Everything had been going wrong since the morning. The deal he had been working on for weeks had fallen through, all because of a rat who had decided to play on the wrong side. Now Leo had to deal with it himself.

Heavy footsteps echoed across the cold marble floor. Expensive leather boots padded softly across the smooth surface, leaving barely noticeable traces of blood behind them. Two people followed him, his right and left hands, shadows that never retreated.

In the center of the room, in the harsh light of the lamp, a man lay. His shirt was soaked in blood, his face was broken, but even through the wheezing and pain, he continued to utter incoherent excuses. Leo looked down at him, impassive, with cold disgust. This man had not only betrayed him, he had jeopardized everything he had built over the years.

"One more time," Leo said quietly, almost lazily, rolling the gun in his hand.

The only response was a muffled groan. The man tried to speak, but his words merged into an incoherent mumble. Pathetic. Useless. Leo sighed, not losing his composure. He did not shout, did not threaten. He simply made a decision.

"Kill."

The shot broke the silence. It was all over in a second. Leo watched as the body went limp, and the blood spread across the floor, mixing with the shadow. Only then did he slowly run the toe of his boot over the marble, erasing the scarlet mark.

"Take it away," he said calmly and, without looking back, headed for the exit.

**

Leonardo drove home in a gloomy mood, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than they should have. Fatigue pounded loudly in his temples, but one detail held him back - the phone screen.

Her photograph.

He caught himself looking at her longer than necessary. There was more than just affection in that look. Obsession. Love that didn't fit into standard patterns. He didn't remember how his addiction began, didn't remember the exact moment when he realized: she had to be his. He just knew - and did everything to make it happen.

She didn't want it. But he left her no choice.

She was his wife now. She argued, she was stubborn, she resisted, but he didn't need her consent, only her presence. And he would prove to her: his love was not like in the books, but much stronger.

He loved her. She belonged to him. And sooner or later she would accept it.

The penthouse greeted him with silence and subdued lighting. He had barely crossed the threshold, he threw his coat into the hands of the maid and already threw over his shoulder:

"I'm home." - His voice was low, hoarse, soaked with fatigue, but firm. He did not wait for an answer - he waited for her. "Where is she?" he asked rudely, turning his head to the young girl, who shuddered under his gaze.

The maid hastily answered, and he immediately moved towards the living room, without wasting a second. He knew that he would see her there.

She sat, as always, proudly straightening her back, like a fragile flower that, despite everything, did not break under his onslaught. Her bold gaze met his, and in that moment the anger that had been accumulating all day was replaced by another emotion - greed.

Leo grinned, coming closer.

"My little flower looks beautiful as always," his voice was dangerously soft, and there was something predatory dancing in his eyes. He leaned down, letting his fingers slide down her cheek. "Be a good girl and please your husband by being obedient."