đ€ Leonardo
Leonardo had heard the phrase 'polished mahogany table' enough times in the last hour to last a lifetime. Dimitri Ferraro's monologue about the historical significance of the table, his family's legacy, and the potential benefits of the alliance was a dull, low hum beneath the thrum of Leonardo's restless boredom. He gave a curt nod, his outward attention fixed, but he was truly barely listening.
He had come to negotiate a union; he had planned to speak of peace and business and the ugly arithmetic of alliances but this man was beginning to bore him. He was actually prepared for the boring part tho, everything had been accounted for. Powers catalogued. Risks measured. When a woman was mentioned: the prospective bride. Leonardo had expected the polished, perfect specimen the world knew as Grace Ferraro. He had expected the familiar photograph: demure, composed, presented for the world like a promising asset.
What he had not expected was the girl who stormed down the staircase and pointed a finger at him as if he were the source of all the world's indecencies.
She was a chaos of messy dark curls, dressed like she'd rolled out of bed. Grey sweatpants hanging low on her narrow hips and a cropped top that exposed a distracting line of smooth skin above the waistband. The outfit did nothing to hide the soft curves of her body; it was an utterly casual, intimate look. Leonardo noted the fierce set of her jaw and the way her eyes, those pitch black eyes, immediately locked onto him. There was no makeup, yet her features were sharp, expressive, and frankly, captivating. The casualness of it made her stand out; It was not just her beauty, it was indifference to appearance and that indifference was annoyingly compelling.
She looked better than she had at the office. More attractive. Like she could be soft and lethal in the same breath. It was a detail he stored away, a file labeled: potential problem. Not because the sight made him flinch. He never flinchs. But because it invited a multiplicity of questions he did not like to ask.
He watched, immensely amused, as she planted herself in the archway, pointing a condemning finger right at his chest.
"You!"
The audacity was staggering, the sheer lack of self-preservation intoxicating. He allowed a slight, controlled smile to grace his lips. He remembered the name now: Nicole Ferraro. He had ordered his men to look into the insolent girl who'd stormed out, but they'd returned empty-handed, reasoning that Dimitri Ferraro only had one daughter and nothing tied that name to any of the Ferraro holdings. He had assumed naĂŻvely now, that she was an ordinary employee sharing a common surname. He had been wrong.
The fury in the room was palpable, thick enough to chew on. Grace's panicked tugging at Nicole's top and Dimitri's volcanic roar were background noise to him. He was singularly focused on the moment the name Leonardo Greco landed.
He watched the colour drain from her face, those vibrant black eyes momentarily going blank. He could almost pinpoint the moment she stopped breathing as the reality crashed down on her. The realization that she had just condemned the very man her family was trying to court.
His amusement grew cold, evolving into something far more dangerous: fascination.
"Dimitri," Leonardo drawled, turning his focus to the gaping Pakhan. "Your daughter?"
Dimitri's jaw was set, his denial really quick. "No. I mean, yes, but no. She is irrelevant to our family affairs, Leonardo. She has a talent for melodrama, nothing more."
Before Leonardo could process the subtle dismissal, Katya, the wife, swooped in with venomous speed. "She's adopted, Leonardo. And absolutely irrelevant. We apologize profusely for this behavior. Rest assured, she will be punished for this disrespect."
Leonardo watched Nicole. The word irrelevant struck her with visible force, tightening the lines around her mouth, a flicker of pain crossing her features before she masked it with a hard glare.
A cold, unfamiliar sense of indignation rose in him. "Adopted or not, Dimitri, she is still under your roof. A daughter is a daughter. So, the answer is yes."
He didn't know why he felt the need to correct them. He despised emotional outbursts and reckless behavior, yet he found himself defending this chaotic creature against her own family.
He certainly didn't like her. He just recognized the fire and ruthlessness beneath the surface, and that fire, Leonardo mused, would look exceptionally good in his bed.
Dimitri swallowed hard. "Yes. Of course. My daughter."
Nicole seized the momentary lull to try and slip away, moving quickly toward the staircase.
"And where are you going, Nicole?" Leonardo's voice was soft, silken, and inescapable.
She froze. She slowly turned, her face a mask of furious control. She managed a strained, terrifyingly fake smile. "To my room, of course. To leave you gentlemen to your important discussions and⊠and the lunch."
"Yes, lunch," Dimitri chimed in, too eagerly. "Let's eat."
"No," Leonardo countered, shocking them all. He stood taller, allowing his presence to dominate the room. "I want her to stay."
He noted the instant nervousness in Dimitri's eyes. The man was practically vibrating with the urge to protect her from his attention. This was proving far more interesting than discussing arms shipments. "It's a family discussion, after all. She should stay."
They all moved stiffly to the immense dining table. Dimitri and Katya sat opposite him; Grace and Nicole were seated side-by-side.
As they ate, Dimitri attempted to steer the conversation back to the alliance, the oil routes, the territory exchange, the marriage contract.
Leonardo raised a hand. "Dimitri, please. We can save the paperwork for later. For now, I just want to enjoy the meal and discuss something else."
Dimitri immediately signaled Grace, who launched into a gentle, flowing description of her philanthropic work. Leonardo nodded politely while his entire focus was on the woman next to her.
Nicole was silent for the first time since he had met her. She was methodically dissecting a piece of pheasant, her eyes fixed on her plate, clearly sensing his unbroken gaze. She looked like a caged animal debating the exact moment to bolt.
"It takes a lot of work to keep that mouth shut, doesn't it?" he asked, his tone dry.
Nicole's fork clattered softly on her plate. She looked up, her glare sharp enough to cut glass, but when her father peered nervously in her direction, she quickly switched to a tight, plastic smile and nodded demurely.
"She doesn't usually talk much, Leonardo," Dimitri jumped in, relieved. "She was likely just angry earlier."
Leonardo cut a piece of duck. "Ah, about earlier. I still haven't received an apology."
Dimitri leaned forward instantly. "Leonardo, I sincerely apologize on her behalfâ"
"No," Leonardo interrupted, meeting the Pakhan's panicked eyes. "I mean, from her. She can speak, can't she? She should apologize."
Nicole visibly stiffened. She slowly lifted her head, again those dark eyes flashing with pure rebellion. She gave him a large, fake smile, opening her mouth to speak, but the required words seemed to physically stick in her throat. She closed her eyes briefly, then let out a sharp stream of Russian.
"Prostite menya za to, chto ya skazala pravdu, kotoy ty zasluzhivayesh."
(Prostite menya za to, chto ya skazala pravdu, kotoy ty zasluzhivayesh: Forgive me for telling the truth, which you deserve. )
Leonardo only understood a handful of Russian phrases, but he knew enough to know that was not the required apology.
Leonardo watched Grace kick Nicole under the table. Katya pinned her with a look of murderous disappointment. Dimitri was visibly rigid.
Nicole's features tightened in defeat. She took a breath. "I'm⊠so-o-o-o sorry," she said, drawing out the syllable with exaggerated, teeth-grinding sarcasm. "I am so sorry for telling you the truth about Clara, and for pointing my finger at you, even though you deserved it. I'm sorry for all the apologies I'm not allowed to mean."
He wanted to throw his head back and roar with laughter, but he merely inclined his head.
"Nicole!" Dimitri warned.
"It's fine, Dimitri. I accept her apology," Leonardo said, a dark promise hardening his gaze. "But if this repeats itself, I will put a bullet through her myself."
He watched Dimitri's reaction: the old man's jaw tightened, an internal calculation beginning that looked like a man choosing not to kill him in the moment because a larger calculation told him restraint would buy peace.
Leonardo merely shook his head, focusing on his food. Nicole scoffed softly under her breath. Grace quickly resumed her monologue about charity work.
"So," Leonardo said, cutting Grace mid-sentence, ignoring her immediate look of confusion. "Tell me about yourself."
He saw Grace beam going ahead to list it all, perhaps thinking he was talking to her "Well, I enjoy painting, equestrian sports, and I've been learning five languagesâ"
"Not you, Grace," Leonardo said smoothly, taking a long drink of water. He turned his attention fully to the silent, furious sister next to him. "We know everything about you already. You, Nicole. Tell me about yourself. I'm curious."
Nicole slowly raised her head, locking eyes with her father first, a silent conversation passing between them that only intensified Leonardo's interest.
"Go on," he prompted.
She spoke stiffly. "I went to college. I'm twenty-three."
"You're twenty-three?" he said lazily. "You look forty."
A lie, of course. But the flicker in her eyes was worth it.
Nicole swallowed like she was about to lose it but then she smiled again, another fake smile before immediately continuing.
"I like classic films, and I worked at an office downtown until recently."
"Ah, yes. The office," he said, leaning back picking on her again. "Is pointing fingers at men, cursing at CEOs, and digging your own grave a regular hobby? Do you have a death wish, Nicole?"
She glared at him, then put up yet another fake smile out of nowhere again.
He leaned in slightly. "Eyes don't kill people Nicole. If you want me dead, you'll have to grab your father's gun and pull the trigger yourself."
----------------
The uncomfortable lunch finally concluded. Nicole was already halfway up the main staircase, moving with the practiced haste of someone looking to vanish.
"Nicole."
The single word, spoken with quiet authority, froze her instantly. Everyone else also stopped breathing.
She slowly turned, her shoulders rigid.
"I will see you again, right?" Leonardo asked, an amused glint in his eyes.
Nicole, Dimitri, Katya, and Grace were all stock-still.
Leonardo chuckled darkly.
"Don't worry. It will be with all your family members around." He turned to Dimitri, his tone shifting from mockery to unyielding command. "Since are having a joint family dinner this weekend. I want her to come along."
Dimitri blanched. "Leonardo, I don't like bringing Nicole to public outdoor functions. She's⊠unsuited."
"I don't care," Leonardo cut him off. "She's your daughter, and she will be there. It's necessary for me to see the entire family before solidifying the terms of the alliance."
He saw Nicole open her mouth, presumably to curse him to hell again, but as she caught her father's eye she shut her mouth with an audible snap and stormed up the rest of the stairs.
A smirk stretched across Leonardo's face. He had just found the most effective way to piss off Dimitri Ferraro, and he absolutely intended to use it.