Chapter 4 – Leonora
One Day Ago
Let’s talk about my love interests.
Trudging through the sand to the black Audi R8 parked by the beach’s raised wooden gates, my jaw stayed fixed and my fingers clenched. To everyone who squealed an excited “hello!” or hearty “congratulations” as I stormed past the exit, courtesy demanded that I mutter a response, at least.
Unlocking the car, I flung my shoes on the passenger’s seat and buckled myself in. The engine purred, and bright headlights punctured through the thick clog of darkness. I latched a death grip on the steering wheel.
Back to the matter of love interests, there were zero.
That’s correct— fucking zero. And the reason for that was simple. I grew up in a house surrounded by men and women who’d trooped in or were literally snatched from different walks of life. Although, we certainly had more men.
Papa didn’t believe women could get the job done effectively, except if the job description included pole dancing, serving, or basically seduction. Something that required less brain and willpower because that was all he thought they were good for.
His low confidence in the womenfolk spurred me to push harder, to take on more responsibilities—more real action, more work—just to prove him wrong. I’d lost count of the number of times I’d thrown myself in the face of danger just to look Papa in the face and tell him, “ L’ho fatto!” I did it! with a proud grin on my face.
And it was always worth it because the satisfaction derived from moments like those were more addictive than crack. Not like we did any of that shit. Papa only created pathways for transporting it and built some pretty big businesses alongside selling it. But he’d never waved the green flag to consume it. His men could, and his clients could, but if either Matteo or I tried, we’d be dead before we could blink.
I was going to give myself some accolades and say, with twenty-three years and counting, I was doing a pretty badass job convincing Papa that I was more than capable of handling my own business and running larger affairs. So, where did my boisterousness leave all the men?
In the fucking background, that’s where.
Well, with clear exceptions made to my brother, growing up with them meant I’d seen them and their varieties—the big ones and small ones, the pure ones that always tried to maintain a piece of heart in their jobs, and the ruthless ones that ripped the hearts out with cynical smiles on their faces. I was a first-hand witness to their uniqueness and decided there was nothing special they had to offer. And they always proved me right.
Especially that stupid, fucking idiot, Ivan Yezhov.
My grip on the wheel grew tighter than I thought it possible to. If it were a person’s neck, it’d have snapped in two already.
How dare he?
To me, his audacity was the height of disrespect, but I’d retaliated and, at the very least, humiliated him. That ought to keep him away from me for a while.
I let the wheel glide underneath my palms, forcing myself to relax while trying to shove down thoughts of the Russian weasel. There were better things to fill my head with, like imagining the look on Papa’s face when I told him I won the Long Beach Grand Prix, though word would have spread by now. And Matteo would seize the opportunity to remind me that I liked showing off.
Maybe I did, sometimes. Maybe I didn’t like showing off. But the one thing I did like— love —was my family. We cared more about the pride of winning than the value of the win.
I cruised into a familiar street, not entirely surprised to find it deserted. I didn’t bother with checking the time. We’d spent a lot of hours at the celebratory party, long enough to know when the midnight breeze seduced my hair and enough to feel the sting at the back of my eyes despite how much fun I was having—indicators of weariness and the urgent need to crash on my bed for a long, well-deserved sleep.
In the midst of stifling a yawn, a flash on the side mirror caught my attention. It was dark, and the car trailing mine with dimmed headlights blended with the night. Making out the model or any distinctive features proved impossible, but nothing ever hindered me. I was going to find out who the driver was sooner than later.
I accelerated slightly, and my engine responded eagerly. The black car kept pace, maintaining a constant distance, and I found its persistence suspicious— familiar , like the echo of someone’s skills I was well acquainted with.
To confirm my suspicions, I was willing to take extra steps. We approached a sharp curve, and I slowed down. True to my guts, my follower did the same.
I wasn’t going to lie; this driver was good, mimicking my moves and playing a game of being hidden in plain sight.
Too bad this mystery person was going to have a serious run for my money if he thought he knew all the cards up my sleeve in this cat-and-mouse chase.
Before he could see it coming, I slammed hard on the brakes, cutting the air with the shrill sound of screeching tires. In the process, I almost flew off my car seat.
Good thing I wore a seatbelt.
The sudden silence in the car was interrupted by rapid thumps of my heart beating in my chest. I felt my ribs expand and the hot air burn in my lungs.
I gripped the wheel, tightened the seat belt, and stared out the window.
Chaotic strategy, but my plan worked.
My tailer pulled up beside me, and red-hot fury blinded me like a punch to the gut when I got a good look at him. I knew those moves were familiar and oddly suspicious, and when the windows rolled down, I put on my best poker face.
“Stalking me now, Ivan? Or you just can’t find your way home?”
His eyes flashed, and his fingers tightened on the wheel. If the anger radiating off him could tick off a bomb, maybe we’d have both been incinerated. “You’ll be the one wishing you could find your way home by the time I’m done with you.”
Yeah, right. No one else had ever given such feeble threats. I shuddered. “I’m so scared.”
Raising a finger, I flipped him off and floored the gas, plunging deeper into the road with reckless speed. If I could beat him once, I could certainly beat him again. Ivan was good but would probably never be good enough to match me.
Definitely petty and degrading of me to think that way, but, as always, I only had him and the rest of his bloodline to blame. To me, nothing good ever came out of those bloody Russians and associating with them.
I was down the road, already shifting gears to plunge deeper into the darkness, when I noticed there were no flashing headlights behind me. I stole a quick peek at the rearview mirror. Ivan was hesitating, and before I could figure out why, a black Tundra literally emerged from out of the shadows, causing a ghastly blockage on my path.
Shit.
I pumped the brakes, almost hyperventilating when my hood jerked up on the stranger’s bumper. I tried to catch my breath, watching quietly as burly tattooed men dressed in black jackets hopped down from the car with guns. Huge and broad men with hard, unrelenting eyes.
Russians.
Poor imitations of Men in Black , if you asked me. One by one, they formed a wide circle around my car and aimed their guns high enough to tell me they weren’t playing and meant business.
A set-up and an ambush. Perfectly thought out and crafted, and surprise, surprise: Ivan Yezhov was the mastermind.
He stepped out of his car and strutted with raised broad shoulders into my headlights. Standing at the forefront with one hand on his hip, his men lined up behind him.
Maybe I’d underestimated the weasel. I had to give it to him; this plot was well-played, and I didn’t see it coming.
I stuck my head out through the window. “I told you already, I’m done giving autographs. Go home, loser.”
The irritation on his face formed a deeper scowl. “Get out of the fucking car, Leo. Unless you’re a coward.”
Coward?
Did he just insinuate that I was a coward?
I grinded my teeth hard, struggling to keep calm. He had the nerve to stand there and think he could order me around.
I pushed my door open, marching up to him with my hands stretched out, heading directly for his chest. I pushed him. He didn’t stagger.
“Coward? Pfft. If anyone’s the coward here, it’s you. You’re the one chasing girls after midnight.”
Ivan’s eyes hardened. The intensity was new and foreign, like the awakening of a greater, darker force from within.
“What you did back there was not funny, and that’s putting it lightly. You owe me an apology.”
Was he serious right now?
“An apology? For telling you the truth?” I scoffed. “It’s not my fault you live a miserable life under the shadow of everyone else above you, Ivan. Get that through your fucking head. Now, tell your ladies to move their toys out of my way and go home. That’s a warning, Yezhov.”
He raised a brow at my audacity, eyeing my hands that hit his chest, and I should have found it strange that he remained calm.
“Still keeping the sharp tongue, I see.”
I started to say something, but a loud shout of Russian in the air, like an angry war cry, and a sudden blow to the side of my head knocked me off balance.
Where the fuck did that even come from?
Sharp pain rippled from my skull to my neck and…all over. My hand flew to the side of my head, cradling my crown while I fought the stars dotting my vision.
“Fuck—Son of a….” I heard myself cursing despite the high-pitched ringing in my ears.
I was swaying, grasping at thin air to keep myself from falling. But I’d be damned if Ivan thought he was getting me tied up and bundled that easily.
Blindly, without precision, I clenched my fist and swung what should have been a clean hook at a blurry image of Ivan. He ducked, and there came another blow to my head.
This time, I felt myself fall to the ground, scraping my elbows and palms while at it. The surface wounds stung, but not as much as my pride, knowing I was literally on the ground before these filthy Russian weasels.
Ivan wasn’t punching. Apparently, one of his men was more than eager to do the job for him, and I’d been too engrossed in rubbing shit on his ego to notice them come up from behind me.
Angry tears burned at the back of my eyes; my head pounded crazy like a jackhammer had done a number on my skull.
Hands pressed to the cool asphalt, I summoned inner strength and tried to get up.
That effort earned me a solid kick to the stomach that sent me rolling over to my side while spitting up red.
I couldn’t see him clearly, but the woody scent of his cologne wafted through the air when he crouched closer to me. I felt his warm breath on my neck and his fingers in my hair.
“An apology, Leo.”
I coughed, spat up more blood, and allowed my head to drop with resignation.
“Fuck you, Ivan.”
He sighed. “So be it.”
A heavy cloth was pressed against my nose, and a hazy spell dragged me down faster than I could conjure any thought. The stars multiplied, and my vision turned bleak and darker than the night’s sky.
There was no use struggling.
Even as a champion, I knew when to accept defeat.