Chapter 242 Leila

Chapter 242 Leila
Cain’s POV

Two weeks had passed.

I had recovered enough to sit up, walk short distances, and force a few broken words out of my throat. The voice that came out was rough, cracked, and barely recognizable. Most people couldn’t make sense of it. Only Xavi seemed to understand me without much effort.

A meeting had been called for the next day. I had no choice but to attend.

I sat in the study, staring at the stack of documents spread across the desk. Reports. Casualty lists. Messages from different factions. Everything was chaos. The war Jose started hadn’t slowed down, and the syndicate was still waiting for my explanation.

I tried not to think about Leila.

Maybe she had been right to run. 
I had dragged her into this world. I had made the choice that night so she wouldn’t have to carry the weight of someone else’s death for the rest of her life. That burden should have been mine alone. Still… the disappointment sat heavy in my chest. Even when I was dying, she hadn’t stayed. 

Maybe— 

I shut the thought down hard.

There was no point.

The real problem now was my voice. If people in my own circle struggled to understand me, how the hell was the II Capo supposed to? Unless Xavi stood beside me the entire time and translated every word.

And then there was Tobias.

I still hadn’t gotten to the bottom of what really happened to my brother. That unfinished business gnawed at me more than the pain in my chest.

A dull headache started building behind my eyes. I dragged a hand through my hair and exhaled slowly, forcing myself to focus on the papers in front of me.

One problem at a time.
I was still staring at the documents when the door opened.

Freddie walked in carrying a small tray with my medication. He set it down on the desk and looked at me.

“You ready for the meeting?” he asked.

I tried to answer. The words scraped out of my throat — rough, broken, barely forming.

Freddie let out a short laugh and shook his head. “Yeah… you’re gonna need Xavi to translate. No one else is going to understand that.”

Frustration burned in my chest, but I didn’t argue. I picked up the pills and swallowed them dry.

After a moment, I forced out another rough sound, trying to shape a name.

“Mia…”

Freddie’s expression shifted slightly. He understood enough.

“You’ll have to ask Xavi about her,” he said. “From what I know… she ran off with Leila. Or at least helped her leave. Most of the maids scattered after Jose’s men hit the fifth wing. The place was shot up pretty bad.”

My hand curled into a fist on the desk.

I stared down at it for a second, jaw tight.

I had already told myself I wouldn’t look for Leila. That she’d made her choice. That it was better this way.

But closure was different.

After the meeting with the II Capo… I would find Mia.

And I would get answers.

Freddie leaned against the desk, arms crossed, that familiar half-smirk already forming.

“You know,” he said, “the doctor mentioned private sessions might help loosen up your vocal cords. Less stress, more… relaxation.” He tilted his head. “I know a place. Private. Discreet. Good for a man who’s been stuck in bed for two weeks.”

I rolled my eyes and looked back down at the papers. Of course he’d go there.

Freddie wasn’t done. He pushed off the desk and started pacing slowly, voice dropping into that low, teasing tone he only used when it was just the two of us.

“Come on, Cain. You’ve been living like a monk. No drinks, no women, nothing. Your body’s probably forgotten what it feels like. A couple of pretty girls, some soft hands, a little flirting… might be exactly what that throat of yours needs. Hell, maybe if you groan loud enough, the voice’ll come back out of pure instinct.”

I shot him a flat look.

He grinned wider. “What? I’m serious. You’ve got tension written all over you. And don’t pretend you don’t miss it — the way a woman looks at you when she knows exactly who you are. The way they try to impress you. The sounds. The heat. You’ve been cooped up too long.”

I exhaled through my nose, jaw tight.

Apart from being a skilled doctor, he was an idiot. But he wasn’t completely wrong.

I couldn’t drink much with my throat still fucked, but the other part… yeah. I needed something. Anything to get my head quiet for a few hours before the meeting tomorrow.

After a long silence, I gave a short, rough nod.

Freddie’s grin turned satisfied. “That’s what I thought. I’ll set it up—private room. No interruptions. Just what the doctor ordered.”

I didn’t bother answering.

There was nothing left to say.
Freddie drove.

\------
I sat in the passenger seat, silent, watching the city lights blur past the window. My throat still felt raw, and every small vibration of the car reminded me that I wasn’t fully myself yet. Still, I didn’t tell him to turn around.

The place was discreet — no big signs, just a black entrance tucked between two buildings, the kind of spot that only certain people knew about. A man at the door recognized Freddie immediately and let us through without a word.

Inside, the lighting was low. Deep reds and golds. Soft music. The air smelled expensive — perfume, whiskey, and something sweeter underneath. A few men sat in private booths, but the staff already knew where to take us. We were led down a short hallway into a private room.

It was larger than I expected. Low couches, a small table already set with drinks I probably shouldn’t touch, and a wide view of the main floor through tinted glass. Two women were already waiting inside. Both beautiful in that polished, intentional way — one brunette, one with darker skin and long curls. They smiled the moment we entered.

Freddie clapped a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll be outside if you need me. Try not to overdo it.” He leaned in slightly, voice low. “And if the voice comes back mid-way, I’ll consider it a medical miracle.”

I shot him a look. He just grinned and left, closing the door behind him.

The brunette stepped forward first. “We’ve been told to take good care of you tonight,” she said softly. Her eyes flicked over me, lingering on the faint tension in my shoulders. “You look like you need it.”

I didn’t answer. I couldn’t — not properly. Instead, I gave a short nod and moved to the couch, sitting down carefully so the pull in my chest wouldn’t flare up.

The second woman poured a drink and set it near me, but I pushed it away with two fingers. She understood quickly and didn’t offer again.

The brunette sat beside me, close enough that her perfume wrapped around me. Her fingers brushed lightly over my arm, testing. When I didn’t pull away, she moved closer, her hand sliding up to my shoulder, then to the side of my neck — careful, avoiding anything that might still be healing.
I let my head rest back against the couch and closed my eyes.
Just for a little while the brunette straddled my lap, rolling her hips in slow, deliberate circles while the other woman kissed along the side of my neck. Their hands were everywhere — soft, skilled, practiced. It should have been enough to keep my mind empty.

It wasn’t.

Out of nowhere, the memory hit me hard.

Leila on her bed. 
The way her mouth had taken me in — warm, eager, almost desperate.  How she’d looked up at me like she was trying to memorize every inch. The soft, broken sounds she made when I hit the back of her throat.

My body reacted before I could stop it.

Then the rest of the memory followed, colder this time.

She had thought it was a dream. She had thought I was Tobias.
Of course she would stay for him. 
Tobias was the good one. The safe one. The twin who didn’t drag people into blood and war.
I was the other one.
The thought soured everything. My jaw tightened. Suddenly the perfume in the room felt too strong, the hands on my body too foreign.
I opened my eyes and froze.
Through the slightly open door of the private room, a familiar silhouette moved past in the hallway. The height. The way she carried her shoulders. Even the slight tension in her walk.

It couldn’t be.

I pushed both women off me without a word and stood up too fast. Pain flared in my chest, but I ignored it. I was already moving, crossing the room and pulling the door open wider.

The hallway was dimly lit. A few girls in lingerie and short robes moved between rooms. And there — a few steps ahead — was the back of a woman dressed like one of them. Tight outfit. Stressed posture. Head slightly down.

It couldn’t be her.

I took another step forward, eyes locked on the figure, frustration and something sharper twisting in my gut.

Then another girl stepped out from a side door and called down the hallway, voice casual:

“Leila.”

I stopped dead.