable, and annoyingly familiar.
Andrea’s stomach dropped.
He didn’t have time to react before something burst through the undergrowth. A streak of wiry limbs and unkempt hair, moving fast, too fast—
The goat lifted its head just in time to see Jabari, human child member of the Hyena Tribe, come crashing toward it like a force of chaos given human form.
“BAZKA UZ-KAA!” Jabari bellowed, arms flailing.
The goat screeched in alarm, jolted upright, and took off like its hooves were on fire.
Andrea shot to his feet, rage blazing in his chest. “YOU LITTLE THIEF!”
Jabari didn’t stop—he never stopped—his legs already pumping as he chased after the goat. “Looks like I got here first, Leochiro!” he called over his shoulder, voice bright with mischief.
Andrea's pride scrambled to follow, their stealth abandoned in an instant. The jungle erupted into chaos—branches snapping, feet pounding against dirt, startled animals leaping out of the way.
Andrea knew exactly what was happening.
This wasn’t an accident. This wasn’t Jabari just happening to stumble upon their hunt.
This was a game.
Jabari was grinning, weaving through the trees, his laughter sharp and wild. Behind him, three more Hyena Tribe kids emerged from the jungle, all grinning just as wide. They were the distraction.
Andrea’s blood boiled.
His pride was focused on chasing Jabari, but the real problem was behind them—the rest of the Hyena Tribe, moving quickly, quietly, toward the Lion Tribe’s stash of food.
Andrea pivoted sharply and roared that signaled his lion tribe to split up.
The pride hesitated for half a second before understanding. They split in two—half continued after Jabari and the goat, the others turned back, racing toward their stored supplies.
Andrea ran straight for Jabari.
His feet pounded against the dirt, each step eating the distance between them. Jabari was fast, but Andrea was bigger, stronger, his legs pushing harder.
Jabari glanced back, saw how close he was, and—
He ducked.
Andrea, just a breath behind, reacted instinctively. His body dropped low, narrowly avoiding the branch that Jabari had ducked under. His heart pounded furiously as he pushed himself back up, eyes fixed on Jabari, who was weaving through the trees, always staying just out of reach.
“Jabari!” Andrea growled, breath coming hard. “I swear on everything, if you steal from me again, I will—”
Jabari jumped onto a fallen log, spun mid-air, and flashed him an infuriating grin.
“You’ll what? Catch me?” he taunted. “You haven’t yet.”
Andrea lunged. This time, he grabbed him.
Jabari yelped as Andrea’s hand snagged the back of his hair and yanked him backward. They tumbled into the dirt in a tangle of limbs and sharp elbows, dust kicking up around them.
Andrea pinned Jabari down with one hand, panting, his face a mask of frustration.
“I should break your arms.”
Jabari wheezed a laugh, eyes still glinting with amusement. “Then how would I steal your food?”
Andrea tightened his grip. “Maybe I’ll just—”
A sharp bark-like roar rang out from the distance. Both boys turned their heads.
Andrea’s pride was returning, some dragging members of the Hyena Tribe by the scruffs of their necks. The rest had formed a protective line around their food stores.
They had won.
Andrea smirked, gaze snapping back to Jabari. “Looks like you lost this time.”
Jabari let out a dramatic sigh, slumping against the dirt like he had been fatally wounded. “Only for now, Leochiro.”
Andrea released him with a shove, standing tall, shaking the dust from his arms. “Next time you try this, I’ll make sure you regret it.”
Jabari sat up, grinning. “You say that every time.”
Andrea turned, walking back toward his tribe without another word.
Behind him, Jabari laughed.
Several seasons had passed since that day, the landscape now altered by the quiet march of time. Karina pressed her body against the ancient tree, her fingers digging into the gnarled bark as she crouched low upon the thick branch. The jungle around her was alive, its breathing woven from the rustling leaves and the distant calls of unseen creatures. Tendrils of mist clung to the canopy, swirling in the ghostly glow of the moon, whose fractured light bled through the tangled foliage, tracing silver veins across her sweat-slicked skin. Her breath was shallow, her heart a trembling beast in her chest. Below, flickering firelight danced against the underbrush, casting the Brotherhood of Seven into restless silhouettes—phantoms moving like wraiths through the darkness.
Far above, Leonardo stood upon the jagged edge of a towering cliff, a shadow against the abyssal night. Even at thirteen, he was a titan, his wide frame sculpted by survival, by hunger, by the brutal necessity of violence. His breath came slow, measured, his golden eyes burning beneath the heavy ledge of his brow. He did not fidget. He did not shift. He watched—unmoving, unblinking—as something vast and coiled pulsed beneath the jungle’s heart.
The frilled-titanoboa lay in wait.
Its monstrous body stretched across the forest floor, thick coils looped around the base of a fallen tree, its presence an unbroken line of muscle and hunger. The frill at its neck, a translucent expanse of pulsing membrane, flared outward, its veins swelling and deflating in rhythm with its slow, tasting breaths. Its scales, a shifting tide of bronze and obsidian, shimmered in the fire’s fractured glow, ridged with barbed spines that scraped against the earth. The beast was old, its skin marred with the ghosts of past battles, its hunger the kind that had devoured beasts of every size. 
But tonight, it had met something worse.
Vincenzo "The Marauder" Ossian stood before the beast, motionless. He did not flinch, did not stir, exuding the kind of power that spoke louder in stillness. Banryu, his massive blade, rested against his shoulder, a monolith of sharpened steel so massive that most grown strong men would falter beneath its weight—yet he wielded it with the ease of an afterthought. The wind whispered through the jungle, catching at the weathered hem of his coat, the frayed ends shifting like restless spirits. His expression was a mask of patience, empty of fear, absent of thrill.
The titanoboa struck.
Karina’s pulse shattered against her ribs as the ginormous serpent lunged, a blurred specter of muscle and rage. Its jaws yawned open, revealing endless rows of needle-like fangs glistening with thick saliva. Its strike carved through the night, sending a shockwave of displaced air soaring through the clearing, scattering embers and leaves like panicked birds.
Then effortlessly steel met flesh.
Banryu tore through the titanoboa’s skull, an arc of merciless finality. The impact split bone, severed muscle, and ruptured sinew in a single, devastating strike. A sickening, wet crack echoed through the jungle.
The beast convulsed.
Its coils thrashed wildly, carving deep furrows into the earth, snapping through the air like dying waves against a storm-lashed shore. The ridges along its spine spasmed, shuddering in the grip of instinct. And then—it went still.
Vincenzo did not move as burgundy coloured blood painted his face.
High above, Leonardo’s jaw tensed.
A few feet away from the carnage, Soren "Hellhound" Vance exhaled a sharp, amused laugh, the sound splintering the silence. His curved blade dripped with fresh blood as he flicked it idly, droplets scattering onto the forest floor like discarded rain.
"That was pathetic ," he mused, voice light, amused. " Didn’t even get a chance to fight back."
Karina’s stomach coiled tight.
There was something deeply wrong with them.
Then immediately the night shattered once again.
A cacophony of frantic screeches erupted through the jungle. Karina snapped her gaze upward just in time to see them—Microraptors, their shiny black feathers slicing through the darkness, their movements erratic, desperate. They twisted, dove, their clawed wings carving through the smoky air—fleeing.
Because of him.
Eryk "Firebird" Draven stood at the jungle’s edge, his grin a sliver of madness beneath the moon. A glass flask spun between his fingers, its contents swirling a deep, violent red.
He hurled it.
The glass shattered against the underbrush.
A heartbeat later—flames roared to life.
The fire tore through the jungle, hungry, insatiable. It devoured the earth, licked hungrily at ancient trees, coiling around vines like a living entity. Smoke curled skyward in thick, suffocating waves.
The Microraptors shrieked.
Kaelen "Stonewall" Granitov stepped forward, the mechanical whir of his home made minigun humming to life.
Then moments later gunfire broke through the night.
Karina’s breath caught as bullets shredded through the night, tearing through the fleeing creatures mid-flight. Blood misted the air, fragile bodies twisting, final cries lost beneath the unrelenting roar of destruction.
Leonardo exhaled slowly, his golden eyes gleaming.
This wasn’t hunting.
This was annihilation.
Then—the jungle changed.
A sound rumbled through the darkness.
Ancient. Primal. Furious.
Karina’s grip tightened on the bark as the air itself shifted, charged with static. The scent of ozone crackled through the leaves.
And then—it stepped into the firelight.
A Shadowmane.
Its massive form shimmered, fur a living storm of bioluminescent gold and electric blue. Its eyes burned, molten embers set within a beast forged from the abyss. It moved with the weight of an unbroken lineage of kings, each footfall sinking deep into the scorched earth. 
For a moment the jungle held its breath.
Then it moved!
The attack was lightning, raw and unchained.
Karina barely had time to register the blur of fury before Finn "Irongfang" Garrick lunged to meet it. His mouth twisted, fangs bared, claws gleaming. He did not hesitate.
He let the beast fight.
He let it struggle.
Then—he ended it.
A final, wet, sickening crunch.
The Shadowmane fell.
Its burning eyes dimmed.
Its chest rose once—twice—then stillness.
Karina clamped a trembling hand over her mouth.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to run.
But she couldn’t.
Because then—she saw him.
Ronan "Viper" Vale.
He stood apart from the others, watching.
His fingers traced the vials at his belt, idly, thoughtfully.
Then—his gaze lifted.
Right at her.
Karina’s pulse roared in her ears.
She went deathly still.
Above, Leonardo saw everything.
He saw Karina frozen in the treetops.
He saw Ronan smirk.
And he knew—
This wasn’t over.
The sky stretched vast and endless above Genosha, an undisturbed expanse of blue where the golden sun cast its warmth upon the wild, untamed land below. The island breathed with life, its air thick with the scents of damp earth, salt from the distant sea, and the musk of countless beasts that roamed free. Towering trees reached for the heavens, their emerald canopies weaving shadows across the jungle floor, where unseen creatures stirred beneath the dense undergrowth. The land was untouched—primal, sacred, inviolable.
And yet, today, something foreign had arrived.
A fleet of small boats cut through the waves, their hulls slicing across the water with careful precision. Men and women sat within them, gripping cameras with steady hands, their voices hushed with reverence as they approached the forbidden shores. They were explorers, documentarians, artists—here to capture the raw, unfiltered beauty of a rumored world unseen by modern civilization.
But as their feet met the sand, as their eyes lifted to the towering cliffs and vast jungles, they realized they were not alone.
At first, it was movement—fleeting shadows slipping between the trees, glimpses of lithe figures vanishing into the brush. Then, as the wind carried the distant echoes of laughter—guttural, unrestrained, wild—they saw them.
Children.
They were not ordinary children. Their bodies bore the marks of the untamed world—lean muscles, bronzed skin marred with old scars, hair tangled and adorned feathers and bones. Some crouched low in the grass, their heads tilting in curiosity, eyes gleaming like those of the beasts that prowled the jungle. Others perched in the trees, their limbs coiled with tension, watching from above as though deciding whether to strike or retreat.
The photographers were transfixed.
They had come expecting to capture the land, to witness its untouched grandeur and return with proof of its mystery. But this—this was something else entirely.
Some of them reached out, voices soft, coaxing—attempting to lure the children closer with outstretched hands and offerings of food. It was a mistake.
High above, nestled within the thick branches of an ancient tree, a Leopard child watched. The child’s blue eyes narrowed, with muscles wound tight like a coiled spring. They had seen such gestures before, understood the glint of hunger in human eyes—not the hunger for flesh, but the hunger for possession.
Not far from them, a Hyena child crouched in the undergrowth, lips pulled back in a jagged grin. He did not trust humans. He did not fear them either.
When one of the photographers stepped too close, his voice laced with false sweetness, the Leopard child struck first.
A blur of lithe muscle, sharp nails, and teeth—silent as a shadow but lethal as a storm. The man’s scream shattered the air as he fell, his body convulsing beneath the child’s grip. A heartbeat later, the Hyena child was upon him.
Laughter rang out—a high-pitched, bone-chilling sound—as their teeth tore into flesh. Blood splattered against the leaves, soaking the ground in a crimson stain. The jungle held its breath.
And then, the others understood.
There would be no taking. No stealing, no luring, no coaxing children from the land that had claimed them as its own. Not without consequence.
Fear settled over the remaining photographers, but they did not run. Instead, they learned. They learned to move carefully, to tread as lightly as ghosts. They did not reach out again. They only lifted their cameras and took pictures.
As the months passed, the fragile truce between the feral children and the outsiders remained unspoken but understood. The jungle had not rejected them outright, but it had given them boundaries. So long as they did not interfere, did not trespass beyond what was permitted, they were tolerated. No more, no less.
Among them, however, there was one who stood apart.
Angelo Giovanni.
The older man did not move with the same nervous energy as the others. He did not press forward with greedy hands or desperate curiosity. He only watched, his gaze steady, filled not with fear nor hunger, but with something else.
Respect.
From the cliffs, Leonardo had been watching as well.
At fourteen, the boy had grown even larger, his body hardened by the laws of survival. His limbs were thick with powerful muscle, his chest broad, his shoulders wide, his movements smooth and deliberate—a predator among predators. He did not trust the humans. Due to his past, he had every reason not to.
And yet, there was something about this one.
Angelo never reached for him, never spoke in soft, coaxing tones as the others did. He did not treat Leonardo like a curiosity, nor did he fear him as many others did. Instead, he merely existed within the boy’s world, observing, waiting.
For a long time, Leonardo allowed him nothing but silence.
But one evening, as the sun bled red and gold across the horizon, the older man did something unexpected.
He spoke to him.
"I think I’ll name you Leonardo."
The boy’s head snapped toward him, eyes flashing in the dying light. No human adult had ever called him by any name with kindness.
And then, Angelo spoke again—his voice steady, warm, familiar.
"Ciao, Leonardo."
The language hit him like a wave.
Leonardo froze, his breath catching in his throat. The sound of it— Italian, his language, his past —felt both foreign and familiar, like the echo of a life he had long since buried.
Angelo waited.
Slowly, hesitantly, Leonardo parted his lips—unused to the act of speaking, to the weight of words in his mouth. His voice was rough, unpracticed, a growl wrapped in syllables.
"Ciao."
Angelo smiled.
From that moment on, their exchanges became more frequent. Simple words at first—stiff, hesitant, broken. But Angelo never laughed, never corrected him with impatience. He simply spoke, slow and deliberate, weaving the language back into Leonardo’s life one phrase at a time.
And, despite himself, Leonardo listened.
The jungle had been his home, the animals his family, the language of growls and gestures all he had ever needed. But now—now he was remembering.
A world that once belonged to him. A language he had forgotten how to speak.
And a man who, for the first time in years, did not see him as a beast to be feared or a mystery to be solved.
But as something else entirely.
The shift was subtle, yet undeniable, as if the world itself had quietly adjusted to a new understanding. The golden dawn cast long shadows across the land, its first light slanting through the tangled jungle canopy, illuminating patches of dry earth and golden grass. The air was thick with the mingling scents of soil, sun-warmed rock, and the distant musk of prey. Every creature on Genosha was waking—or hunting.
From his vantage point high on the cliffs, Angelo Giovanni adjusted his lens, tracking the scene below with quiet reverence. He had witnessed Leonardo among the lions before, but never like this.
The lionesses were already moving, their lean, muscled bodies gliding through the grass with practiced silence. Their golden coats melted into the landscape, shifting with the wind, eyes locked onto the unseen quarry ahead.
And among them, Leonardo moved as one of their own.
On all fours, his wide frame should have made him conspicuous, yet he moved with a predatory grace so precise that, from a distance, it was impossible to tell the boy apart from the lions. His fingers splayed wide, palms sinking into the soft dirt, mimicking the power of the lionesses’ front paws. His knees hovered close to the ground, never fully touching, his steps careful, deliberate. Each movement was calculated, his weight shifting smoothly from limb to limb, his muscles rolling beneath his bronzed skin.
Angelo’s breath hitched as he adjusted the focus, catching the detail—the ripple of Leonardo’s back muscles, the controlled expansion of his ribs as he inhaled, the way his shoulder blades shifted with each silent advance. His breathing matched the lionesses’, deep and measured, his chest rising and falling with theirs, his very pulse synced to the rhythm of the pride.
He crouched lower—so low his belly nearly skimmed the cool earth beneath him. His right leg stretched back, toes digging into the dirt for balance, while his left knee hovered near his elbow. He was a fraction of a second away from a pounce, his weight evenly distributed, ready to explode into motion.
The lionesses froze.
So did Leonardo.
Stillness settled over the land, thick and waiting. The wind shifted.
Leonardo closed his eyes.
And he listened.
The world shrank, tunneling into the details only he could sense. His skin tingled, attuned to the vibrations in the ground beneath him. Hoofbeats. A slow, steady rhythm, too heavy for gazelles, too slow for panicked prey. He focused harder, drawing in the air—
There, he thought.
The herd was close.
A dozen antelope, their horns gleaming in the light, drifted across the dry lakebed. Their movements were cautious, ears flicking, muscles twitching with instinctive wariness. They knew predators lurked in the grasslands—but they didn’t know how close.
Leonardo’s fingers curled into the dirt. His eyes popped open, pupils dilated.
The lionesses began their silent advance.
They moved like shadows, fluid and soundless, their powerful shoulders rippling beneath their pelts. One lioness circled wide, preparing to cut off an escape route. Another crouched low, waiting for the signal. Their breathing was steady. Their tails flicked in the air. Their eyes gleamed.
Leonardo was among them, his big frame tensed, poised.
The antelope were just within range—a single moment separated them from life and death.
And then in an instant, they charge.
The lionesses erupted from the grass in an explosion of muscle and fury. Their roars shattered the morning stillness as they lunged forward, paws pounding, claws unsheathed. The herd panicked, hooves hammering the ground as they scattered in a frenzy.
But it was too late.
Leonardo moved like a bullet. His body launched forward, muscles propelling him with terrifying speed. He was no longer human in that moment—he was something else, something far more primal, something born for this.
His powerful hands slammed into the earth as he sprinted, his legs driving him forward in perfect synchrony with the lionesses. He didn’t need to think—he felt.
And then, he pounced.
The weight of his body collided with an antelope, his sheer mass crushing it beneath him. It screamed—a high, piercing sound of terror—before Leonardo’s arms wrapped around its thick neck. His grip was unbreakable, his biceps flexing as he locked the beast in place.
The antelope thrashed, its hooves kicking wildly, trying to shake him off. Its muscles twisted and heaved, but Leonardo was stronger.
His jaws parted.
Leonardo’s canines were sharp and curved, longer than a normal boy’s, his lateral incisors jagged, almost chipped—teeth built for tearing, built for this.
He bit down.
The antelope’s hide was thick, but Leonardo’s jaw strength was greater. His teeth sank into flesh, piercing hide, breaking through the dense muscle beneath. Warm blood filled his mouth, iron-rich and searing hot against his tongue.
The lionesses struck in the same instant.
One latched onto the jugular, her fangs sinking deep, shaking viciously, ripping open the throat. Another lioness clamped onto the flank, her claws tearing muscle apart, dragging the dying beast into the dirt.
The antelope’s screams gurgled into silence. Its body convulsed, its last breaths shuddering through torn lungs.
And then—it was still.
The lionesses let go, panting, their muzzles dripping crimson. They stepped back, watching as Leonardo held the carcass, his own chest heaving.
For a long moment, he simply knelt there, his fingers still clenched around the beast’s ruined throat, his lips and chin stained with blood. His eyes—feral, unblinking—remained locked on the kill.
And then, at last, he exhaled.
The hunt was over.
Angelo Giovanni stood at a distance, camera lowered, his sharp eyes studying Leonardo in quiet contemplation. He knew it was time to leave. But still, he lingered.
Slowly, he stepped forward, closing the space between them with the same deliberate patience he had used when first approaching the lions. He said nothing at first, simply looking at the boy—no, the young man—kneeling over his kill, his breath still ragged from the hunt. Then, with a tenderness that surprised even himself, Angelo lifted a hand and placed it atop Leonardo’s thick, tangled mane of hair. His fingers pressed gently, a brief but unmistakable gesture of something deeper than words.
"Spero di rivederti un giorno, figlio mio," he murmured. His voice was steady, but there was something weighted in it—something final.
Leonardo did not move, did not speak. He only stared up at the older man, the roughness of Angelo’s palm still lingering against his scalp long after it had lifted.
Angelo took a step back, then another, before turning and walking away. The others barely noticed his departure, their focus already elsewhere. But Leonardo watched him, unmoving. As Angelo disappeared into the bush beyond the savanna, something tugged at him—a quiet pull, a curiosity he couldn’t ignore.
He left the kill behind, his lion family feeding without question, and followed. His bare feet moved soundlessly over the earth, guided by instinct as much as intent, until he reached the beach. The other photographers were already there, their voices drifting over the wind as they packed up, preparing to depart, the boats bobbed gently in the tide.
Angelo turned, as if sensing he was no longer alone. His gaze found Leonardo, standing at the edge of the shore, golden eyes unblinking. For a moment, neither spoke. Then, with the same quiet understanding that had passed between them before, Angelo raised a hand in farewell.
Leonardo did not wave back. He only stood there, watching as the older man stepped into the boat and took his seat among the others. The engine rumbled to life, the vessel cutting through the waves, carrying Angelo farther and farther away.
If he had ever been given the choice of a father—a human father—it would have been Angelo Giovanni.
But choices like that had never belonged to him.
With one last glance at the retreating vessel, Leonardo turned, stepping away from the beach and back toward the pride. The lions accepted him without question, as they always had. And as he disappeared into the golden embrace of the savanna, the wind carried away the fading scent of blood, leaving only the untamed wild behind.
Time slipped by, the days blending into one another as yhe sun blazed mercilessly overhead, casting sharp, unforgiving shadows across the battlefield. The air shimmered with heat, distorting the jungle in a mirage-like haze. The scent of blood and death tainted the air, mingling with the dry, cracked earth and the humid aroma of the rainforest. The Brotherhood of Seven had stood their ground, their weapons and powers marking them as legendary warriors, but against Leochiro, now known as Leonardo thanks to one of the photographers who visited their island, and his pride, they were mere prey. Above, giant vultures circled, their dark silhouettes against the blinding blue sky, waiting for their feast. The wind howled through the dense jungle, whipping through the trees, kicking up dust and loose leaves, carrying with it the heavy stench of slaughter.
Vincenzo “The Marauder” Ossian was the first to engage. His massive Banryu sword crashed against Leonardo’s iron grip, but the sheer strength difference was insurmountable. Leonardo caught the blade mid-swing, yanked it from Vincenzo’s grasp, and in a single fluid motion, shattered the enormous weapon against the rocks. Vincenzo stumbled back, his eyes wide with disbelief. Before he could react, Leonardo's fist connected with his ribs, sending him crashing through the underbrush. He gasped for air, unable to move, but alive.
Soren “Hellhound” Vance circled Leonardo with his curved katana, grinning madly. His speed was unmatched—until Leonardo anticipated several of his moves. A feint, a pivot, and then an iron grip crushed Soren’s wrist. The curved sword clattered to the ground as Leonardo’s other hand closed around the boy’s throat. Before he could snap Soren’s neck, a lioness leapt onto his back, sinking her fangs into his shoulder. Soren screamed, struggling, but another lioness joined in, claws ripping into his chest. His final shriek echoed through the jungle, lost in the wind, before the pride tore him apart. The vultures above cawed in anticipation, their wings spread wide as they descended ever lower, waiting for their turn.
Eryk “Firebird” Draven had barely ignited his flask of oil when a powerful blur shot past him. A massive lion lunged, knocking him to the ground before he could react. Eryk’s flask shattered as the beast’s jaws clamped onto his skull, crushing it instantly. Blood and oil mixed in the dirt as the fire died with him. The wind fanned the small embers, but they fizzled against the dry ground, snuffed out by fate itself.
Kaelen “Stonewall” Granitov’s mechanical enhancements made him a living fortress, his built-in machine gun roaring to life. Bullets ricocheted off Leonardo’s skin, leaving shallow wounds that healed almost instantly. With a feral growl, Leonardo leaped forward, tearing Kaelen’s mechanical arm clean off before slamming his fist through the boy’s metallic chest. Sparks and blood mixed as Kaelen’s body twitched. He tried to move, but a lion tackled him to the ground, pinning him. The beast’s massive jaws clamped down on his throat, twisting violently until his body went limp. Above them, a vulture screeched, sensing fresh meat as the midday sun cast its gruesome spectacle in harsh, unrelenting light.
Finn “Irongfang” Garrick’s two personalities warred within him—a boy who always wanted to be a doctor or destined to be a killer. He chose the latter, claws bared, lunging at Leonardo in a frenzy. Leonardo let him come, then caught both wrists mid-air. With a powerful yank, he ripped Finn’s arms from their sockets. The want-to-be doctor half of him barely had time to scream before Leonardo crushed his ribcage with a single stomp. As his body spasmed in the dirt, another lion raked its claws across Finn’s exposed chest, ensuring he would never rise again. The wind carried the scent of blood far and wide, drawing the attention of scavengers lurking at the edges of the carnage.
Brennan “Skullcrusher” Reznik swung his massive club, his brute strength rivaling even Leonardo’s. The first strike connected, but Leonardo barely flinched. The second never came. Leonardo ducked low, wrapped his arms around Brennan’s enormous frame, and with a roar of effort, lifted him into the air. He brought him down spine-first onto a jagged rock, snapping him in half. The impact was so violent that Brennan’s insides spilled out. A lion leapt onto what remained of him, gnawing at his throat until he stopped twitching. The jungle floor, once green, was now painted in red, and the flies began to gather.
Ronan “Viper” Vale, the last survivor, stumbled back, hands shaking as he uncorked his deadliest poison. Before he could release the gas, a lioness lunged, knocking him flat. He struggled, but the beast clamped its powerful jaws around his head and crushed it like an overripe fruit. Poison spilled uselessly onto the ground as Ronan’s lifeless body twitched once and then lay still. A gust of wind sent the scent of the toxin scattering into the air, but it was too late to save him. The vultures above screeched, impatient and eager.
The massacre was complete. The Brotherhood of Seven, once feared, now lay in ruin. Leonardo stood amidst the carnage, blood dripping from his hands, his breath steady. The hunt was over.
Behind him, Vincenzo coughed weakly, barely clinging to life. His shattered Banryu lay in pieces beside him, his fingers twitching as he tried to push himself up. Blood dribbled from his lips as he lifted his head, glaring at Leonardo with pure hatred. “You’ll pay for this… one day…” he rasped before collapsing back into the dirt.
Leonardo cast him one last glance before turning away, his lions at his side, leaving Vincenzo to his fate. Whether the boy lived or died was no longer his concern. As the wind howled and the vultures swooped lower, the jungle prepared to consume what remained of the fallen.
Years had passed, the rhythms of time flowing seamlessly in the jungle, each season a thread woven into the fabric of his wonderful island life. The first light of dawn painted the jungle in golden hues as Leonardo stirred from his slumber. Now eighteen, he had fully embraced his life among the lions, moving with the grace and power of the beasts that had raised him. The air was thick with the scents of the jungle—moist earth, distant prey, the comforting presence of his pride. Yet, something was different this morning.
For the past few days, subtle tremours had rippled through the land, barely noticeable at first but growing more frequent. Leonardo crouched low, pressing his palm into the dirt, feeling the faintest vibration. It was unnatural, unlike the shifting of the land he had grown accustomed to over the years. But before he could dwell on it further, another scent reached him—something foreign, something wrong.
His nostrils flared as he detected the unmistakable stench of humans. Not just one or two, but many. And mixed within their scent was something else—metallic, synthetic, alien to the pure wilderness of Genosha. His muscles tensed. This was no ordinary intrusion.
Silently, he signaled to his lions and crept through the dense underbrush, following the unnatural scent trail. The jungle had fallen eerily quiet, as if nature itself recoiled from the approaching menace. As he moved forward, his sharp instincts screamed a warning. Without hesitation, he twisted to the side just as a projectile whizzed past him, embedding itself into a tree trunk. A split second later, something else struck—cords wrapped around his body, crackling with an electric charge.
Pain surged through him as the electrified net tightened, forcing his powerful frame to the ground. He gritted his teeth, suppressing the roar that threatened to escape his throat. His vision blurred for a moment before he steadied himself, fighting against the restraints. Footsteps approached.
From the shadows of the jungle, a man emerged. He was older, his frame muscular but lean, his face marked by years of hardened experience. His piercing gaze locked onto Leonardo with the sharpness of a predator assessing its catch.
Jacques Duvall smirked. “Magnifique. You’re even more impressive than the stories say.”
Leonardo’s eyes burned with fury as he took in the man before him.
Jacques continued, stepping closer. “I am Jacques Duvall. Perhaps you have heard whispers of me, boy. They call me The Tamer.” He chuckled, kneeling beside Leonardo’s restrained form. “For decades, I have bent nature to my will, broken the fiercest of beasts. And now…” His eyes glowed with a twisted hunger. “Now I have you.”
Leonardo snarled, muscles flexing against the electric restraints, but Jacques merely chuckled. “Struggle all you like. You’re mine now.”
In the following hours, Leonardo learned the horrifying truth. He was not the only captive. The poachers had taken others—Jabari, Vincenzo, and five more of the island’s adolescent survivors. The rest had been slaughtered.
Jacques took his time explaining his greater plan. He and his men had come to Genosha for more than just capturing the strongest Aberrant children. They had discovered the meteorite—Xarvoar. It was the source of everything: the mutations, the heightened strength, the cloaking field that had kept Genosha hidden for so long. And now, they would harvest it.
But they had miscalculated.
Three weeks passed in cold, sterile captivity aboard Jacques’ ship. Each of the children was kept in a separate high-tech cage, built to suppress their abilities. Leonardo had tried to break free countless times, only to be met with reinforced walls and energy fields that drained him. Outside the metal confines of his prison, he could hear the distant conversations of the crew—some gloating, some uneasy.
Then, one morning, the ship shook violently.
The children exchanged anxious glances, their cages rattling as the metal beneath them groaned. Something was happening. Something big.
A frantic shout rang through the corridors. A crew member burst into the room, eyes wide with terror, rushing to the nearest guard. “We need to tell Jacques and the captain—NOW!” the man panted, gripping the doorway. “The meteorite—it’s destabilizing! The whole thing is triggering a massive reaction. If we don’t leave immediately, the tsunami will wipe us out!”
Panic spread through the remaining crew like wildfire. Without hesitation, Jacques and the officers abandoned their plans, making a break for their ships. The poachers scrambled aboard their two vessels, leaving behind any stragglers who had been on land.
Through the reinforced bars of his cage, Leonardo could see it—the distant horizon, once stable, now boiling with fury. The ocean itself was rebelling. The monstrous power of Xarvoar had been disturbed, and now, the very island that had been his home was about to be swallowed by the sea.
For forty days and nights, the ship carved its way through the sea, carrying Leonardo, Karina, Vincenzo, Jabari, and five others toward an uncertain fate in France. The cold metal of their cages pressed against their skin, humming faintly with the energy of the high-tech locks. Overhead, rusted beams creaked with each sway of the ship, casting long, jagged shadows in the dim light of the cargo hold. The air was thick with the scent of salt, sweat, and the faint metallic tang of blood from past punishments.
Though their captors did not understand, the children spoke in the language they had crafted on Genosha—a mixture of growls, clicks, chirps, caws, and guttural sounds, blending their animalistic upbringing with their human intellect. They spoke of escape, of setting aside old rivalries, of fighting together for their freedom.
A guard, a grizzled man with tired eyes and a baton at his hip, scowled. "Shut up! No talking! Unless you want another lesson," he barked, slamming his fist against the bars of Leonardo’s cage. The vibration echoed through the metal, but the young warriors did not flinch. Their moment would come.
That moment arrived when the ship lurched violently, the storm outside intensifying. The guard, losing his balance, fumbled with the key ring at his belt as he reached to steady himself against a nearby crate. In that split second, Karina, the smallest and fastest among them, struck. The moment the lock on her cage disengaged, she sprang forward like a bird of prey, her sharp nails clawing at the guard’s throat as she slammed him against the bars. He struggled, his yell strangled in his throat, and Leonardo seized the opening.
He reached through the bars of his cage, yanking the key ring from the guard’s belt before he could recover. With swift coordination, he tossed the keys to Jabari, who unlocked another cage. One by one, they repeated the process, freeing their fellow captives as chaos erupted in the hold.
The freed children moved as one, their combined strength overwhelming any resistance. The second guard barely had time to draw his weapon before Vincenzo barreled into him, slamming his head into the steel wall so hard that it left a dent. The man crumpled to the ground, unmoving. Vincenzo sneered, cracking his knuckles, ready to hunt down the rest of their captors.
“No!” Leonardo grabbed Vincenzo’s arm, stopping him mid-step. “Escape first.”
Vincenzo snarled, his bloodlust unchecked. “They deserve to die.”
“Then let the sea have them,” Jabari interjected, his voice surprisingly calm but firm. “We leave now.”
Leonardo and Jabari forcibly dragged Vincenzo away before he could make another move. The ship rocked violently beneath them, waves slamming against its hull as they sprinted toward the upper deck. Wind howled through the narrow passageways, whipping at their hair as they burst onto the rain-slicked deck. The dark ocean stretched endlessly before them, its surface churning under the weight of the brewing storm. The sky was blackened by thick, rolling clouds, flickering with veins of lightning.
Shouts rang out behind them, the voices of their captors filled with anger and confusion. A gunshot cracked through the air, a bullet embedding itself into the wooden railing beside Leonardo. No time to hesitate. One by one, they leaped over the railing into the churning sea below, the freezing water swallowing them whole.
The cold was a shock, like knives piercing through their skin. The waves tossed them like ragdolls, but they fought against the current, their muscles straining with the effort. Hours passed in a disorienting blur of darkness and saltwater, until at last, they washed ashore, breathless and trembling.
They found themselves in the tangled shadows of a back alley in France, the distant hum of the city pressing against them. The streets smelled of rain and old stone, a stark contrast to the wild symphony of Genosha. The moon hung low in the sky, casting an eerie glow over their soaked and battered forms.
They stood together in silence, knowing their time as a pack had come to an end.
“From here,” Leonardo murmured, his voice low but resolute, “we go our separate ways.”
No one argued. Karina nodded, her sharp eyes scanning the street before vanishing into the darkness. Jabari gave Leonardo a firm nod, then turned and disappeared down a narrow passage. The others followed, each slipping into the city’s depths, one by one.
Vincenzo lingered for a moment, fists clenched at his sides. “This isn’t over,” he muttered, his voice laced with something between a promise and a threat. Then, without another word, he, too, melted into the night.
Leonardo stood for a moment longer, watching their figures vanish. He took a deep breath, the weight of everything pressing against his chest. Then, with a final glance at the moonlit sky, he turned and walked away—into the unknown future that awaited him.
The road to Vulci was long, but for Leonardo, it was shorter than the years that had stretched between him and this place. He walked with a quiet, predatory grace, his steps light despite his size. The wind carried the scent of dry earth and distant rain, rustling through the brittle remnants of a town that had long since begun to crumble. He had grown into his body over the years, his frame massive, his presence undeniable. Yet, despite the strength that coiled beneath his skin, something inside him tensed as he neared the outskirts.
Vulci had not changed much. The roads were still cracked and worn, the buildings slouching into themselves, exhausted from years of neglect. He passed familiar landmarks, though they felt like ghosts now, remnants of a life he had barely known. People moved along the streets, but when their eyes caught his, they quickly looked away. Some whispered behind their hands. Others crossed the road entirely. He knew why.
His scars made him a specter. His golden eyes, unnatural. His canines, a predator’s grin.
They feared him.
He had no intention of easing their discomfort.
He moved through the town with purpose, gathering scraps of information about his past, his mother. The answer came easily, too easily.
“Dead,” an old woman told him without hesitation. “Four years ago. Drank herself to death.”
Leonardo had expected the news to hit him harder, but there was only a dull ache, an emptiness that had long settled in him. He did not mourn her, not really. How could he, when she had been a stranger to him? The mother he had imagined had died long before she truly did.
With nowhere to go, he turned to what he knew best: the land. The wilderness surrounding Vulci was not Genosha, but it was enough. He lived among the trees and the hills, finding a quiet solace in the solitude. When the nights stretched long, he worked. The farms in the outskirts were always in need of hands, and his strength made him valuable, even if the villagers eyed him with wariness. They kept their distance, but his employer, a grizzled farmer named Romano, only cared that Leonardo could work.
Romano sent him into town for errands often, trusting him with money and goods. It was during one of these trips that the past found him again.
He had been balancing a sack of grain over one shoulder, the weight insignificant to him, when he saw them. An older man, walking with measured steps, pushed an even older man in a wheelchair.
Leonardo nearly dropped the sack.
Mantis.
And Don Zeno.
They passed by him without so much as a second glance. The sight of them, older and diminished, sent something violent curling in his gut. He had imagined vengeance in the quiet moments of his youth—dreamed of what he would do if he ever found them again. The bones in his hands ached to curl into fists. The air felt too thick, too suffocating.
His father was still alive, too.
He could kill them all. It would be easy. A lifetime of suffering for a few moments of satisfaction.
And yet, before he could take a step toward that dark path, fate intervened.
“Leonardo?”
The voice was familiar in a way that felt like a distant memory. He turned to find himself staring into the face of a man he had met long ago, on Genosha. Angelo Giovanni, the photographer. Only, he was no longer a photographer.
He wore the robes of a minister now. 
“It’s been too long, ragazzo.” Leonardo’s eyes flickered briefly, but he didn’t respond, his thoughts momentarily clouded by the ghosts of his past.
Angelo studied him, then followed his gaze toward Mantis and Zeno. Understanding settled in his features. “I see,” he murmured. He did not ask how Leonardo knew them. He did not need to.
They walked together, away from the town square, toward the edge of Vulci where the hills met the sky. Angelo spoke first.
“I won’t tell you not to be angry,” he said. “But I will tell you this—revenge is not the same as healing.”
Leonardo scoffed. “And what do you know of healing?”
Angelo only smiled, but there was something old and knowing in his eyes. “Enough to know that if you give in to that hunger, it will never be enough. You think their suffering will satisfy you? It won’t. You will still be empty.”
The words struck deeper than Leonardo cared to admit. He said nothing.
With Angelo’s guidance, Leonardo found a different purpose. He spent months reevaluating his path, learning that power was not only found in strength but in creation, in building rather than destroying. It was also Angelo who helped him obtain the means to leave Italy, to start fresh where his past did not dictate his future. He found his way to Rome, then to the United States.
The United States was a land of opportunity, and Leonardo seized it with both hands. He arrived with nothing but his mind and his will. The towering skyscrapers of Los Angeles stretched toward the heavens, a landscape unlike anything he had ever known. The streets pulsed with life, filled with people of every background, each one chasing their own version of success. The rhythm of the city was intoxicating, as if it were a symphony of ambition and movement.
At first, survival was his only goal. He took whatever work he could find, labouring at the docks by day, hauling crates and unloading shipments under the sweltering sun. The work was brutal, but it forged his body into an even greater force. By night, he worked at a small cellphone store, absorbing every detail of how the business operated. He studied the products, memorized the pitch of the best salesmen, and learned how people responded to different tactics. Every transaction, every customer interaction, became a lesson in psychology and persuasion.
But Leonardo was never meant for small things. He observed, he adapted. He saw how the market moved, how demand ebbed and flowed. He took what he learned and began selling phones on the street, cutting deals where others only saw limitations. His golden eyes, once feared, became mesmerizing; his voice, once growling with rage, became smooth and persuasive.
With each sale, he built more than income—he built influence. He made contacts, spoke to suppliers, found ways to cut costs and increase margins. In a matter of months, he wasn’t just selling—he was expanding. He saw the potential in telecommunications, in the growing need for connection. Others fought for scraps while he envisioned an empire.
His relentless ambition paid off. Soon, he secured a deal to supply bulk phones to local vendors. Then he established his own storefront. Then another. Within a year, he was no longer a street vendor—he was a businessman. He reinvested every dollar, moving aggressively, expanding into territories where larger companies feared to tread. The world of business, like the wild, was about dominance. And he was the predator at the top.
The media would later call it a meteoric rise—how a nameless, scarred immigrant became a telecommunications mogul in record time. But they didn’t see the nights spent studying, the negotiations where he refused to back down, the calculated risks that paid off in ways others couldn’t imagine.
His empire was not inherited, nor stolen. It was built, brick by brick, tower by tower.
The boy from Vulci to Genosha, the lion among men, had become something more.
And for the first time in his life, the future was truly his.
Leonardo’s thoughts wove between past and present, caught in the liminal space where memories bled into reality. The weight of his own history pressed against his chest, a quiet but constant force. His golden eyes lowered, settling on his hands—massive and battle-worn, resting lightly atop his thick thighs. The scars etched into his fingers, some deep, others faint, whispered of a past written in blood and survival. They lay splayed, relaxed yet ever-ready, their rough texture a stark contrast to the way he now held them still, as if bracing for something unseen.
A gentle touch pulled him back into the present.
“Do I frighten you?” His voice was low, steady, but beneath the quiet inquiry, something deeper lurked—something cautious, vulnerable, almost reluctant to hear the answer.
Evelyn’s fingers stilled against his cheek for only a fraction of a second, as if considering. Then, with a quiet certainty, she resumed her exploration. Her fingertips traced the sharp angles of his jaw, skimming over the scar that cut across his chin, mapping the rugged terrain of a face sculpted by both time and hardship.
“I don’t fear you,” she murmured, her voice barely more than a breath between them. “Though I am more aware of what you’re capable of.”
Her thumb brushed the curve of his upper lip, slow, deliberate, a featherlight touch that sent something taut coiling in his chest. Beneath her palm, she felt the deep, unwavering rhythm of his heartbeat—a contradiction to the tension wound tight beneath his skin. His breathing was steady, measured, but there was an unmistakable edge to it, as if he were holding something back.
Leonardo let her words settle in his mind, let them take root in the space between instinct and reason. Yet he searched her eyes, sharp, hunting for any trace of deception. He found none. Only sincerity, quiet and resolute.
Something unspoken lingered between them, thick and weighted, shifting the air around them.
With almost lazy carefulness, Leonardo allowed his fingers to drift down the column of her throat. The scarred pad of his index finger moved in slow, counterclockwise circles at the base of her neck, right where her pulse fluttered—steady, but quickening. A slow, hypnotic motion, like a predator tracing the outline of something fragile yet fearless.
She didn’t pull away.
Instead, she exhaled softly, her body attuning to his touch. Encouraged by the silent permission, he reached further, his fingers ghosting over the back of her hand. His touch was rough, calloused from a life carved through the wild, yet the way he moved was paradoxically gentle, as though he feared he might shatter her if he pressed too hard. He traced small circles, slow and deliberate, as if committing the feel of her to something far more permanent than memory.
He leaned in, drawn forward by something more powerful than intention. But the moment his lips hovered just short of hers, hesitation gripped him. A hesitation not born of fear, but of something far more vulnerable—an uncertainty he could not name, an instinctual resistance to surrender.
And then, Evelyn closed the distance.
Without pause, she leaned forward, her lips pressing softly against his, unburdened by the weight of hesitation. The contact, though brief, unraveled something in him. The walls he had spent years fortifying crumbled at the quiet certainty of her touch.
When she pulled away, he no longer hesitated.
His hand came up to cradle the back of her neck, fingers threading through the silk of her hair as he drew her in once more. Their lips met again, this time with certainty, with intent, with an unspoken understanding that neither of them needed to voice.
Evelyn melted against him, her arms winding around his thick neck, fingers sinking into the corded muscle of his shoulders. She kissed him deeply, fiercely, mindful of the sharp points of his canines as their tongues met in a slow, intoxicating dance. A low sound rumbled deep in Leonardo’s chest, somewhere between a growl and a sigh, reverberating against her skin as his grip tightened—not possessive, but grounding, as if anchoring himself to this moment.
The world outside ceased to exist.
Nothing beyond this moment mattered. Not the past that haunted him, nor the future that loomed uncertain. Here, in the quiet sanctuary of her touch, there was only warmth, only breath, only the steady, unwavering beat of two hearts no longer separated by doubt.
Leonardo surrendered—not as a warrior, not as a king, but as a man.
...:TBC:...
Chapter 9: Chapter 7
Notes:
Rating: PG-13
Warning: Mentions of blackmail, sickness, physical fighting, and graphic descriptions of fights and minor character deaths
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyright material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. I only own my original characters.
Author's Note: Sorry for the late update but life's been a bit more busy than I would've liked. But here's the new chapter! I hope it was worth the wait 😅. Please let me know what you think!
Author's Note 2: Part of this chapter was also inspired by ares89's fantastic story Quid pro quo, where Cobblepot sings! The author is amazing, the story is amazing, and the art work is amazing! If you haven't read it please go read and share some love!🥰
Author's Note 3: Thanks to my friend @currvycurly for the pics! After I saw them, and asked for some remakes specifically for this chapter, it really made this chapter come alive!🥰
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Spring had long settled in with a gentle warmth, the kind that made the air feel light and full of promise. The sun bathed the streets in a golden glow, glinting off dewdrops still clinging to budding leaves. The scent of blooming jasmine and freshly cut grass mingled with the crisp aroma of morning coffee, and a soft breeze carried the distant laughter of children enjoying yet another truly pleasant day of the season.
Evelyn stepped into her usual café, the familiar scent of freshly ground espresso and warm pastries wrapping around her like a comforting embrace. It was a quiet morning—most patrons lost in their laptops or casual conversations—but the moment she reached the counter to place her order, she felt it.
A presence.
A gaunt, angular man, his skin pulled tight over sharp cheekbones and hollowed eyes, stood just behind her, too close to be incidental. Despite the sharp cut of his charcoal suit, there was no hiding the fragility beneath it—his frame hung awkwardly inside the fabric, as if his bones had shrunk but his pride refused to.
He didn’t speak until she had her coffee in hand, his voice a dry rasp dipped in old arrogance, as though he was trying to remember how power once tasted.
What stood before her was not an arrogant man, not anymore anyway—but the shattered silhouette of someone who once stood tall, now haunted by the echo of his former self.
“Miss Evelyn.”
She turned slowly, her fingers tightening around the cup.
She recognized him, though time and suffering had all but erased the man he used to be. Years ago, Thrax Aidoneus had been an up-and-coming businessman with a jawline made for magazine covers and a reputation steeped in arrogance. He climbed corporate ladders with ruthless charm, his words as slick as his suits. But beneath the surface, he was vile—a shameless womanizer who treated others like pieces on a chessboard he was always winning. Evelyn remembered dodging his advances at a fundraiser once, the way his smirk curled like he was doing her a favour by noticing her.
Then came the fire. Literally.
A horrific blaze had broken out in his high-rise penthouse—some said he’d been drunk, others whispered of sabotage. Whatever the cause, he was trapped inside. The man who once flaunted power and flesh came out of the flames barely alive. His body ravaged, his pride incinerated. Gone were the broad shoulders and gleaming confidence; in their place stood a gaunt shadow of who he was.
Now, he worked under the boot of his second-uncle, Hadeon—a cruel man with no tolerance for failure and even less for sentiment. Thrax, once an up-and-coming predator in boardrooms, was reduced to a silent shadow in Hadeon’s orbit.
Evelyn didn’t speak. She just watched him, taking in the ashes of a man who once set fires of his own.
“My employer would like a word with you,” he continued, his polite smile never quite reaching his eyes. “A matter concerning your own employer.”
Her stomach twisted, but she kept her expression neutral.
“Hadeon Aidoneus?” she asked, already knowing the answer.
The man inclined his head in confirmation. “He’s expecting you.”
A chill slid down her spine. She had spent years avoiding Aidoneus and whatever twisted games he liked to play. But the mere mention of Leonardo changed everything.
She exhaled slowly, steeling herself. “Lead the way.”
A black car with tinted windows was already waiting at the curb. The ride was smooth, almost eerily so, the city passing by in a blur of glass and steel as Evelyn sat in silence, her grip firm around her coffee cup. The weight of anticipation settled in her chest, heavy and unshakable. By the time they pulled up to Ambrosia Prime, she had already braced herself for whatever awaited her inside.
She followed the hostess through a discreet side entrance, past mirrored walls and velvet partitions, until the low murmur of the restaurant faded behind a final polished door.
The private dining hall of Ambrosia Prime was designed for the elite—warm candlelight flickered over rich mahogany, the scent of seared wagyu and aged whiskey lingering in the air. The room was as intimate as it was suffocating. Evelyn sat stiffly across from Hadeon Aidoneus, her hands folded in her lap to keep them from shaking.
Hadeon lounged in his chair, his breath coming out in deep, labored sighs at ease. His suit, all dark silk and expensive tailoring, clung to his massive frame as if he were born wearing it. His fingers tapped an idle rhythm against his whiskey glass, his gaze sweeping over her like a collector appraising a rare find.
"Do you know why you’re here?" he asked, his voice a deep, almost velvety rumble that held no warmth.
She already had a good idea. "Because you think I’m an easy way to get to Leonardo."
A slow smile spread across his face. "Oh, Evelyn, that was almost clever." His gaze lingered for a moment longer, unsettling in its quiet intensity. "Yes, it’s about you—and all the lovely little secrets you’ve been keeping."
Her stomach twisted, but she kept her expression neutral.
"You and Leonardo," Hadeon continued, leaning forward. "How... quaint . The world may not know yet, but I do . And if you think I can’t turn that into a scandal, then you clearly haven’t been paying attention."
Evelyn met his gaze head-on. "You think anyone would care? Leonardo’s a businessman, not a saint. Who he dates isn’t some scandal."
His grin widened, but his eyes remained cold. "Oh, sweetheart. You are naïve. The right narrative, the right pressure , and suddenly your little romance isn’t a harmless affair—it’s a power imbalance. A predatory relationship between the mighty CEO and his poor, struggling assistant. The media would devour it. The board? The FCC?" He chuckled, swirling his drink. "Leonardo lives by control. Imagine what happens when the world thinks he’s lost it."
Evelyn’s fingers clenched against the fabric of her skirt.
"And let’s talk about you for a moment," Hadeon murmured, watching her. "Tell me, does Leonardo know why you really took that job?"
A cold wave rolled through her chest.
"That you weren’t some ambitious young professional looking for a career, but a desperate woman drowning in debt? That your foster parents—those manipulative leeches who only took you in for the government checks—bled you dry? That you also were buried in medical bills for your dear, sick elderly friend?" He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. "Do you think he’ll still see you the same way once he realizes you needed him before you wanted him?"
Evelyn forced herself to breathe evenly.
"It doesn’t matter if you never meant to use him," Hadeon continued, his voice taking on a gentle, almost sympathetic lilt. "Doubt is a funny thing, Evelyn. Men like Leonardo—men who built themselves into something untouchable —they don’t like feeling played. It starts as a whisper in the back of his mind. It festers. And suddenly, every moment you shared? Every look, every touch?" He leaned back, taking a slow sip of whiskey. " Poisoned. "
She hated that his words wormed their way into her thoughts.
"What do you want?" she asked, voice steady.
He smiled like a man who had already won. "Information. Not much, just... insight . Insider knowledge, company movements—nothing too dangerous. You feed me what I need, and in return, I keep your little secrets safe. And, of course, I stay out of Leonardo’s way."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "And if I say no?"
The warmth drained from his face. "Then I bury you both."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
She exhaled slowly, her voice steady. "Then I guess you’ll have to get your hands dirty for once in your life. Doesn’t sound like your style though."
Then, he laughed. A rich, indulgent sound, as though she had just performed a delightful parlor trick. He shook his head, genuinely amused. "Oh, Evelyn. You’re just handing me the win?"
"I don’t know if it’s a win," she said, standing. "But at least I won’t be the woman who let a coward like you pull my strings."
She turned on her heel, pulse hammering as she walked away.
Behind her, Hadeon watched, his smile lingering—but his eyes darkened.
"This isn’t over, Evelyn."
She didn’t look back.
As she stepped out of Ambrosia Prime, the city lights bled into the pavement, casting long, fractured reflections beneath her hurried steps. The air was thick with the lingering warmth of the day, the scent of rain barely held at bay by the spring breeze. Evelyn barely registered any of it. Her mind was still trapped in that suffocating room, in the way Hadeon’s voice had curled around her like smoke, insidious and impossible to ignore.
Evelyn walked through the towering glass doors of ImperialReach , her heels clicking against the polished floors. The modern interior was bathed in the soft glow of recessed lighting, a stark contrast to the oppressive ambiance she had just left behind. She moved on autopilot, weaving through the steady hum of employees going about their day, offering brief nods to those who greeted her. But her thoughts remained elsewhere—still tangled in the lingering weight of Hadeon’s words, still feeling the phantom press of his gaze on her skin.
She barely registered the elevator ride up, the soft chime of the doors opening onto her floor snapping her back to the present. Leia looked up from her desk as Evelyn stepped out.
“Hey, you’re back early,” Leia noted, her brow creasing slightly. “Everything okay?”
Evelyn forced a small smile, setting her bag down as she slid into her chair. “Yeah. Just—” She hesitated. The words felt heavy, tangled in her throat. Instead, she exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “It’s been a long morning.”
Leia didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press, either. “Well, if you need an excuse to step away, I have about a hundred pages of financial projections I’d love to dump on your side of the desk.”
A huff of quiet laughter left Evelyn before she could stop it. She almost wanted to cling to the easy normalcy of their banter, but the weight in her chest—and the way her fingers unconsciously curled around the edge of the desk—reminded her that normal was slipping through her fingers.
Her resolve solidified. Without another word, she turned to her computer, her fingers moving swiftly across the keyboard as she pulled up the resignation letter she had drafted months ago, never expecting she’d actually send it—but unable to bring herself to delete it, either.
The hum of the printer filled the quiet between them. Leia glanced at the paper sliding into the tray, her expression shifting from to curiosity.
Evelyn reached for the letter, her hands steady. She had made her choice. Now, she just had to face Leonardo.
She gripped the letter tighter as she walked, its crisp edges pressing into her palm—a reminder of the choice she had just made. A choice she hadn't wanted to make.
By the time she reached Leonardo’s office, the weight of it had settled fully in her chest.
Evelyn stepped inside Leonardo’s office, clutching the letter in her hands. It felt heavier than it should have, weighted down by the decision she had made. Across the room, Leonardo sat at his desk, his golden eyes scanning through reports on his desktop computer, completely oblivious to the storm about to break.
She took a breath and stepped forward. “Leo.”
His gaze shifted immediately, sharp and attentive. He could always sense when something was off with her.
“I need to talk to you,” she said, setting the resignation letter down on his desk.
Leonardo’s eyes flickered to it, then back to her face. A slow frown settled over his features. “What’s this?”
She swallowed. “My resignation.”
She forced herself to meet his gaze, even as the weight of her words threatened to crush her. “Hadeon cornered me today. Had his secretary track me down at the café—like it was nothing.” The name alone was enough to sharpen Leonardo’s expression, his frown deepening. “He made it very clear that if I stay by your side, he’ll use me against you. He’s going to turn me into a liability, Leo. A weakness. And I won’t be the reason you’re put in a position you can’t fight your way out of.”
She swallowed hard, gripping the edges of the desk as if it could ground her. “I’ve spent years in your world, watching the way you handle people like him. But I’m not you. I f Hadeon wants to put me in check, I have no way of stopping him. My best move—the only move I can make—is to take myself off the board before he does.”
Her voice wavered, just slightly, but she steadied herself before adding, “This isn’t about what I want. You know that if it were, I’d have walked away months ago. I was ready to leave and find something real, but now? Now I’ve found it. You. Everything I ever wanted. I’m not running anymore, but I can’t keep you in the middle of this. Not when it’s already too dangerous.”
For a moment, there was only silence. Then, with deliberate slowness, Leonardo leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. He stared at the letter like it personally offended him.
“No,” he said flatly.
Evelyn blinked. “No?”
He pushed the letter back toward her without even reading it. “I’m not accepting this.”
She let out a frustrated breath. “Leonardo, be reasonable. This is exactly the kind of thing you’ve fired people over before. The company’s reputation—”
He was already shaking his head. “The company’s reputation has been damaged by absolute sinners who lied, who stole, who acted recklessly without thought for consequences. That is not you.” His voice softened. “And you are not just anyone to me, Evelyn.”
She pressed her lips together, emotions warring inside her. “I don’t want to bring shame to you. To ImperialReach.”
Leonardo stood and prowled away from his desk, raking a hand through his dark hair. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re being blackmailed, Evelyn. Threatened.” His voice dropped lower, rougher. “And I swear on everything that’s good, if that bastard thinks he can come after you—”
His breath came out in a sharp exhale, his massive frame tensed with a barely restrained fury. He turned away, his broad shoulders rising and falling, fingers flexing like claws itching for violence. Then, a low sound rumbled from deep in his chest—something between a growl and a warning snarl.
Evelyn knew that sound. It sent shivers down her spine, not from fear, but from recognition. He was furious. And it was all for her.
Leonardo stalked back to his desk, grabbing his phone with a sharp, frustrated motion. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked like it could snap. “I need to find you security,” he muttered, already scrolling. “Someone competent. Someone who won’t let anything—”
Evelyn stepped forward, her breath steady despite the tension in the air, and walked toward him. Gently, she placed her hands over his.
“Leo,” she said softly.
His fingers stilled beneath hers, though his muscles remained tense. His golden eyes met hers, still burning with fury, still darkened with the promise of retribution.
“I love that you want to protect me,” she said, her voice steady but gentle. “But I don’t need bodyguards shadowing me everywhere I go. I don’t want to live in fear. And I know you don’t want me to either.”
Leonardo’s brows furrowed. His instinct was to argue, to insist, to fight her on this. She could see it in his expression, in the way his jaw ticked.
“I know this makes you feel like you’re doing something,” she continued, squeezing his hands. “But I don’t want to be treated like I’m fragile.”
His gaze softened just a fraction, but his frustration hadn’t faded completely. He exhaled slowly, as if trying to pull himself back from the edge of his instincts.
“I can’t just do nothing,” he admitted, voice low.
She smiled, small but sincere. “We’ll figure this out together. And because of that, I won’t go anywhere.”
A knock at the door interrupted them. At the sound, they both hesitated, the air between them charged with something unspoken. Slowly, Evelyn took a small step back, letting her hands fall to her sides, while Leonardo straightened, rolling his shoulders as if shedding the weight of the moment. His expression shifted, the intensity in his golden eyes dimming just enough to slip back into something more controlled. She folded her arms, a subtle barrier between them, while he exhaled through his nose and turned slightly toward the door.
By the time Leia stepped inside, the space between them felt measured—intentional, yet reluctant.
“Sir,” came Leia’s voice, brisk but careful as she entered with a tablet pressed to her chest. She was always composed, but even she slowed at the tension in the room. “The board meeting is starting in five.”
Leonardo didn’t look at her right away. His gaze lingered on Evelyn for a heartbeat longer before turning toward Leia, jaw tightening.
“Tell them I’ll be there shortly,” he said, his voice clipped. Then, with a flick of his fingers—more gesture than command—he added, “Wait outside.”
Leia gave a small nod and backed out without another word, quietly pulling the door shut behind her.
Leonardo exhaled sharply and cast one last look at Evelyn. The conversation wasn’t finished—not by a long shot—but they both knew now wasn’t the time.
The rhythmic pounding of fists against leather echoed through Leonardo’s private gym, each strike landing with a brutal, almost feral force. The heavy bag swung violently, held in place only by reinforced chains bolted into the ceiling.
Sweat glistened on his bare torso, the muscles in Leonardo’s broad shoulders and massive arms flexing with every calculated strike. His fists, wrapped in tape, moved with deadly precision, each punch delivering a deep, resonant boom that seemed to shake the very air around him. His breathing was controlled, his golden eyes sharp with unfiltered aggression, his body a coiled mass of tension and unspent rage. 
Gru, standing a few feet away, methodically stretched his arms behind his back, already wearing his boxing gloves. He had been mentally preparing himself for this session, but he wasn’t expecting Leonardo to sound this agitated.
Leonardo struck the bag one last time with a thunderous boom , then exhaled sharply through his nose, rolling his massive shoulders. He turned to face Gru with a look that was equal parts frustration and calculation.
“Evelyn doesn’t want security,” he said abruptly.
Gru, who had just started bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet, warming up, barely looked over as he replied, “Huh?”
Leonardo folded his arms, his entire frame still brimming with unspent aggression. “Hadeon Aidoneus is trying to blackmail her. Threatening to expose her past. Trying to use her to get to me.” His jaw tensed, his voice dropping into a barely contained growl. “I told her I’d get bodyguards. She said no.”
Gru hummed in response, tilting his head to the side as he rotated his shoulders. “Yeah, I get that.”
Leonardo’s gaze sharpened. His golden eyes, normally calm despite their intimidating nature, flashed with disbelief. “You ‘ get that’ ?”
Gru shrugged as he stretched his arms overhead. “Mhm. I mean, I get why she said no.” He dropped his arms and began throwing a few light punches at the air. “She probably doesn’t want to feel like a prisoner. Like loving you means losing the part of herself that still needs room to breathe.” He bounced on his feet, testing his balance. “If it were me, I’d ‘ave said no too.”
Leonardo raised a single thick brow, his lips pressing into a thin line. That wasn’t something he had considered. He had been so focused on keeping Evelyn safe , so intent on ensuring that no one would ever be able to use her as leverage against him, that he hadn’t thought about how it would feel from her perspective.
Gru, stretching his neck from side to side, continued. “Besides, Lee, you really gotta work on your issues, man.”
Leonardo blinked.
Then, a slow, dangerous smirk curved his lips. “Oh, absolutely,” he said smoothly, voice thick with irony. “Which is why I’m grateful you suggested boxing today.”
Gru, mid-stretch, froze . His arms were still mid-air, his body halfway into a shoulder roll, but his brain had already caught up to the sheer mistake he had just made.
Leonardo, now rolling his wrists in preparation, had his gloves on and looked entirely too pleased with himself.
“Wait—” Gru started, panic creeping into his voice.
Leonardo merely grinned, cracking his neck. “Get ready.”
Gru swallowed thickly. He was not getting out of this one.
Resigned to his fate, he trudged toward Leonardo, dragging his feet as he tapped his gloves lightly against the giant’s in the standard gesture of respect. But before stepping back, he placed both of his gloved hands over Leonardo’s in a last-ditch effort, his expression a mix of regret and pleading.
“Hey, listen,” Gru said, forcing a nervous chuckle. “I just wanna say… I’m sorry.”
Leonardo just stared at him.
Gru let out another short laugh, then backed up, trying—and utterly failing—to look confident. He raised his fists in what was supposed to be a solid defensive stance. He took a deep breath, trying to psych himself up.
And then, instead of a powerful battle cry, what came out of his mouth was a high-pitched, shrill squeal.
For a second, there was nothing but silence.
Leonardo’s face remained unreadable. His broad shoulders rose and fell in measured, steady breaths, his stance relaxed yet deceptively poised.
Inwardly, however, he was laughing .
He didn’t show it, of course. Outwardly, he gave no sign of amusement, but the sheer absurdity of it—the way Gru had hyped himself up only to completely fumble the delivery—was enough to shift something inside Leonardo.
The stress, the tension, the gnawing anger he had been holding onto all morning loosened, just a little.
Leonardo flexed his fingers within his gloves, rolling his shoulders before taking a slow, deliberate step forward.
Gru’s expression went from wary to alarmed in the span of a second.
“Aw, hell,” Gru muttered.
Leonardo lunged.
Gru yelped and bolted , sprinting around the boxing ring in an attempt to put as much distance between himself and the beast currently chasing him.
“Oh, come on, man—let’s talk about this—” Gru’s words turned into a startled grunt as Leonardo cut him off, forcing him to sidestep and stumble backward, barely keeping himself upright.
Leonardo threw a playful jab, purposefully slow, just to make Gru flinch. “You wanted to box today, remember?” he taunted.
“I immediately regret it!” Gru huffed, dodging another strike—though, to be fair, Leonardo wasn’t even putting in effort yet.
The two circled each other, Gru frantically bouncing on his feet, trying to find some kind of strategy to avoid getting absolutely wrecked .
Leonardo smirked. “I thought you said I needed to work on my issues?”
“I did ! But I also didn’t say to take it out on me !” Gru dodged another jab, only to realize—far too late—that it had been a feint .
The real hit came a split second later, a light tap to Gru’s stomach, but with Leonardo’s size , even his light punches felt like getting hit with a medicine ball.
Gru staggered back, wheezing.
Leonardo tilted his head. “You good?”
Gru held up a gloved hand in surrender. “No, but I’d like to be.”
Leonardo huffed, shaking his head. He stepped back, lowering his gloves.
Gru, catching his breath, wiped his forearm across his sweaty forehead. “So,” he said between gasps. “Feeling better?”
Leonardo exhaled, rolling his shoulders once more. “Yeah,” he admitted.
Gru grinned. “Great. Now do me a favour and never take my advice again.”
The low hum of conversation and the occasional clatter of keyboards filled the sleek, modern office of ImperialReach Telecom . The scent of freshly brewed coffee lingered in the air, mingling with the crisp sterility of polished marble floors and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city. Leonardo adjusted the cuffs of his navy-blue suit as he strode down the hall, the tailored fabric settling perfectly over his broad shoulders.
As he passed Evelyn and Leia’s desk, his golden eyes flicked toward Evelyn. “Come with me,” he said, his deep voice steady yet gentle. It was not a command, but a request.
Evelyn hesitated only for a second before standing, smoothing down her dark pencil skirt. Leia shot her a knowing glance but said nothing as Evelyn followed Leonardo into his office.
The door closed with a soft but definitive click, sealing them in privacy. Sunlight streamed in from the wide windows, casting long shadows over the rich mahogany desk and the neatly arranged files beside a sleek black laptop. The faintest hint of his cologne—something dark, smooth, and unmistakably him—hung in the air.
Leonardo turned to face her, his towering frame casting a shadow across the room. His gaze softened as he exhaled. “Evelyn,” he said, voice low but sincere. “I owe you an apology.”
She tilted her head slightly, waiting.
“I shouldn’t have let it go like that,” he admitted. “I can’t stand when we just move on like nothing happened, pretending everything’s normal after an argument.”
Evelyn’s lips curved into a faint smile. “I was thinking the same thing,” she said. “I could’ve listened, given you a chance to further explain.”
For a brief moment, silence settled between them—not the awkward kind, but something more introspective. The weight of unspoken feelings lingered in the air.
Leonardo gestured to the seating area by the window. “Sit with me.”
They moved to the plush leather chairs, angled toward each other. He leaned forward slightly, forearms resting on his knees, his fingers laced together in thought.
“I want to protect you,” he said finally, watching her reaction carefully. “Not just from physical threats, but everything—every underhanded move Hadeon might make, every piece of leverage he thinks he has.” His jaw tightened for a fraction of a second. “I have information on him. Things that can keep him from trying to use you, from ever putting you in harm’s way.”
To his surprise, Evelyn’s expression remained calm—no hesitation, no resistance. In fact, something in her eyes glinted with approval.
“I like that idea,” she said simply.
Leonardo blinked. “You do?”
She nodded. “I’ve seen enough to know how these circles work. People like Hadeon don’t respond to moral arguments. They don’t care about doing what’s right. But when you go down this path…” She leaned forward slightly. “Things get fixed. And let’s be honest, this is how a lot of these high-level players handle things ‘nicely.’ No physical confrontation. No violence. Just strategic leverage.”
Leonardo studied her, appreciating the way she understood the game—his game. She wasn’t naïve, and she certainly wasn’t afraid of his methods.
She continued, “I’d rather deal with things this way than something… irreversible.”
He gave a slow nod, understanding. “I never want you caught in the crossfire of something ugly.”
“I know,” she said, and there was no doubt in her voice.
A beat of silence passed before Evelyn spoke again. “There’s something else I want to talk about,” she said.
Leonardo raised a brow, waiting.
“I think we should have a a clarity policy in our relationship,” she said, watching him closely. “We don’t need to micromanage each other’s lives, but when it comes to major decisions—especially the ones that affect both of us—we need to talk them through. No assumptions, just honesty.”
Leonardo considered her words carefully, then nodded. “I like that.”
She let out a quiet breath, as if relieved he didn’t push back. “It gives us both a chance to be involved, to learn how to work through things as partners. I don’t want to be in a relationship where decisions are made for me. And I know you don’t want a dictatorship.”
Leonardo gave a small, knowing smirk. “No, I don’t.”
“Then it’s settled,” she said with a satisfied nod.
A comfortable silence followed before Evelyn spoke again, her voice softer now. “When we make this public…”
Leonardo’s expression darkened slightly. He knew exactly what she meant.
“They’re going to come after you,” he said. “Try to use you, slander you—because they think it’ll hurt me.”
Evelyn met his gaze, unwavering. “Exactly. And that’s why we have trust. If we let them, they’ll twist everything. They’ll try to make me look like a liability or a weakness for you. We can’t give them that opening.”
Leonardo’s expression turned serious, protective. “No matter what they throw at us, I will never let it touch you. Not physically, not emotionally, not in any way.” His voice dropped to something raw, something honest. “And just for the record, I will never hurt you. I’m dedicating my life to you, Evelyn.”
Her breath caught slightly, her fingers curling in her lap. Then, after a moment, she reached out, placing her hand over his. “And I will never hurt you,” she said, matching his determination. “Not physically, not emotionally, not in any way. We’re in this together.”
Leonardo turned his hand over, intertwining his fingers with hers. There was something grounding in the warmth of her touch, something resolute in the way she held on.
“We’ll get through everything,” he said. “Together.”
She nodded. “Together.”
The smooth purr of the luxury sedan cut through the crisp afternoon air as it pulled up to the towering structure of Netherworld Ventures . The building was a monolithic presence in the city skyline, its obsidian glass windows reflecting the world back at itself in cold detachment. Unlike ImperialReach , which exuded power through sleek elegance, Netherworld Ventures loomed like a fortress—imposing, unwelcoming, a testament to the man who ran it.
Leonardo stepped out of the car, adjusting the cuffs of his tailored navy-blue suit. The wind tugged slightly at his jacket, but his frame was too massive, too imposing, for anything as insignificant as the elements to affect his presence. Without hesitation, he strode forward, his polished leather shoes striking the steps with a deliberate rhythm.
He entered the lobby without announcement.
The effect was immediate.
The receptionist, a woman dressed in a stiff grey blazer, paled the moment she looked up and saw him. A man waiting near the elevators nearly dropped his tablet. The security guards, though trained to maintain composure, visibly tensed, their hands subtly drifting toward their radios. Leonardo didn’t need to say a word—his mere presence, his sheer size and reputation, did all the work for him.
He walked with measured steps, his pace never hurried, but with the unwavering certainty of someone who belonged anywhere he chose to be.
The glass doors leading to the executive offices slid open with a whisper of hydraulics.
A skeletal young man in a black button-up and tie scrambled to his feet from behind a large, ornate desk. He was all sharp angles and nervous energy, his bony fingers clutching a tablet far too tightly. His nameplate read Thrax.
“Y-you don’t have an appointment,” Thrax stammered, voice reedy and thin.
Leonardo didn’t acknowledge him. He simply kept walking.
“Sir—wait—Mr. Andolini, you can’t —”
The heavy double doors to Hadeon’s office swung open as Leonardo pushed through without breaking stride. The scent of cigars and expensive cologne mixed with something artificial—an underlying sterility, like disinfectant masking something rotten.
Hadeon’s office was a cathedral of excess.
Vibrant red drapes cascaded from the ceiling, pooling onto the floor like spilled wine. Gold embellishments lined the edges of bookshelves filled with leather-bound volumes Leonardo doubted had ever been read. The walls were adorned with bold, abstract paintings—each brushstroke a chaotic mess of crimson, carmine, and deep vermillion. It was a room designed to overwhelm, to suffocate.
And at the center of it, seated behind a grand mahogany desk, was Hadeon himself.
The man barely reacted as Leonardo entered uninvited. Instead, a slow smirk stretched across his lips, his fingers steepling beneath his double chin as if he had been expecting this intrusion all along.
Thrax practically stumbled in after Leonardo, his movements frantic, his hands fluttering like an anxious moth. “S-Sir, he just walked in, I tried—”
Hadeon raised a single, pudgy manicured hand. Thrax stopped mid-sentence.
Then, still smirking, Hadeon murmured, “Leave us.”
Thrax hesitated for only a moment before bowing his head and scurrying out, shutting the heavy doors behind him.
Leonardo met Hadeon’s gaze, his own expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he smirked.
“Don’t worry my dear Hadeon but I’m only visiting today,” he said, his voice smooth but carrying a weight beneath it.
Hadeon leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose in amusement. “Visiting?” he repeated, mockery laced in every syllable. “What a rare treat. To what do I owe the pleasure?”
He gestured lazily toward the extravagant seating area near the fireplace, but Leonardo remained standing.
He let the silence stretch just long enough to make his displeasure known before speaking, his tone smooth but edged with steel. “It is simplicity itself. I wanted to make it clear that interfering with my people—especially when they are minding their own business—is something I don’t take lightly.”
Hadeon chuckled, reaching for the crystal decanter on his desk. He poured himself a glass of whiskey, swirling the amber liquid idly before taking a sip.
“Ah, I see, you are here for a favour,” he guessed, his smirk widening. “To stay away from your little secretary plaything ?”
Leonardo’s smile remained, but something deep in his golden eyes darkened.
It was a slow shift, but Hadeon felt it.
A lesser man would have flinched.
Instead, he kept smiling as he set his glass down with an infuriatingly soft clink.
Leonardo took a step forward. “No,” he said smoothly. “I’m here to share something with you.”
He reached into his jacket, retrieving a single folded sheet of paper, then placed it carefully onto Hadeon’s desk.
Hadeon glanced at it but didn’t touch it. Instead, his smirk faltered ever so slightly. “What is this?”
Leonardo tilted his head. “An interesting little document,” he mused. “Something I thought you’d want to see before I decide where else to send it.”
Hadeon’s jaw tightened. His fingers twitched before he reached out and unfolded the paper. His eyes scanned the contents. A detailed breakdown of offshore accounts, forged signatures, and a silent acquisition of shares meant to destabilize a competitor—one he’d sworn to his board didn’t exist. The kind of thing that, if leaked, wouldn’t just end his career. It would collapse everything he’d built.
And then—
A flash of fury. It wasn’t loud, not at first—just the narrowing of his eyes, the sharp breath through his nose, the slow curl of his hand into a fist. But then it all snapped at once.
Hadeon slammed his fist onto the desk, his control slipping for the first time. The sound echoed through the vast office like a gunshot. His lips curled, teeth bared, his once-amused expression now twisted with rage.
“You bastard ,” he spat, pushing himself to his feet so violently that his chair nearly toppled backward. “You think you can waltz into my office, wave this in my face, and—”
Leonardo simply watched him.
Hadeon’s hands clenched into fists, but he wasn’t a fool. He knew— he knew —that he had no counterplay. No leverage.
All he had were empty threats.
“I could ruin you,” he snarled. “I could—”
Leonardo cut him off with a quiet chuckle. “But you won’t .”
Hadeon seethed. “You don’t—”
“I do ,” Leonardo interrupted, voice calm, deliberate. “And more importantly, you do. You know exactly what this means.”
He leaned forward slightly, his sheer presence suffocating the space between them. “You don’t have the power here, Hadeon,” he said, his voice velvet-wrapped steel. “You’re not the king you think you are. And if you so much as breathe in Evelyn’s direction again, I will bury you.”
Hadeon’s chest rose and fell in sharp, furious breaths. His hands trembled—not with fear, but with the rage of a man who realized he had lost .
Truly lost.
Leonardo let the silence stretch, savouring the moment.
Then, satisfied, he straightened his jacket, turned, and walked toward the door.
He didn’t look back as he left the office, but he didn’t need to.
Behind him, Hadeon collapsed into his chair, his fingers gripping the edge of his desk so tightly his knuckles turned white.
For the first time in his life, he felt powerless.
And he hated it.
The ride home was quieter than usual. Not tense, just… charged. Evelyn sat beside Leonardo in the back of the car, tablet in hand, but she had barely glanced at it since they left Netherworld Ventures. Her mind was elsewhere.
Leonardo had, once again, handled things with ruthless precision. Given the situation, she hadn’t expected a response within hours. Yet, here they were.
She stole a glance at him. He was relaxed, one arm draped over the back of the seat, fingers tapping an idle rhythm against the leather.
"You look pleased with yourself," she noted.
Leonardo smirked, golden eyes glinting in the low car light. "I believe it was enlightening for our dear Hadeon."
She arched a brow. " Enlightening ?"
He turned his head slightly, meeting her gaze with that knowing, unreadable expression. "He understands now," was all he said.
Evelyn exhaled, shaking her head. She could only imagine what ‘understanding’ meant in Leonardo’s terms.
The car pulled into the private driveway of his estate, the towering gates closing behind them with a quiet finality. The moment they stepped inside, Evelyn exhaled, shedding the tension that always came with dealing with external threats.
Leonardo loosened his tie as they made their way toward the living room. "So," he said, rolling his shoulders, "remind me why I need new measurements."
Evelyn glanced down at her tablet, tapping a few notes. "There’s a formal event next weekend—high-profile investors, diplomats, press. You need a classic tuxedo."
Leonardo hummed in thought. "The last time I wore a classic one was… what, two years ago?"
"Yes," she said, looking up. "And you've gained about a hundred pounds since then."
That earned a deep chuckle from him. "Ah. So the old tux might be a little snug?"
She smirked. "A little ?"
eonardo snorted and gestured for her to follow him. “Fine. Let’s get this over with.”
He led the way toward his master bedroom, vanishing into the bathroom with that unbothered stride. Evelyn settled into a chair by the window, tablet in hand, though her eyes barely skimmed the screen. She was listening.
The sound of a belt unbuckling, fabric shifting. Leonardo’s voice carried through the crack in the door—calm, edged with dry amusement.
“He asked me how I even found it.”
Evelyn’s head lifted. “Found what?”
A pause.
“The hidden transfer agreement for KorrinTech. Buried under six shell companies and an NDA no one was supposed to see.”
She blinked, then smiled—slow and proud. “And what did you tell him?”
A soft thud—his shoes hitting the tile. The quiet rasp of his shirt slipping off.
“I simply told him he should’ve hired better people.”
Evelyn’s smile widened. “That’s my man.”
Leonardo chuckled, low and amused. “You should’ve seen his face when I laid the document on his desk. Not anger, not panic—just that flicker of disbelief that anyone could actually beat him at his own blackmail game.”
She leaned back, tablet forgotten. “Now I wish I was there. It’s always a pleasure watching you outplay someone like that.”
Leonardo stepped out of the bathroom, golden eyes cutting toward her with the faintest grin. Despite years of disciplined professionalism, Evelyn had to school her expression immediately—she found herself faltering at the sight before her.
“I wasn’t playing,” he said.
He was dressed only in a pair of Strongman Grip Shorts, the thick black fabric hugging his massive thighs like a second skin. His torso—broad, carved, massive—was fully bare, every contour of his strength laid out in striking definition. The lighting cast a warm glow over his skin, highlighting the sharp contrast between the deep ridges of muscle and the sheer solid bulk of his chest and abdomen. The sheer enormity of him was always apparent, but seeing him like this—bare-chested, the deep ridges of muscle shifting as he moved—made it impossible not to stare for a second longer than she should have.
Her gaze flickered upward, drawn to the tattoos adorning his upper body—details she had never seen this close before. On his right shoulder, a powerful lion’s face stared outward, surrounded by jagged geometric shapes, as if the beast were emerging from within him. The detail was exquisite, each strand of the lion’s mane carefully inked beautifully. Its eyes were intense, almost alive, a permanent mark of Leonardo’s wild past and the life he had once lived.
Just below, on his right pectoral, another striking image held her attention—a set of praying hands, inked rosary beads wrapped tightly around them, each bead meticulously shaded. The contrast was profound: the raw, untamed strength of the lion against the quiet devotion of the prayer, both testaments to the duality of the man before her.
Evelyn had always considered herself professional. Even before they were together, she had known he was attractive. But she had never allowed herself to gawk.
Until now.
Now?
Now, she couldn't help it.
Her pulse quickened as she drank him in—all of him. His sheer size, the way his body seemed carved from something denser than muscle—like weight itself favoured him.
It was almost ridiculous how easily Leonardo grew stronger. He never had to struggle, never had to force it—his body absorbed power like a sponge, thickening, broadening, expanding with every passing day. If he ever truly pushed himself, how massive could he become? The thought sent a shiver down her spine, equal parts exhilaration and trepidation. And with the way he ate—endlessly, as if his stomach had no limit—it was no wonder he carried a presence so immense it seemed to bend the space around him.
He tilted his head, a slow, knowing smirk curling his lips. "See something you like?" His deep voice was edged with amusement. As he crossed his arms over his chest, the movement sent a ripple through his biceps, flexing unconsciously.
Evelyn felt heat rush to her face.
It was that damnable teasing tone of his—low, smooth, dangerous .
Her lips parted, but no words came immediately. Instead, she inhaled sharply through her nose, gathering herself with surprising speed. Her neutral mask fell back into place, and she lifted her chin slightly, regaining her composure.
Evelyn’s professionalism returned as she cleared her throat. “I was just noting the details for your measurements,” she explained smoothly, though she felt a faint warmth tingle her cheeks. “You’ve also put on quite a bit of muscle since the last time I took these.” Thankfully, her brown skin made flushes less obvious—one of the small mercies of moments like this. But Leonardo wasn’t fooled. His golden eyes lingered just a beat too long, the corner of his mouth tugging upward in the faintest, knowing smirk. He saw everything—even the things she thought she’d hidden well.
He chuckled, amused but clearly enjoying himself, stepping closer until his sheer size made the room feel smaller.
Evelyn stepped forward, pulling out the measuring tape, her fingers brushing against his skin. The moment they made contact, she knew she was doomed.
She inhaled deeply, trying to steady herself, and started with the most neutral of measurements—his height. It was a formality, really; she already knew how towering he was. She reached for the other step ladder tucked behind the armoire, dragging it into place with one hand before climbing up. Even at the top step, he was still eye-level.
“Seven foot two and a half,” she murmured, confirming it on her iPad, trying not to let her racing thoughts show.
Measuring someone was more intimate than she had ever really acknowledged—an act that required proximity, touch, and trust.
She had taken his measurements before, but this… this was different.
Before, she had been detached, clinical, forcing herself to view him as just another client in need of tailoring logistics. She had convinced herself that while he was uniquely handsome, it wouldn’t do to linger.
But now…
Now she was allowed to want him.
And it made everything worse.
Her hands skimmed over the hard, firm plane of his back, feeling the powerful ridges beneath her fingertips. His warmth seeped into her skin, his sheer mass overwhelming her every sense.
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. She circled around slowly, careful and precise, until she stood in front of him—close enough to feel the heat radiating off his chest.
“Chest,” she muttered, looping the tape around his torso. She pulled it snug, the numbers clicking into place. “Seventy-one inches.”
Leonardo hummed in approval, the sound a low vibration under her fingers. The deep timbre of it sent an involuntary shiver through her, but she quickly steeled herself, tightening her grip on the tape.
“I assume that’s bigger than before?” he mused, tilting his head slightly, the smirk in his voice unmistakable.
“Considerably,” she replied, making a swift note, determined not to linger—but failing as her hands brushed once more over the solid expanse of him.
As she moved downward, Evelyn wrapped the measuring tape around his waist, her fingers skimming over the solid plane of his abdomen. Despite its sheer breadth, his stomach was nearly all muscle—thick, taut under her hands, the kind of strength that didn’t need to flex to be felt. She adjusted the tape, her fingertips lingering a second too long. The faint give of subcutaneous fat added a surprising warmth, just enough softness to deceive—because beneath it lay a wall of power, hard and unrelenting, carved by years of survival and discipline.
"Waist… sixty-one inches."
Leonardo smirked, his voice dipping into something close to a purr. "Getting distracted, Evelyn?"
She exhaled sharply through her nose, tightening the tape just enough to make her point—not enough to hurt, but enough to remind him who was in control of this process.
"Hold still."
He chuckled, entirely unfazed, reveling in the way her fingers moved over him with a mixture of clinical precision and hesitance. He loved teasing her, loved how easily he could fluster her, but more than that—he loved how she touched him. Every measured stroke of her fingertips sent a quiet thrill through him, something he felt deep in his bones.
Her hands drifted lower, the firm muscle of his abdomen flexing slightly as she moved. She traced the curvature with an almost reverent focus, but there was something unspoken in her touch—something neither of them acknowledged outright in this particular moment. The deep, steady rise and fall of his breath pressed against her palms, an undeniable force of strength and self-restraint.
Leonardo’s breath hitched, just slightly. Barely perceptible. But she noticed.
For a fleeting moment, she let herself indulge in the sheer reality of him, the overwhelming physicality of the man before her.
He was the one to recover first, masking the moment with practiced ease—and choosing mischief instead. “Are you sure nothing’s wrong?” His voice rumbled above her, rich with amusement.
She knew that tone. He was enjoying this—enjoying the way her hands moved over him, the way she tried so hard to remain professional when he could feel her hesitation, her curiosity. Lately, he’s been pushing her, testing her, just to see how far she’d go before she snapped at him.
“Nothing at all,” she murmured, regaining her composure as she moved lower, fingers brushing the waistband of his shorts as she measured his hips.
She moved lower, kneeling as she wrapped the tape around his thighs. This was where she paused the longest.
His quadriceps were immense—forty to forty-five inches at their thickest, a testament to his sheer power. Evelyn had never considered herself particularly inclined toward size, but something about Leonardo’s presence, his sheer mass, was intoxicating. He was built like something from an ancient myth, a warrior carved from stone, and she had the privilege of taking him in fully for the first time.
From there she wrapped the tape around his calves. “Twenty-five to twenty-eight inches at the largest point.”
She stood, smoothing down her shirt, professionalism snapping back into place. “Inseam, forty-two to forty-four inches.”
Leonardo chuckled, shifting his weight slightly as he watched her move back up.
He hummed, his gaze never leaving her, resisting the urge to smirk. Let her pretend, for now. Let her think she was unaffected. But he knew better. He could feel it in the way her hands lingered, how her fingers pressed just a little too firmly against his skin. He could hear the faint hitch in her breath, the subtle tremor beneath all that carefully maintained composure. And he loved every second of it.
Her heart was pounding. Evelyn was meticulous—always had been—but there was no denying it now. The heat of him, the sheer size of him, the way he took up space so effortlessly—it was distracting. And maybe, just maybe, she didn’t mind. In fact, she liked him like this. Bigger. Heavier. Immense.
Leonardo, ever patient, let her finish without comment, standing utterly still as she jotted down the last number.
Evelyn stepped back, inhaling deeply before forcing herself to meet his eyes. "Done."
Leonardo arched a brow. "That took longer than usual."
She shot him a sharp look. " Because you've gained weight."
His lips twitched, a slow, knowing smile playing at the corners.
"Mm." He tilted his head. "If you say so."
She turned, tapping notes into her tablet. "Your tailor will have the new measurements by tomorrow."
Leonardo watched her with dark amusement, arms crossing over his massive chest once again.
He could have teased her even more.
Could have pushed further.
But for now?
He was content to let her simmer.
A quiet hush had settled over the morning—one of those rare, unspoken silences that carried weight without tension.
Evelyn stood before the open wardrobe, carefully selecting Leonardo’s outfit for the day. Her fingers glided over the luxurious fabrics, pausing on a deep charcoal vest that would complement his frame. She barely registered the faint sound of shifting footsteps behind her as Leonardo emerged from his en-suite, his bathrobe hanging loosely over his broad shoulders, a towel draped around his neck from his shower.
He was still drying his hair when his sharp gaze landed on her. A casual glance at first—until he noticed it. The faint dullness to her normally beautiful brown skin of her skin. The sluggish way she moved. The slight tremor in her hands as she reached for a dress shirt.
His movements stilled.
“Evelyn.” His voice, usually rich with amusement or challenge, carried something different this time. Something firm.
She turned, ready to respond, but the moment their eyes met, she knew. She was in trouble.
Leonardo closed the distance between them in two strides, his towering presence forcing her to tilt her head back to meet his gaze. “You’re sick.”
“I’m fine,” she countered, though her hoarse voice betrayed her. She cleared her throat, adjusting her stance. “I’ve come to work many times sick. I take precautions. Mask, gloves, extra sanitizer—”
He cut her off with a sharp look, then reached out, pressing the back of his massive hand against her forehead. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver down her spine, but he wasn’t teasing her this time. His lips pressed into a thin line as he felt the heat radiating from her skin.
“Evelyn.” His voice softened, but the steel remained. “I’ve always been grateful for how careful you are, but I’ve told you before that I’m not going to be selfish with you.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but he was already turning away, retrieving his phone from the nightstand. “Leia, cancel everything for today for both Evelyn and myself. Reschedule any meetings—no, I won’t be available for calls either.” His eyes flicked back to Evelyn, daring her to argue. “Yes. That includes internal matters.” Then, without waiting for a response, he hung up—abrupt, final. The decision had been made.
She groaned. “Leonardo—”
“Sit down, cara . Let me get dressed, and then I’ll deal with your stubbornness properly.”
Evelyn huffed but obeyed, settling onto the edge of the bed. She watched as he moved with deliberate calm, slipping into a pair of dark lounge pants and a soft long-sleeve shirt that clung just enough to hint at the body beneath.
She didn’t say anything else, just closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself breathe him in—the scent of clean skin, the sound of drawers opening and closing, the rhythm of him moving through space, listening to the quiet rustle of fabric, the soft clicks of a drawer being closed, the faint hum in his throat as he dried the last bit of moisture from his hair. There was something grounding about it—about him.
Then, without warning, he turned and crossed the room in a few strides. Evelyn’s eyes fluttered open at the sound of his approach, something in the cadence of his steps pulling her back to the present. Before she could react, he scooped her up into his arms with effortless strength, cradling her like she weighed nothing at all. Evelyn let out a startled breath, instinctively clutching the front of his shirt, her fingers curling against the warm fabric.
“Leo!” she hissed, her face heating for an entirely different reason now. “Put me down!”
“No,” he said simply, carrying her toward the door without breaking stride. “You’re going home.”
“I can walk,” she gritted out.
“I’m sure you can,” he agreed, utterly unfazed. “But I prefer this.”
Her glare was met with an infuriatingly smug smirk. He liked this—liked how flustered she got, how her hands instinctively gripped him, how her usual composure wavered in his arms. But beneath the teasing, there was something else. Something warm and steady in the way he held her, in the way he so effortlessly took care of her without hesitation.
By the time they reached his car, Evelyn had given up on arguing. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the soothing warmth of his body—it was almost enough to lull her into closing her eyes for just a moment.
Almost.
He opened the passenger door with one arm still beneath her, settling her inside like she was something breakable. No words, just the soft click of the seatbelt and the sound of his door shutting behind him.
The low purr of the engine filled the quiet space of the car as Leonardo guided it smoothly through the city streets. The air outside was crisp, a contrast to the warmth inside the vehicle, where Evelyn sat bundled in her coat, her head resting lightly against the window.
“Do you have everything you need at home?” His voice broke the silence, deep and steady, though she could hear the concern threaded beneath the words.
She opened her eyes briefly, shifting in her seat. “Yes, I have soup, tissues, medicine… all of it.” Her voice was softer than usual, thick with exhaustion.
Leonardo studied her out of the corner of his eye, his grip firm on the wheel. Evelyn was independent, but she wasn’t stubborn when it came to those she trusted. She allowed the people closest to her to help when she needed it— when she let them close enough to see . And that was the difference.Trust, with her, wasn’t loud—it was quiet, intentional. Measured. And he hadn’t even realized how far in he already was until now.
That realization settled in his chest, warm and weighty, as he continued driving through the quiet streets.
The silence between them wasn’t empty—it was full. Of everything they weren’t saying yet, everything they maybe didn’t need to. A familiar melody drifted softly from the radio, and Evelyn, half-drowsy, recognized it instantly.
It was a love song, but there was something deeply melancholic about it, something unspoken. The kind of melody that wrapped itself around your ribs and made you feel the ache of what was almost lost—or never fully grasped. The orchestration was lush yet restrained, all warm strings, soft piano, and the occasional sigh of woodwinds—cinematic in scale, but achingly intimate in feeling. Andy Williams’ voice, smooth and low, drifted like a memory through the quiet of the car, carrying lyrics that spoke of whispered affection and a love too delicate to name aloud. It wasn’t the grand, sweeping declarations of romance—it was the quiet moments, the ones whispered between heartbeats, the ones stolen in silence.
Isn’t that what we are? she thought drowsily. Something unspoken? Something, that for the longest time, always just on the edge of being realized?
Leonardo’s grip on the wheel tightened slightly as he listened. The song had always stirred something in him, though he rarely admitted it. Unlike many themes associated with his world—duty, power, control— this was one of the few he thought was truly beautiful. It was not about conquest, not about force. It was about devotion. Intimate, unflinching in its sincerity, yet fleeting, always one breath away from vanishing.
"We're in a world, our very own. Sharing a love that only few have ever known …"
He had always preferred the Italian version—Parla Più Piano*. The words in his mother tongue gave it a different weight, a deeper pull, as if love itself was something sacred, yet perpetually in danger of slipping away.
His gaze flickered briefly toward Evelyn. Her breath was slow, steady, her face turned slightly toward him despite the glass at her temple. He wondered if she even realized how much space she took up in his thoughts.
Evelyn let her lashes flutter shut again, the song wrapping around her like a lullaby.
Love, fragile yet persistent. Unspoken, but always there.
The car came to a smooth stop in front of Evelyn’s small townhome, the headlights casting long shadows against the quiet street. The house was modest, tucked neatly between others just like it, its front porch light glowing softly in the cold morning air.
Leonardo cut the engine and stepped out, the door shutting with a solid thunk behind him. The world outside felt still, the sky a muted grey, hinting at the early hour.
Evelyn stirred in her seat, rubbing her eyes as she reached for the handle. The moment she stepped out, Leonardo was already there, towering over her with that look—the one that told her he was about to do something she had no say in.
Before she could react, his large hands settled at her waist as if to hoist her up.
“Leonardo—” She placed a weak yet firm hand against his chest. “I should probably walk.”
He arched a dark, thick brow.
She gestured toward the house. “You have a hard enough time squeezing through my front door by yourself. If you carry me, neither of us are getting in.”
For a moment, he just looked at her, then let out a soft chuckle, the rumble low in his chest. “Fair point.” He relented, his hands dropping back to his sides.
Evelyn gave him a tired but victorious smile before shuffling toward the door. He followed close behind, his large frame a silent presence at her back.
Once inside, the warmth of the house greeted them, a welcome contrast to the cold. It smelled faintly of vanilla and something floral, a scent that clung to the air like a memory. Leonardo shut the door behind them with a careful click, then reached out, wordlessly plucking her purse and phone from her hands.
“Go change into fresh pajamas,” he instructed, his voice leaving no room for argument.
She blinked up at him, sluggish, but nodded. “Bossy,” she murmured, already turning toward her bedroom.
“Efficient,” he corrected, watching until she disappeared down the hall.
With a breath, Leonardo moved toward the kitchen. The space was small but cozy, the kind of place made for one, not for a man of his size. He had to duck slightly under the entryway, maneuvering carefully around the counters. He scanned the pantry and fridge, pulling out ingredients with quiet sort of certainty.
Oatmeal. Eggs. Something simple, warm, easy on her stomach .
He cracked the eggs into a pan, the sizzle filling the quiet air, the scent of butter blooming into the space.
Meanwhile, in the bedroom, Evelyn peeled off her work clothes with sluggish, uncoordinated movements. Every muscle felt heavy, her limbs moving at half speed. The thought of soft pajamas and warm blankets was almost enough to lull her back into sleep right there.
Then—from the kitchen—came a voice. Rich, deep, smooth.
Leonardo was singing.
Her heart gave a startled jolt.
"Quanno spónta la luna a Marechiare…"
She froze mid-motion, one arm half-out of her sleeve. She had heard him hum before, but this—this was different. The full resonance of his voice carried through the house, effortlessly filling every corner with something almost impossibly warm.
"Pure li pisce nce fanno a l’ammore…"
She knew it instantly. The song was playful yet romantic, a melody that spoke of stolen glances and quiet confessions under the moonlight.
Evelyn swallowed, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten as she hastily pulled on her pajamas, suddenly much faster than before. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror—cheeks flushed, eyes bright despite the dull weight of her cold.
She ran a quick hand through her hair and stepped out, following the voice like a thread leading her home.
Leonardo was just finishing the last line of Marechiare as he set the final plate on the small kitchen table. His deep voice lingered in the air like the fading warmth of a candle, and just as he placed the spoon next to the bowl of oatmeal, he heard her soft footsteps behind him.
Evelyn stood in the doorway, her expression somewhere between sleepy and amused. She had changed into fresh pajamas—soft flannel bottoms and an oversized sweatshirt that nearly swallowed her frame. Her hair was slightly mussed from her hurried change, and her face, though still pale, held a faint warmth.
"That smells amazing," she murmured, making her way toward the table.
Leonardo turned to face her, his keen gaze scanning her as if assessing whether she had followed his orders properly. Satisfied, he pulled out the chair for her. "Eat here," he instructed gently. "I won’t be eating breakfast just yet, so I’ll clean up while you do."
She sank into the chair without protest, the warmth of the food already comforting before she had even taken a bite. Leonardo, meanwhile, moved to the sink, rolling up his sleeves with unconscious precision as he turned on the water. The soft clatter of dishes filled the air, blending with the occasional sound of her spoon against the bowl.
After a few moments, Evelyn glanced up from her meal, watching him as he rinsed a mug she didn’t remember him using.
"In all the years I’ve known you… I never knew you could sing."
Leonardo chuckled, shaking excess water from his hands before reaching for the dish towel hanging from the oven handle.
"I don’t do it often," he admitted, his back still turned to her. "But… it is something I do occasionally."
Evelyn smirked, stirring her oatmeal absentmindedly.
"Occasionally, huh? Like when you're making breakfast for a sick woman you forcibly carried to your car?"
He let out a low, amused hum, still focused on scrubbing the pan.
"Something like that."
The quiet settled between them again, not awkward—just soft, like the kind that follows a long night. Evelyn barely registered the scrape of her spoon against the empty bowl before exhaustion settled over her like a weighted blanket. She let out a slow breath, her limbs heavy, her head dipping slightly.
Leonardo stepped forward, his broad frame casting a shadow over her as he reached out. His palm, rough with calluses yet careful in its touch, pressed lightly against her forehead. The warmth of his skin was a stark contrast to her own fevered heat.
Her lashes fluttered at the contact, and a whisper of a laugh ghosted past her lips—soft, almost delirious. But then, her brows knit together, a flicker of something conflicted flashing across her face. She was too tired to fight it, to push herself beyond her limits as she so often did.
Leonardo studied her for a moment, then made his decision. Without a word, he bent down and swept her effortlessly into his arms.
She barely stirred, only a faint sigh escaping as her head lolled against his chest. His focus remained on her—on the heat radiating from her skin, the sluggish rise and fall of her breath. The room around him was inconsequential; his only concern was getting her to rest.
Once in her bedroom, he eased her down onto the bed with the same care one would use to lay down something fragile. He didn’t leave immediately. Instead, he adjusted her blankets, tucking them securely around her, ensuring that she was warm and comfortable—snug as a sick, delirious bug.
Leonardo lingered by the bedroom door for a moment, listening. The soft, steady rhythm of Evelyn’s breathing reassured him that she was finally resting. Satisfied, he quietly pulled the door shut and made his way back toward the living room.
The townhome was smaller than what he was used to—no vaulted ceilings or sweeping views—but it had a quiet warmth, the kind that came from books on shelves, soft lighting, and a life being lived. It felt... settled. Safe. He inhaled deeply, rolling his shoulders back. He had gone without his usual morning workout, and his body was beginning to crave movement. His stomach grumbled in protest, reminding him he’d also skipped breakfast.
He took out his phone, navigating through an app. A few taps, and he had groceries and several premade meals scheduled for delivery. That would take care of food for now. With that done, he pocketed the phone and turned his attention to the center of the living room, where a new reinforced sofa occupied a good portion of the space.
Gripping the edges of the sturdy frame, he pushed—easily maneuvering the weighty piece of furniture aside as though it weighed nothing more than a dining chair. The smooth wooden floor gleamed under the overhead lighting, now cleared and ready for his workout.
Satisfied with the space, Leonardo stepped outside into the crisp Spring morning air, the sky painted in muted hues of grey and pale blue. He strode over to his SUV and popped open the trunk, retrieving his Go Bag—a reliable, well-packed duffel that carried more than just a few changes of clothes. With a firm grip on the strap, he slung it over his shoulder and returned inside, heading straight for the bathroom.
Once inside, he shed his previous outfit, the fabric of his tailored shirt slipping away from his skin. He swapped it for a simple but well-fitted red short-sleeve shirt and pulled on a pair of hunter-green shorts—loose enough for full range of movement but snug enough to stay in place.
With his clothing changed, he ran a hand through his thick dark hair before stepping back into the living room.
Leonardo took a deep breath, grounding himself. He started with a pseudo-planche push-up, his massive frame lowering toward the floor in a controlled descent. His fingers dug into the wood, his triceps and shoulders flaring with tension as he hovered just above the ground, holding himself in a position that defied gravity. He held it—his core tightening, legs stretched straight behind him—before pushing back up with sheer strength, repeating the motion in fluid, precise control.
Next, he moved into a full planche hold. He shifted his weight forward, bringing his feet off the ground entirely, balancing only on his hands. The burn in his shoulders intensified, but he embraced it, maintaining the position with practiced ease. The reinforced muscles along his forearms pulsed under the strain, but he held steady before easing back down.
He wasted no time transitioning into a one-arm planche. Shifting his weight onto a single hand, he extended his body parallel to the ground, hovering like a human lever. Every fiber of his being worked in unison, his free hand pressing lightly against his side for balance. His control never wavered.
From there, Leonardo smoothly adjusted into a one-arm handstand press, shifting his bodyweight effortlessly as he kicked his legs upward. His core locked into place as he extended fully into the vertical position, the muscles along his arms and shoulders like steel cords beneath his skin. The moment of weightlessness was brief but exhilarating before he lowered himself back down in a slow, controlled descent.
He took a brief pause, rolling out his wrists, shaking out the tension, before setting up for his next feat of strength and control: the 90-degree push-up. Placing his hands firmly on the floor, he lifted himself into a full handstand, then bent his elbows, lowering his entire body down in a perfect right angle before pressing back up. The sheer force required was enough to break most men, but for Leonardo, it was simply part of the regimen.
Next, he flowed seamlessly into a floating fingertip planche, his massive body levitating just above the ground, supported only by his fingers. He held, motionless, a testament to his unyielding core strength and balance before transitioning out of the position with measured control.
The final test of his endurance came in the form of the Maltese planche push-up, an advanced variation that pushed his strength to its limits. His arms extended almost straight to the sides, mimicking the wingspan of an eagle. He lowered himself, defying both gravity and human limitations, before pressing back up in a slow, burning grind that lit every muscle from shoulder to toe.
By the time he finished, a fine sheen of sweat clung to his skin, but his breathing remained steady. His body hummed with energy, his muscles loose and invigorated.
He exhaled, rolling his shoulders before wiping his hands against a small towel. A workout like that was enough to fire up his system for the rest of the day. Now, all that remained was a meal.
With a final glance at the cleared space, Leonardo moved toward the kitchen, ready to prepare a meal that would refuel not just himself, but Evelyn as well. However, as he passed through the quiet, dimly lit hall, he caught the faintest shift in the air—the scent of Evelyn, warm and soft, tangled in the remnants of sleep. A quick glance toward the bedroom revealed her form nestled deep in the sheets, her breathing slow, steady.
His steps slowed. He could eat later. Right now, something else called to him—a need to rinse off the heat still clinging to his skin from the workout, to wash away the remnants of exertion before lying beside her again.
Pivoting toward the master bathroom, the only one connected to their shared space, he entered without hesitation. The room was not built for a man of his size—no room truly was. The doorframe barely accommodated his shoulders, and within, the cramped walls left little room for him to maneuver. He left the door open by necessity, the space too restricting otherwise. It didn’t matter—Evelyn was still deep in sleep, and the soft trickle of water filling the sink was the only sound disturbing the stillness of the room.
Leonardo ran the wet cloth along his broad chest, the warm water trickling down his torso, catching in the deep ridges of muscle and old scars. His skin gleamed under the dim glow of the lights, a canvas of battle-earned history. He worked in slow, methodical strokes, dragging the soapy fabric across his shoulders, his forearms flexing with each pass. The scent of clean linen soap mixed with his own distinct, heady musk, filling the air with something undeniably masculine.
Behind him, nestled in the tangled embrace of cotton sheets, Evelyn stirred. The soft trickle of water had coaxed her from the depths of sleep, but it was something else entirely that held her captive now. She was barely breathing, eyes cracking open to a sight that sent heat rushing through her veins.
Leonardo stood only a few feet away, completely unaware that she was watching. Or perhaps, she thought as she pressed her lips together, not unaware—just unbothered.
Her gaze traced the lines of his back, the broad expanse of muscle that shifted beneath olive lightly freckled skin, marred only by scars that told stories in silent language. Her eyes flicked downward, following the slow journey of the washcloth as it dipped lower, gliding over his obliques and the deep-set ridges that carved his waist.
She swallowed, her throat dry.
From under the sheets, she curled her fingers into the fabric, biting the inside of her cheek as Leonardo’s hands drifted lower, unfastening the buckle of his belt. The heavy leather slipped free with a whispering slide, the sound oddly intimate in the quiet of the room. The button of his shorts followed, then the slow, deliberate tug of his zipper.
Evelyn’s breath hitched, a fraction of a second too loud.
Leonardo’s movements stilled.
For a moment, he remained poised there, fingers hooked at the waistband of his shorts, head tilting slightly—not in hesitation, but in realization.
He had heard her.
He turned just enough to glance over his shoulder, and there she was—half-hidden in the nest of sheets, eyes wide, gaze devouring every inch of him in the dim light. She didn’t even bother pretending she hadn’t been watching.
Evelyn’s pulse roared in her ears as she drank him in, the way the warm glow sculpted the ridges of his chest, the valleys between his thick abdomen, the corded strength of his thighs. Her eyes lingered on the network of scars that wrapped around his legs, a vascular-like roadmap of past wounds, old pain. Somehow, it made him even more breathtaking.
Leonardo’s lips quirked, just a ghost of amusement, but his breathing had shifted—gone deeper, rougher. A change she caught instantly.
“Have you had your fill?” His voice was dark velvet, teasing, yet edged with something deeper. Something sensual.
Evelyn’s cheeks flushed, but she didn’t shy away. Instead, she let her gaze continue its slow descent before finally returning to his face. Her lips parted slightly, the ghost of a smirk playing there.
“Not quite yet,” she murmured.
His gaze sharpened. The air between them shifted, thickened. Heat coiled low in her stomach, a slow, molten pull, spreading through her limbs like liquid gold.
Leonardo exhaled through his nose, the muscles in his jaw flexing. He didn’t move for a moment—just stood there, eyes locked on hers, weighing something unspoken between them.
Then, in one fluid motion, he stepped out of his shorts.
Evelyn’s breath stuttered.
Her fingers clenched at the sheets, her pulse hammering as her eyes roamed the final barrier of fabric clinging to his frame—royal blue boxer that hugged his powerful form, leaving nothing to the imagination.
She barely noticed the slight twitch in his hands before he hooked his thumbs under the waistband.
And then—
She gasped.
The sound had escaped her before she could contain it, just as Leonardo’s body tensed. His enhanced senses had already registered the shift in her breathing, but the tiny, sharp inhalation sent something primal surging through him.
A low, guttural growl rumbled from his chest.
Evelyn’s stomach flipped, her thighs pressing together instinctively at the sheer, unfiltered sound of it.
Leonardo half-turned, his gaze locking onto hers with something feral glinting in the depths.
For a heartbeat, the moment stretched—thick, electric, the air crackling with something dangerous, something uncontainable.
Then, without a word, he pivoted and squeezed the door shut behind him.
Evelyn lay there, stunned, her entire body thrumming as she strained her ears. Water surged to life on the other side of the door, the sound muffled but unmistakable.
She exhaled shakily, pressing a hand to her chest.
For the first time in her life, she wasn’t sure whether she had won or lost that moment.
But she did know one thing.
She was nowhere near finished with Leonardo Andolini.
Leonardo finished dressing in the cramped confines of Evelyn’s bathroom, maneuvering his massive frame with practiced efficiency. The space was far too small for a man of his size, but he had learned long ago how to adapt to less-than-ideal circumstances. He tugged his dark grey hoodie over his head, the fabric stretching taut over his broad shoulders and powerful chest before settling against his heavily muscled arms. The material clung to him, outlining the sheer mass of his upper body, while the sleeves bunched slightly at his thick wrists. His sweatpants, black with white side stripes, rode snug over his muscular thighs, the waistband sitting just below the natural curve of his broad stomach. The casual yet fitted ensemble gave him a look of functional simplicity, yet relaxed.
Rolling his shoulders, Leonardo stepped out of the bathroom, exhaling through his nose, but immediately stilled. The bed was empty.
His enhanced senses flared to life in an instant, his muscles tensing. The sheets were still warm, but Evelyn was gone. His ears sharpened, searching for the faintest sound of her presence. His nostrils flared, catching her scent lingering in the air, tinged with citrus and warmth. Then, just as his pulse threatened to spike, he heard it—the soft clink of a glass being set down, the faint rustle of movement from the kitchen.
Relief swept through him, cooling the fire of worry in his chest. He moved toward the doorway, ducking slightly beneath the arch as he entered the kitchen. There she stood, illuminated by the soft overhead light, pouring herself a glass of orange juice. She still looked a little pale, her movements slow but steady, the worst of her cold seemingly beginning to pass.
She turned her head slightly at his approach, eyes flicking up to meet his. He saw a glimmer of awareness in her gaze—perhaps a memory of what she had seen earlier, though he decided to spare her the teasing. Instead, he came to stand beside her, his presence large and grounding, the heat radiating from him like a protective barrier.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, his voice low and smooth, the depth of it vibrating through the air between them.
Evelyn took a sip of her juice before answering. “Slightly better,” she admitted, her voice still laced with the rasp of congestion.
He nodded, passing her a medication bottle from Valterra Laboratories. “Good. But it’s time for your next dose of medicine.”
A faint grimace passed over her face, but she didn’t argue. With a resigned sigh, she set her glass down as he retrieved the small bottle from the counter. She accepted the cup he poured, eyeing the thick, syrupy liquid before knocking it back with a determined gulp. Her face contorted in distaste, and she coughed lightly as the bitterness settled.
“Ugh,” she groaned, shaking her head. “That stuff is vile.”
Leonardo smirked. “It’ll do its job.”
Evelyn set the empty cup down and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “I think I’d like to stay out in the living room with you now. Just relax for a bit.”
He liked that proposition. A lot.
“Alright,” he agreed, stepping back slightly. “I need to move the sofa back first. I pushed it aside earlier for my workout.” He gestured toward the living room, where the furniture was still slightly out of place from his morning calisthenics. But before he moved to do so, he turned back to her. “Do you need anything before I do? Anything at all?”
She blinked at the unexpected offer, then smiled, considering. “Anything?”
“Anything.”
She hesitated only for a moment before speaking. “I would love to hear you sing again.”
Leonardo’s expression softened, the corner of his mouth tilting into a small, knowing smile. He studied her for a beat before extending his hand. “Then dance with me.”
Evelyn’s eyes widened. “Leo, I have a cold—”
“I don’t care.” His voice was quiet but unwavering.
She hesitated, lips parted as if to protest, but something in his gaze silenced her. With a breath of surrender, she slid her hand into his much larger one. His fingers curled around hers, warm and secure, before he gently pulled her closer.
As he guided her into a slow, swaying rhythm, his deep voice resonated through the room, rich and smooth, the words of Parla Più Piano —the theme from The Godfather —rolling off his tongue in perfect Italian. His voice, deep and operatic, carried the haunting, romantic melody with passion. The notes wrapped around them like velvet, filling the space between their bodies as he moved with effortless grace.
Evelyn felt her breath hitch, her heart tightening at the sound. She had heard him hum before, but this—this was something else entirely. His voice was powerful yet tender. As they moved together, her head resting lightly against his chest, she felt the vibrations of his song rumble through him, resonating deep in her bones.
For those few minutes, nothing else existed—only the song, the warmth of his embrace, and the unspoken connection between them.
As the final notes faded into silence, Evelyn lifted her head to look at him, her expression unreadable.
“That was…” she searched for words. “Beautiful.”
Leonardo’s lips twitched. “I’ll take that as a request to do it more often.”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t mind that.”
“Good.” He exhaled, then glanced toward the living room. “Now, let me move the sofa back.”
Evelyn chuckled, stepping back to let him work, but the warmth of the moment lingered between them—a quiet, unspoken promise that neither of them was quite ready to let go of just yet.
Once the furniture was back in place and the quiet settled again, the sofa groaned softly as Leonardo lowered his massive frame onto it, settling in with an easy, practiced grace despite his size. He stretched one thick arm along the backrest, his bicep alone nearly spanning the width of the cushion. Evelyn wasted no time pressing into him, seeking out the warmth and comfort he radiated so effortlessly. The fabric of his hoodie was soft under her cheek, a stark contrast to the dense muscle and plushness beneath.
He never cared about his size—never thought of it as anything but an immutable part of himself. It was simply who he was, a fact as undeniable as the sky being blue or the tide meeting the shore. And if he and Evelyn were happy, what more could he ask for?
Evelyn’s small fingers traced lazy, absentminded patterns over the curve of his stomach, her hand a whisper against the heavy, solid mass of him. Even in his leaner years, he had always been a mountain of a man, but in this moment, there was nothing imposing about him. To her, he was warmth and security, a foundation as steady as the earth itself.
Leonardo hummed low in his chest, a deep, soothing sound as he idly flipped through the television channels with one thick finger on the remote. The screen flickered, shifting between a series of half-caught glimpses—news anchors droning about the state of the world, reruns of old sitcoms, action movies mid-chase. Nothing held Evelyn’s interest until a familiar title card flashed across the screen: Love Story (1970).
"Here?" Leonardo asked, pausing with the remote in midair.
Evelyn smiled softly, nodding. "Yeah. Here."
With a resigned chuckle, he set the remote aside, adjusting his position so she could nestle deeper into his embrace. As the film began, the soft, melancholic strains of Where Do I Begin filled the air, and Evelyn felt something settle inside her, a quiet sort of contentment that only came from shared stillness with the person you love.
Her mind drifted, not quite lost in the film, but rather in the song itself. Andy Williams' voice, velvety and rich, carried through the speakers like a whispered confession, and Evelyn found herself captivated by its simplicity, its sheer depth of emotion.
"Where do I begin to tell the story of how great a love can be..."
The lyrics curled around her heart like a gentle embrace, the melody weaving into the moment, making it feel timeless. She glanced up at Leonardo, taking in the strong lines of his profile, the way the dim glow of the television cast soft shadows over his features.
Did he know? Did he truly understand how much she loved him? How much she cherished these quiet moments, where nothing needed to be said because everything had already been written in the spaces between them?
She sighed, pressing her cheek more firmly against his plush chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her ear. Leonardo shifted slightly, his fingers brushing through her hair, a silent acknowledgment that he was there—that he always would be.
And as Andy Williams sang on about a love that would never die, Evelyn let herself believe, just for a little while, that they too would be timeless.
The air in Mexico was thick with the scent of grilled meats, warm spices, and the faintest trace of rain on sunbaked stone. The streets pulsed with life, vibrant markets spilling into narrow alleys, the hum of conversation and distant music creating a lively tapestry of sound. Leonardo and Evelyn moved through the crowd with ease, though his size drew inevitable stares. Despite his tailored suit and polished presence, he moved like a predator, always aware of his surroundings, his golden eyes scanning every detail.
“Are you sure you don’t want to try something?” Evelyn asked, motioning toward a vendor offering freshly grilled elote, slathered in chili, lime, and crumbled cheese.
Leonardo exhaled through his nose, bemused. “I’m sure. You, however, should enjoy yourself.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. As she turned to place an order, Leonardo’s gaze flickered over the square. Something was off. He couldn’t place it yet, but an old instinct curled in his gut. He had spent too many years in the wild, in the shadows of cities, to ignore the whisper of unseen eyes.
He kept his posture relaxed, but his senses sharpened. Then, a familiar presence brushed the edge of his awareness—a ghost from another life. He didn’t turn immediately, didn’t give her the satisfaction. Instead, he waited until Evelyn returned, her hands occupied with food, before tilting his head toward her.
“Go back to the hotel,” he said casually, his voice smooth but firm.
Evelyn frowned. “Why? What’s wrong?”
“Just go,” he said, softer this time, but the command was clear.
She studied him for a beat, then nodded, sensing something unspoken. With one last glance over her shoulder, she started toward their hotel.
The moment she disappeared into the crowd, the presence stepped closer.
“To hide a leaf, you hide it in the forest,” murmured a familiar voice.
Leonardo turned, unsurprised to see Karina standing there, draped in desert-coloured silks, her hair cascading over her shoulder. Her sensu fan rested idly in her grip, but he knew better than to underestimate her.
“Leochiro,” she purred, her lips curving into a smile. “It’s been forever.”
He remained impassive, his golden eyes unreadable. “Karina.”
She studied him for a moment, waiting for more, but it never came. No warmth, no anger, not even curiosity. Just cool detachment.
Her smile faltered. “That’s it? No embrace? No nostalgia?”
“I don’t have time for nostalgia.”
Karina scoffed. “We grew up together on Genosha.” She took a step closer, voice dipping into something silkier. “You were mine, once.”
Leonardo’s gaze didn’t waver. “I was never yours.”
She chuckled, tilting her head. “Funny… you didn’t say that when you used to crawl into my cave during the storms. Those nights you got separated from your pride—you always found your way back to me.”
“That was a long time ago.”
A flicker of frustration passed through her eyes, but she covered it quickly. “Come on, Leochiro,” she coaxed. “We had something. I know you remember.”
“I remember surviving,” he said bluntly. “You romanticize the past because it suits you.”
She inhaled sharply, but then the frustration melted away, replaced by something more dangerous. “You’re colder than I remember.”
“I’ve had time to grow.”
Karina’s gaze flickered to his broad frame, taking in the sheer mass of him. “That, you have.” She reached out, fingertips skimming the lapel of his suit. “But some things never change. I can feel it—you still run hot beneath all this control.”
Leonardo caught her wrist before she could move further, his grip firm but not painful. “No.”
Karina’s smile turned sharp, but she didn’t pull away immediately. Instead, she studied him, searching for something. Then, without another word, he released her and walked past.
She let him go, standing still as the crowd moved around her. But her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Her jaw tightened.
A voice cut through the noise behind her, deep and edged with amusement. “I thought as much.”
Karina whirled to see Samuel emerging from the shadows of an alley, his twin katanas sheathed but always within reach. His eyes, sharp as a blade’s edge, assessed her with stoic indifference.
She crossed her arms, masking her unease. “And what exactly did you think?”
Samuel stepped closer, his presence somehow heavier than Leonardo’s, not because of power but because of something darker—calculated intent. “That you’d try to lure him in with memories, maybe even your body.” He smirked. “And that it wouldn’t work.”
Karina’s nostrils flared, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of an outburst. “He’s not the same.”
“No,” Samuel agreed. “Which means we don’t waste time playing games.”
Karina narrowed her eyes. “Then what’s your plan?”
Samuel’s smirk widened. “We make him come to us. And I know exactly how to do it.”
Samuel stood a few feet away, phone in hand, his posture casual yet calculated. The dim glow of the screen illuminated his face, the corner of his mouth curling into an amused smirk as he tapped out a message.
“He’s not going to believe you,” Karina murmured, arms crossed. “You think he’s just going to walk into a trap that obvious?”
Samuel didn’t glance up. “He won’t have a choice.”
Karina frowned, but Samuel ignored her skepticism. He knew how men like Leonardo operated. Leonardo Andolini wasn’t the kind to be baited by simple provocation or brute force. He was controlled, methodical—someone who would calculate every possibility before acting. But there was one thing Samuel had observed over the years: even the strongest warriors had their weaknesses. And Leonardo’s was Evelyn.
Karina’s wings twitched slightly, the sleek metal catching the sunlight. “You’re banking everything on the idea that he’ll come running the second he thinks she’s in danger.”
The message was simple: We have Evelyn. Come alone, or she dies.
Samuel’s smirk widened. “Of course.”
The desert awaited. And soon, so would Leonardo.
Hours passed. After the early morning meeting, Leonardo and Evelyn had lunch at a quiet rooftop restaurant just off the main strip. The food was forgettable, but the view and their conversation lingered longer than either expected. She had laughed—really laughed—at something he’d said, and he remembered thinking how rare that was for her.
By the time they returned to the hotel, the sun was high and the streets below shimmered with heat. Evelyn had excused herself with a yawn, murmuring something about getting a bit of rest before heading back out. Leonardo gave her a nod, watched her disappear down the hall, then turned back to the quiet of his suite.
Now, the afternoon light was shifting. The sun had begun its slow descent, painting long lines of amber and gold across the polished floor. The once-harsh light mellowed into something softer, hazier. Leonardo sat on the edge of the couch, reviewing a final round of reports, the quiet hum of the air conditioner filling the space. He had just signed off on a market acquisition when his phone buzzed.
We have Evelyn. Come alone, or she dies.
The number was unknown. The text was short, direct, and designed to provoke an immediate reaction. But Leonardo wasn’t so easily rattled. His mind ran through the possibilities at lightning speed.
Evelyn had left the restaurant a little earlier than him, saying she wanted to get some rest. She should’ve been back at the hotel by now. But would she have let herself be taken so easily? Unlikely. Yet, the risk was too great to ignore.
His jaw tightened as he typed back. Proof.
A few seconds later, an image popped up. It was Evelyn’s purse lying discarded in the dirt. The backdrop was unmistakable: the desert outskirts.
Leonardo rose from his chair, slipping his phone into his pocket. His mind screamed that something wasn’t right. But if there was even a chance Evelyn was in danger, he wouldn’t sit back and wait.
Within minutes, he was out the door, heading for the one place they wanted him to go.
Elsewhere, under the same heavy sun, Evelyn moved through the crowded streets of the Mexican town, her mind still lingering on Leonardo’s unspoken tension earlier that morning. Something was off. He had been reserved—not in his usual controlled, unreadable way, but as if something had truly unsettled him. She had learned to trust his instincts, and now, an unsettling weight sat in her gut.
The warm afternoon air carried the scent of grilled meats and spices from the street vendors, mixing with the distant sound of live music. The sun hovered past its zenith now, casting a golden hue over the cobbled streets and whitewashed walls, and making the shadows stretch longer with each passing minute. Yet, even with the vibrancy of life all around her, Evelyn couldn’t shake the feeling that something was closing in.
Her steps were quick but purposeful as she made her way back to the hotel. She had only left for a short time, needing to pick up some supplies and confirm their schedule for tomorrow’s meetings. Yet, as she approached the entrance, she hesitated. The lobby was emptier than before. The air felt still.
Where is he?
Leonardo was supposed to be here. But the absence of his massive frame anywhere in sight made her pulse spike. He wasn’t the type to simply vanish, especially not without telling her.
The phone in her pocket buzzed, and she pulled it out, expecting a message from him.
Unknown Number.
Her brows furrowed as she read the text.
If you want to see your fiance again, come to the desert.
A location pin followed, marking a place far beyond the outskirts of the town. Evelyn’s fingers tightened around the phone. A trap. Of course, it was a trap. But Leonardo was out there, and if he had been taken or lured away, she wasn’t about to sit back and do nothing.
She exhaled slowly. Think, Evelyn .
She didn’t have her usual gear. No weapons, no real plan—just herself. If she was going into this, she needed something. Her mind raced through her options before settling on one that was both practical and familiar.
A bow and arrows.
It wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to find inin the middle of a busy tourist district, but Mexico had its share of hunting supply stores. She remembered passing one earlier that day, tucked between a leather shop and a café. Without wasting another second, she turned on her heel and strode back into that particular direction.
The shopkeeper gave her a skeptical glance as she walked in, but he didn’t ask questions. Evelyn moved with understated tact, selecting a well-crafted recurve bow and a quiver of arrows. They weren’t custom-made for her, but they would do. She tested the draw weight, adjusted her grip, and nodded to herself. This feels right .
Before paying, she scanned the shop’s supply wall and added a few more items to her pile: small canisters, adhesive compounds, and wire. Makeshift, but enough. In store's nearby hardware kiosk, she also grabbed batteries, metal casings, and switch components. It wasn’t sleek Stark tech, but with a little improvisation, she could quickly rig up explosive and smoke-tipped arrows. Crude, but effective. As she tucked the supplies into her cart, she couldn’t help but smirk to herself. Thanks, Ma-Two, she thought. Guess all those late nights learning how to blow up tree stumps finally paid off.
After a quick exchange of cash, she stepped back out onto the street, securing the quiver over her shoulder. She took a steadying breath. Every instinct screamed that she was running out of time. Leonardo was out there, and she had no doubt he could hold his own—but this wasn’t just a fight. It was a setup. And whoever had drawn him into this had gone to great lengths to do so.
She was done thinking. Now, she was moving.
Miles away, where the heat pressed down like a weight and the wind carved through the silence, another player waited. Samuel leaned against a boulder, his katanas sheathed but within easy reach. The desert stretched endlessly before him, an expanse of rolling sand and jagged rock. The wind howled, kicking up dust, but he remained still. Focused.
“He’ll come,” Samuel said confidently.
Karina stood nearby, arms crossed. “You’re really willing to gamble everything on this?”
Samuel tilted his head, his smirk unwavering. “It’s not a gamble. It’s inevitability.”
Sure enough, within minutes, a figure appeared on the horizon.
Leonardo.
He approached with steady, measured steps, his massive frame cutting through the afternoon sunlight. His expression was unreadable, but his presence alone was enough to shift the air. The heat of the desert seemed to intensify, the weight of his presence making it heavier. He was still dressed in suit slacks and polished dress shoes, his white shirt rolled at the sleeves and collar slightly undone—no tie, no jacket—only the quiet, simmering stillness of a man who had already decided how this would end.
Samuel straightened, his grin widening. “See? Like clockwork.”
Karina, however, narrowed her eyes. Something was off. She knew Leonardo. He should’ve been more on edge, more reactive. But he wasn’t.
He wasn’t fooled.
Leonardo had always known betrayal was inevitable—from someone. Never Evelyn. Never Gru. But Samuel? There had always been something just slightly off. A quiet dissonance beneath the man’s polished loyalty. And now, that subtle wrongness stood confirmed, cloaked in desert heat and arrogance.
He stopped a few feet away, golden eyes sweeping over them. “Where is she?”
Samuel chuckled. “Let’s not waste time with small talk. You already know why you’re here.”
Leonardo didn’t move. His voice was low and deliberate. “I asked you a question.”
Karina decided to intervene, stepping forward. “Relax, Leochiro,” she purred, using his old island name. “She’s safe… for now.”
Leonardo’s gaze flickered to her, unreadable. “Don’t call me that.”
Karina tsked. “Cold as ever. I thought maybe seeing an old friend would warm you up.”
“Enough,” Leonardo said flatly. “You don’t have her.”
Samuel smirked. “And what makes you so sure?”
Leonardo’s gaze didn’t waver. “Because if you did, you would’ve shown me something better than an abandoned purse.”
Karina’s jaw tensed. He’d seen through them faster than she’d anticipated. But it didn’t matter—he was here. That was the point.
Samuel gave a low chuckle. “You’re right. We didn’t waste time going after her. Didn’t need to. We just needed you to come to us.”
Leonardo exhaled slowly, the muscle beneath his dress shirt flexing as his fists curled and relaxed at his sides. “And now that I’m here?”
Samuel’s fingers twitched near his katanas. “Now we settle this.”
Leonardo’s eyes cut back to him, steady and cold. “Who do you work for?”
A beat passed.
Neither Samuel nor Karina answered.
Instead, Samuel’s grin widened. “You’ll find out soon enough.”
Leonardo didn’t blink.
“You were always too quiet for your own good,” he said, voice cool with restrained contempt. “Should’ve trusted that instinct.”
The desert sun blazed overhead, casting harsh shadows and turning the sand into a sea of shimmering gold. Heat waves rippled across the horizon, distorting the distance like a mirage.
The wind whipped through the open flatlands, not howling but hissing—dry and relentless—as it stirred fine grains into swirling eddies around their feet.
Far from civilization, the silence held a different weight under daylight. Not ominous, but heavy with anticipation—the kind that comes just before something irreversible.
The drive to the desert had been long. The town's outlines faded behind her hours ago, swallowed by glare and dust. The sky stretched wide and cloudless, the sun a white eye overhead. The car rattled over uneven ground, tires skimming loose gravel. Evelyn gripped the wheel tightly, her gaze locked on the flickering screen of the coordinates she’d been sent.
The desert loomed ahead, vast and merciless. It was the perfect place for an ambush.
A shadowed figure stood in the distance. As she neared, she recognized him instantly. Leonardo.
She pulled the car to a halt, jumping out before the engine had fully died. He was standing still, broad shoulders squared, his golden eyes locked on something—or someone—just beyond the reach of her vision.
Then, she saw them.
Two figures emerged from the shimmering horizon, heatwaves rippling around their forms like mirages made real. One was of medium height, lean, and deadly in his confidence. His presence felt like a coiled snake waiting to strike. The other, a woman, moved with deliberate stillness, like every step was calculated, predatory—the dim light catching the glint of something metallic in her hand, a folded fan edged in steel.
Samuel and Karina.
Evelyn’s stomach twisted at the sight of Samuel. She had always thought there was something off about him—too quiet, too polished, like a mask that never quite fit right. But she never imagined he’d turn on Leonardo, not like this. A backstab, maybe. A betrayal under pressure, sure. But to face him directly? In what looked like a fight to the death? That part unsettled her more than she let on.
Her fingers twitched toward her bow, but she didn’t raise it yet. Her sharp gaze flicked between them, assessing, calculating. Leonardo hadn’t been restrained or injured—he was here by choice, or at least by manipulation. That made this more dangerous.
“Ah, good, the little secretary joins the fun,” Samuel drawled, his voice carrying an amused edge.
Evelyn ignored him, stepping closer to Leonardo’s side. “Are you alright?”
His gaze flicked to her, unreadable, but his nod was enough. “They wanted me here.”
Karina smirked, tilting her head. “And now you’re both here. Convenient.”
Evelyn didn’t like the way she said that. The wind howled through the desert, shifting the sand beneath their feet. Her grip tightened on the bowstring.
No more words followed—just the charged quiet that settles before violence.
The desert stretched wide and endless, a sea of golden sand and jagged rock formations beneath a sky ablaze with the light of the sun. Heat clung to the air, shimmering in waves off the earth, bending the horizon into a blur. In the silence, only the wind spoke—until the first strike shattered the stillness.
Leonardo moved first. A blur of motion, his massive frame should have made him an easy target, but he was faster than he had any right to be. He closed the distance between himself and Samuel in the blink of an eye, his fist a wrecking ball aimed at the enhanced mercenary’s chest.
Samuel twisted just in time, sidestepping with uncanny speed. Sand exploded beneath his boots as he countered with a downward slash of one of his twin katanas. Leonardo barely evaded the blade, the metal slicing through the air so close he could hear it sing. Instead of retreating, Leonardo pressed forward, his hands snapping up like a predator striking prey. He grabbed Samuel’s wrist mid-swing, twisting with bone-crushing force.
Samuel grunted but reacted instantly, driving his knee up into Leonardo’s ribs. The impact was solid, but Leonardo barely flinched. He wrenched Samuel’s arm, forcing him to drop one of his katanas. Samuel retaliated by bringing his free hand up, firing two rapid shots from a concealed pistol. The bullets slammed into Leonardo’s shoulder, but they barely slowed him. With a snarl, Leonardo lifted Samuel off the ground and threw him like a ragdoll.
Samuel flipped mid-air, landing on his feet with inhuman grace. He rolled his shoulders, smirking. “Not bad, big guy. But let’s see how you handle two opponents.”
A powerful gust of wind howled through the battlefield as Karina descended like a blade from the sky. Her gliding wings caught the air like the breath of the dead, and with a flick of her wrist, she sent a razor-sharp wind slash screaming toward Leonardo.
Her hand fan, forged from adaptive nanobots, shifted its surface with each movement, rapidly oscillating to manipulate air pressure. The result: concentrated bursts of force that could cut through steel. With the right motion, the nanobots formed aerodynamic arcs, creating crescent-shaped wind blades—silent, swift, and deadly.
Evelyn’s arrow intercepted it mid-flight, shattering the attack before it could reach its mark.
Karina’s gaze snapped toward her, calculating. Evelyn stood poised, another arrow already nocked, her stance unwavering. The setting sun glinted off the metallic sheen of her bow.
“You’ll have to do better than that,” Evelyn said.
Karina responded with a smirk before launching herself toward Evelyn, her wings folding inward for maximum speed. She was a streak of silver and white, a ghost in motion. Evelyn loosed her arrow, but Karina spun mid-air, the shot whizzing past her as she twisted and came down hard, her fan sweeping forward in a wide arc.
Evelyn ducked, barely dodging the crescent slash of wind that carved a deep groove into the sand behind her. She rolled to the side and fired again, but Karina anticipated it, flipping gracefully into the air.
Meanwhile, Samuel was back on the offensive, pressing Leonardo with a relentless flurry of attacks. He retrieved his fallen katana, wielding both blades with deadly precision, each strike aimed for vital points. Leonardo blocked the strikes with his forearms, his skin tough and thick, but Samuel’s enhanced speed made him difficult to predict.
Leonardo finally saw an opening. He feinted left before catching Samuel with a brutal backhand to the jaw. The blow sent Samuel skidding across the desert floor, but even as he tumbled, he fired a volley of bullets at Leonardo’s legs.
Leonardo growled as the bullets tore through muscle. But he didn't stop. He surged forward, grabbing Samuel by the throat and lifting him off the ground. The mercenary struggled, his enhanced strength allowing him to pry Leonardo’s fingers apart just enough to breathe. He rammed his knee into Leonardo’s gut, but the titan didn’t relent. With a roar, Leonardo slammed Samuel into the sand with bone-shattering force.
A sharp gust of wind blasted Leonardo backward. Karina had intervened, her fan whipping through the air as she soared toward Samuel. She landed beside him, wings folding as she crouched defensively.
“You alright?” she asked.
Samuel coughed, blood dripping from his mouth, but he grinned. “I’ve had worse.”
Their respite was brief. Evelyn sent another arrow hurtling toward Karina, forcing her to leap back. But Karina wasn’t done. She swung her fan in a powerful arc, sending a concentrated wind blast toward Evelyn. The force lifted Evelyn off her feet, but she twisted mid-air, landing gracefully before firing an arrow infused with explosive force.
The shot detonated at Karina’s feet, sending her sprawling.
Leonardo, meanwhile, stalked toward Samuel, who was struggling to stand. Blood dripped from a deep gash in his side, his healing factor slowing but not stopping the inevitable. He laughed, coughing, as he raised his remaining katana.
“You’re strong,” he admitted. “But I’ve fought others like you—bled out twice and lived. They didn’t.”
Leonardo didn’t respond. He lunged, a blur of power and precision. Samuel tried to counter, but Leonardo caught his wrist and twisted. There was a sickening snap, and the katana clattered to the sand. Before Samuel could react, Leonardo drove his fist into the mercenary’s chest with a force that shattered bone.
Samuel’s breath hitched. His knees buckled. Leonardo stepped back, letting him fall.
Blood spattered across Leonardo’s face, dripping down his chin, staining his teeth. His lips curled into a feral snarl, revealing brutal canines slick with crimson. It wasn’t rage—it was inevitability made flesh, an expression not of victory, but of judgment long awaited. His teeth, already unnervingly sharp, glinted beneath the smeared blood, caught mid-snarl like some primal specter of vengeance—savage, calm, and terrifyingly certain.
Karina saw it happen.
A scream tore from her throat, a raw mix of rage and disbelief, as she lunged at Leonardo. Her nano-fan flashed in her hand, slicing through the air with deadly precision. She struck fast, wild, desperate—but Leonardo was faster.
She had misjudged him. She’d never feared him, not even as children. But even then, she’d reminded herself—never provoke what lives at the top of the food chain. Men like Leonardo weren’t mountains to overcome; they were apex predators in waiting. But then again, she did mistake his size for sluggishness, never realizing she was the gazelle stepping into the open, unaware of the lion crouched in tall grass. And now, that stillness she used to mistake for restraint? It shattered into motion that was brutal and deliberate. He moved with terrifying speed, far too fluid for a man his size. One hand caught her wrist mid-swing; the other struck low and fast—a brutal jab to her side that stole her breath. His thick fingers were stiffened into a spearpoint, driven forward with such precision and force that they pierced straight through the muscle under her ribs, cracking against bone before withdrawing cleanly, slick with blood. Her nano-wings faltered, flickering with instability as her legs gave way.
The fan slipped from her grip, falling into the sand with a dull clink. Blood bloomed between her fingers as she clutched her side, staggered by the depth of the wound.
Leonardo caught her as she collapsed, lowering her with a strange gentleness that contrasted the violence of moments before.
Evelyn was there almost immediately, kneeling beside her.
Karina blinked up at her, eyes glassy but searching. “You’re… kind,” she murmured, surprise flickering in her expression. “Didn’t expect that.”
Evelyn didn’t respond, only pressed a hand against the wound, as if sheer willpower could keep Karina here a little longer.
Karina’s lips curled into a weak, fading smile. “Be… careful,” she murmured, voice frayed at the edges. “Somethin’s… comin’. S’gonna change… evr’ythin’...”
Leonardo stiffened. “What do you mean?”
But Karina’s breath was growing shallow. Her eyes fluttered. And yet, with her last ounce of strength, she smiled at him—a look of familiarity, of something distant but not forgotten.
“’Least…” she breathed, the words soft and slipping between gasps, “I got t’see… m’old friend… Leochiro… one las’ time…”
The wind carried her final breath away, lost to the endless desert.
...:TBC:...
Notes:
* Okay, for the Parla Piu Piano there's a Korean group, Forestella, who sings it soooo beautifully that I had to link it: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=to8FB0WdAE8
Enjoy!
Chapter 10: Chapter 8
Notes:
Rating: PG-13
Warning 1: there's a small amount of belly kink mid-way into the chapter. If that's not your thing, skip that portion.
Warning 2: there's a huge battle and lots of blood and death toward the end! If that's not your thing, you can skip to the end of the chapter for the wrap up of it.
Disclaimer: All television shows, movies, books, and other copyright material referred to in this work, and the characters, settings, and events thereof, are the properties of their respective owners. As this work is an interpretation of the original material and not for-profit, it constitutes fair use. Reference to real persons, places, or events are made in a fictional context, and are not intended to be libelous, defamatory, or in any way factual. I only own my original characters.
Authors Note: HI! Sorry for the long wait. There was a lot going on personally that delayed this chapter. Master's degree classes started again🙂↕️, work got hectic😵💫, and of course writer's block😭! Every time I wrote something, I didn't like how it turned out and then the ideas stopped altogether🤬. THEN SOMETHING HAPPENED! MY MUSE CAME BACK🥳!!!! So, I hope you all enjoy this huge update! (After I'm done with this story, I'm going to come back and break this chapter into two chapters at least.)
Please leave a review and kudos, it makes my little heart swell! 🥰
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
The engines murmured beneath them—a steady, low vibration that lived beneath the silence like a pulse under skin.
Evelyn sat across from Leonardo, still streaked in desert soot and dried blood. Her shoulders were squared but not tense. Her hands stayed folded in her lap, unmoved since takeoff. The water bottle beside her went untouched.
Outside the jet, night swallowed the last of Mexico. The land blurred beneath cloud and altitude, vanishing into shadow. Everything had unraveled fast—Samuel’s betrayal, Karina’s final charge—but it still lingered with that peculiar heaviness only life-or-death moments knew. Fast and slow. All at once.
Karina’s voice—thin, spent—still lived in Evelyn’s ears.
“Something's...comin'. S'gonna change...evr'ythin'...”
That was it. No follow-up. No clarity. Just that loose thread left behind in the heat and blood, swaying in the aftershock. A warning with no face. No name.
Across from her, Leonardo sat hunched forward, forearms resting on his thighs, head low.* His hands hung loose between his knees. There was still blood on one knuckle—Karina’s. A dark smear drying into the grooves of his skin.
He hadn’t wiped it off.
Maybe he didn’t notice.
Maybe he wanted to remember.
They didn’t speak. Not the whole flight. Not when the wheels touched down on Los Angeles tarmac beneath a fog-thin sky. Not as the cabin lights flickered on and the hatch hissed open to cool coastal air. A sleek black sedan waited for them just beyond the floodlights.
Leonardo walked toward it without looking back. Evelyn followed.
No instructions. No debrief. Just the sharp click of boots on concrete and the soft thunk of doors shutting.
Leonardo took the wheel. Evelyn slid into the passenger seat. The silence came with them.
The city loomed in the distance with a soft electric halo on the horizon.
The drive back wound through the canyon roads like muscle memory. Leonardo kept his eyes forward. Evelyn leaned her temple against the window, the glass cool against her skin.
Her body ached. Her bow-hand was still tight. Her stomach hollowed out hours ago, but hunger didn’t make it to the list of priorities.
Karina had been fast. Deadly. Every movement was sharp, efficient—calculated to kill.
But there was something in the way she moved that told Evelyn she didn’t really want to be there.
Not fully.
The flicker in her eyes before the final blow. The way her voice softened when she called Leonardo “old friend.” It wasn’t hesitation, exactly. Just… weighty. As if every strike came with something tied to something she hadn’t agreed to.
That’s what gutted Evelyn the most.
Not the blood. Not the body.
The fact that Karina hadn’t wanted any of it—and yet did it anyway.
Leonardo made a turn off the main road and the sedan coasted through the private gate. Tall hedges and cold stone watched them pass as the sensors clicked the security wall open.
No one said a thing. Not yet.
When he finally parked and cut the engine, he didn’t look at her.
Just sat there for a moment, one hand still on the wheel, the other resting loosely in his lap. The cabin ticked as the engine cooled. Outside, the hedges barely moved in the wind.
Then, without turning, he spoke quietly, “I want you to stay tonight.”
Evelyn blinked, lifting her head. “I can go home.”
“I know.” He still was looking ahead with his hand still on the wheel. “But someone sent Samuel. And if they had eyes on him, they might have eyes on us.”
His voice didn’t rise, nor did it harden. It just settled there, even and certain.
“I need you close until we figure out who’s pulling the strings.”
He finally turned to look at her fully then. “Besides, I don’t want you out there alone, Evelyn. Not tonight.”
There was no manipulation in it. No smooth seduction, no possessive edge. Just quiet a insistence—like everything else about him in moments like this.
She studied him in the quiet. There was no tension in his voice, no overt concern. Just the kind of directness he only ever used when something actually mattered.
“I’ll take the guest room,” she said after a moment.
Leonardo nodded once. “It’s already ready. I keep it that way. Just in case.”
She paused at that. “Why?”
He didn’t look at her when he answered.
“So you never feel like a guest.”
It landed heavier than she expected.
Just a few words, simple and strangely gentle in their own way.
They didn’t speak again as they stepped inside.
The house was quiet. Cool. No lights except the soft amber chandelier lighting the hallway.
Evelyn slipped off her shoes by the door. The silence followed them in, settled between them like something familiar.
Leonardo gestured toward the staircase. “I’ll grab you something clean to sleep in.”
“I’m good,” she said.
“You’re covered in blood.”
She looked down at her shirt. Dried brown-black at the hem. Someone else’s. Probably Karina’s.
He was already halfway up the stairs, quiet and deliberate, a dark shape moving through the low light. By the time she reached the landing, he’d placed something in the guest room—a folded shirt of his draped over the chair, soft with wear.
The door was open.
The bed was made—crisp, fresh sheets, a towel folded at the foot. The window was cracked just slightly, letting in the scent of jasmine and dry earth.
Evelyn paused in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame.
“I’ll stay,” she called down, voice quieter than she intended. “But just for the night.”
“Just for the night,” Leonardo echoed from somewhere below.
He left her with that—no push, no pressure—and disappeared down the hall toward his own room, the creak of his footsteps echoing across the polished floor like the exhale of the house itself.
He didn’t wait for her to say anything more. Just turned and walked down the hall toward his own room, his footsteps slow, measured, fading into the kind of hush that only existed in a house like this—big enough to swallow sound, old enough to remember it.
Evelyn stood there for another few seconds, listening. Then she stepped into the guest room and closed the door behind her with a soft click.
The night passed without incident. No calls. No distant engines. No footsteps that didn’t belong. Just the occasional stretch of wind moving through the hedges outside, and the low, steady creak of the house settling around her like it was exhaling.
The sheets were soft, untouched by the sweat and sand of the desert, but Evelyn barely felt them. Somewhere between waking and sleep, her body had folded into the shape of quiet exhaustion. Her breathing had evened. Her muscles loosened. But her mind had slipped down, deep and unguarded, to a place she rarely let herself go.
The dream didn’t begin with sound. Just movement.
A violent kind of tumbling. Light and dark folding in on each other. Glass shattering. Screams, maybe. But muffled, distorted, like they were underwater. She remembered a woman’s hand reaching across the front seat, a man's voice shouting something she didn’t understand—and then impact.
Cold air.
Then heat.
A seatbelt digging into her tiny collarbone. Tires spinning. Metal groaning like an animal in pain.
And silence.
It was the memory of her parents’ crash.
She couldn’t remember their faces that day. Couldn’t remember their last words. Just pieces. The sensation of tumbling. The strange, surreal calm that followed. How the light fractured through the shattered windshield and how the airbags hissed in the front of the car.
Then strangers. Hands pulling at twisted metal. Voices calling for her. The sharp smell of coolant and burnt rubber. A woman in a ponytail telling her it was going to be okay. A man giving her his jacket. Then the red-and-blue lights flashing against a dusk sky.
She remembered the nice officer.
An older Caucasian man, white-haired and gentle. He crouched down beside her, his voice soft, even, and so careful you’d think he was afraid she might break apart entirely.
"Do you have any family we can call, sweetheart?"
She shook her head then, the movement small but certain. "Just my mommy and daddy."
He exhaled, slow. "Alright. We’ll take care of you. Okay?"
She nodded. She didn’t cry. She just watched his badge shimmer faintly under the rotating lights.
She was too young to make sense of it all. Shock had moved in where fear should’ve been—quiet, numb, and heavy. Like her body knew something her mind hadn’t caught up to yet.
That was it. That was the moment the system swallowed her.
Foster care was not cruel in the way stories liked to tell it. It was indifferent. Her foster parents weren’t monsters. They just weren’t... there. Not really. They fed her when they remembered. Clothes arrived in bags from church basements. She went days without speaking to anyone under the same roof. Once, when she stayed out overnight with a friend—no call, no note—no one noticed. No one asked.
She remembered standing in the kitchen once, staring at an empty fridge, and whispering to herself, "Guess it’s crackers again."
So she learned early: stay invisible. Keep your head down. Don’t make noise. Don’t expect warmth.
But even invisibility has a limit.
She was thirteen when it changed.
She’d started walking home the long way. A shortcut through back lots and drainage paths, where the fences leaned and weeds stood taller than her shoulders. Chain-link rusted orange. Plastic bags snagged in the brush. There was an old property at the end of one trail—a gate that never locked right and a yard that looked half-wild.
That’s where she first saw the woman.
Old. Obviously tough. With a halo of white hair pulled back into a bun that was always falling loose. Jewish, maybe Eastern European, and a stare that could more than likely break glass.
The old woman had caught her staring through the fence at the bow.
It sat on a makeshift stand beside a target painted onto an old mattress. There were arrows stuck into the dirt, some clean, some broken.
"You thinking of stealing it?" the old woman had barked, with a smoker’s rasp.
Evelyn flinched. Her eyes flicked to the gate. "No."
Miriam squinted at her, then jerked her head toward the latch. "It doesn’t lock. Might as well come in."
She thought about running. But she didn’t.
It started slow. A few minutes here and there. Miriam barely talked the first time, just kept shooting, correcting her own form under her breath.
Evelyn sat in the dirt and watched.
The next day, she came back.
Miriam didn’t pretend to be surprised. She handed Evelyn a pair of gloves. Pointed to the weeds. "You want to sit, you pull your weight, farshtandn."
That was how it started. Weeding, sweeping, fetching tools. Then learning to nock an arrow. Then adjusting her stance. Breathing. Aiming.
"Elbow down," Miriam would mutter. "Unless you want a welt the size of your head."
"Is it always this hard?" thirteen year old Evelyn asked.
"Only if you’re doing it right," she said.
Days turned into weeks.
Weeks into years.
Miriam became a constant. A sharp-tongued, tobacco-scented anchor in a life full of driftwood. As they grew closer, Miriam told stories about her time as an Olympic alternate back in the day. She never asked Evelyn too many questions. She never pitied her.
She just made room for her.
"You got chutzpah and a pretty good eye," Miriam told her once, passing her the bow with a grunt. "You don’t flinch when it counts and that’s very rare."
In the dream, Evelyn saw it all. The garden in bloom, wild and beautiful in its chaos. The targets riddled with holes. The cracked porch steps she helped repair. The chipped mug Miriam always drank from, stained dark from too many cups of black coffee. The weight of the bow in her hands, balanced like something sacred.
It was the first place Evelyn ever felt wanted.
Not tolerated.
Wanted.
And then the sound began to fade.
The image of the garden bled into shadow. Miriam’s voice softened, drifted.
Then the shadows deepened. Time lurched and the dream shifted.
Miriam got sick. Real bad. They didn’t know until it was too late. Cancer—fast, aggressive, merciless. Evelyn saw herself sitting beside the hospital bed, fingers curled around cold styrofoam cups of bad coffee, watching the monitors beep softer with each passing day.
The medical bills stacked up like bricks on her chest.
She was eighteen when she dropped her freshman classes. She’d been on an archery scholarship, full ride, but school could wait. Miriam couldn’t.
Evelyn took a job waitressing—late nights, long hours, aching feet—just to keep the lights on at home and the medicine coming on time. Over the next few years, she strung together whatever work she could find: bartending, data entry, warehouse temp jobs, even part-time nights loading inventory at a hardware supply yard.
By twenty-five, exhaustion felt normal. At some point, she’d stopped expecting stability.
Then one night, during a graveyard shift, she overheard two regulars at the bar talking about a high-paying executive assistant position opening up at a private firm—security clearance required, strange hours, but serious pay. The company was ImperialReach.
She looked it up on her cracked phone during break. The website was barebones. No job listing page. Just a contact form. She filled it out, hit send, and forgot about it by the time her shift ended.
Two weeks later, someone called her back. The voice on the line was calm, professional—almost surprised.
Over three hundred people had applied, they said. Ivy League grads. Former military. Assistants with years of corporate polish.
But it was Evelyn they chose.
No fancy degree. No tailored résumé. Just grit, instinct, and the kind of calm that didn’t rattle easy.
She took the job with Leonardo.
It wasn’t glamourous. It wasn’t what she planned. But she needed the money, and Leonardo needed someone who wasn’t weak minded. She lived small, beneath her means, every paycheck funneled into prescriptions and appointments, into making the last stretch of Miriam’s life bearable.
It wasn’t enough to save her. But it was enough to let her go with dignity.
The funeral was simple yet beautiful. Evelyn picked out wildflowers and played Miriam’s favourite folk songs from a little speaker tucked beside the headstone. She stood alone at the graveside until the sun dipped down, and when she left, she didn’t have a plan—just a quiet promise to keep going.
At first, she kept the job with Leonardo just to have somewhere to put her grief. Something steady. Something to do with her hands and her hours.
She didn’t know what it would become.
What had started as a necessity grew into something else. Stability. Trust. Leonardo never asked for explanations, but she suspected he understood more than he let on. He was solid and unshakable. And when she was near him, she felt like the world couldn’t tip quite so easily.
Somewhere between her plans to leave the company and his insistence on knowing her outside of office hours, she grew to love him. Not in the fragile, cinematic kind of way. But in the way that made her stay.
And Evelyn, still dreaming, turned in her sleep, eyes flickering beneath their lids.
Down the hall, the house remained still.
And outside, the wind began to rise again.
When Evelyn came downstairs the next morning, the smell of coffee was already drifting through the open kitchen. The table was set—nothing fancy, but intentional. Five omelets, nine sausage links, over half a loaf of toast, and fruit, a skillet still warm from the stove. Leonardo had cooked without saying a word about it, but the gesture landed heavier than anything else might have.
They ate mostly in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It was a silence that felt like breathing room. She hadn’t realized how tightly she’d been holding everything in until she let herself slow down.
After breakfast, Evelyn excused herself and padded upstairs with a book tucked under one arm. She wasn’t planning on reading long—just long enough to stop thinking. She curled up on the edge of the guest bed, sunlight warming the comforter through the slatted blinds, and let the words pull her under.
The story took hold gently at first, then completely. One page became the next, then the next, until the world beyond the book fell away.
The minutes turned into hours. The house settled into stillness, save for the occasional sound of birdsong or the low creak of floorboards expanding in the heat. At some point, faint and rhythmic, she started to feel it—the subtle, distant thump of weight hitting earth. Repeated. Measured. Controlled.
She was just starting to sit up when her phone buzzed on the nightstand.
Pizza’s here.
Evelyn blinked at the message, thumbed a quick reply, and padded downstairs. She crossed the cool tile floor to the security panel near the front window and hit the release. A few minutes later, she met the delivery guy at the front door—young, polite, African-American boy doing his best not to gawk at the estate’s stone façade and high walls. She offered a tip, murmured a thanks, and carried the warm stack of boxes into the kitchen.
The smell hit her immediately—crushed tomato, garlic, heat. She set the pizzas down on the counter and stood there a moment, absently brushing her fingers over the edge of the box, but that same rhythm—the distant thump... thump... thump —was still there, pulsing faintly through the floorboards and into her soles like the house had a heartbeat.
She turned toward the back of the house, curiosity pulling her forward.
Evelyn stepped out of the front door, barefoot on the porch, blinking at the golden wash of late sun—and stopped in her tracks.
Her jaw dropped.
Across the yard, Leonardo lay flat on his back in the grass, palms gripped around the undercarriage of an old pickup truck she had only ever seen glimpses of tucked beside the side garage—weathered paint, busted headlight, rust at the corners. She thought it had been retired, waiting for scrap. But here it was, inches off the earth, balanced on the sheer force of him.
The truck trembled slightly under its own weight, the suspension groaning in protest. But Leonardo didn’t waver. Not once. His arms were locked in calm discipline, hulking biceps built for power, veins tight beneath sun-warmed skin. Even from the porch, Evelyn could hear the rhythm of his breath—deep, even, unhurried. Grunts of effort that weren’t panicked or strained, just... methodical and very focused.
She couldn’t see his face—his enormous belly rose like a hill between his chest and the world—but the way he moved told her everything.
Leonardo was stronger than ever.
“Leo, please don’t get yourself hurt!” she called out, one hand lifting instinctively over her heart.
The truck came down with more gentleness than a thing that size had any right to. He didn’t drop it to the ground—he placed it on the ground. Like it was a practice rep. Then he shifted, rolled his shoulders, and rose. It took a second. As he moved his gut wobbled and settled as he unfolded to his full, towering height.
He stretched, cracking his back, grass clinging to the fabric of his tank top. And then he saw her.
“Oh,” he said, brushing his hands off casually. “Just getting my morning workout in for the day. Did you need something?”
She raised an eyebrow. "Yeah. I need you not to die underneath a rust bucket before dinner."
He laughed—a wonderfully distinct, wheezing chortle, like something caught between a belly laugh and a slow-release pressure valve. It started in stuttering bursts, like a spray bottle being primed—soft at first, then stronger, each pulse rolling through his chest.
It wasn’t loud, but it had a weighty, warm quality. The kind of sound that vibrated in her own ribs and, without asking, pulled the corners of her mouth into a quiet smile.
He crossed the lawn in two slow, easy strides and reached for her hand. She let him take it. He brought her knuckles to his lips, kissed them gently—warm, unhurried, reverent.
“I missed you,” he said, voice low.
Evelyn’s breath caught. "You saw me this morning."
“And it’s been hours since,” he murmured, that familiar glint in his eyes sharpening just slightly.
She shook her head, still smiling, and let him pull her inside. The door shut behind them with a soft click. The cool air of the house wrapped around her, chasing the last bit of heat from her shoulders. It smelled faintly of pinewood, lemon oil, and the remnants of the takeout box she’d tossed.
Leonardo’s place. But somewhere along the line, her scent had taken up residence too. He didn’t say anything, but she caught the way his eyes lingered—like he’d noticed it too, and liked the way it settled in.
Silently, he moved toward the kitchen with the casual stealth of a man who thought that maybe— just maybe —he wouldn’t get caught.
She didn’t even turn around. “Don’t even think about it.”
He paused halfway across the kitchen tile, one hand already on the pizza box lid. “Just one slice—”
“You already had three omelets, six sausage links, and half a loaf of toast this morning, Leo.”
He placed a hand over his belly, dramatically wounded. “That was hours ago. Breakfast doesn’t count after a workout.”
As if on cue, a deep gurgle stirred beneath his palm.
“That breakfast trying to file a complaint, huh?” she teased, leaning back against the counter, arms folded.
Leonardo groaned softly. “Very funny, madam comedian.”
Evelyn chuckled and crossed the room, pretending to smooth the hem of his shirt, noting how the fabric pulled just slightly around the curve of his belly, worn soft in a way that made the shape feel comfortable, lived-in. Her fingers lingered there, brushing warm skin that still carried the faint heat of the afternoon sun. She moved slowly, palm circling in lazy, absentminded strokes. Under her touch, his stomach let out another low, bubbling groan, like it was still protesting its fullness—or asking for more.
“You’re ridiculous,” she murmured.
“And you love it.”
She rolled her eyes, but her hand didn’t move. “Go shower. I’m not done setting things out yet.”
“Now who’s bossy,” he muttered, voice low and teasing, giving her hip a fond tap with the back of his massive hand as he passed.
She swatted at him lightly, watching the wide sway of his frame as he disappeared down the hall. The floor gave a familiar creak under his weight, a sound she’d come to expect, like punctuation in the rhythm of the house.
Evelyn turned back to the kitchen. The scent of garlic and melted cheese thickened in the air. She finished arranging the lunch spread—three large pizzas, garlic knots tucked in their foil like treasure, a bowl of salad she’d made mostly out of habit, and a glossy white pastry box with six chocolate cannoli from the corner bakery. She didn’t even like cannoli that much, but they reminded her of something Miriam used to say—about how every good meal needed one thing you’d regret just a little.
By the time Leonardo returned, his hair damp and the ends curling against his neck and broad shoulders, barefoot in dark joggers and a black T-shirt that stretched over his chest and shoulders, the table was ready. The room glowed not with a harsh light—something softened by time and stillness.
They sat at the dining table while the trees rustled quietly outside, shadows dancing against the glass. Inside, the world slowed down.
Evelyn nibbled her way through half a slice of pizza and a bit of salad, the dressing soaking into the leaves. Across from her, Leonardo ate with the kind of deliberate steadiness that quite often caught her off guard. Not like someone showing off or piggish—just present, like eating was part of being rooted in his body.
There was no performance in his appetite, just the quiet discipline of a man who knew how much he’d burned through. The kind of man who didn’t waste effort, even in hunger.
She watched him for a while, something unreadable threading through her chest. Maybe it was awe. Maybe it was ache. The same hands that had lifted a truck now tore apart a garlic knot with unexpected gentleness. The man who had killed to protect her in the desert now sat barefoot across the table, eating in unhurried silence, as if peace was something you could practice.
She looked away before he could catch her watching. Picked at the crust. Let the silence do its job.
It didn’t press. It just wrapped around them in an easy and undemanding way.
The light shifted again, deepening into the amber of late afternoon. It slanted across the hardwood in long strokes, catching the edge of the pizza box, glinting against the rim of a glass. Everything had that suspended-in-time stillness. As if the house itself had finally exhaled.
Across the table, Leonardo leaned back in his chair with a long, contented sigh. Both hands rested instinctively on the curve of his belly, rubbing slow, absent circles. It looked unconscious, the way he touched his stomach—part reflex, part quiet pleasure, and maybe a hint of regret, even for him.
Evelyn let herself exhale too. Not loudly. Just enough. The echoes of Mexico were still in her muscles, still in her dreams—but they’d quieted, at least for now. The desert, Karina’s last breath, the gunfire—it was all still there. But softened at the edges by this moment. By him.
They cleaned the kitchen without saying much. He passed her plates. She loaded the dishwasher. They moved in rhythm, brushing shoulders, exchanging glances. There was no need to fill the space with anything more.
Later, they drifted into the living room, the carpet soft beneath their feet. The couch welcomed them without a groan this time, just a sigh of old springs and worn fabric.
Leonardo sank down first. Evelyn followed, curling into his side. She pulled the throw blanket over both of them, around their legs with the same care she used folding laundry—thoughtless, but tender.
The television blinked to life. Something slow. Gentle. A cooking show, the kind with no drama and soft piano between scenes. A man talked about resting meat and patience.
She leaned up and kissed his forehead—right where his curls still dampened—and rested her head against his chest. His heartbeat thudded beneath her ear. Deep and steady.
The quiet settled in. Only the hum of the refrigerator, the subtle shift of the blanket, and the low, gurgling churn of Leonardo’s overfed stomach filled the space between them. Their breathing had synced somewhere along the way, steady and slow as if their bodies had remembered something their minds were still catching up to.
“Mmm… you’re warm,” Evelyn murmured, her voice soft against his chest.
“And stuffed,” he answered, voice low and muffled in her hair. “Painfully so.”
“Serves you right,” she teased, letting her cheek press into the firm rise of his pec. Her hand, lazy with comfort, slipped down to rest along his side. The flesh there was warm, pulsing faintly beneath her palm, the gurgles of digestion rolling through him in soft waves.
A low, wet belch rolled up from deep in his chest. Leonardo twisted his head slightly, angling it away so it wouldn’t rumble straight into her hair. The tension in his gut seemed to ease just a little.
“Better?” she whispered.
“A little,” he groaned, his eyes fluttering closed.
“You sound like you swallowed a cement mixer,” she murmured, shifting closer, her body slotting more snugly into his side. The blanket slipped slightly as she moved, exposing the ridge of her shoulder, the sleek muscle of her arm resting gently atop the curve of his belly.
Leonardo gave a soft, pitiful whine. “Careful, mi cara... uoORP —”
Another burp caught him mid-sentence, and he braced one massive hand against the couch cushion, wincing a little as it slipped free. He was still uncomfortable, but there was something about the way she touched him—unbothered, easy—that made him want to see how much softness he could get away with.
She giggled, light and low, and started to lean in again—but Leonardo shifted beside her with a low grunt, carefully maneuvering his body until he was flat on his back, the couch creaking faintly under the shift in weight.
"Leo?," she whispered, bracing herself to move off.
But he gently held her there with one large hand at her back. "Shh. I got you. I just… want to try something."
With slow intent, he adjusted her body over his, drawing her up so she straddled his middle, then eased her down until she was resting along his broad chest and over the soft curve of his belly. His stomach gave another sluggish groan beneath her, protesting to the added pressure, but he didn’t complain. If anything, he let out a quiet exhale, his eyes fluttering closed.
"I like the weight of you," he murmured, one hand resting easily between her shoulder blades. "Feels like you’re really here.”
Evelyn blinked, surprised. "I’m not exactly feather-light, you know."
"You’re perfect," he murmured, his eyes still closed. "Don't change a thing."
She blinked, taken off guard by the softness of it—how quietly sincere it was. Not romantic, not even meant to be clever. Just honest.
She laid her head down again, heart thudding once against his chest before settling. Their bodies aligned—compact and curvy against warm, overfull bulk—and the couch seemed to mold around them, like it understood exactly what they needed.
His arms settled around her without thinking, wide hands finding the curve of her back, anchoring her there. She could feel the sound before she heard it—a thick, syrupy groan from deep inside him, like some great engine working its way through too much fuel.
“My goodness, listen to you,” she whispered, lips close to the skin of his throat.
“It’s the grease,” he muttered. “Your fault for ordering extra cheese.”
“Mmhm.”
She traced idle circles against his chest, her fingertips ghosting over the soft cotton of his shirt, her breath gradually slowing to match his. The rise and fall of his body under her felt like a lullaby, weighty and grounding.
A long silence settled in. Comfortable. Complete. The kind that didn’t require anything.
Then, without opening his eyes, Leonardo spoke again—quiet now, like the question had been sitting at the back of his mind all day.
“Hey… I meant to ask you something the other night.”
Evelyn lifted her head slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. “Yeah?”
His eyes didn’t open, but she felt the shift in his body—a faint tightening in his arms, the subtle tension of words unspoken.
“How are you doing… really? Since the desert.” His voice barely rose above a whisper. “I’ve seen things like that too many times to count. But you—”
He stopped there, letting the silence say the rest.
Evelyn blinked, once, then slowly laid her head back down on his chest. The sound of his heartbeat was steady, slow.
“I keep seeing her,” she said quietly. “Karina. The way she looked when she realized she was going to die. The way she looked at you.”
Leonardo said nothing, just waited.
“I didn’t think I’d freeze like that,” Evelyn continued. “Didn’t think I’d panic. But when she lunged, it was like I forgot how to move for a second.”
His thumb brushed the curve of her shoulder, gentle and grounding.
“I’m not used to that kind of fear,” she admitted. “That… level of death. Not just danger. Real endings.”
Leonardo finally opened his eyes, just enough to glance at the top of her head. “You didn’t freeze. You recalibrated. And then you saved me.”
She gave a small, humourless laugh. “I keep telling myself that. But the truth is, it still shakes me. More than I thought it would.”
He didn’t argue. Just listened.
“But,” she said, lifting her head again so he could see her face this time, “I think I’ll get better. The more I’m around you… the more I learn how to handle it. Not because you expect me to—but because I want to.”
Her fingers tapped softly on Leonardo’s belly, which gave a low, satisfied gurgle in response. Leonardo, himself though, didn’t speak right away. He just looked at her, eyes full of something that was almost reverence. She looked up at him now, and though her voice had steadied, there was a flicker of something raw behind her eyes—vulnerability not as weakness, but honesty. The kind you don’t give unless you trust someone to hold it.
“And somehow... we complement each other. I’m the one who pulls the plans into focus,, alongside your instincts—there’s a rhythm to it. I don’t know why, but it feels like we just clicked into place. Like it was always meant to work that way. Like it was always meant to work that way.”
Leonardo met her gaze fully now, and something in his chest seemed to ease.
“Good,” he said simply.
And then he closed his eyes again, pulling her in just a little tighter.
The morning after their slow, quiet day together, Leonardo stood outside Gru’s office, straightening the cuffs of his charcoal blazer. He’d already worked out, showered, and skipped his usual second breakfast—his nerves were tighter than his appetite. The hallway outside the executive suite of ImperialReach’s downtown headquarters was polished and silent, the calm before the kind of storm Leonardo was hoping to set in motion.
Inside, Gru was seated behind his sleek desk, idly tapping a pen against a novelty mug that read, World’s Okayest Boss. The sight of Leonardo darkening his doorway made him pause, arching one brow behind his glasses.
“Well, well,” Gru said, setting the pen down. “You just can’t stay away, can you?”
Leonardo stepped inside without a word and moved to the plush love seat positioned in front of the low coffee table. It faced the couch directly just barely holding up under Leonardo sat—rather, engulfed—the love seat in a single, heavy motion. It groaned beneath his weight like it was praying for mercy.
“I’m going to ask Evelyn to marry me,” he said simply.
Gru blinked, then snorted. “Again?” He pushed himself up from his desk with a slow, deliberate stretch and settled onto the couch across from Leonardo, crossing one leg over the other as if settling in for a long conversation.
Leonardo’s brow twitched. “I...admit that those weren't real proposals. That was survival mode. She was leaving the company and I panicked.”
Gru leaned back, steepling his fingers. “Uh-huh. And the three other times?”
“She thought I was just trying to keep her close.” Leonardo’s voice was low, steady. “But that’s not what this is. Not anymore. She’s not going anywhere. We’re… together now. And I’ve changed. Hell, I’ve changed more in the last two years with her than I have in the last two decades.”
Gru gave a thoughtful nod, his smirk softening. “Okay, fair. You’ve grown. Or, grown emotionally. Physically, you’re… well, you’re still a walking boulder.”
Leonardo didn’t dignify that with a response. “So I want it to be right. Just—her. Me. A moment that means something.”
“Alright,” Gru said, leaning forward. “Let’s break it down then. What kind of place would mean something to both of you?”
Leonardo ran a hand inky black hair. “The Art Academy. It’s where I first reached for her hand. She was there at the opening. She hasn’t been back in a while, but… she loved that place.”
Gru’s eyes lit up. “Now we’re getting somewhere. And if you want to her know what she means to you, maybe don’t just say it. Show it. You’re not exactly short on meaningful memories together.”
“Pictures,” Leonardo said, the idea clicking into place. “Moments. The ones that mattered to me. I’ll walk her through them.”
“See? Now you’re thinking!” Gru said, pleased.
Leonardo rose from the loveseat with surprising grace for his size and clapped Gru’s shoulder—heavily.
Gru grunted through a forced smile. “You’re welcome, o gentle giant .”
Leonardo was already out the door, silent and focused.
The moment the door clicked shut behind him, Gru winced, rolled his shoulder, and practically slid out of his chair onto the carpet.
"Goodness help her when she says yes," he muttered, rubbing at his shoulder. "She’s marrying a wrecking ball with very questionable charm."
Then he grinned despite himself and sat back up, muttering, "‘bout damn time."
The moment hung for just a beat—then passed, all business again. Leonardo strode through the outer hallway with a purpose, his steps slowing only when he approached the shared assistant’s desk just outside his own office. Evelyn and Leia were seated side-by-side, eyes flicking between screens and paperwork, their movements fluid from months of working in tandem.
He paused there.
“Leia,” he said, voice low but warm.
Leia looked up, startled, but covered it quickly. She cast a glance at Evelyn—who was focused on her screen—and then back to Leonardo.
“Yes, sir?” she said, standing carefully. She was still getting used to moments like this. Evelyn had seniority, after all, and Leonardo rarely requested anything without going through her.
“Come with me,” he said.
Leia nodded, smoothing her blazer and following him into his office.
Once the door clicked shut behind them, Leonardo turned.
“I need your help,” he said. “Discreetly.”
Leia tilted her head. “Of course. Is something wrong?”
“No,” he said quickly. “Nothing’s wrong. It’s… a surprise. I need the binders and folders that have pictures from our previous company trips and events. The ones with real photos, not just digital backups.”
Leia blinked. “There are… a lot of those. Evelyn’s the one who usually files them—”
“I know,” he said. “Which is why I need you to be subtle. I don’t want her to notice that they’re gone. And don’t whisper a word of this to anyone, especially her.”
Leia hesitated, then nodded. “Alright. But how are you going to keep her from noticing I’m digging through her cabinets?”
“I’ll give her errands. Things we’ve been needing done anyway. She won’t suspect anything.”
Leia smiled, a little excited now. “Got it. If you don’t mind me asking, what kind of errands?”
Leonardo moved to his desk, grabbing the phone. “You’ll know in a minute. Once she’s out, bring everything to me.”
Leia nodded. “Yes, sir.”
She exited just as smoothly as she came in.
Leonardo picked up the receiver and buzzed the shared desk.
“Evelyn speaking,” came her familiar voice.
“Hey,” he said casually. “I need you to run a few errands today. The regional vendor accounts need confirming in person—call ahead but go down there. And the Westbrook lease renewal—get the paperwork physically signed. I want it in my hands by close of business.”
“On it,” she said. Then a pause. “Should I be worried about anything?”
He softened. “Not at all. Just logistics. Use the company card for lunch. Take your time.”
She hesitated for a half second. “Alright. I’ll check in once I have the paperwork.”
The line clicked off.
Five minutes later, Leia returned with five thick binders and three folders clutched in her arms.
She dropped them gently onto the coffee table. “This is the first wave. I’ll bring more if you need.”
Leonardo opened the nearest binder and started flipping through, eyes catching on one particular photo of Evelyn from a Milan trip.
“I’m going to need copies of the ones I mark,” he said without looking up.
Leia nodded, watching him with curiosity but saying nothing.
She waited while he leafed through, pen in hand, his touch reverent.
The plan was taking shape.
And for the first time in years, Leonardo felt something close to a nervous type joy.
A few quiet weeks passed. Now the city moved differently—slower, dimmer, its edges softened by night. The Art Academy had changed since Evelyn last saw it—since the grand opening months ago, when the ribbon-cutting ceremony was followed by too many handshakes and glasses of champagne. It had been successful, more than either of them expected. But tonight, it looked nothing like the polished gallery space or classrooms she remembered.
Tonight, it looked like something else entirely. Something meant for her.
Leonardo had asked her to wear something nice. “ Not over the top ,” he said, “ just something black. Something you feel good in .”
So she chose a simple black dress—structured at the shoulders, soft at the waist, with a tie that cinched just enough to remind her where her center was. The skirt flared slightly when she moved, clean and uncomplicated. There was a row of delicate white buttons down the front, neat as stitches.
It wasn’t dramatic. But it made her feel steady in her own skin.
She paired it with black ankle-strap heels, nothing too tall, and earrings that shimmered just enough to catch a second glance. Her hair fell in soft waves, tucked behind one ear. 
The moment she stepped through the front gate, the world shifted.
It started in her chest—a low, rising thrum she couldn’t quite name. Anticipation maybe. Not ominous, exactly. Charged. Waiting.
The long walkway ahead, usually spare and academic, had been transformed. Candles—dozens of them—lined the path leading toward the building, each one flickering inside a glass jar. Their warm light danced across the academy’s glass walls, casting golden reflections that shimmered with every shift of the breeze. The space that had once felt clean and institutional now glowed, quiet and inviting, like something sacred.
As Evelyn stepped closer, her heels barely clicked against the pavement. Her breath slowed without her noticing. Something inside her had already begun to understand—some quiet part that sensed the meaning in the details, even if the rest of her hadn’t caught up yet.
Between the candles, thin metal signs stood upright, each holding a photograph. Small memories. A trail of them, leading her forward.
She walked slowly, her black dress hugging her figure just right, cool night air brushing against her skin. And with every step forward, every flicker of candlelight, she felt like she was walking deeper into something sacred. Something carefully built.
The first photo stopped her in her tracks. Her gaze caught on it, and in that instant, the world seemed to contract—everything else falling away but the image in front of her.
It was of her first week at ImperialReach. She remembered the photographer—corporate team-building, part of the onboarding campaign—but she hadn’t known this photo existed. She was caught mid-turn, head tilted, eyes narrowed with focus. Leonardo stood beside her, not looking at the camera, but at her.
There was no text beneath the image. Just the picture itself. A memory. Almost an echo of their shared past.
She moved on, slowly.
The next photo was from Milan. Their disastrous trip. She’d forgotten about the candid shot someone had taken of her on the curb, visibly flustered, holding a misprinted itinerary and a melted gelato. He’d been furious at the time—accusing her of not knowing how to tie his tie, of being unprepared. And she hadn’t known. But she had stayed up all night teaching herself. She’d knocked on his door the next morning, tie in hand, and told him that she’d be the best assistant he ever had.
Another photo a few feet away stood proud as it showed another trip to Milan several years later, they returned—different city, same skyline.
She stood beside him on a narrow balcony overlooking the Duomo, hair swept back, wearing a dress she’d borrowed from a stylist and heels that were half a size too tight. He was behind her, jacket off, sleeves rolled. They weren’t touching, but the photo caught the angle of his head—tilted slightly toward hers—as if he was about to say something he hadn’t said yet.
Another moment, too, was captured in a photo further down the path, this time from South Korea—one she didn’t remember being taken. The lighting was pale and overcast, and she was standing beside Leonardo beneath a canopy of cherry blossoms, half-laughing at something just outside the frame. Her coat was unbuttoned. His hands were in his pockets.
They looked… easy. Not like colleagues. Not quite like anything else either.
It had been a quiet afternoon between meetings. He’d insisted they walk instead of calling for the car, said something about clearing his head, though she suspected he’d noticed the way her shoulders had been creeping up toward her ears all morning.
She hadn’t known it meant anything at the time. But the photo did.
It meant someone had seen it.
She continued walking. More photos followed—moments from work, from travel, from life—quietly chronicling the years they’d built together. From the company’s sports day, where she’d won nearly every competition, her fierce focus was visible in every frame. From parties where she laughed at something out of frame. From long flights. From conferences. From days she didn’t even realize he’d been watching.
Then she reached the auditorium.
Candles formed a perfect circle in the center of the wide space. Leonardo stood in the middle, in a dark suit, collar open, hands at his sides.
Behind him, a screen played a gentle slideshow of the same photos. More now.Some she hadn’t seen outside. The orchestral version of "Just to Be the Man You Love" played softly from speakers above, the notes warm and slow.
He didn’t speak at first. Just watched her approach, his honey-hued eyes steady.
His heart beat wildly in his chest but his outward expression remained still and calm. Like he didn’t want to spook the moment. As she drew closer, her face lit by the amber glow of the candles, he felt something shift in him too. The weight of what he was about to do. The joy. The quiet, anchoring fear that she might still say no —even when everything in her eyes told him otherwise.
But this was Evelyn. His Evelyn.
And he trusted her heart more than he trusted his own breathing. When she reached him, he stepped forward and took her hand.
"That first one," he said, nodding toward the image of their first week, "was when I saw how hard you were trying. Everyone else just showed up. You were learning. And I realized I needed to learn patience to match your pace."
He clicked a remote in his other hand. The photo changed.
"Milan. I knew I was too harsh but you stayed. Most people would’ve run. But you didn’t, and I saw it then: you had more potential than anyone I’d ever worked with. You taught yourself how to tie a tie and showed up the next day with this quiet fire in your eyes, like you’d made up your mind about something. That taught me something about grit. About showing up even when it’s not easy. About you."
Another click. The sports day.
"I couldn’t cheer too loudly. Didn’t want to seem biased. But I wanted you to win. I was proud. That day, you reminded me what it meant to be proud of someone else without needing it to be about me."
Another photo. Her at a party, turned away, laughing. One where he was in the background, watching her.
"You’ve taught me how to make room for joy. What really matters in it."
He let the remote fall gently into his pocket. Both hands now held hers.
"Although these photos are pieces and you already know the moments, what I wanted tonight was to tell you what they meant to me. What you mean to me."
Her eyes were already shining, but she didn’t cry. She just held onto him.
Then, without a word, he lowered himself to one knee—bringing him eye-level with her. It was an intimate, grounding shift, one that made the space between them feel smaller, more sacred.
From his jacket, a velvet box.
He opened it. No speech. No theatrics. But then, his voice broke the silence—soft, steady, and deeper than she’d ever heard it.
“I never thought I could meet someone like you,” he said, his voice low, steady. “You are my friend, my smile… my everything.”
His eyes never left hers, not even for a moment.
“You held my hand in the darkness, and pulled me out into the light. You are my light. And no matter what happens in this life, as long as you’re with me… nothing else matters.”
She felt the tears begin to well, but she stayed steady.
“When I look at you,” he continued, “I know there is a God. And that He loved me enough to take His time… to create you, just for me.”
His voice caught just slightly, but he didn’t falter.
“I love you past my mind, beyond my heart. I love you with my very soul,” he whispered. “And that’s the space where only you and I dwell.”
Then—finally, simply—he offered her the ring.
Just a look.
Then a question.
"Will you marry me?" he asked, voice low but steady—like he already knew the answer, but wanted to hear it from her lips.
Her gaze flicked down to the ring, then back to him. The gold caught the candlelight, but it was his face she couldn't look away from. His eyes were open and vulnerable in a way few had ever seen. And even fewer would ever understand.
A hundred moments passed through her mind. Not the glamourous ones, not the headlines or milestones, but the smaller, quieter fragments: how how he never, not once, asked her to compromise her boundaries or her dignity. How he stood between her and the world, without ever making her feel small. How he listened—really listened—when she shared something that mattered. How he sat through every city tour, every slow documentary, even reading with her in the bookstore—because he liked seeing her light up.
Her throat tightened. But still, she didn’t cry.
Instead, Evelyn nodded. Once. Certain. "Yes," she whispered, her voice barely audible, but unwavering. "Yes."
That was all he needed.
The music swelled. The candles flickered.
And Evelyn stepped forward into the circle, into his arms, into the quiet forever they had been building together all along.
Three months later, Evelyn, Gru, and Leonardo found themselves in Granada, Nicaragua. The sun clung lazily to the cloudless sky, and the scent of roasted meat, spice, and dust swirled on the warm breeze as the trio finalized negotiations for ImperialReach’s latest international venture. Leonardo had secured a tentative agreement with local officials to begin telecommunication development, and the buzz of victory hung in the air.
As they stepped out of the municipal hall, Gru stretched dramatically. “Well, I say we celebrate. That deal was smoother than your fiancée’s prank with the decaf. Took me three days to notice.”
Evelyn, dressed in a crisp black sleeveless blouse and slacks, smirked. “You were asking for it.”
Leonardo chuckled low. “Lunch sounds good. Something local.”
They settled on a quiet restaurant with an open terrace that overlooked Lake Nicaragua. Terracotta tiles warmed under their feet, and a lattice of bougainvillea overhead cast soft, leafy shadows across their table. Birds chirped lazily in the distance. After ordering fresh ceviche, grilled chicken, and sweet plantains, the three sat back with a sigh.
And that’s when he appeared.
“Leonardo,” came the unmistakably smooth voice.
Lucien Sayers stood a few feet away, a white linen shirt unbuttoned just enough to show off a tan that looked aggressively intentional. His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Leonardo’s shoulders stiffened the second he heard it.
“Who invited the King of the Weasels?” Gru said dryly, loud enough that he didn’t care if Lucien heard.
Lucien ignored him entirely. His eyes were fixed on Leonardo. “Small world. I happened to be in the area… and saw someone familiar. Thought I’d say hello.”
Evelyn, to her credit, didn’t blink. She gave a soft, diplomatic smile. “Lucien.”
Leonardo didn’t rise, nor did he speak. But he didn’t need to. Something in him shifted. Evelyn felt it next to her, the quiet coil of his tension.
Because Leonardo could smell it.
It wasn’t cologne or sweat or the tang of lake air. It was a trace—faint, but unmistakable—of Samuel’s cigarette smoke. That specific rare brand he favoured like a ritual. And beneath it, softer but just as haunting, the lingering scent of Karina’s perfume. He’d smelled it clinging to her jacket when she died.
Lucien had been near their bodies.
Lucien noticed the flicker in Leonardo’s eyes and smiled wider. “While you’ve been busy securing business deals and building your empire,” he said casually, voice low enough for only their table to hear, “I’ve been working on evolution. Real progress. Samuel was a key part of that. Until you butchered him.”
He shrugged. “The useless woman, though? I never cared for Karina. She died for nothing. But Samuel—he was quite dear to me. As if he were my own child.”
Leonardo’s jaw ticked. Evelyn reached under the table, gently touching his knee.
Lucien tilted his head. “Still. The gears of evolution never stop. I’ll be in touch, Leonardo. I think you’ll want to hear what I have to say. It ties back to your…roots.”
A long beat passed. The air between them heavy, sharp.
Then Leonardo stood.
Slowly. Dangerously. Towering.
“Leave,” he said, voice like thunder held at bay. “And don’t come near us again.”
Lucien’s grin didn’t fade. “Oh, Leonardo, I always get what I want.”
And then he turned, and walked away without a backward glance.
The table sat in silence for a long time.
“Sooo… does anyone still want lunch?” Gru asked finally.
Leonardo didn’t answer. His eyes remained locked on the street where Lucien had vanished.
Evelyn’s hand slipped into his.
And slowly, Leonardo squeezed back.
Night draped over Granada like a velvet curtain, warm and close, thick with the scent of jasmine and stone. The breeze from the lake carried the remnants of the day—dust, sun, sweat—but there was no joy in it. Not tonight. Not after yesterday.
Leonardo, Evelyn, and Gru had closed yet another deal earlier that evening, one that should’ve felt like a triumph. And it did, in theory. Another win for ImperialReach. Another region connected. But their celebratory spirit had been dulled, thinned out by the ghost of Lucien Sayers, whose words still echoed beneath the surface of their thoughts like a slow poison.
They’d eaten dinner at the hotel’s rooftop restaurant, mostly quiet, the clink of cutlery and low ambient music filling the spaces where conversation used to be. Gru cracked a joke about a particularly rude waiter, and Evelyn gave a tired smile. Leonardo didn’t smile at all.
Eventually, they each returned to their rooms. Gru gave Evelyn a pointed look—one that asked without asking whether she’d be alright alone. She nodded, touched his wrist briefly, and disappeared down the corridor. Leonardo watched her door close, counted to twenty in his head, then followed.
The hallway was quiet. The old building creaked with age, wood moaning gently against the pressure of the night. Leonardo’s footsteps were almost too heavy for the tile floors, but he moved softly anyway, like some part of him still remembered how to be a shadow in the dark.
When Evelyn opened the door at his knock, she wasn’t surprised to see him.
"Didn’t think you’d sleep,” she said, voice low.
“I won’t,” he murmured. "Just wanted to make sure you—"
He stopped.
Scents he hadn’t encountered in years—but hadn’t forgotten. They were familiar, achingly so. But before he could place them, before the memory could fully surface, the two figures ran—fast, straight toward him and Evelyn.
As they moved, Leonardo grabbed Evelyn and pushed her behind himself, shielding her with his body just as one of the attackers burst from the corner of the room, shoulder slamming into his chest.
On instinct, he staggered back, bracing himself with one massive hand against the doorframe. His other reached to grab the figure, who ducked, twisted, and dropped into a crouch just beyond Evelyn’s carpet.
Leonardo snarled. But before he could advance, a second body launched itself from behind the bed, sweeping wide like a shadow. Another hooded figure. Leonardo shifted fast, anchoring himself between Evelyn and the attackers, teeth bared. His muscles flexed, eyes narrowed.
Evelyn didn’t scream—she knew better. But she didn’t move either. The two of them were already in the hallway just outside her suite now, and she had no weapons on her—not on her person, not within reach. Helplessness curled at the edges of her chest, tight and unfamiliar. All she could do was stay still, breathe through the panic, and trust Leonardo to hold the line.
But then—
Laughter.
Low, familiar, and unmistakably mischievous.
Leonardo’s brow furrowed. His stance held firm, but his fists loosened just slightly.
The two figures straightened, pushing back their hoods.
The first was all sharp edges and wiry tension with a grin like an unhinged jackal.
Normino "Gobbo" Mancuso, clad in a deep purple hood that obscured most of his face except for that unmistakable grin. The years had made his features slightly more angular, his expressions manic and gleeful all at once, just like Leonardo remembered. His emerald eyes glinted from beneath the hood with that same chaotic energy, like a goblin who’d found a new game to play. 
The second was broader, slightly older, with a calm menace that radiated from the deep set of his eyes and the casual stretch of his long fingers. He wore a slightly oversized blue bomber jacket over a white hoodie, the hood pulled low, but not enough to obscure the familiarity of his face. His presence was grounded, deliberate—less animated than Gobbo’s chaos, more like a tide pulling in slow and certain. The dim hallway light caught the edges of his features: a heavy-lidded gaze, a slow, thoughtful expression carved by time and tempered by long silences. His skin was weathered but steady, jaw firm under the short stubble of his beard, his broad frame holding the same quiet gravity Leonardo remembered from the old days. Jabari didn’t need to posture. His weight was in his stillness—and though he’d matured slightly, his smirk made it clear he still took immense pleasure in catching Leonardo off guard. 
Jabari.
“Long time no see, Leochiro,” Gobbo said in their made-up dialect, thick with nostalgia and smoke.
Leonardo blinked, took a slow breath, and finally allowed his arms to drop.
“You lunatics,” he growled.
Jabari gave a single nod, stepping closer, his eyes flicking to Evelyn for just a second—assessing, respectful. “It’s been a while, Leochiro.”
Gobbo cracked his back with a stretch, joints popping audibly in the quiet hallway. "Leo—packing on all that weight hasn't slowed you down one bit," he said, his grin stretching wider, eyes glinting.
Evelyn stepped forward slowly, blade still in hand, though lowered. “Friends of yours?”
Leonardo exhaled. "In a manner of speaking."
Jabari’s mouth twitched. “We need to talk. And it’s not just to reminisce."
Outside, thunder grumbled softly over the lake.
Inside, Evelyn shut the door with a click.
Inside Evelyn’s hotel room, the atmosphere shifted. Not relaxed—no, not with all three of them standing there like ghosts from a past life—but less tense. The moment the door clicked shut, Leonardo flicked on a low lamp near the dresser. Warm light filled the space in soft amber, catching on the faint edges of dust and memory.
Evelyn stood slightly off to the side, arms crossed, gaze sharp and searching. She hadn’t lowered her guard completely—she didn’t know these men, not the way Leonardo did—but she wasn’t afraid. Just waiting.
Leonardo, still broad-shouldered and rooted like a monument between them, turned toward her and gestured toward the others with a slight dip of his chin.
“This is Jabari,” he said. “He grew up with the Northern Hyena tribe, back on the island.”
Jabari nodded once, his hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket. The corner of his mouth twitched—not quite a smile, more a reflex, like someone unused to letting their guard down. He didn’t trust her yet, and he wasn’t pretending to.
“And Gobbo,” Leonardo went on, pointing toward the wiry man with the purple hood still slung down around his shoulders. “Western Hyena tribe. Don’t let the face fool you—he looks like a stray, but he’ll have you on the ground before you blink. He’s mean, too.”
Gobbo made a show of placing a hand over his heart. “You wound me, Leochiro.”
“Don’t call me that,” Leonardo muttered, but the edge in his voice had dulled.
He crossed his arms, towering over all of them, muscles still coiled tight beneath the stretched fabric of his shirt. His eyes were steady, though.
“All right,” he said. “What the hell are you doing here?”
Jabari glanced at Gobbo, who shrugged as if to say: your turn .
Jabari stepped forward a bit, his voice calm. “We were each approached separately. Creepy little guy. Smelled like money and chemicals—like lab solvents masked under jungle rot and cologne that had turned sour in the heat. Showed up at two different places, weeks apart.”
Leonardo’s brow furrowed.
“Found me in Dakar after dark. Found Gobbo weeks earlier near the docks in Veracruz. No explanation. Same prideful stare. Same words.” Jabari nodded slowly. “Said an old ‘friend’ wanted to see us. Gave us nothing else. Just a location—Nicaragua. We were told to keep our ears open. That we’d ‘know’ when the time was right.”
Leonardo let out a humourless laugh. “An old friend. That’s rich.”
He turned to Evelyn briefly. “Not a lot of us escaped the island. Even fewer made it out alive and sane. I haven’t seen Jabari in almost fifteen years. Gobbo? Maybe three times, total. Always random. A bar in Prague. A market in Morocco. Once outside a restaurant in Berlin. Never planned.”
Gobbo leaned against the dresser, arms crossed. “That’s why we figured we’d check in with you. When we found out we were coming here— and that you were already here—we thought maybe you knew what was going on.”
Leonardo’s jaw worked silently for a beat.
“No. I don’t,” he finally said. “But I’ve got a guess.”
Evelyn tilted her head slightly. “Lucien.”
Jabari’s brow lifted. “That’s his name? You know him?”
Leonardo gave a tight nod. “From conferences. Fundraisers. Art auctions”
“We ran into him yesterday,” she replied. “He’s… hard to forget.”
“Doesn’t sound like the kind of man who sends polite invitations,” Jabari said flatly.
Leonardo nodded. “He’s not. And if he’s calling on people like you two —” he cast a glance at Gobbo, who grinned in return, “—then he’s trying to build something. Or tear something down.”
“And you’re in the middle of it,” Gobbo said, matter-of-fact.
Leonardo said nothing.
The silence that followed was heavy, but not dead. It just was the kind of silence between people who know there are bigger things happening under the surface, but can’t quite name them yet.
Jabari broke it first, glancing at Evelyn. “You trust her?”
Leonardo didn’t even hesitate. “With my life.”
Evelyn blinked, once—but didn’t say anything.
Gobbo whistled. “Damn. Real thing, huh?”
Leonardo turned to them again. “If you two are here… stay close. Don’t disappear on me.”
Gobbo rolled his eyes. “You say that like we ever listen.”
Jabari smirked. “Look, we’ll follow your lead. But if this Lucien is pulling strings, we’re not just going to sit on our hands forever.”
Leonardo finally, finally, let himself exhale. “Fine. But if either of you end up scaring Evelyn again, I’ll put you through the wall.”
Evelyn gave a wry smile. “I’ll be fine. I just want to know why Lucien’s playing chess with ghosts essentially.”
Leonardo turned toward her, his expression unreadable. Then slowly, he nodded.
“Then we better start flipping the board.”
The next morning, a rented office space just off Granada’s central plaza became their war room.
It wasn’t much—clean and minimally furnished—but it had Wi-Fi, AC, and most importantly, privacy. The windows were shuttered. A whiteboard had been rolled in. Evelyn sat at one end of a rectangular table, fingers laced tightly in her lap. Leonardo took the chair beside her, his massive frame making the furniture creak in wild protest. Across from them, Jabari and Gobbo leaned back in their seats with the ease of men who had lived too long in discomfort to trust luxury. Gru, still looking vaguely horrified at the recent revelation that his best friend and employer might not be entirely and normally human, clutched a half-empty bottle of soda and refused to sit still.
Leonardo tapped a thick index finger against the whiteboard. "We can’t wait around for Lucien to make the next move."
"Agreed," Jabari said. "This has all the marks of a slow build. Recruitment. Even infiltration. We saw this back home, remember? The tamer, Jacques Duvall."
Gobbo nodded. "Looking back, we didn’t take the warnings seriously then either. Look how that turned out."
Gru shivered. "Are we assuming he’s already set something in motion? Or just that he will ?"
"Both," Leonardo muttered.
The silence that followed was thick. Evelyn finally leaned forward.
"Then we go after him. We don’t wait."
Leonardo's gaze snapped to her. "Evie."
She held his stare. "I know I don’t have your training or experience. I know you’re faster, stronger, and all of that. But I’m not useless. You know that."
Her voice stayed even, but her hand trembled slightly against the table.
"I can be long-range support. You’ve seen what I can do with a bow. And more importantly… if Lucien really wants to get to you, he’s coming for me anyway. Doesn’t matter where I hide. He’ll use me."
Leonardo exhaled, slow and steady.
"Only if you’re with me," he said finally. "Every step. And Gru comes too."
Gru blinked. "Me?!"
Leonardo turned to him. "I trust you to keep her safe if I’m separated. You’ve got brains, and… enough sense to run if it gets bad."
Gru paled. "You do realize if something happens to her, you’ll murder me, right?"
"Correct."
Evelyn gave a tired smirk. "Gru, I trust you too. Besides, I think we can make a pretty good team."
He sighed dramatically. "I hate how flattering that is. Fine. I’m in."
Leonardo turned back to the others. "Then we move forward. We stop reacting and just go in for the kill. Lucien left a trail the moment he stepped into Granada. I want to follow it before he covers his tracks."
Gobbo cracked his knuckles. "You know, I’m something of a tracker myself. Plus, I’ve got contacts. Some of them even owe me. Others... just don’t like Lucien. I can work that angle."
Jabari nodded. "I’ll tap into old networks. He’s building something—movements like that always hum under the surface. We just have to listen in the right places."
"And me?" Evelyn asked.
Leonardo looked at her with something between admiration and dread. "You help us prepare. And when it’s time to move—you stay with me. No exceptions."
She nodded.
It wasn’t perfect. But it was a plan.
Outside, the sun beat down on the cobbled streets. But inside that little office, something colder had settled. Not fear exactly. Something older. Something closer to war.
They had waited long enough.
Now—it was Lucien’s turn to watch his back.
By the time morning came, decisions had hardened into action. The gear had been packed, the route mapped, and now the team stood in the clearing where their helicopter had dropped them off, deep in the humid cradle of the Amazon rainforest.
Leonardo adjusted the tactical straps across his wide chest, the black moisture-wicking shirt clinging to his massive frame. Gobbo stood nearby in a loose, sleeveless vest and cargo pants, every pocket packed with gear. Jabari tightened the laces on his boots, his posture relaxed, but his eyes sharp. Evelyn wore lightweight, fitted tactical clothes that allowed for movement, her bow secured across her back, and a quiver of specially modified arrows also rested on her back. Gru looked the most out of place—sweating already in his breathable jacket, adjusting the straps on his borrowed gear like it would fall apart if he blinked wrong. In one hand, he clutched what looked like a walking stick, dark wood with a knotted, sculpted top. Leonardo had handed it to him earlier with a single warning: "Don't click the bottom unless you mean it." Inside, it held a concealed flamethrower system—a last-ditch defense that Gru had nervously dubbed ‘The Staff of Two Heads.’
Their small hired squad—a dozen mercenaries who knew just enough about what they were facing to keep their heads down and their weapons loaded—waited near the perimeter, receiving final comms checks. Leonardo had been clear with them: Lucien was dangerous, his people worse, and this wasn’t a mission for the faint of heart.
Once the terrain became dense enough, the main group of four moved ahead, staying in contact via encrypted walkie-talkies. The mercenaries hung back to cover the perimeter and remain as a fallback force.
Leonardo took the lead, crouching low.
"Let’s move."
Without hesitation, Evelyn climbed onto his back. His massive hands secured her legs instinctively.
"Hold on tight."
And then he was moving.
They soared through the jungle at speeds no normal man could manage, the branches and undergrowth parting before Leonardo like he belonged there. Behind him, Jabari carried Gru with shocking ease, his long strides moving like wind through tall grass. Gobbo took the rear, his pace fluid and rhythmic, like an animal that knew the forest better than any map.
The canopy dimmed the sunlight, casting a green glow over everything. The air was thick with heat and life—insects, birds, distant calls of predators and prey. But none of it mattered. They weren’t here for nature. They were here for Lucien.
A mile in, the team slowed. The trees grew tighter together, roots curling up from the earth like sleeping serpents.
Leonardo came to a halt, crouching low.
Evelyn slipped from his back in silence, landing in a ready stance.
Then he sniffed the air.
So did Jabari.
And Gobbo.
Leonardo tilted his head up slightly, nostrils flaring. Familiar. The scent wasn’t strong, not yet, but it clung to the air in pieces: metal, sulfur, sweat. And something else beneath that. Human. Muddied by the jungle, but wrong.
He gave a slight nod.
"He’s been here. Recently. And he didn’t come alone."
Jabari shifted his stance. "Southwest wind. The scent trail is drifting that way. If we move now, we can track it before the rain hits."
As if on cue, the sky above them rumbled. Leonardo glanced up through the break in the canopy, eyes narrowed at the darkening gray clouds overhead.
"Let’s move," he said, already ducking under a curtain of vines.
Gru groaned softly, jogging awkwardly to keep up. "Fantastic. Jungle. Mystery villain. And now rain. Just what my anxiety needed."
"Stay close," Evelyn said, placing a calming hand on his arm before following Leonardo.
The hunt had begun.
They hoped Lucien was unaware of their advance—but Lucien had always been the puppet master, and this was no exception. He already knew they had arrived. And in response, he had deployed one of his greatest creations to date—something monstrous, calculating, and waiting ahead with deadly patience.
Far ahead, deeper into the rainforest, a massive figure stood motionless atop a crag of stone just beyond the treeline. Nearly the same height as Leonardo but visibly heavier, his hulking frame leaned more toward the carved precision of a bodybuilder than the brute strength of a strongman. His muscles rippled beneath the fabric of a sleeveless tactical shirt, his jaw firm, expression unreadable beneath a heavy brow. He exhaled slowly, the scent of strangers caught faintly on the humid wind.
His lips parted, and his voice was a quiet murmur drowned by the jungle.
"This will be the final battle. The battle to avenge my six fallen brothers."
They moved in a tight formation, weaving through the thick foliage with precision, every few yards pausing to listen, to scent the air, to feel the rhythm of the jungle. Leonardo led, his breathing steady, low and controlled. His senses were on edge—not from fear, but focus. Jabari flanked left, Gobbo flanked right. Evelyn and Gru kept pace between them, occasionally catching each other’s gaze. Neither said it, but both knew this wasn’t just a mission. It was definitely a reckoning.
The undergrowth began to thin into a patch of slightly open terrain, a rare clearing carpeted with moss and fallen leaves. Leonardo crouched, sniffed again.
“There’s no mistake,” he said without turning. “It’s definitely Lucien’s scent.”
Gru blinked, quickening his step to catch up. “Uh, pardon—did you say something, Lee?”
Leonardo didn’t answer. He moved forward, his body practically gliding over the terrain despite its sheer mass. His voice stayed locked in his chest, but his mind raced.
Well, Lucien… this will all be over very soon. And if I’m not mistaken… you’ve hired some new muscle. Let him come. It’ll be his demise, too.
The team kept up their pace. No one rode on backs now—not with adrenaline sharpening every step. Evelyn moved quietly, her braid swinging against her back, fingers resting near her quiver in case something broke from the shadows. Gru, meanwhile, sweated harder than the humidity justified, muttering to himself in half-jibberish, half-panicked breath.
Then he stopped.
The others moved ahead, unaware. Thunder cracked above, muffling his hesitation.
Being here… being around these superhuman jungle-ghost types? This doesn’t mean good things for me, he thought grimly. If I keep following them, I’m gonna wind up dead.
He raised his voice, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Hey, Lee!”
Leonardo paused.
Half a dozen paces ahead, he turned, his golden eyes narrowing as the others continued ahead, unaware that one of them had stopped. The thunder swallowed most sounds, but Gru's voice cut just clear enough.
Leonardo cocked his head as Gru lifted his hand in a sheepish wave, eyes wide with faux innocence.
“Good luck, buddy!”
There was silence.
Then—in a blink—Leonardo vanished from his spot.
Gru barely had time to brace before a hard thunk cracked across his forehead, knocking him backward with a loud groan. A small knot already began to swell where Leonardo’s knuckles had tapped—not punched, but not not punched either.
Ahead, Evelyn turned at the sound and blinked back toward the clearing, catching the last second of Leonardo walking away from Gru like nothing had happened.
Gobbo smirked. “Guess he’s still got the fast twitch reflexes.”
Jabari snorted, shaking his head.
Leonardo walked forward without breaking stride. “Let’s go, Gru.”
Gru staggered up, rubbing his head, eyes watery. “Y-Yes, sir,” he mumbled, and stumbled forward after the group.
Evelyn fell into step beside Leonardo, glancing sideways at him. “You didn’t have to hit him.”
“He was trying to abandon us in the jungle,” Leonardo muttered flatly. “I was gentle.”
“Your version of ‘gentle’ nearly gave him a concussion.”
“He’ll survive. But if he ever tries that again—he won’t.”
Evelyn gave him a side-eye, but didn’t argue. She understood. This wasn’t corporate negotiations. This was war.
They moved on, the team reformed. Above them, the sky cracked again, and rain finally began to fall—thick, slow drops spattering the leaves like distant drums.
Far ahead, beyond their awareness, the hulking man Lucien had sent lifted his head to the sky and let the rain wash across his face. His expression never shifted. He just whispered, “Soon.”
And then turned, disappearing into the green.
Far from him, the others moved with precision—unaware they’d already been marked.
The rain had thinned to a mist when the team emerged into the vast clearing. The moss-covered earth stretched wide beneath a canopy of towering trees, moonlight spilling down in faint slivers through the misty dark. Steam rose from the ground where the day’s heat met the cooling air.
Leonardo slowed first, instinct prickling at the back of his neck. His steps were soundless. Evelyn, behind him, nocked an arrow, eyes narrowing as she scanned the tree line. Gobbo and Jabari flanked out on either side, weapons at the ready.
Then they saw him.
Standing dead center in the clearing was a man built like a monument. Easily Leonardo’s height—maybe a hair more—but just as heavy, broader across the chest and arms, his muscles carved into dense slabs under a taut black shirt soaked through with rain. His skin glistened, steam rising faintly off his shoulders. He stood perfectly still, like a statue awakened. 
Gobbo tilted his head. “Let me guess. You’re the muscle Lucien hired?”
The figure didn’t move. Just smiled faintly.
Gobbo gestured lazily. “Just because you’re big doesn’t mean we can’t drop you like a sack of wet rice.”
The man chuckled.
A deep, resonant sound. It sent a ripple through the trees.
Then he spoke. “You really don’t recognize me?”
Leonardo narrowed his eyes. Gobbo stiffened.
Jabari said nothing.
The man stepped forward, his boots squelching softly in the wet soil.
“‘My life’s mission is to kill as many as I humanly can.’”
The words landed like a slap to the soul.
Leonardo’s head snapped up, jaw tightening.
Jabari’s voice was low. “No. No way.”
He stepped forward, eyes wide with something between confusion and horror. “Vincenzo?”
The man smiled broader now, the expression slicing across his face like a scar.
No denial. No confirmation. Just the smile.
And in that moment, they knew.
The boy they’d grown up with. The boy who vanished after they escaped Jacques' ship—the same boy who had once led the Brotherhood of Seven before Leonardo killed his comrades in the blood-soaked clash between them and his pride of lions. The boy who had whispered horrifying things to himself when no one thought he could be heard. He had grown.
And become something else entirely.
Vincenzo’s voice thundered through the clearing. “Today is the day I get revenge for my fallen brothers. For the Brotherhood of Seven.”
With that, he charged.
Leonardo didn’t hesitate. He caught Evelyn around the waist and vaulted backward in one clean motion, landing several feet away, placing her safely behind a tight wall of Gobbo, Jabari, and Gru. None of them said a word—they just watched.
Another burst of movement—silent, practiced—and Leonardo was already closing the distance back to Vincenzo. But before he struck, he drove one fist into the ground with brutal force. The earth split with a dull, cracking boom, throwing up a spray of soil and moss as a crater bloomed beneath his knuckles.
The impact was enough to force Vincenzo to leap back, boots skidding across the wet earth.
They were at a distance now. Neither rushed in. They just stood, measuring.
Rain slid off their shoulders. Breathing slowed. The jungle pressed in quiet around them.
Leonardo’s jaw flexed. Golden eyes locked with Vincenzo’s.
Just the calm, precise stillness of a man deciding how hard he was going to end this.
Rain ticked against the leaves. A distant peal of thunder rolled across the forest.
Leonardo flexed his fingers, joints cracking one by one as his golden eyes narrowed—not with fear, not even anger—but with judgment. And something colder—like he’d already decided how this would end, and mercy wasn’t part of it.
The message was clear.
He didn’t see Vincenzo as a worthy adversary.
That, more than any insult, sent the Marauder into a rage.
Vincenzo roared and lunged, fists swinging in arcs powerful enough to break stone. The ground shuddered beneath each of his steps.
Leonardo dodged left, then countered with a heavy uppercut into Vincenzo’s ribs. The blow made a sickening crack, but the Marauder didn’t slow. He twisted and landed a brutal elbow into Leonardo’s shoulder, the force sending the larger man skidding back a foot.
They came at each other again.
The sound of fists slamming into flesh echoed across the jungle. Rain splashed off their skin, mixing with the blood that now marked both men.
Vincenzo landed a hard punch to Leonardo’s jaw—enough to snap his head to the side. But Leonardo growled, low and feral, and barreled forward, tackling Vincenzo through a fallen tree.
The Marauder flipped them both, pinning Leonardo to the ground and throwing wild punches—but Leonardo caught his wrist, twisted, and rolled on top. He bit down hard on Vincenzo’s shoulder, drawing a scream that turned the birds in the canopy into a fleeing cloud.
The two giants tumbled again, and then Leonardo slammed his elbow into Vincenzo’s sternum once, twice—until bone cracked. Vincenzo tried to rise, but Leonardo struck him across the temple with such force that the larger man crumpled to his knees. Then came the final blow—Leonardo drew back and drove his fist forward in a brutal arc, straight through Vincenzo’s sternum. The sound resonated the space around them with a rupture, wet and final.
Leonardo panted, chest heaving, blood dripping from a cut over his brow and the edge of his mouth. He looked down at Vincenzo—wheezing, broken, staring up with one bloodshot eye.
Leonardo spoke through laboured breaths, voice rough. “You were too greedy, Vincenzo. You had potential… beyond any of us. But you wasted it.”
Vincenzo didn’t respond.
His eye fluttered shut.
And then he breathed no more.
Leonardo stood slowly, every muscle aching, blood trickling from his arms and legs. Not fatal—but it hurt.
Behind him, the others remained silent.
The rain kept falling.
And one more ghost was finally laid to rest.
But the air didn’t feel lighter. It felt like a page turning—one chapter closed, and something darker waiting on the next. The storm had begun to retreat into the horizon, leaving a strange quiet in its place. The smell of blood, rain, and torn foliage lingered in the air as the team stepped away from Vincenzo’s fallen form. Evelyn didn’t look back. She pressed a hand to her earpiece and made the call.
“Team Alpha, move in. Repeat—follow our beacon. We’ve cleared the immediate threat. Proceed to our location.”
Static clicked, followed by an affirmative reply from the armed men they’d hired. Evelyn exhaled, heavy and low, then turned to Leonardo.
He was bloodied. One shoulder bore a deep tear, soaked through his shirt and trailing crimson down his arm. His knuckles were scraped raw, and there was a slow limp to his gait. But his expression hadn’t cracked. His eyes still burned golden, still locked forward like nothing mattered now but what was ahead.
Evelyn walked to him without a word, climbed onto his back. Her arms wrapped gently around his massive frame, mindful of the wounds, but firm enough that he’d know she wasn’t going anywhere. Leonardo adjusted her weight with ease.
Gru, less graceful, groaned as Jabari hoisted him up again. “One of these days,” he muttered, “I’m getting my own ride. Preferably with wheels.”
“Quiet,” Jabari grinned, already leaping into the trees.
The forest blurred past them. Wind and water whipped against their faces as they moved—fast, low, relentless. Time slipped, untethered, and Evelyn could feel Leonardo’s body beneath her, hot and straining, every step driven by something deeper than rage. Purpose.
More than an hour passed before Leonardo came to a dead stop.
Below them, through the trees, it revealed itself.
There, nestled along the river’s edge, hidden from prying eyes, was a structure that did not belong. Unlike the primitive huts and makeshift shelters commonly found in remote expeditions, this one stood apart—fortified, sleek, and almost modern, a small yet powerful outpost carved into the wilderness.
Low steel walls encased the compound in a brutalist ring. A tall antenna stabbed skyward through the canopy, blinking faint red through the mist. Camouflaged drones hovered near the treetops. Floodlights swept in rhythmic arcs. The jungle seemed to recoil from the perimeter.
Lucien’s base.
Evelyn stared at it over Leonardo’s shoulder, breath caught in her throat.
Inside, deep beneath the top layer of security, Lucien sat in the heart of the facility. A quiet figure, legs crossed, hands clasped beneath his chin. The sterile glow of artificial lighting illuminated the walls of screens that surrounded him. Data streamed endlessly across digital surfaces. The faint hum of computers and electric energy filled the air.
He was waiting.
Still as ice.
And he smiled.
Outside, the rainforest shifted—green and ancient and listening, as if even the roots could sense what was coming. The jungle compound loomed like a forgotten shrine—silent, humming with power, and waiting.
The five stood at the edge of the clearing, breath low, rain beading on their skin and gear. Mist hung thick over the ground, swirling faintly like something alive.
“We’ll take the north side,” Leonardo said, voice low and firm. “Me, Evelyn, and Gru.”
Jabari nodded, already cracking his knuckles. “We’ll split and sweep the area. Quiet and clean. I’ll take west, Gobbo goes east.”
Gobbo adjusted the straps on his gloves, eyes gleaming. “Lucien’s playing god,” he said. “But not like the island did to us. This is worse. What he did to Vincenzo… that wasn’t nature. That was something else.”
Leonardo gave a quiet nod, jaw set. Evelyn glanced between them, her expression hardening with quiet resolve. Gru just swallowed thickly, clutching the disguised flamethrower—his so-called Staff of Two Heads —like a teddy bear.
“Let’s move,” Leonardo said.
And they did.
Jabari melted into the shadows, his blue jacket vanishing into the dark underbrush like a wraith. Gobbo slithered along the side walls, his purple hood pulled low, boots silent. They moved like ghosts through the perimeter—two phantoms of the old world returned to haunt its twisted reflection.
Jabari took down a guard with a single palm to the throat and a flip of the wrist. The man folded wordlessly, unconscious before he hit the ground.
Gobbo found another by the hydro-shed and disabled him with a quick jab to the neck and a muttered ‘nighty-night.’ The man slumped. No noise. No alarm.
Meanwhile, Evelyn stayed tucked to Leonardo’s side, bow in hand, arrow nocked and ready. Her hands were steady. Her eyes sharper than ever.
They crept through the northern entry, where glass-paneled rooms curved like teeth into the compound's side. Evelyn pulled back her bowstring— thumpp —and the arrow landed between the boots of a small cluster of patrolling guards.
Within seconds, hissing gas poured out from the broken shaft.
“Non-lethal,” Evelyn whispered. “They’ll be out for hours.”
Sure enough, the guards dropped like rocks in a gentle heap, twitching only slightly before stillness took over.
They slipped deeper in.
Then Leonardo stopped. So suddenly, Evelyn nearly bumped into his back.
Before them was a wide room—more like a jungle greenhouse—and the smell hit him first. A humid, heavy fragrance that prickled in the back of his throat.
Glass boxes lined the room like trophies, each one containing a different species of plant. Vines curled, glistened. Triangular leaves fanned open like paper fans under a strange artificial mist. There was something off about them.
Leonardo stepped closer to the nearest enclosure, nostrils flaring.
“These aren’t Genoshan,” he muttered. “They’re trying to be… but it’s wrong. The shape—too narrow. The colours too dull. But the scent…”
Evelyn leaned beside him, frowning.
“That smell was on Vincenzo,” Leonardo said, low and haunted. “And it’s stronger up ahead.”
Gru swallowed again. “So you’re saying he was… grown here?”
“Injected here,” Leonardo corrected. “Altered with whatever these are. He was even fed this.”
They stood in silence a beat longer.
Then—
Click.
A gun cocked.
And a voice, amused and precise: “I wondered how long it would take your senses to pick up on that.”
Leonardo turned slowly.
Lucien Sayers stood in the open doorway, bathed in sterile overhead light. His tailored white shirt was spotless, sleeves rolled to his elbows like he was just another lab tech on his break. But the gun in his hand ruined the illusion.
He aimed it squarely at Evelyn first. Then at Gru. Then back again.
Leonardo moved slightly in front of them.
Lucien smiled—cool and delighted. “Extraordinary. Truly. I knew you were gifted, but to trace the scent signature of altered flora? Magnificent, Leonardo. I underestimated you.”
Leonardo didn’t blink. “Put the gun down.”
Lucien tutted. “Not yet. Not when the masterpiece is nearly complete. Come with me. All of you.”
Evelyn said nothing but glanced at Leonardo. He gave her a single, curt nod.
Gru whimpered but followed suit.
And as Lucien stepped aside and beckoned them forward into the flickering depths of his sanctum, Leonardo’s hand slid gently back to touch Evelyn’s elbow—grounding her, steadying himself.
The game was no longer hidden.
Now it was just beginning.
The walk through the compound was oddly silent.
Lucien led the way with his gun loosely gripped, but it was no longer idle—it rested against Evelyn’s other arm, keeping her close, a not-so-subtle threat that froze Leonardo’s options. His posture was relaxed, gait unhurried, but the intent was unmistakable. Evelyn remained tense, her steps careful, while Leonardo walked beside her with eyes like sharpened gold. He scanned every shadow, every glint of metal, every blink of a security camera, but his expression gave away nothing. Gru brought up the rear, clutching his disguised flamethrower—The Staff of Two Heads—and silently praying to God, all while trying to keep a bead on the safety of his friends.
Then Lucien turned a corner, opened a reinforced steel door, and waved them into the core of his empire.
The surgical theater gleamed with cold, perfect precision. Stainless steel counters wrapped the perimeter, lit by rows of surgical lights mounted above. Operating tables stood like altars at the room's center, each one surrounded by glinting instruments, high-resolution monitors, and IVs filled with unknown fluids. Screens blinked quietly, displaying biometric data and rotating 3D renderings of altered human anatomy. The room pulsed with the hum of power and purpose.
And in the middle of it all stood Lucien—doctor, architect, and heretic.
"You see," he said, motioning around the room with a slight flourish, "this is not madness. This is the future."
Leonardo said nothing. Evelyn watched him closely, gauging his stillness.
Lucien continued, voice smooth and clipped. "I understand why you've come. Why you want me gone. You think I’ve crossed some moral line—perhaps even think I’ve lost my mind. But you're mistaken. I find myself to be quite selfless."
He turned and looked at Leonardo directly. "You're the most selfish of all."
Leonardo met his gaze, impassive.
Lucien's eyes narrowed. "All that you are—what Genosha made you—what nature gifted you—and you keep it to yourself. Strength. Endurance. Lifespan. Abilities that could change the very nature of humanity. And you hoard it. Wrapped in your brooding nobility and... fattened comfort."
Gru blinked. "Whoa—okay. Bit personal."
Lucien kept going. "Your sins are only exceeded by your own girth."
Leonardo didn’t flinch. Not even a breath. That silence, more than anything, disarmed Lucien.
But Gru tilted his head, squinting. "Alright, I gotta ask. Why does it matter to you? The world’s not even ready for this kind of change. Half the population can’t handle gluten."
Lucien’s jaw twitched. Then—he smiled.
"You want to know why?"
He stepped closer, lowering the gun slightly. "Because grief makes prophets."
Evelyn’s brows knit. Gru glanced to Leonardo, who still hadn’t moved.
Lucien's voice softened. "When I was thirty-three, my wife died. Childbirth. Her body was too weak. Illness took everything from her, and I—despite all my education, all my funding—could do nothing. She died terrified. In pain. And I swore that I would never be helpless again."
A pause.
"Six years later, my daughter—my beautiful, brilliant child—was killed. A senseless accident. A stupid, preventable loss. I was too late. Too late again."
The veneer cracked, just for a second.
"So I changed. I threw away the slow work. I stopped waiting for permission. If the world wouldn’t yield its secrets to me, then I would extract them. By any means necessary."
He looked at Leonardo. "You’ve had your strength handed to you by chance. And you refuse to share it. I earned mine. Through blood. Through pain. Through sacrifice."
He smiled again. "Guess my age."
Leonardo didn’t answer.
Gru shrugged. "Late forties?"
Lucien gave a delighted scoff. "Early sixties. Sixty-three, to be exact."
Gru’s mouth fell open. "How dare you make yourself look so young!"
Lucien turned and barked, "Silence."
"Shutting up, sir," Gru said immediately.
Leonardo stepped forward, brows finally pulling together. "You’ve masked your scent and your weapon too. How?"
Lucien’s expression bloomed with pride.
"Ah, finally. Yes, I worked that out years ago—after my encounters with Karina and, later, Vincenzo. Both spoke of you. The way you could almost smell intentions. Emotions. Weakness. They told me you had the sharpest heightened scent of them all."
He gestured to his coat. "This suit is laced with a synthesized compound derived from predator musk and crushed valerian. It dulls olfactory receptors, forces your brain to filter the scent as background noise. Same with the oil on my gun—odorless but extremely reactive to heat. It dissipates before you can trace it."
Leonardo’s jaw clenched.
"I approached you at parties. Public events. Places where your senses were overwhelmed. It was a test. You never noticed me for what I truly was."
He laughed, low and bitter. "And that, Leonardo, is why I win."
He raised the gun again, not at Leonardo—but at Evelyn.
"Now," he said, "you’re going to see the world as I do. Through its possible new design."
Evelyn tensed.
Leonardo’s gaze narrowed.
Beside him, Gru’s hand moved calmly to the latch on his walking stick.
He didn’t hesitate.
With a sudden snap, he flipped it open and shouted, “Go, Staff of Two Heads !”
In a roar of pressurized ignition, a stream of orange flame blasted from the tip of his walking stick. The fire arced with brutal force toward Lucien—who, for the first time in a very long while, flinched.
Lucien dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the torrent of flame as it scorched the sterile tiles behind him. Evelyn yanked herself free in the confusion, launching toward the opposite side of the room. Leonardo moved in the same instant—his enormous body cutting through the air as he snatched Evelyn up into his arms and rolled with her across the floor, out of the line of fire.
But they weren’t alone.
A sharp report cracked the air.
A bullet tore through the smoke and embedded itself in the floor just inches from Evelyn’s face. She looked up, heart pounding—and saw her.
Meredith Wright.
She entered like a shadow with teeth—shoulders squared, a pistol in her gloved hand. She wore a perfectly tailored black suit, the lapels sharp enough to draw blood. Her lipstick was a rich, vibrant red, and her hair was swept back in a severe knot. She glided into the room like someone used to getting the final word.
Leonardo’s teeth bared in a half-snarl, but before he could charge her, Meredith lifted a small cylindrical canister in her other hand and shot it point-blank into the ground.
The glass exploded with a hiss.
A thick green mist erupted in a sudden bloom, swallowing the room in a noxious fog. Gru and Evelyn choked instantly, coughing as the chemical tendrils clawed at their lungs. Leonardo jerked back with Evelyn in his arms, but he didn’t cough—not even once. Whatever it was, it wasn’t meant for him.
Evelyn, still gasping, narrowed her eyes through the haze and reached into her quiver. She had one poison arrow left—designed for emergencies. No time for careful aim.
She drew.
Fired.
The arrow struck Meredith in the chest—just above the heart.
Meredith didn’t even scream. She blinked once, lips still curved in that detached smile. Then she crumpled like a marionette with its strings cut.
“Meredith!” Lucien howled, somewhere beyond the mist.
But Leonardo was already gone.
He had leapt above the mist.
Muscles coiled like springs, his huge frame launched upward, eyes scanning through the thinning fog. He landed on a surgical scaffold high above the ground, and from there, spotted Lucien darting toward a hidden corridor at the far end of the lab.
Leonardo crouched.
Then—he leapt again.
Lucien pivoted in mid-air, faster than any ordinary human, and threw a punch of his own.
It landed and the force was tremendous.
Leonardo’s massive body was knocked sideways, crashing into the wall like a meteorite. Steel groaned beneath the impact. The ground quaked.
He slid down, stunned—but not broken.
When he looked up, Lucien was floating just above the ground.
His body had changed.
The tailored coat had torn at the seams, his muscles now visibly shifting beneath skin that had taken on a ruddy, dark red hue. His hair—formerly neatly styled and charcoal black—had turned a ghostly shade of grey-white, not with age but with something… otherworldly. His eyes burned violet.
But the worst change hadn’t come yet.
Lucien smiled—and the smile revealed sharpened teeth, every one of them a blade.
The bones of his hands had elongated, warped—each finger now a talon, blackened and glinting like obsidian knives.
And then came the sound.
A wet, sickening crack echoed through the lab.
Evelyn froze.
From Lucien’s back erupted six arachnid-like legs—thin, jointed, and sharp. They unfurled like blades from beneath his shoulder blades, snapping into full extension with a slick, mechanical click.
He hovered in the mist and steel-blue light, half-man, half-monster.
“I told you,” he said, voice now inhumanly layered, “I would no longer wait for evolution. I am evolution.”
Leonardo pushed himself to his feet, chest heaving. Blood slid from a shallow gash on his forehead and down his cheek.
Behind him, the coughing had quieted—Evelyn had found an old ventilation fan half-buried under a collapsed shelf and managed to jam it into a working outlet. The green gas was thinning now, swirling toward the open vents as the fan rattled to life. Gru scrambled toward Evelyn, pulling her back toward cover. “I’m gonna need a bigger stick,” he muttered under his breath.
Lucien hovered a moment longer, savouring their stunned silence.
Then he lunged.
The surgical theater had become a war zone.
Gobbo and Jabari burst through, weapons blazing.
"Well, it ain't a party 'til we crash it!" Gobbo roared.
The guards who had been stationed around the lab scrambled to meet the sudden attack, rifles raised, shouting commands. Chaos bloomed.
Gobbo wasted no time. He launched himself at the nearest guard, a squat man covered in thick armour. With one hand, Gobbo seized him by the vest, lifted him high above his head, and with an unholy strength born from madness and Genosha shaped muscle, slammed the man so hard into the floor that the tile cracked, and a yawning hole swallowed them both.
They fell through to the lower level with a deafening crash.
Down below, Gobbo rose from the dust cloud like a demon from a pit, already laughing—a jagged, high-pitched cackle that scraped the air like broken glass. The same unhinged laughter that had once echoed through the wilds of Genosha. It was manic, unrelenting—the infamous crackle now made flesh once again.
It was the laugh of a man who enjoyed violence far too much.
Guards swarmed in, barking orders, but Gobbo didn’t stop. He grabbed a fallen pipe from the debris and swung it with bone-breaking accuracy. The first guard’s head twisted grotesquely before he collapsed. Gobbo hurled the pipe like a javelin at another, impaling the man to a support beam.
"You boys don't learn," he grinned, blood trickling down his temple, eyes wild. "But I do love a challenge."
Above, Jabari moved with equal brutality. His blue jacket flared as he spun on his heel, ducked a bullet, and lunged at a group of four armed guards. He weaved between their fire like water through rocks.
He reached the first man and, with a violent twist, tore the man's arm clean from the socket.
The scream didn’t last long—Jabari had already taken the man’s semi-automatic and turned it on the others. Three bursts—precise, lethal. Two guards dropped. The fourth tried to flee, but Jabari tackled him from behind.
He didn’t kill him.
Instead, he dragged the bleeding, half-conscious man behind a large metallic cabinet. Holding the man upright by his blood-soaked collar, Jabari used his body like a human shield. When more guards came rushing in, Jabari popped out, fired three more rounds, and ducked back behind the cabinet, dragging the convulsing shield with him.
Back near the surgical platform, Leonardo barreled through a haze of smoke and flame, his wounds still bleeding from Lucien’s earlier strike. Evelyn had rejoined the fight, staying low, firing arrows tipped with tranquilizers and razor-sharp heads, pinning guards to walls, flooring, and even their own fallen comrades.
Gru stayed close behind her, his Staff of Two Heads still blazing when needed. When a pair of guards came too close, he turned, hissed, "Not today, Satan," and engulfed them in a sweep of flame that lit the whole corridor with an orange glow.
Lucien hissed above them, suspended mid-air, his monstrous limbs scraping the walls and ceiling. He launched toward Leonardo again, claws ready.
Leonardo moved like something pulled from the marrow of the earth—pure instinct, stripped of hesitation. He didn’t run; he hunted. Every step forward carried the weight of something ancient, brutal, and unrelenting. He wasn’t just strong—he was inevitable. A force that didn’t ask permission. A predator shaped by survival, not glory.
Leonardo roared back and met him head-on.
The impact was cataclysmic.
They crashed into each other, and then into a support pillar, bringing part of the ceiling down with them. Lucien's claws slashed across Leonardo’s ribs—blood flew, but Leonardo didn't stop. He seized Lucien by the torso and hurled him through a bank of monitors.
Lucien bounced off the equipment like a ragdoll—but recovered mid-air, his monstrous limbs catching the walls and flipping him upright.
"You could’ve been a god!" Lucien snarled.
Leonardo snorted, "Yeah, because that line worked so well in Eden."
Then they collided again.
Steel bent. Sparks flew. Every punch from Leonardo shook the ground. Every counter from Lucien was a slicing blur of death.
But Leonardo wasn’t alone.
Evelyn, sensing an opening, fired an arrow directly into one of Lucien’s spider-limbs. It pierced clean through, sending a jolt through the abomination’s body. Gru followed up with another controlled burst of flame, cutting off Lucien’s retreat.
"Your mistake," Leonardo said, panting, "was underestimating the people I care about."
Lucien screamed in rage, lunged again—
He didn’t just see it—he felt it. Power was coming off it in waves. It was ancient. Alive.
His instincts howled.
Leonardo moved.
As Lucien scrambled toward him with a vicious hiss, Leonardo gripped the sword and thought, This is it!
With a feral roar, he drove the blade deep into the exoskeleton of Lucien’s chest.
Lucien jerked backward, eyes wide in disbelief. I thought I moved that! his mind screamed. It must’ve fallen out of its hiding place in the wall during our fight!
He staggered, black blood oozing from the wound.
But Leonardo’s eyes narrowed—something was wrong. Lucien’s body wasn’t just bleeding. It was disintegrating, darkening into an onyx black that spread like rot across his limbs.
His body isn’t just dying, Leonardo realized. It’s spreading a poison.
Without hesitation, he surged forward and swung the sword again—this time with finality.
The blade cleaved through Lucien’s torso, and with that, the abomination gave one last shriek before collapsing, his body shuddering, crumbling, and dissolving into a cloud of toxic black ash.
This time, it was over.
But Leonardo wasn’t taking any chances. He let the sword clatter to the floor, then grabbed what remained of Lucien’s disintegrating body. With a roar, he slammed Lucien down on the metal floor, hard enough to dent the surgical platform.
Lucien writhed.
Then—he was still.
Panting, bleeding, and covered in dust and blood, Leonardo turned, scanning the room.
Evelyn had her bow still raised, watching him with wide but steady eyes. Gru stood behind her, burnt sleeves and all, his weapon’s pilot light flickering low.
From the upper floor, Jabari dropped the last of his attackers and called out. "Top floor’s clear. Gobbo’s downstairs handling it."
Almost on cue, another booming crash echoed from below.
Then Gobbo’s cackle floated up through the hole in the floor, manic and victorious.
Leonardo exhaled—deep, slow.
Outside, the last echoes of gunfire had faded. The forest held its breath. Scattered bodies of mercenaries lay crumpled in the mud, steam rising from shell casings still hot to the touch. The fight had burned through fast and brutal—and now, as the last of the armed men dropped, it was done.
Their bodies lay strewn across the overgrown access road, boots still twitching in the hot dirt. The hired strike team—Leonardo’s men, handpicked and off-the-books—moved with grim efficiency. Silenced rifles. Blade work. Quick takedowns. No survivors.
Jabari stalked through the perimeter, checking pulses he already knew were gone. Gru moved with him, torch in hand, igniting anything that looked like paperwork or hard drives. Evelyn’s eyes swept the shadows, her bow lowered now but still strung. And Leonardo—bleeding from the ribs, temple, and one deep gash near the hip—refused to slow.
“This place doesn’t exist anymore,” he growled, breath ragged. “Make it official.”
The men didn’t respond. They didn’t need to. Each one already had a charge in place—beneath servers, along fuel lines, tucked behind chemical storage tanks. They worked in silence, practially ballet of destruction choreographed in advance. Gru added a personal flourish, setting a delayed fire through the ventilation system. Evelyn double-checked the chemical wash containers with a keen eye for cover stories.
It would look like a lab mishap—an over pressurized experiment, a flammable miscalculation. All plausible. All intentional.
The work was nearly done when Leonardo turned to them, sweat streaking through dried blood.
“You’ll be paid handsomely,” he said, voice like gravel. “And this never gets spoken of. Not to your wives. Not to your priests. Not to the man in the mirror.”
None of them spoke, but every head nodded.
They understood the rules.
Leonardo held their gaze for one more breath, then turned away. He didn’t limp. He didn’t wince. Whatever pain he felt, he carried it like armour.
He passed Evelyn without a word. She followed, carrying the sword Leonardo used earlier, still damp with the last man's blood. Jabari fell in behind her, while Gobbo was last, humming something tuneless as he tossed his final grenade through a cracked window.
They reached the ridgeline just as the timer hit zero.
A low, guttural boom rumbled through the trees. Then a second, sharper blast—metal tearing, glass evaporating, earth rising in a blossom of fire and chemical smoke. The ground shuddered beneath their boots. Birds burst from the canopy in panicked clouds.
The compound was gone.
Reduced to ash and steam and plausible deniability.
No evidence. No witnesses. Just one more dark chapter swallowed by silence.
Leonardo didn’t look back.
None of them did.
...:TBC:...
Notes:
* This description was inspired by the amazing photo found from the equally amazing @heythereimashley: https://www.tumblr.com/heythereimashley/665076891998404608/this-picture-sent-me-into-orbit (also thanks to my friend @currvycurly for sending me the picture!)
Anubis248 on Chapter 1 Fri 21 Feb 2025 05:55PM UTC
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Classchic1 on Chapter 1 Sat 22 Feb 2025 05:21AM UTC
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