Chapter 7 The Chessboard Shifts

• Leona’s POV
• When I next faced Lucien, it was at a formal gathering in a grand ballroom. Mafiosos, politicians, and investors mingled under sparkling chandeliers. Everything looked beautiful, but beneath the surface, it felt deadly.
• In a sleek midnight gown, I walked confidently with my hand on Lucien’s arm, presenting the image of the perfect wife—obedient and composed.
• But inside, I was fierce.
• I'd met with Marcella the night before. Together, we planned to get a list of Lucien’s suppliers and find a weak link. If I could start to undermine his position quietly, I would gain time and leverage.
• I leaned slightly toward Lucien, whispering, “I’m learning your world faster than you thought.”
• His eyes turned to me, cold and unreadable.
• "I don’t like surprises," he replied quietly.
• I smiled sweetly. "Neither do I."
• For the cameras, we maintained our smiles, but beneath our expressions, a silent battle brewed.
• I had memorized every corner of the estate, every hallway, and every guard rotation.
• So when I slipped into Lucien’s private office at 3:12 a.m., wearing gloves and silence, it was as calculated as a heartbeat.
• Marcella’s contact had delivered a code—a temporary override for Lucien’s encrypted system, good for exactly seven minutes.
• I worked fast.
• Inside the desk drawer, I found it: a locked ledger, handwritten in a language only old mafiosos still used—the Calabrian dialect, tangled with symbols. But I didn’t need to read it. I photographed every page with a high-res device hidden inside my lipstick tube.
• Evidence.
• Proof of laundering routes. Safehouse addresses. Names.
• Power.
• My pulse raced as I locked the drawer again and reset the room to its exact order.
• By the time I slid back into bed beside Lucien, he hadn’t stirred.
• Or so I thought.
• ————————
• Lucien’s POV
• I sat in my office, far away from the soft sounds of the city at night. I felt a tense electricity in the air.
• I was behind a large desk, fingers steepled, staring at a small pile of intercepted messages and unclear photographs. They showed that Leona was quietly building a network without my knowledge.
• A faint smile crossed my lips, not out of humour, but out of respect. She was clever—more clever than I had expected.
• I had intended to keep her weak and compliant, just a tool for my plans. Instead, she was pushing back and becoming a threat.
• I paced the room, feeling the weight of my past. Memories of the night my father died flooded back—a betrayal by those I trusted most. That lesson shaped every move I made since.
• This marriage was supposed to be the final step in my long quest for revenge.
• But Leona was not just a pawn; she was a queen with her own strategies I hadn’t foreseen.
• I needed to be smarter, tougher, and more ruthless.
• The situation was changing, and in this dangerous game, only one of us would survive.
• My eyes grew cold with determination.
• Let the war begin.
• I observed her as she navigated the room effortlessly. Every smile and every word felt purposeful, like a dancer hiding a weapon beneath her dress.
• She reminded me of her mother, a woman who had seduced power and ruined men without a second thought.
• My father had been one of her victims.
• That thought tightened in my chest.
• I had sent Matteo to keep an eye on Leona. She was careful, always using others to communicate. But I had seen her meet with Marcella, and I knew she was building something quietly and dangerously.
• Yet, I hesitated to stop her.
• Why?
• Part of me wanted to see how far she would go.
• Would she rise or burn?
• Tonight, she danced among enemies, unafraid, and I raised my glass, hiding a slight smile.
• Very well, Leona. Let’s see how sharp your claws really are.
• Later that night, I had felt her return.
• Her skin was cool, her breath slightly too fast.
• I kept my eyes closed, heart steady, pretending to sleep. I could smell faint leather and metal on her fingers—unmistakable clues.
• She had gone into my office.
• I didn’t need Matteo to confirm it. I already knew.
• But I didn’t stop her.
• Not yet.
• I wanted to see where she thought this would go.
• So I waited. Patient. Coiled.
• And the next morning, I left her a note in place of my usual silence:
• > “The cage is wide open, Leona. Curious to see where you fly.”
• There was no signature.
• No confrontation.
• Just a quiet, deliberate warning.
• A message she would understand.
• I sipped my espresso on the balcony that overlooked Palermo’s waking skyline, the sun rising blood-orange behind the city.
• The first cut had been made.
• Now it was my turn to bleed her slowly.