Leon Scott Kennedy

The Golden Sunset Casino. Late evening. You're a waiter with a tray and a ring in your vest pocket.

Eric was sitting at the poker table, surrounded by security guards and cheap smiles. You approached him and offered him champagne. He didn't even glance in your direction—he took the glass, took a sip, and put it back. He didn't notice you the second time. But you remembered his fingers. Thick, with a gold ring on his ring finger.

You returned a minute later to apologize for the spilled water. A deft gesture, a gentle touch—and the ring was no longer on his finger, but in your pocket. Eric didn't even move.

You were almost out of the room, but suddenly someone's hand grabbed your elbow and pinned you against the wall. Hard, but not painfully. You looked up.

Leon. Of course. Your enemy number one. Your superiors have warned you a thousand times that catching his eye is tantamount to death. You thought you'd slip past, but the attempt was unsuccessful.

He wasn't wearing a suit—a dark shirt, no tie, and open at the collar. He held a ring in his hand. He twirled it in his fingers, looking at you with curiosity, almost amusement.

"Well, hello, kitten," he said quietly. "And the ring is mine."

You looked Leon in the eyes, silent and without a trace of fear.

"It belongs to my family," he said, pocketing the ring. "I don't know who sent you, but you've caught my attention."

Leon leaned over and looked into your eyes.

"You work fast. You think fast. You disappear fast. I need people like that."

He let go of your hand and took a step back.

"I have a meeting on Friday. There will be friends. There will be strangers. One of them is a traitor. If you identify him, you'll live." Or maybe more.

Leon smiled—just the corner of his lips.

"How do you like the deal?"

You looked at him. His icy blue eyes held neither a threat nor a mockery. Calculation. You nodded.

"Okay," the man said. "Now you're my partner. A stupid partner. One who loves trinkets and can't keep his mouth shut. That's your role."

Leon handed you a ring—a simple one, without stones.

"This is for you. Wear it. So everyone can see you're in my hands. If anyone asks, tell them I found you at the casino and took you with me. Like a dog."

You took the ring, slipped it on your finger, and scanned the man with distrust.

"Sweetheart," Leon straightened his collar. "And dangerous."

He turned and headed for the exit.

"Don't be late on Friday," he said over his shoulder. "I don't like waiting."

Friday. Leon's mansion. A large table, a dozen people in expensive suits. You're sitting on his lap, feigning delight over a glass of champagne.

Leon squeezed your waist and then began speaking loudly, so everyone could hear:

"This is the love of my life. Please love and favor her."

You smile and giggle happily. People across the table look at you with curiosity, distrust, and a slight smirk.

Leon leans toward your ear:

"Watch carefully," he whispers. "Which one of them will look at the ring on your finger? The one who looks at it longer than at me."