Leonardo’s brow lifts.
“You want to wager it,” Damiano says, amused.
“I want to steal it in plain sight,” I correct. “Under their nose. While they watch.”
On the screen, Julian crashes into Vlad on the boards, steals the puck, flips it across the ice, then skates backward like a fucking god, eyes wild, grin feral. I point toward thescreen. “We let Jules lead the roster. Let them see what they tried to destroy. Let them feel what it costs to touch what’s mine.”
Leonardo taps his chin. “The Belladonna won’t take that kind of bait,” he murmurs, but he’s smiling now. “They’ll see the setup.”
“They’ll think it’s about pride,” I say. “They’ll think it’s about proving who owns the city. And they’re greedy enough to show up for that.”
Viktor exhales a laugh. “And when we win?”
“We take the rink. Publicly. Permanently.”
Damiano’s already nodding. “We’ll need sponsors. Betting rings. Press coverage—deep underground but loud enough for them to hear it in Italy.”
“I’ll get it done,” I say. “I want a Belladonna mouthpiece in the crowd the moment we take that fucking puck and smear it across the ice with their best player’s teeth.”
Leonardo finally laughs, full-bodied. “Dear boy,” he says, eyes gleaming, “you’ve been spending too much time with your little halo.”
“No,” I murmur. “They’ve just given me reason.”
Viktor flicks his lighter shut with a sigh like boredom. Damiano drains the last of his espresso and stands, fixing his jacket with a sharp tug like he’s got somewhere far more lethal to be. Neither waits for further orders—Leonardo gives them a glance, a twitch of his fingers, and they’re gone.
The door closes behind them with a quietclick and then it’s just us.
Leonardo moves slowly, with the kind of elegance only a man born into power can afford. He rises from his chair and strolls to the one beside mine—lower, more comfortable. He sits with a softness that doesn’t match the tension in the room. One leg crossed. One hand loose in his lap. Eyes on the screen.
Julian’s still skating—dripping with sweat, wrecking every man who dares get near him. The camera catches the glint of tape wrapped around his throat like a collar made of shadow.
Leonardo watches him for a long moment. Then, without looking at me, he says, “Should I worry about you two?”
I smirk, turning my head just enough to let him see the teeth behind it. “Depends.”
Leonardo finally meets my eyes. “On?”
“On what you think I’d do for him.”
He studies me now—not as a soldier, not as a killer, but as a man whose leash is no longer tied to this table. “You already killed for him,” he says.
“I killed for you too,” I reply lightly, almost teasing.
“Mmm. I pay you.”
I glance back at the screen. Julian scores again, then skates past Misha with a wink that’s pure fucking sin. I smile wider. “So does he,” I murmur.
Leonardo snorts. “Just not with money.”
I tilt my head, watching the boy on the screen move like he’s already wearing the goddamn crown of this city. “No,” I say softly. “Not money.”
And fuck, I’m in a good mood. It’s filthy. It’s terrifying. It’s like someone cracked open my ribcage, poured gasoline on my heart, and set it alight with nothing more than a kiss and a whimper.
Leonardo exhales and leans back, arms folded, gaze returning to Julian. He doesn’t press. Because he knows. He’s known since the first time he saw the boy bite back instead of beg. Julian Reaver didn’t just crawl into my bed. Herewrote the terms of my loyalty.And the Don of La Fiamma Nera knows better than to ask what I’d do to protect something I didn’t earn, didn’t buy, didn’ttame.
Justclaimed.
Leonardo doesn’t look at me when he asks it. He keeps his gaze on the feed, on Julian cutting across the blue line like the puck is magnetized to his blade, like gravity rearranged itself to orbit around him. His voice is smooth as glass and just as cold. “Would you burn the whole compound down for him?”
