Chapter 8: Trashing The Leftover I

Chapter 8

Leone stood in front of the mirror, a grim expression on his face. He was now in his own mansion in the empire. A maid stood in front of him, fixing his tie.

Her hands shook, her body cold and stiff as she fixed it. She was scared for her own life. Thankfully, she finished up with it, and she took two steps away from him, bowing her head completely.

Her heart caught in her throat when he yanked the tie, loosening it completely, and then he dumped it on the floor. She began trembling. Had she not done it right? Today was indeed her death day.

“I hate ties,” she heard him say. She wondered why he had instructed her to knot his tie if he hated it, but she kept mute and stood still.

He stood in front of the mirror, the first two buttons of his white long sleeves left undone, leaving his taut chest exposed. His sleeves were rolled up to reveal his veiny hands.

His eyes fell on the maid, and she nearly shrunk to the floor. “Are you a virgin?” Her face paled. She began doubting if she had heard right.

“Y—yes,” she squeamishly nodded, her blood running cold.

He made himself comfortable on the chair in front of the mirror, his lips pulled up into a small smile—one which was calm, yet unsettling.

“Come here.”

His voice was deep and commanding. She felt as though she was walking into her own grave. She pushed herself to stand in front of him, her head bowed.

And then he handed her a red lip gloss. Her face was mapped with confusion.

His eyes remained fixed on hers, as if boring daggers into her soul. “What’s your name?”

“Lu…Lucia,” she stuttered.

Leone’s eyes took in the plain brown-headed girl with brown eyes—certainly nothing special to look at. He motioned for her to use the lip gloss, and despite how confused she was, she did as she was instructed.

“Come closer, Lucia.” He held her hand. Her heart caught in her throat—her blood ran cold as he made her lean on him.

His cologne was dark, alluring, intoxicating—one that evoked power. And then he gently coerced her, making her suck on his exposed neck.

……

Rico, Leone’s right-hand man, stood outside his mansion, a passive look on his face. He was dressed in a smart tux, his brown hair combed backward, and he held a briefcase in his other hand.

After half an hour of waiting, his eyes caught his boss, Leone, making his way down the stairs. He was quick to bow when he walked past him, and although he tried to keep his cool—stay calm—his eyes betrayed him as they flew wide in shock.

Bite marks were evident on his neck, and even a chipmunk would know it was from a woman. He knew his boss was far from normal, but why? Why was he pulling that stunt—today of all days—when he would represent the Don to seal an alliance for the empire?

Surely this man was giving him gray hairs on his head, and he was barely 25. Trying not to think about it, he quickly trailed behind him, and they got into the sleek black car which had been waiting for them.

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips as he got down from the car. Domenico stood in front of him, his lips twisting into a satisfactory smile.

“I heard about what happened. Too bad he escaped,” Domenico chuckled, intentionally rubbing salt on his wounds—at least he thought he had one.

“I must be so fortunate then, having such a caring brother.” He patted Domenico’s shoulder, a wide grin on his face. He towered over him since he was much taller.

The smile fell from his face as he watched Leone’s retreating figure, only to be replaced by a scornful expression. It would be an unforgivable lie if he said he wasn’t angry that his younger brother was here clashing deals for the empire, but one day—just someday—he would drag him down to the sewage he came from.

Not wasting any more time, he got into his car and drove away.

……………

11 p.m., the Don’s mansion……

A vape pen sat on his pale lips, which he dragged from, and he took his sweet time to blow the smoke out.

“And it’s all cleared? No traces?” his friend, Massimo, spoke from the other end of his phone.

“No leftovers.” Leone’s words left a bitter taste in his mouth. He stood on his balcony, the wind tousled his hair, leaving him with an uncontrolled appearance. And then his eyes fell on the girl’s balcony, which was relatively close to his.

“Of course,” Massimo chuckled, and then he hung up.

A minute later, he easily made his way to the girl’s balcony. His boots made clicking sounds as he walked and then—click—he opened the glass door and got into her room.

His eyes narrowed when he saw her pale figure in bed, barely clinging to life. This was actually good. She’d die with what she saw. But then… he hadn’t been the one to kill her, which he didn’t like.

A chuckle tore through his lips when he remembered seeing her in his bathroom, naked under the shower. Her guardian angel definitely needed a raise. It was only a thin thread of self-control that was left within him—why he shot at the wall and not her damn skull.

Five long strides of his took him to the bed. Her face looked pale, her lips dry. She had developed a fever. How pitiful. His jaw ticked, and then something within him snapped.

He picked her small, delicate frame in his arms. She was lighter than air. He carried her from the bed, heading for the room door when her eyelids twitched. She snuggled closer to him, grabbing a fistful of his shirt.

Her ocean-blue eyes barely snapped open, peering at him. “You’re here…” she said softly, her eyes holding his with the little amount of strength she had, like he would disappear.

“Rocco…”