Chapter 12 – Leonora
Seven weeks, five days, and seven—now, eight hours. But who was counting?
I didn’t miss him. I didn’t miss the way his scent lingered in my clothes, in my very soul, wrapping around me when I least expected it. I didn’t miss the way it clung to my skin, dragging memories of that stupid night that I wanted to bury to the surface.
No, I didn’t miss him. Not the way his presence followed me everywhere, reminding me of his hot breath on my skin or the profanities he filled my ears with. Or the way every leather and musk scent infuriatingly reminded me of him.
Or the way his absence now gnawed at the edges of my resolve.
But I refused to acknowledge it, refused to admit that a part of me still yearned for him, still craved the intoxicating rush of being near him.
I couldn’t.
And yet, every breath I took betrayed me, aching for something I swore I was better off without.
Even if I felt it deep down in my bones that Rafayel intentionally avoided me, it was better this way. I could breathe again, think properly again, without having him mess with my head or cloud me with his essence.
We were enemies—enemies who somehow needed each other and had formed an alliance. And that was what mattered, the alliance and nothing else. Or so I tried to convince myself.
He'd said it, hadn’t he? It was for one night only. And he kept to his word. I woke up that morning, and he was gone. With no note to explain anything, I got the message loud and clear.
He did a great job, too, steering clear and staying out of sight. Subsequent meetings were conducted via online platforms, and he cut off direct contact. We passed memos and other information through the men.
The distance was a good thing, I convinced myself for the umpteenth time.
So, why was I suffocating under a tangled mess of confusing emotions, battling the sting of rejection, the humiliation of being discarded, and, on top of that, the misery of being sick?
“Leonora Colombo?”
My head jerked up at the sound of my name, and my eyes fell on the blonde nurse poking her head through the waiting room. She was pretty with blue, innocent eyes that said she lived in an ordinary world, without worries of Russian-Italian alliances or crime.
There may have been a few times in my life when I wondered what it would be like to lead a normal life, but my thoughts always returned with a negative result. I loved my life. I loved the thrill of racing, leading the mob, and being able to do whatever I wanted.
An ordinary world meant leading a normal life. And normal was frigging boring.
My only problem now was getting my head back on track so that I would forget I had ever gotten mixed up with Zver and ended up in his bed.
And the walls of his bedroom.
And his shower.
And….
Every place else he’d marked me.
But first, I had to find out what was wrong with me.
Her smile was genuinely warm, but I felt unusually tired and didn’t have the strength to reciprocate.
I adjusted the strap of my purse over my shoulder and followed her through the cold clinic hallway to another white room with transparent glass doors, which I assumed was Doctor Josè’s office.
The air was thick with the aroma of fresh coffee and the faint tang of antiseptic. It made me nauseous, but I restrained the urge to gag. I ran my gaze from the row of worn, leather-bound medical texts that lined the shelves, with their gilt-edged pages, to Doctor Josè, who had a phone pressed to his ear and his mouth moving in a hushed, one-sided conversation.
He looked up, his eyes crinkling at the corners. Then, he smiled and motioned for me to take a seat.
I settled into the plush burgundy armchair, sinking into the soft cushions. In a low voice, he finished his call and turned his attention to me.
“Leo, good to see you. Come sta? E come sta suo padre?”
How are you? How is your father?
With a smile, I told him I was fine, even if it was a straight lie through the teeth, and that Papa’s health was improving. Another lie. Day after day, I watched him battle to reign control over the weakness that subjected him to his bed. But he didn’t want anyone singing the song to the world that his health was deteriorating.
The only reason Rafayel knew was because of the alliance and the transparency code attached to it.
Josè and Santiago were business partners at Nuova Vita and were practically family now, which earned Josè privileged information, and we counted on them to uphold confidentiality.
They’d worked for Papa for the longest time, years before I was born, and were a part of the handful of people he could trust with his life. So, when I started feeling sick, I booked an appointment at their hospital without informing Papa.
“ E Santiago? ”
“Business trip.” Josè smiled warmly at the nurse stationed by the door, signaling her to leave. “We’re setting up a branch in Philadelphia, and the process requires one of us to be present.”
“Congratulations. Nuova Vita is expanding, and that’s a good thing.”
“Santiago deserves more accolades. He talked me into accepting it.”
“Good for you, then. You’ll be reaping the benefits soon.”
I was genuinely happy about their progress, but the weight in my chest sank lower when he leaned forward and handed me a slender sheet of white paper.
When I came here complaining of weird symptoms, including frequent nausea and fatigue, Josè encouraged me to get some tests done. Not bothering to ask him which tests, I followed his instructions and allowed the nurses to do their job.
And now, the results sat in my hand, as heavy as a ton of bricks.
Maybe it was because, even before unfolding the paper, I knew what it was. The only reason I drove to this clinic in the first place was to have someone falsify my fears.
I opened the paper and scanned the page, the words blurring together before snapping into sharp focus. And the information printed in black ink only confirmed my worst nightmare.
Pregnancy confirmed.
The room seemed to fade away. Doctor Josè was saying something, but it sounded like a muffled noise in the background. I couldn’t quite hear it over the thunder of my own heartbeat.
“Leonora, are you alright?”
I was hyperventilating because I was, in fact, not alright. My fingernails were digging so hard into the armchair that I might have chipped a nail.
But it made sense, right?
I had mind-blowing, unbelievable, unprotected sex with Zver , watched him spill his hot seeds between my thighs, and blindly believed that I was safe and good to go on with my life without repercussions when we didn’t use a condom, birth control pill, or contraceptive.
Weeks later, I’d missed my period. I developed symptoms. The frigging signs flashed like traffic lights, but I ignored them and continued living in denial.
So, why the hell was I freaking out?
“Uh,” I said, rising to my feet, struggling to keep the stinging tears at bay as I snatched my purse from the table. “I’m fine. It’s just the shock of everything….”
I swear, I didn’t want to cry. But talking to Josè suddenly reminded me of the only reason I knew him in the first place.
Dio mio .
Papa was going to kill me.
“Leonora.” Josè was on his feet, trying to reach for me before I possibly stumbled, fell, and killed myself and the unborn child in the process. “Leonora, wait. You don’t have to go through with it. We can discuss alternative options.”
But I couldn’t wait and knew Josè’s professional alternative options would get my head rolling in cold blood faster than the actual news of the pregnancy if Papa or any other person from the clan found out.
I was out the door, yelling, “My father can’t find out, Josè. I’m begging you,” before anyone else could stop me.
Once I made it into the car, strapping myself tightly with the seatbelt, I threw my head on the wheel and busted into salty tears. The last time I really cried, with my entire soul and might, I was twelve. It was a trip to the beach with Papa. I built a massive sandcastle, gigantic enough to win a prize. Then, Matteo, from out of nowhere, ran into it with someone’s dog.
Dio mio.
What the heck had I gotten myself into? And what the hell was I going to do now?
Pregnant?
Jesus.
I couldn’t be pregnant. Not now when my world was already a frigging mess, with Papa’s health, the outfit trying to regain balance, the alliance, and Zver —
Rafayel’s silent treatment was killing me now, more than ever, because…it was his frickin’ seed in the first place. I carried his child in my womb without an iota of assurance that he’d even want me or accept it.
But damn him if he denied it!
He was my first, and only, and he knew it.
Still.
Papa’s reaction was already scaring the shit out of me, and words hadn’t even gotten to his ears yet. Even on his deathbed, there was no putting it past him to request for his Glock to shoot me himself. The child wasn’t going to pain him. It was the child being of Russian blood that would spur him to send me to my maker. And worse, he hated Russians, but he specifically hated the Yezhovs more.
Moving the car out of the parking space, I wiped my eyes and tried to fish out any light at the end of any helpful tunnel. There was none. The only option available was to keep my secret for as long as possible until I could flee the country.
Maybe under the guise of visiting Matteo in Europe.
Matteo wouldn’t spill a secret unless Papa threatened him himself.
I gripped the wheel until my knuckles turned white. My thoughts were a swirling mess, and a strange sense of foreboding worsened the anxiety that I wouldn’t make it to Europe before Papa found out.
I barely noticed the familiar streets blurring past me as I drove home.
Then, out of nowhere, a convoy of cars sped past me, cutting me off. Tires screeched, and my car came to an abrupt halt as they boxed me in. My heart dropped into my stomach, and sudden anger at everything quickened my pulse.
The last time an ambush like this happened, it was a frigging Yezhov who planned it. Ivan, to be precise.
As I kicked my legs out of the car, I swore under my breath. I was ready to beat the shit out of him this time if he thought this little game was going to scare me. There was already too much on my plate to deal with his shenanigans.
Some men clothed in coffee brown suits stepped out of the cars, one by one, each holding their guns close to their thighs. But I was still stomping the ground, too pissed to notice the familiarity of the air hanging over them, like freshly brewed espresso, the sweet tang of lemon trees, and the musky hint of aged stone, all blended together.
But my ignorance didn’t get far when I heard them shouting at one another as more men stepped out. Their voices were sharp and fast. Smoother, more…melodic.
I stopped, and my pulse quickened with more confusion than rage.
These men weren’t Russian.
“ Eccola! ” There she is.
One of the men stepped forward, and I had to take a step back to look at him twice.
His sharp facial features seemed to have been crafted by the gods themselves from the finest Tuscan marble. Green eyes sparkled with a hint of mischief and an unmistakable allure.
My gaze dropped to a striking tattoo of a serpent coiled around a dagger adorning his left forearm, and though it was unfamiliar, I thought it meant something.
He wore a crisp white shirt with rolled-up sleeves, the fabric seemingly glowing with inner light, complemented by a pair of rich brown pants that hugged his lean physique. His polished Italian shoes, certainly crafted from the finest leather, added a touch of sophistication to his overall demeanor.
An air of danger seemed to swirl around him like a mist, but somehow, while I was surrounded by the heat of this Italian hunk, a nagging voice in my head announced that Rafayel was still a thousand times hotter.
He extended a hand. The hand with a serpent. Apparently, the fine man was a southpaw.
“Name’s Luca. Luca Rossi. I’m sure you’ve heard about me because I sure as hell have heard marvelous things about you, Leo. And sembri ancora più radiosa di persona .”
You’re more beautiful in person.
The Rossi clan. The same family trying to overthrow us—the same people who’d been tearing at the foundation of Papa’s empire.
When I didn’t shake his hand, his sharp, predatory smile only deepened.
“Ah, the rumors are true then. You’ve heard of me.”
Before I could step back, his hand shot out, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me closer. Close enough to feel his breath brush against my ear when he leaned in.
I stiffened when he kissed the spot beneath my earlobe.
“I’ve had a crush on you for the longest time now, Leo. You give me wet dreams. You don’t know how many times I’ve thought about what it’ll feel like to fuck you.”
Cringe.
He was certainly deranged if he thought he’d even make it to first base with me. And everything he said made my skin crawl with utter disgust.
Swallowing the urge to spit on his face, I offered a phony smile. “Is that so? Shame, thoughts about you make me want to put a fucking hole in your head. The only crush I have on you, Rossi, is the desire to crush you to dust. Stronzo. ”
The sound of Luca’s laughter was akin to dragging spikes against steel. I clenched my teeth and hoped my ears wouldn’t bleed before he stopped.
And when he did, his grip on my wrist tightened.
“Such a shame, then. If you aren’t with me, you’re against me. And you know what that means. I’ll have to get rid of you.” His free hand trailed down my arm, stopping on the curve of my ass.
When he smacked me, it sent shivers of revulsion through me, and I wanted nothing more than to bash my head against his and punch him until all his teeth fell out.
But I stood no chance with all these men surrounding us.
“You and me? We could’ve joined hands, darling. Built something…explosive.” He was still talking. Still squeezing and brushing his lips below my ear.
God, he was as sickening as the words he spoke.
My stomach churned, but I refused to let him see my fear. Instead, I glared up at him, my voice sharper than I felt.
“You know what, Luca? I’d rather die than work with someone like you.”
He chuckled, low and dark, his grip tightening just enough to remind me who held the upper hand. “Oh, don’t worry.” He smirked. “That can be arranged.”
Once his grip on my wrist relaxed, I seized the opportunity to strike. With lightning-fast speed, I slipped my wrist free from his grasp and rotated my hips, generating torque for a powerful hook. My eyes locked onto Luca’s jawline, and in swift, fluid motion, I launched my hook, feeling the satisfying crunch of my knuckles connecting with his jaw.
The impact sent a shockwave through his entire body, and his head snapped to the side, his green eyes widening in surprise. He didn’t expect the attack.
He stumbled backward, and I quickly regained my footing, distributing my weight evenly between both feet. I was poised and ready to strike again, but his men raised their guns, yelling angrily in Italian. The noise grew louder, and their rage became more palpable.
I could taste the charged tension in the air and the heavy adrenaline running through my veins. But I had to stay put. If I moved even a finger, I’d be dead in a blink.
Luca staggered back to his feet, grinning like the maniac he was, with a hand raised to signal his men not to blast my head off.
“Did I tell you I like them feisty? Makes things spicier.”
Movement from one of the men behind him distracted me, and I didn’t see his fingers curl before flying toward my face. Pain wracked my left eye down to my jaw, and if I wasn’t trained in these types of gimmicks, my neck could have snapped, for Christ’s sake.
The blow was solid, sending me flying backward without time to find a soft landing spot. Luckily, I twirled, falling on my backside and using my hips and arms as cushions to gauge the impact.
My heart raced fast, my pulse thrummed, and I felt those waterworks springing to my eyes again.
You’re stronger than this, Leo.
I summoned the courage, deciding not to leave a moment for an attack. Springing to my feet, I ran back to my car without looking back. And though they didn’t spring up a fight or try to chase me down, the glare in Luca’s eyes told me this fight, and our encounter, was far from over.