đź’śNicole
I looked up at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. The music was now distant; all I could hear was the blood rushing in my ears. For the first time since I met him, I was genuinely, overwhelmingly relieved to see Leonardo Greco.
The man who had harassed me dropped his gun instantly, raising his hands in a frantic gesture of surrender. But Leonardo didn't move. He kept his pistol pressed against the man's forehead, looking utterly cold. The gasp and muttering from the small crowd that had formed confirmed they knew exactly who was holding the gun.
It was terrifying. I realized I had only ever seen his controlled anger. This was different, raw, predatory, and unforgiving.
A guy, stepped forward, his voice low and urgent. "Leo, it's fine. He's backing off now." I'm guessing it's his friend, cause I instantly recognized the voice from the phone call I'd interrupted earlier at the church.
Even I didn't want him to actually kill the man. "Leonardo, it's fine," I whispered, touching his arm.
He didn't budge. He opened his mouth, and the command was quiet, yet it cut through the room like a sonic boom.
"Kneel down and apologize to the girl."
The man, now sweating profusely, tried to yell, "I wouldn't—" but the word was clipped short. Crack. Crack. Leonardo shot him twice: once in the hand, the bullet neatly hitting the bone, and once in the knee, forcing the man to crash to the floor with a tortured, guttural cry.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" the man roared, clutching his wounds.
No one answered, but the silent panic, the immediate retreat of the man's own guards, and the hushed whispers confirmed it: everyone here knew who Leonardo was.
Leonardo crouched down, bringing himself level with the bleeding, whimpering man. He moved with a horrifying, liquid grace. The gun was back on the man's forehead.
"She's Dimitri Ferraro's daughter," Leonardo said, his voice flat and deadly. "Now fucking apologize."
The man's fury instantly dissolved into pure, desperate fear.
I swallowed, the breath catching in my throat. My heart performed frantic backflips. Leonardo didn't mention his name, Leonardo Greco. He hadn't used his own power. He had used mine. He gave me an identity, a shield no one, not even Papa, who loved me to pieces, had ever given me publicly.
The man stammered out a terrified apology, but I barely heard it. My eyes were locked on Leonardo's face, on the cold intensity in his gaze.
He looked up, meeting my eyes. I snapped back to life, realizing I was still standing there like a stunned idiot. I turned to the wounded man. "Just get out," I whispered.
The man scrambled up, clutching his bleeding knee, and his guards rushed him away into the club.
Leonardo stood, holstering the gun. He looked directly at me, the question in his eyes cold and direct. "Is your father aware you are out here, Nicole?"
I didn't say a word. I braced myself for the mockery, the cutting remark about my failed sneaking out attempt or about my outfit that now looked like a mess from been pulled by the man. But he didn't tease me.
Instead, he unbuttoned his jacket, smoothly took it off, and slid it over my shoulders. He was so close that the scent of expensive cologne and gunpowder instantly enveloped me. He drew me closer, trying to button the jacket over my revealing top, his fingers brushing against my chest.
Woah.
"I think you need to cover up, Nicole," he murmured.
A sharp cough came from his friend, who was still standing nearby. I instantly jumped back, the moment broken. I looked everywhere but his face again, suddenly shy and awkward.
The friend walked over, stretching out his hand. "Marco. Leonardo's cousin. And the voice on the phone. You must be Nicole."
Ok he didn't have to go into details lmao
I was about to take his hand and introduce myself when Leonardo suddenly clamped his hand over mine, stopping me from shaking Marco's.
"She's not shaking your hand," Leonardo stated, his eyes never leaving mine.
Was this him flirting with me?
Marco simply whistled. I couldn't help but blush, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks.
"Nicole!"
Sergei burst into the space, his eyes wide with panic. He rushed to my side, grabbing my arm and checking me over. "What happened? Are you hurt? I heard the shots!"
I explained quickly, "That man tried to hurt me, but Leonardo helped."
Sergei turned to Leonardo, his face tight with furious gratitude. He stretched out his hand. "Thank you. I am Sergei."
Leonardo ignored the outstretched hand completely. He looked at Sergei, then back at me. "Do you want me to drop you off, Nicole?"
Marco coughed loudly again, a sound clearly layered with amusement. I was utterly confused. Why was Leonardo ignoring Sergei? Why did they seem to hate each other instantly?
Sergei dropped his hand, his expression turning cold. "We should leave, Nicole. The night is ruined."
I nodded, turning to leave, but Leonardo stopped us both.
"Sergei." Leonardo's voice was like ice. "Did your boss approve you bringing his daughter out?"
"I brought myself out, Leonardo. Not the guard," I quickly interjected.
He ignored me, his gaze fixed on Sergei. "You bring a girl out, and you cannot even watch her?"
Sergei, usually so respectful of authority, looked furious. "She is a grown woman, Leonardo. And she is my responsi—"
Before Sergei could finish the sentence, Leonardo moved with impossible speed. He grabbed his gun and had it pressed against Sergei's forehead.
All the blood drained from my body. "NO!"
The gun. The silence. The cold, murderous look in Leonardo's eyes. It was too much.
Does this man have a thing for putting guns on people's head....
"Please!" I gasped, my knees shaking. "Leonardo, don't! Please!"
I heard the plea leave my lips, the raw, pathetic sound of begging. I saw the flash of surprise in Leonardo's eyes, a brief flicker of shock that I was begging, after refusing to utter a simple apology days earlier.
Just as the silence stretched, threatening to snap, a familiar, loud voice cut through the air.
"NICOLE!"
My father walked in, followed by four large, armed guards. His eyes, dark and deadly, landed instantly on Leonardo, then on the gun pointed at Sergei's head, and finally on the jacket, Leonardo's jacket, draped over my shoulders.
We were screwed. All of us. Especially Sergei.