The warehouse smelled of rust, oil, and stale blood. Leon stood in the center, his eyes locked on the man chained to a metal chair. A traitor—one of his own men—caught passing information to Monroe's people. His betrayal had cost them a safe house in Sicily.
"You know what I hate more than disloyalty?" Leon asked, voice cold and measured. "Cowards who sell secrets they don't understand."
The man whimpered something incoherent. Leon didn't flinch. He gave a nod to Nico, who stood in the shadows like a silent wraith. The punishment would be handled, efficiently.
Leon walked out into the rain, letting it soak his suit, his hair, his skin. It reminded him he was alive, even when his heart felt like ice.
The city around him was on edge. Monroe was moving again, and Ayla… Ayla was different. Sharper. Focused. She didn't speak of her past, but her silence was loud.
He'd seen the flicker in her eyes — not just fear, but guilt. And that voice in the dark… the one whispering that there was more to her than she let on.
He lit a cigarette and stared out at the skyline, the flame briefly illuminating his features.
Ayla wasn't just walking into his world. She was bringing hers with her — shadows and secrets stitched into every step.
And Leon didn't know if she'd burn everything down… or be the fire he'd been waiting for.