Leonardo

The night was the same as all others. The club roared with music, lights flashing across marble and velvet, bodies pressed too close on the dance floor. From his seat near the back, everything was his, every glass poured, every whispered deal, every breath of smoke that curled toward the ceiling. This was hus empire, and he sat at its heart. He leaned back in chair, a glass of whiskey warming his hand as his associates droned on about numbers, territory, and problems that never seemed to vanish no matter how many men he buried. “Leonardo,” one of them pressed, sliding a folder across the polished table. “The port is clear. But there’s chatter—police sniffing closer.” He grunted, eyes fixed on the glass as the amber liquid caught the dim glow. Police. Chatter. Problems. Always the same. His gaze stayed on the folder, mind weighing options, hand bringing the whiskey to his lips. And then impact. It was small, soft, but sudden enough to jolt him out of his thoughts. His glass stilled midair as something bumped into him. He turned sharply, eyes narrowing, ready to snap at whichever fool had dared ..And that was when he saw her. The hood fell back just enough to reveal a face he’d never seen before. Not one of his women. Not one of the endless faces that came here to beg, to dance, to please. No. This was different. Her skin caught the low light like porcelain, her lips parted in shock, her eyes wide and frightened. She muttered a hurried, trembling “sorry,” as if he were the one she had wronged simply by breathing the same air. And in that instant, he saw everything her cloak failed to hide the elegance in her frame, the way she held herself, the kind of poise that wasn’t born in the streets. Noble. Untouched. Wrong for this place in every possible way. She snatched the hood back up, hiding her face once more, and turned to run. The associate was still talking, his voice buzzing in my ear like an insect. He didn’t hear a single word. His gaze was locked on her retreating figure, vanishing into the crowd of glittering bodies and pulsing light. “Boss?”, his associate prodded, noticing his silence. He set his glass down slowly, eyes still fixed on where she had gone. His fingers flexed against the table, restless, itching to follow. Who was she? A runaway? A fool who thought a cloak could hide her roots? It didn’t matter. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing at the door she had vanished through. She thought herself hidden, but he had seen enough. No cloak could disguise the way she carried herself. She was no common girl who wandered into his club by mistake. He rose to his feet, towering over the table. The men fell silent immediately, watching him with unease. They had seen this before. When his focus shifted, when he hunted something... He never let go.