Chapter 8

Leo's POV

The moment the helicopter's blades stilled, Luca's voice pierced the air with his usual chatter. "Are you crazy? Who the hell turns himself in to the CIA just to get a female agent's number?!" His incredulity was palpable, but I brushed it off.

"This guy," I replied, pointing at myself with a smirk. Luca rolled his eyes, clearly used to my reckless antics.

"So, did you actually get the number?" he pressed, disbelief etched across his features.

"Of course I did," I said, pulling out my phone and saving her number with a playful nickname—'Baby'.

As we touched down at the bar—the same bar where our fateful encounter began—I pulled out my phone to text her. I knew deep down she probably wouldn’t reply, yet I still anticipated her response with baited breath.

A deflating silence lingered. Minutes passed without any reply. After repeatedly calling and receiving nothing but the void, frustration bubbled underneath my calm demeanor. I tossed my phone onto the bed in the private room—the same room we passed the steamy night.

Just when I thought my hope had fizzled out, my phone rang. I dove for it, heart racing with anticipation, but disappointment hit me like a ton of bricks when I saw it was Martins—the informant I had business with tonight.

"Shoot," I answered, pushing down irritation.

"Don, I'm at the bar now, but I'm being hunted by the CIA. One of them's right behind me... a female agent!" he exclaimed, panic evident in his voice.

She?

"Describe her," I commanded, feeling a rush of adrenaline.

"That'd be difficult, but I'll try to take a peek on her," he replied and I ended the call.

Within seconds he called back, "Uh, she's tall, beautiful... black hair and emerald eyes." At the mention of those striking gems, I felt an electrifying rush of exhilaration—my baby was here.

“Lead her to the narrow lobby; I’ll take care of her,” I instructed, excitement sparking in my veins.

"Yes, Don," he replied, and I hung up, a smile creeping across my face.

Well, well, baby, you ignored me just to walk straight to me. Interesting.

I dashed out of the room, dialing her number again but to no response. As I took a route down the hall, I caught a glimpse of her shadow slipping down another path, so I followed quietly behind her until she halted in the narrow lobby.

"Fuck!" she cursed, exasperated at not being able to find Martins. A part of me almost chuckled at her frustration; it was oddly endearing.

I called her number one more time to see if she had been too busy to notice, or if she was intentionally ignoring me. Her phone rang, and she glanced at it before shoving it back into her pocket. The confirmation stung—she was ignoring me on purpose.

She stepped to continue down the lobby, but that was when I spoke, "Why are you ignoring my calls, baby?"

She jolted at the sound of my voice and spun around to face me, her gaze sharp as I wore a smirk.

"What do you want from me, Leonardo?" she hissed, her eyes blazing with a mixture of anger and something else—perhaps confusion.

"Why have you been ignoring my calls?" I questioned, looking deep into those eyes that captivates me no matter how much I look at them, I just can't get enough.

"Why wouldn't I? I want nothing to do with a criminal," she shot back coldly, but I remained unfazed.

"I'm not a criminal," I replied with conviction.

She scoffed, arms crossed defiantly. "Then what are you, if not a criminal?"

I didn't answer, my eyes locked in hers, that were looking at me with despise.

"Felon," she smirked.

"I’m not that either." I closed the distance between us, making sure she could feel the heat between us. "I..." I bent lower to her level. Even though she's tall, I still towered over her slightly.

"...I'm a thief..." I whispered, my voice low and teasing as I leaned closer to her ear. "...a thief that's gonna steal your heart away." I breathed softly against her neck. I could see her trying to hide her reaction, but I knew—deep down—it was having an effect on her.

"Keep dreaming," she replied, her tone icy yet betraying a hint of vulnerability.

"I will," I said, my face just half inch away from hers. "...a dream I'll bring to reality."

She threw her fist toward my gut, but I caught it mid-air, intertwining our fingers before bringing her hand to my mouth, planting a lingering kiss on her knuckles while locking my gaze onto hers.

Her instinct was to pull away, struggling to free her hand from my grip, but I held it firmly. “Fuck you, Leonardo,” she spat, fire dancing in her eyes.

A smirk crept onto my lips. “You could, you know. We did it right here, remember? The room is just up ahead.” My breath was warm against her skin, and I didn’t miss the way she swallowed hard, betraying a flicker of uncertainty.

Every reaction of hers was intoxicating me, sending my mind spiraling. It was maddening how much I craved her—how easily she consumed my thoughts.

Then her phone rang, a blaring siren in the charged air, and I hailed it as a blessing. It helped restrain the last vestige of my self-control.

“I'll call you again, please pick up,” I urged softly. “It hurts when you don’t.” I reluctantly released her hand, taking a moment to let my gaze linger on her one last time before I slipped away down the narrow lobby, my heart still racing from the encounter.

As I entered the room where Martins was waiting, he shot me a look of concern. “Is she gone?” he asked, urgency lacing his voice.

“Yeah,” I replied, my thoughts still tangled in the aftermath of our heated moment.

“Let’s get down to business,” I said, striding over to the sofa where he sat. He stood at my approach, offering me a nod of respect.

“Sit,” I urged him, not in the mood for any theatrics.

“Here are the items,” he said, presenting an open box to me as I settled onto the couch.

My eyes scanned through the contents of the box. A mix of weapons, blueprints, and dossiers that were supposed to indicate the depth of our upcoming operation. My eyes narrowed as I took in the layout of the city. But something felt off.

The labels on the dossiers looked too shiny, too pristine for documents that had supposedly been through the kind of underground dealings we were known for. I shifted my gaze to the weapons—unmarked, untraceable. At first glance, they seemed solid, but as I held one of the firearms up to the light, I instantly knew something was wrong. The weight was all wrong; it felt hollow, like a cheap replica.

“Martins, what the hell is this?” I demanded, keeping my voice low but firmly asserting my anger.

His eyes darted nervously as I slammed the weapon down on the table. “What are you talking about, Don? They're the goods we agreed upon.”

“No, they’re not! This shit is fake,” I growled, pointing to the contents of the box. “The weapons are plastic at best, and these documents? They look like something I could print from my home office!”

“Wait, wait, let’s just… let’s not jump to conclusions,” he stammered, backing away from the table. “Maybe they’re just prototypes—”

“Prototypes?!” I cut him off. "I'll show you what prototype really is," I pulled out my gun.

He quickly fell on his knees, trembling in fear as he expected anything.

“You think I’m playing a fucking game here? You had one job, Martins, one job—to get me the intel and equipment we need for this operation. And instead, you bring me a goddamn joke.” My voice was low and venomous.

“Look, Don, it’s a misunderstanding. I thought the vendor had the real stuff—I swear. I’ll make it right! Just give me time!” he pleaded, raising his hands defensively.

“Time? You’ve already wasted enough of mine, Martins, and you're gonna pay for that." I said and he closed his eyes, probably saying his last prayer.

I pulled the trigger and he clutched his chest tightly but was disappointed when he couldn't feel any pain there. Just then he felt a stinging sensation on his arm and he turned to find himself shot there.

"Thank you, Don, for the second chance." He bowed many times, grateful that I spared his life.

I did really give him a second chance by not killing him. Well he wouldn't have that chance if I had someone else to do the job, but fortunately for him, I have no one else fit for the job.

"Get out," I spat coldly and he scurried away quickly.