Chapter Five LEO
The office was silent except for the slow tick of the clock and the soft shuffle of paper.
Top floor. Glass walls. The city beneath me.
All mine. Or it would be, officially, if this meeting went well.
I leaned back in the chair, one ankle over my knee, watching the lawyer sweat through his tailored suit. He hadn’t touched the drink I’d poured him. My reputation clearly preceded me.
“Say it again,” I said.
He cleared his throat, fingers tightening on the folder in his lap. “Your father’s estate… is not being transferred to you directly.”
I smiled faintly. “As expected, the dead bastard’s still playing games.”
His eyes flicked up, then down again. “It’s been placed in a trust.”
Of course it had. The old prick never did anything clean.
“And who controls it?” I asked.
“You do. Technically.” He shifted his position. “As executor.”
“Technically,” I repeated. My gaze drifted past him, out to the skyline. Steel and glass cutting through the clouds. Everything I’d built. Everything I already owned. And still, he found a way.
“The assets,” the lawyer continued, voice tighter now, “are designated for your firstborn child.”
Silence settled. Then I laughed. Low. Brief. Certainly without any humor.
“Dead,” I said. “And still trying to control me.”
The lawyer shifted again. “There are conditions.”
“There are always conditions.” My fingers tapped once against the armrest. “Go on.”
“The inheritance transfers fully upon the birth of your first legitimate heir,” the lawyer said, tugging on his collar.
Legitimate. I almost admired the precision.
“And until then?” I asked.
“The trust remains intact. You have access to operational funds, but you cannot liquidate, restructure, or claim full ownership of your father’s assets,” he went on.
I went still. That was the real problem. Not the money. Control.
My dead father locked it away. Every asset. Every empire move that required full authority was delayed.
Until I produced an heir. One last fuck you from the old man, who was six feet under and still trying to fuck with me. My jaw tightened.
“You’re telling me,” I said slowly, “that everything I built is sitting behind a child that doesn’t exist.”
“Yes,” the lawyer squeaked.
“And if I don’t have one?” I demanded. The lawyer hesitated.
“Then the trust outlines alternative beneficiaries,” he said carefully. “Distant relatives. Board-appointed oversight. Potential fragmentation of the estate. Some to your cousins, some to your uncles.”
I looked at him. Really looked at him.
“Say that again,” I said softly.
“Fragmentation means-” he started.
“No.” I leaned forward. “The part where strangers touch what’s mine.”
He swallowed. “Yes, that is in your father’s will.”
The room went quiet. I could already see it. Men circling like birds of prey. Opportunists. Faking loyalty while waiting for weakness. Waiting for a gap. There wouldn’t be one. There never was. But this…
This was a delay I hadn’t planned for. A leash from beyond the grave. My father always did enjoy hitting me where it hurt the most.
“Anything else?” I asked.
Clearly, it was a mistake. The lawyer hesitated again. Then opened the thick manilla folder sitting on his shaky legs.
“There is… a clause regarding the mother of the child,” he managed.
Of course there was. I leaned back again, expression smoothing out. “Let me guess. He picked her for me.”
“Not specifically,” the lawyer said quickly. “But the child must be born within a legally recognized marriage to ensure uncontested transfer.”
I went still. Then I smiled slowly.
“Well,” I said. “That simplifies things. Any other surprises you want to throw my way?”
“Well…” he shifted uncomfortably. “You have twelve months before… before the inheritance is split, and divided among your cousins and uncles.”
“Wonderful,” I seethed.
The lawyer blinked. “I don’t see how-”
“You’re dismissed.” I waved my hand at him, already sick of his annoying, sweaty presence.
He stood, relief flashing across his face as he gathered his papers. “If you need anything further…”
“I won’t.”
He didn’t argue. He left, clearly grateful to be rid of me. The door shut behind him with a soft click. Silence again.
I stood, crossing the room in a few slow steps, staring out over the city.
Marriage.
My father wanted to force my hand. Chain me to some woman he deemed worthy. Make sure the empire passed through something he could still influence, even when dead.
My fingers curled slightly as I took in all the facts.
An unborn child was the sole heir of everything I had built.
A legitimate heir. Which quickly ruled out everything but marriage.
And to top it off, it was time-sensitive.
A lesser man would panic. I didn’t. I calculated. Fast. What were my options?
I could find a woman. Any woman. Marry her. Use her. Dispose of her after.
It would be efficient, forgettable, and fucking pointless.
Because I already had a woman.
My mouth curved. Chiara Ventura.
Fire in her eyes. Defiance in her stance. A bloodline that mattered just enough. And she was already in my house. Already under my control. Already ruined for any other man.
More importantly, she was already mine, even if she wasn’t willing to admit it yet.
The problem wasn’t finding a solution. It was that I’d been planning to take my time with Chiara.
Break her slowly. Watch her bend. Enjoy every second of it.
This meeting changed things, and not for the better.
My gaze sharpened. I didn’t need time anymore. I needed results. Fast. Chiara wouldn’t like it. Good.
I preferred her fighting. But one way or another, she was going to give me what I needed.
And my father, wherever the hell he was, would choke on it. May the bastard suffer in hell.
A knock sounded once. Then the door opened without waiting for permission.
“Sergio,” I said without turning.
“My apologies,” he replied, though his tone held none. It never did. He stepped inside, closing the door behind him with quiet precision. “I assumed you’d still be awake.”
“You assumed correctly.” I poured myself a drink. Didn’t offer him one. He didn’t need it.
Sergio had been with my father longer than most men stayed alive in this world. Loyal. Efficient. And somehow, after everything, his loyalty laid with me.
“Lawyer still around?” he asked.
“Gone.”
“And?” An expectant silence lay between us. I took a slow sip.
“I have twelve months to produce an heir. A legitimate child. Or the legacy gets split between my cousins and uncles.”
Silence stretched behind me. Then, Sergio muttered, “That’s… not ideal.”
I huffed a quiet laugh. “Careful. You’re starting to sound like that lawyer.”
“I’m starting to sound like someone who prefers not to clean up a war,” Sergio said evenly.
I turned then, leaning back against the desk, glass still in hand.
“He left a legacy of blood and violence to a child,” I said. “My child. A person that doesn’t even exist yet.”
Sergio’s expression didn’t change. It rarely did. “But you will make one. Do as he said.”
Not a question. Of course not.
I studied him for a moment. “You always this optimistic?”
“I’m realistic,” he corrected. “You like to solve problems.”
I smiled faintly. “I do.”
“You should rest,” Sergio added. “Take the night. Clear your head.”
I stared at him, then laughed.
“You think I’m the kind of man who rests when I’m being cornered?” I asked.
“No,” Sergio said. “I think you’re the kind of man who makes mistakes when he doesn’t.”
That was bold. For anyone else, it would’ve been fatal.
For Sergio Marino?
I let it pass.
“Get the car,” I said. “I feel like killing someone. Slowly.”
The gloves fit me perfectly. White cotton. Tight and clean. Not for long.
I pulled them on slowly, one finger at a time. My heart was, for once, not in overdrive. Because this was what I was born to do. After taking dozens of lives, another one didn’t make a difference. And this bastard had it coming.
By the time we arrived at the location, the restaurant was already closed to the public.
The restaurant was all soft lighting and white tablecloths, along with white glove service. Crystal glasses that cost more than most people’s monthly paychecks, and a plate of food made for the palate of a rich god lined the tables.
Tonight, I’d be posing as a waiter. Funnily enough, it reminded me of the way I met Chiara.
She thought I’d really fall for her little ruse, pretending to be staff at the Ventura estate.
But from the first time I laid eyes on her, I knew she wasn’t a commoner.
I wouldn’t make the same mistake she did. Nobody would recognize me.
A private dinner was happening inside the restaurant, the place sealed off from the public for the event. And my victim was the guest of honor.
I adjusted the cuff of my borrowed uniform, the fabric cheap compared to what I usually wore. It didn’t matter. No one looked at the help. That was the whole point. Chiara had a good idea, but I had better execution.
Sergio lingered near the entrance, already speaking quietly into his earpiece. He was posing as a valet tonight. The perimeter would be sealed within minutes.
There would be no witnesses, and no interruptions.
Just the very important man at the laden table, waiting for this death sentence.
I picked up the bottle of wine, secured from the cellar of a collector. A priceless pick. It was almost a shame I’d ruined it with poison.
I walked out onto the floor, smiling at a passing waiter, one of my own men. He gave me the signal that everything was ready, and I nodded at him.
Salvatore Caruso didn’t look up when I approached his table. Men like him rarely did. Too used to being served to really care who was holding the bottle.
“Wine?” I offered curtly.