POV Leo

There's a sharp tension in the air, and I find it difficult to restrain myself from killing the pathetic man in front of me.

"Luigi." The name comes out acidly, and his eyebrows, which are way too big for his eyes, bunch together.

The aging black-haired politician sinks into the chair. His navy blue suit crinkles.

My Giorgio Armani slim black-and-white striped suit remains impeccable, even when my muscles coil with a need to strangle Luigi.

I lift a brow when he straightens his posture, adjusting the black bow tie around his neck.

"It's prime minister Luigi," he says, his fear from earlier no longer in sight.

His arrogance reminds me of why I hate politicians. They're all snobby and think they're better than everyone else when they're all pieces of shit.

I pin him with my gaze, my jaw stiffening, and he swallows when he notices the dark look taking over my face.

"My apologies, prime minister Luigi," I scoff, my left hand resting over my chest.

His lips form into an unpleasant line, letting me know I ticked him off, but it doesn't matter because he's in my house, and I'd be damned if anyone ever disrespects me under my own roof.

Having enough of this lousy conversation and the disrespect I draw my gun from my desk.

Luigi trembles in horror as I point the gun between his bulging eyes.

"Leo..." he breaks off, his eyes shifting from the black pistol to me.

The sound of my name coming out of his mouth makes me grip my gun tighter.

I give a sinister smirk.

"It's Don Bandoni to you," I grit out, watching as sweat gathers around his forehead.

Satisfaction pumps in my veins from seeing one of the most powerful men in the Italian government cowering in fear.

No one, especially not this fool, is more powerful than me, the Don of the Sicilian mafia—leader of the Bandoni famiglia and the biggest mafia alliance.

I wait for the moment he begs for his life, a typical reaction from most men who are at the receiving end of my wrath.

"Please, Don Bandoni, I've helped you when you have an issue with the Direzione Investigativa Antimafia. If not for me, you would be rotting in jail for the rest of your life with the number of felonies you have committed."

So not the typical begging for mercy.

It looks like I have to remind him he's replaceable.

I shoot Luigi an unimpressed stare, knowing he's giving himself more credit than what's due.

Sure, he helps get the Italian government out of my business, but I have many politicians lining up, begging me to use them. Their hands eager to be greased up with my money.

The only difference between me and these greedy politicians is I acknowledge my work is illegal. I don't pretend I'm a good man because I'm not. I know that, and I embrace it. That's all I can do. But men like Luigi hide behind a façade of good guys parading in public like saints when under the flashy suits, they are filthy.

I remove the safety of my gun and the click fills the silence in the room.

"Listen carefully, Luigi." He raises his hands, and the color drains from his face. "I'm the one in charge here. Not you. I make the decisions. Not you. And whether you get more money is up to me. Not you. Do I make myself clear?" I say with gentle hostility, and he stays silent, afraid for his life.

My nostrils flare, and my composure snaps. I aim my gun at the ground near his foot and release the trigger. He squeals like a pig, jumping from the chair.

"Do I make myself clear!"

"Yes!" his reply comes frantic.

"Good," I say, retaking my seat, and he releases a long breath when I put my gun away. "Now, how much do you need this time?"

Luigi's eyes follow me, waiting for me to pounce on him and snap his neck. My sudden, calm demeanor has him on edge, and I don't blame him. I'm a bipolar bastard.

He doesn't answer me, and I let out an irritated exhale, motioning for my men to get him out of my sight.

When three of my men approach him, he snaps out of his daze.

"Nine million Euros!" he shouts, swallowing hard when he sees my raised brows. "I need nine million Euros," he repeats, voice low this time around.

"Luigi, why do you need so much?" I task, heading toward the black-and-white image of my Familia, my brothers.

I study the picture of us holding automatic rifles with cigars in our mouths. Piles of cash surround our feet.

Although not blood brothers, these men risk everything for me and my family. They all come from a line of mafiosos—men who worked for my father and grandfather.

"You know money in Italy is tight with the recent rise in petroleum prices because of the war." I hum, listening to him explain the crisis of the world. "The government is drowning in debt, and we need help. Banks are under threat of closing. People are freaking out because the government is taking their money," he rants in one breath.

I glance at him over my shoulder before pouring myself a drink.

"So, you need my money to pay the country's debt?" I say in a detached tone, and he nods.

"Yes, it's not long before the people rise in protest. To save the banks, I need the money. I don't kno—"

"Luigi shut the fuck up already," I breathe, chugging the liquor, and it leaves a fiery path down my throat. "Seriously, save the fucking tears for the public."

He looks at me, his cheeks drawn downward in surprise.

His babbling about his crisis is an absolute waste of my time. While he could have simply said, 'I need nine million to pay the banks,' his explanation does well to emphasize the urgency of the situation. Letting me know that if I don't help him, chaos in Italy will ensue, and the last thing I need is for Italy to experience an economic depression. It will affect my business and send the officials snooping up my ass.

"Fine, I'll help you. But the next time I see you, it better be you paying me back, not asking me for more," I warn, and he nods. "Get out," I say and Kaden, one of my capos, takes Luigi outside while I get his money.

After he leaves, I pick up the picture frame I was looking at earlier to reveal a scanner beneath. Placing my hand over it, the bookshelf to the side opens to reveal the metal door to my safe room. I put the code in, and the door opens, revealing a percentage of my wealth.

Grabbing the duffel bags, I have Kaden bring Luigi back to my office. I drop the bags near Luigi's feet, and he flinches.

"I need you to sign this agreement." I push the contract toward him. "You have two years to pay me back, or I'll kill your entire family while I make you watch."

Luigi shudders from my words and accepts the gold pen handed to him.

He signs his name with shaky hands and lets out a breath of relief when he finishes.

He stands under the door and turns back to look at me.

"Thank you, Don Bandoni. Italy is in debt to you." I give him a warning look, reminding him of our deal.

I'm alone for five minutes when the door to my office bursts open. This time my underboss Francisco enters. His dark blond hair sticks to his forehead from the sweat on his temple.

"Leo," Francisco says on edge, and my brows lift from seeing my usually composed friend panting.

Francisco Catalano is one of the most loyal men I have working for me. His loyalty to me, my family, and my mafia made him the obvious pick to be my right-hand man, and because I have no brother, heir, and my father is too busy wallowing in his own sorrow, Francisco will take over my mafia if anything ever happens to me.

"What is it, Francisco?"

He saunters toward me and drops a thick packet of papers on my desk. When it hits the surface, it makes a loud noise.

"What is this?" I ask, furrowing my brows as I scan the papers to see lists of familiar names.

"It's Adriano, your cousin—" he trails, but I cut him off.

"He's no cousin of mine!" My fist clenches tight around the gold pen in my hand. It snaps in half. The black ink bleeds down my right fist, leaving a trail of black streaks.

Francisco rolls his blue eyes.

"Well, whatever the fuck he is, we found him," he says, his hatred for Adriano revealing itself through the hostility in his voice.

From the news of finding Adriano after years of searching, I feel an eagerness to wrap my hands around his throat.

Three years. That's how long we've been looking for the fucker.

If there are two things Adriano is good at doing, it's being a pain in the ass and knowing how to make himself disappear from the face of the earth. He's a coward and a disgrace to this family.

"Where is he?"

"He's in France causing chaos in the city of love."

"What kind of chaos?" I rub my temple with my thumb. The mere mention of Adriano has stirred a headache.

Francisco's shoulders stiffen, and his lips roll into his mouth.

"He's doing business in Paris," he deflects, avoiding my question.

"What business are you referring to? I don't have all day?" I say impatiently. "Is he smuggling liquor, ammunition, drugs? What is it, dammit?" My voice rises, now irritated.

Francisco runs his tongue over his bottom lip and sighs. "He's prostituting women. Particularly young tourists."

I rise from my seat, and my hands itch to throw everything off my desk. I can hear my rage thundering inside me.

Those girls have families and ambitions, and he's robbing them of their future for currency. But not for long, because I'm going to stop this business of his. Not even his little gang can stop my wrath from getting to them.

I straighten my posture, and my fingers fly to my tie, adjusting it. I regulate my breath by inhaling deeply.

"He's sex-trafficking women?" I repeat, making sure I heard him correctly through the ringing in my ears.

He nods, lips pressed into a tight line.

"Get Angelo and tell him to gather men. Tell Luca to find as much information as possible about his affairs." Francisco nods and takes his phone out to make the calls. "Francisco, call my pilot and tell him to prepare the jet. When everything is set, we leave for France."

"On it," he exclaims, his fingers typing rapidly on his phone, as he heads toward the door. "Anything else?"

"Make sure no one tells Cleo what he's doing." Francisco's eyes soften at the mention of my sister, and he assures me he wouldn't tell her anything. He takes his leave, and I sink into my chair. The everlasting tension in my body remains, but now I'm also trembling with rage.

The memories of my childhood resurface, and with it, the pain.

I clench my teeth and allow my anger to burn the grief my past brings.

***

A few hours have passed since Francisco told me the news of Adriano, and we are ready to leave. The last thing I have to do is tell Cleo I'm leaving.

The second I enter her room, I find her in her usual spot, sitting in the bay window. Her attention is fixed on the gardens outside.

Cleo always found peace in nature. It's the one thing that can comfort her.

When she hears me knock, her chestnut curls fly behind her as she turns, and she smiles at me.

I sit beside her with a sigh.

Her smile fades into a frown when she notices the black ink from the pen I snapped earlier.

Cleo places a comforting hand over my right cheek, her way of getting me to look at her.

The second she has my attention, she signs.

What happened, Leo?

Her hands move delicately, and I see the long, white fading scars running down the length of her soft skin.

My heart sinks from the memory of her dying on the bathroom floor. It's a taunting image forever engraved as a reminder of how I failed her.

It's been three years since she lost her voice, and every day I'm reminded of how Adriano has taken everything from her.

Hell has a special place reserved for him beside his father.

"Nothing," I say, swallowing the lump in my throat.

She sighs, not pleased with my answer.

Leo, tell me what got you so angry you took it out on a pen. Her hands slash angrily, and her expression changes to disapproval.

I sigh, knowing she won't let me leave until I tell her what she wants to hear.

I'm cautious with my words, making sure nothing I say reopens old wounds.

"It's Adriano. He's causing chaos, so I have to go to France for a few days." Her frown deepens when I say his name, and she lets out a shaky breath.

What kind of chaos? She signs.

To prevent her from blaming herself or relapsing, I say nothing.

Cleo frowns at my unwillingness to tell her anything.

Please, tell me. I want to hear about him without being afraid. I need to move on.

Tears rise in her eyes, but they aren't tears of sadness. They're tears of frustration from us tiptoeing around her. But can she blame us?

I sigh, running a hand through my hair before I tell her what she wants to know.

"He's sex-trafficking women." Cleo's eyes fill with tears, and one of her hands goes to her mouth.

You need to save those girls. Make sure they all make it home to their family.

Tears slip from her eyes, and there's a pinch to my chest.

Promise me, Leo.

I'm going to do more than make sure they all get home. I'm going to make sure their attackers lay in a pool of their own blood.

I wipe her tears.

"I'll make sure they all return home to their family where they belong," I assure her, and she exhales deeply, her shoulders dropping.

Cleo points to herself and makes a heart shape before pointing at me.

I smile at the familiar gesture and kiss her forehead before rising.

"I'll be back in three days. Please stay inside. You'll have guards outside your room," I assure her, and she glowers, hating when I treat her like a child when she's nineteen.

Cleo watches me go, giving me a slight wave.