Chapter Ten - Leon
Days blur together after the exchange. Each morning, I wake to the taste of victory—a brother returned, a deal closed, peace on paper and bodies left to rot in some other part of the city.
Nikola is alive, whole, his worst bruises already fading beneath his grin. The house is quieter, more orderly. No more strangers with guns. No more tense negotiations over encrypted lines. It should be a relief.
Instead, every hour is painted in a kind of gray, like someone stripped the color from the world and left me with nothing but memory.
Tonight, I force myself out. We meet at the club—the old haunt, all velvet banquettes and ceilings thick with bass. It’s the kind of place that’s supposed to remind you you’re still alive.
Nikola is already there, holding court with Simon and Boris, drinks in hand, laughter rolling like thunder. The crowd is thick, women and men moving in a restless tide, music pulsing through the walls. I tell myself this is what celebration looks like.
But nothing feels right. I move through the crowd by habit, shake hands, murmur greetings. I smile when I’m meant to, laugh when the others do, and all the while my mind drifts to a place I shouldn’t go.
Every reflection catches me off guard—the bar mirror shows a face I barely recognize, shadows under the eyes, lines that have deepened in a week. I look older, as if the cost of everything has finally settled on my bones.
Nikola is subdued, even as he grins. He claps me on the back, leans in for a toast, but I see it: a wariness, a distance, a knowledge that something essential was lost in all the winning. Boris is loud, Simon cracks jokes, but they’re just noise to fill the gaps. The mood never quite lifts.
I’m halfway through another drink when I feel it—a shift in the air, a ripple running across the floor, as if some silent current just changed direction. I turn toward the entrance, half expecting another threat, another enemy to handle.
Instead, it’s her.
Suzy enters on a wave of light and sound, as if the whole club is an audience for her alone. Her confidence is almost violent—no collar, no leash, nothing left of the hostage. She wears danger like a perfume.
A cluster of admirers forms instantly, drawn by her laugh, the dare in her eyes. She’s dressed in black and silver, hair swept up, neck bare, no sign of anything that could bind her.
The sight hits me like a punch, low and hard. I see the line of her jaw, the stubborn tilt of her chin, the spark in her gaze as she scans the room and dares anyone to question her right to be here. For a moment, I forget the club, the crowd, even my own name.
I remember her hands against my chest, the way she fought and bled beside me, the way she looked at me as if she could see everything I tried to hide.
Nikola catches the shift in me and doesn’t miss a beat. He leans in, voice pitched for my ears alone, his tone grim.
“Don’t even think about it, Leon. She’s not like the others. She won’t just walk away when you’re finished. You’ll start a fire you can’t put out.”
I almost laugh. I want to tell him that the fire’s already burning, that it started the night I met her, and it’s never once gone out. I just nod, sipping my drink, eyes fixed on her. Simon says something careless about trouble, about women who can’t be tamed, but it’s just noise.
Suzy is magnetic, untouchable, untamed. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s doing it for everyone except me. Maybe that’s what makes it worse.
I tell myself it’s nothing. Curiosity, pride. Maybe the sting of being outplayed in my own house, my own world. When she finally peels away from her circle and cuts across the club, I feel the temperature rise. The music fades, the lights dim, and the only thing I see is her.
She stops in front of me, arms folded, eyes bright and sharp.
“You look good for a man who just lost a war,” she says, voice low, teasing. There’s an edge beneath it, a memory of everything we did to each other.
I raise a brow, let my lips curl in a smirk I don’t really feel. “You look good for a woman who started one.”
She rolls her eyes, refusing to give an inch. “You don’t own me anymore, Leon. Whatever game you’re playing, you’ll have to find someone else.”
Something ugly and thrilling coils inside me. Her courage grates and attracts in equal measure. I take a step closer, my voice low enough that only she can hear. “Maybe not, but I never let go of what’s mine easily.”
She laughs, short and dismissive, but her eyes linger a beat too long. “That’s the problem with men like you. You think anyone who survives you must want more.”
The line stings, but it excites me too. “Maybe they do.”
She shakes her head, turning away first, but the air between us is electric—heavy with threat and promise. I watch her move back into the crowd, every step a dare, every glance over her shoulder a challenge.
I finish my drink, heart pounding. All the noise and light and music of the club can’t drown out the ache in my chest, the hunger that refuses to fade. I know I should walk away. I know I should forget her, let her go, let her be someone else’s problem. But I can’t.
Nikola watches me, his look a mix of warning and weary understanding. “You want her to ruin you?” he asks quietly.
Maybe I do.
I look back one last time, catching Suzy’s gaze across the club. She holds it, unblinking, chin high, a queen refusing to bow.
I know tonight isn’t the end. It’s the beginning of something neither of us can control. And God help me, I want to see how far it will burn.
***
When we leave an hour later, the drive home is dense with silence, the city’s pulse muted behind the glass. Every red light glows like an old wound. I sit in the backseat, arms crossed, eyes fixed on nothing, replaying the night over and over.
Suzy—unruly, dazzling, impossible—has left a mark I can’t shake. Her laugh still rings in my ears, that husky note she used to deflect anyone getting too close. Her gaze, cool and direct, had locked with mine for just a moment longer than it should have.
Every line of her, every calculated angle and hidden soft spot, feels like a riddle with no safe answer.
Nikola chats quietly with Boris up front, voices low and practical. They talk about club security, tomorrow’s meetings, the business of surviving.
None of it touches me. I hear nothing but my own pulse and the memory of Suzy’s mouth twisting in challenge.
I try to convince myself it’s just habit—this itch for unfinished business, the thrill of a worthy opponent.
She’s dangerous, I remind myself. She’s Marcus White’s daughter. This is supposed to be over.
But I know better. I’ve never been this reckless for anyone.
Not for money. Not for power. Not even for family.
With Suzy, every moment is friction, every word a dare.
The more she pushes back, the more I want to close the distance, to make her see me—not just as her captor or her enemy, but as the only man who ever matched her fire for fire.
Lost in thought, I barely notice when Boris asks about the next day’s plans. I snap back, voice sharp. “Tomorrow, send a message to Marcus. Tell him I have a proposal; one he can’t refuse.”
There’s a beat of silence in the front seat. Boris’s grip tightens on the wheel, his jaw flexing. “Leon, that’s a mistake. Marcus is unstable. He’s still gunning for payback after the last exchange. You push him again, you risk starting a war—”
“Just do it.” My voice brooks no argument. “I know what I’m doing.”
Boris wants to fight, but something in my expression stops him. He nods, silent, eyes fixed on the road. Nikola sighs, rubbing at a fresh bruise on his cheek, muttering, “Old wounds, new trouble. You never learn, do you?”
I let the comment hang in the air. What could I say? He’s right, and I don’t care.
When we reach the penthouse, the city is sliding toward dawn, lights going out one window at a time.
I pace the length of the living room, unable to settle, unable to rest. The skyline shimmers in the distance, a reminder of everything I’m supposed to be—a man who gets what he wants, who closes the deal and never looks back.
The justifications—business, leverage, keeping my enemies close—fall flat. None of them explain why my hands shake when I remember the heat in Suzy’s eyes, or why my chest aches with the memory of her voice.
I’ve crossed a line. Maybe I crossed it the night I first dragged her into my world.
Maybe it was when I saw her fight, bared her teeth for me, made me bleed, and bled beside me.
She’s not a piece on a board anymore. She’s not a problem to be solved or a threat to be neutralized.
She’s become the axis I turn around—an obsession, a hunger, a promise I can’t let go.
The thought of her out there, living on her own terms, answering to no one—not me, not Marcus—gnaws at me.
I want her in my world, yes, but not as a trophy.
I want her beside me, matching me for every risk, every rough edge.
I want her beneath me, fiery and unbroken, giving back everything I give her.
No exchange, no contract, no ransom can guarantee that kind of possession.
What I want and what I can have are two different things. I’m gambling everything on a move I can’t justify, not to my men, not to Nikola, not even to myself. The message to Marcus won’t be business, not really. It’ll be a declaration—a warning and an invitation both.
As the city settles, my thoughts grow sharper. I remember the heat of Suzy’s skin, the crackle of her laugh, the challenge in her eyes. I think about the way she turned from me tonight, chin high, as if to say I could chase her all my life and never catch her.
Maybe that’s exactly what I want.