24. Leon
24
LEON
I n the aftermath of the attack on the Cartel warehouse and the birth of my children, things become…oddly gentle.
The war simmers rather than burns. Amos Rubio’s retreat leaves cracks in the Cartel’s operations that we quickly exploit. Closing in, one day after another, toward our final stand.
But it’s work I’ve already planned ahead for. Teo continues to keep our territory secure as Rocco leads the push. Both have threatened me with grievous bodily harm if I decide to return to the field.
Allowing my focus to remain firmly on Mia and the babies.
Every day, I wake with a single purpose: to ensure my family is safe and thriving. The twins sleep soundly in their cribs—tiny, perfect reminders of a future beyond this chaos—and Mia, my Mia, is slowly recovering.
I hover over her constantly.
At first, she was too weak to protest, and I took full advantage, bringing her meals, fluffing pillows, sitting beside her as she fed Liza and Luca.
If she frowned at me for being too attentive, I didn’t care. I’m making up for lost time, for every moment I wasn’t there when she needed me.
She’s always been so strong, so fiercely independent. Watching her lean on me, even a little, is humbling. She claims to hate it, but I want desperately to earn back what I lost, to be worthy of her trust again.
To prove that this time, we can both stay.
“You’re looking at me funny,” she bemoans from her perch on the couch. She’s not even looking at me, her nose firmly between the pages of a book while the twins sleep soundly in the next room.
I smirk to myself as I continue to breathe her in. She’s pale, still recovering, but there’s a light in her eyes that sings of that foreign concept: happiness.
The babies are eleven days old. Eleven days since my love confession was wrenched out of me in a moment of beautiful vulnerability that I don’t regret for a second.
Only, we haven’t talked about it since, dancing around each other with gentle words and touches, holding on to each other during those rare moments of peace when the two newborns aren’t demanding our attention.
There’s an understanding between us now, an acknowledgment that there is something so very important between us. But it also feels like we’re in the endgame of a relationship we never really properly started.
It’s all backward; marriage and kids came first.
So, I like to take advantage of these rare moments alone as much as I can.
“How are you feeling today?” I say as I cross the room and kneel beside her chair.
She gives me a small smile, though I can tell she’s trying to downplay her fatigue. “Better,” she says softly, her fingers reaching to tangle themselves in mine.
I nod, stroking her hand with my thumb. “You’ve been amazing, Mia. You deserve to be better.”
She laughs lightly. “That’s your way of telling me to rest more, isn’t it?”
“Always,” I admit, smiling. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
Her eyebrow quirks up, and she closes her book. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing bad,” I say to soothe the worry on her face. “In fact, this will all be over soon. We have Rubio cornered now; his people are off the streets.”
“Why am I hearing a but? ”
“Actually, you’re hearing a moreover ,” I tease back. “We would like to send out a message of power. And what better way to demonstrate the successful union of the Italian Mafia than through a monument to our collective strengths?”
Mia blinks at me as her brain catches up. “You want to open the casino.”
“I want to open your casino.” I lift her hand to my lips and kiss it softly. “Will you be my date to the opening?”
Her lips part slightly, surprise flickering across her face before she smiles—a genuine, radiant smile that feels like sunlight after a storm.
“I’d like that,” she says.
When the car pulls to a stop outside the Prince’s Hand casino, I’m out first, extending my hand to her like some lovesick schoolboy.
She takes it, and when she steps out, the sight of her in the glow of the casino’s grand entrance leaves me momentarily speechless.
She’s breathtaking in a deep emerald dress—the soft, fitted fabric that skimming her body and shimmering under every flicker of light. Her fiery hair cascades over her shoulders in a shining wave.
I can’t take my eyes off her. I can’t keep my hands off her.
A tug on her waist, my lips pressed to her temple. I can’t stop touching her. “You’re stunning.”
Her cheeks flush, and she pulls away, but the corner of her mouth quirks into a small smile. “I’m postpartum. You have to say that. Otherwise, I’m legally required to murder you.”
“No,” I say, guiding her hand to my arm as we make our way up the steps. “It’s you. You’ve always looked stunning to me. But in that dress…you’ve left me no chance of focusing on anything else tonight.”
She doesn’t respond, but her blush deepens, and it gives me hope—a flicker of a promise of something more.
But all thoughts leave the second we step through the front doors.
Inside, the casino is alive.
We enter the main floor, the sounds of shuffling chips, laughter, and clinking glasses spilling over us. It’s dazzling and opulent. Painstaking attention to detail is realized in every sanded edge, warmly lit corner, and seamless transition of space.
Mia hesitates, her fingers tightening on my arm as she takes it all in.
“Perfect, isn’t it?” I ask, leaning close enough that my voice is just for her.
“It’s beautiful.”
I can’t resist another kiss to her temple. “I wouldn’t go that far. Not with you standing right here.”
She hits me playfully on the shoulder as someone approaches. Her sharp heels click against the polished floors.
“Mia,” Isabella greets my wife first. I try not to look too surprised when she pulls her into a brief but genuine hug. “You look amazing. How do you like our little masterpiece?”
Mia laughs. “Little? This place has four separate thematic floors and a spa.”
“I suppose we should go for eight next time, then.”
Mia rolls her eyes at my sister, but my heart warms at the sight of them actually getting along.
We move through the room, greeting guests as we go. Teo and Dante are here, mingling with their usual charm, and Rocco and Cassandra wave from the bar.
Mia is gracious and poised, but I don’t leave her side. I keep a hand on her waist or her back, drawn to her like gravity.
Whenever her laughter rings out, or her eyes meet mine, something in my chest tightens, and I dare to hope. Hope that by the end of the night, when it’s just us again, I can hold her without fear of her slipping away.
For the most part, I know I should feel triumphant standing here, surrounded by power and allies, with Mia by my side. The war with the Cartel has almost reached its final, bloody conclusion, with victory very much in sight.
But I’ve never been one to relax. If I’ve learned one thing, it’s that if things feel too good to be true, that’s usually because they are.
I want to hate the part of me that tugs at the back of my mind, a sense that something isn’t quite right. But it’s kept me alive this long.
“Leon? Can I borrow you for a second?” Max calls from behind me. I turn to see him, his expression unusually grim as if he, too, can sense it. We’ve always been on a similar wavelength.
I glance back at Mia, where we’re both standing with Isabella and Cassandra near the blackjack tables. She’s smiling at something Isabella is saying as her gaze lands on me. A frown is already forming on my face as I hesitate.
“I’ll only be a minute,” I tell her, brushing my hand along her arm. She nods, and I follow Max toward a quieter corner.
“Talk to me,” I say as soon as we’re out of earshot.
“Just a feeling,” he grimaces again before explaining himself, gesturing toward the floor. “Have you noticed the servers tonight?”
I frown, scanning the crowd.
At first, everything looks normal: well-dressed guests chat and laugh, and servers move seamlessly with trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres.
But then I see it: two servers exchanging a look that’s too deliberate, their movements too calculated.
“What the hell?” I mutter, narrowing my eyes as another server, this one lingering near the craps table, subtly adjusts something at their waist. My instincts flare to life.
“Rubio is isolated. He doesn’t have the resources to pull this off.” I look around to gesture Teo over, but the don is nowhere to be found. “You filed the report, Max. This should be impossible, right?”
Max shifts at my side. “Yeah, unless I faked the report.”
Time suddenly slows.
A glint of metal.
A gun.
It’s pointed at me.
I turn to Max, the man who’s been at my side for the better part of the year, the man who has stepped up at every available opportunity to prove his worth.
Now he’s holding a gun to my face.
“Max,” I say, my voice low and sharp. “What the hell are you doing?”
Suddenly, a lot of scattered pieces snap into place.
How Rubio had found out that Mia was my wife. How a bomb could be placed in the brownstone despite the relentless security checks. How a stranger from California could be so eager to be my second.
His expression is cool, detached, almost bored.
“Sorry, boss,” he says, and the title drips with mockery. “But I’ve been playing this game a lot longer than you realize.”
“Why?” I demand, my voice a growl.
“They made me a better offer, and let’s be honest—you’ve been distracted. Love makes a man weak, Leon. And I don’t follow weak leaders.”
The betrayal cuts deep. Murderously deep. I trusted this man with my life. With my wife. But there’s no time for it to fester, not now. Not when Mia is still on the floor, unknowingly surrounded by the enemy.
“Drop the gun.”
Max smirks. “Consider this my formal resignation.”
I react on pure instinct as he fires. The noise shatters the illusion of calm all around us. Someone screams.
Pain blossoms in my chest.
And then everything falls apart.