The Devil’s offer
1327 Words
“So that’s it, huh?”
Leonardo’s voice cut through the air like a cold blade — deep, rough, laced with that quiet Italian danger that made even silence feel unsafe. He sat behind his black marble desk, the city lights pouring over his sharp jawline. He didn’t look up immediately; he just kept flipping through the file Riccardo had laid before him.
Riccardo shifted nervously in his chair. He had been here before — in front of men with power, in front of men who thought they owned the world — but none of them ever felt like this one. Leonardo De Bologna didn’t need to shout. He didn’t need to threaten. His presence alone was a warning.
Frank, Riccardo’s assistant, stood behind his boss with his hands clasped tightly in front of him, head bowed like a man standing in church before a storm.
“Yes,” Riccardo said finally, voice breaking the heavy silence. “That’s all of it, Mr. De Bologna. Every deal I had has been frozen. Every shipment — seized. Whoever is behind this wants me ruined.”
Leonardo’s eyes lifted, just slightly. He didn’t speak. He only poured himself a drink. The sound of whiskey touching glass was louder than any reply.
“Please,” Riccardo continued carefully. “I was told… you could fix things like this.”
Leonardo’s lips curved faintly, not into a smile, but something colder — amusement, maybe, or disbelief. He took a slow sip, eyes still locked on Riccardo. The golden liquid rolled over his tongue before he set the glass down, tapping a single finger on the table.
Marco, standing beside him, took the hint. “You’re asking my boss to step into a war that isn’t his,” he said evenly. “That’s not something people ask lightly, Mr. Riccardo.”
“I know that,” Riccardo said, trying to steady his voice. “But I’m running out of choices. If I don’t act now, everything I built will fall apart.”
Leonardo’s jaw tightened. His fingers drummed on the glass once, twice — then stopped. His silence made Riccardo shift again.
“I can pay,” Riccardo offered. “Whatever amount you name—”
A quiet sound escaped Leonardo — just a short exhale, almost like a laugh. But there was no humor in it.
Marco leaned forward. “Money isn’t what moves him, signore. You should know that by now.”
Riccardo hesitated. “Then what does?”
Leonardo finally spoke. His tone was calm, low, and slow. “Loyalty,” he said. Just one word, but it made Riccardo’s pulse spike.
“I can give that,” Riccardo said immediately, almost desperate. “You help me, and I’ll stand with you in anything.”
Leonardo’s eyes sharpened. He leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “You? Stand with me?” He chuckled under his breath. “You wouldn’t last a day.”
Frank flinched at the edge in his tone. Riccardo, trying not to react, straightened his suit. “I’m not here to challenge you. I’m here to ask for your help.”
Marco looked at Leonardo, waiting for a sign. Leonardo didn’t give one. He stood instead, moving toward the large window that overlooked the dark city. The lights outside flickered against his reflection — cold, controlled, dangerous.
“Do you know what people say about me, Riccardo?” he asked quietly.
Riccardo hesitated. “That you get things done.”
Leonardo turned slowly, his gaze slicing through the air. “No. They say I don’t ask twice.”
He picked up his glass again, took another slow sip, and walked back to his chair. The silence stretched long and heavy until Marco finally broke it.
“You’re asking him to go up against someone powerful,” Marco said. “That’s not something he’ll do for free.”
“I understand that,” Riccardo replied quickly. “So tell me, what does he want?”
Leonardo’s eyes flicked toward him, then to Marco. Marco didn’t move, just lowered his voice and said, “Boss?”
Leonardo gave the faintest nod. “Ask him what he values most.”
Riccardo frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Marco’s tone was careful, his gaze unreadable. “He means what are you willing to lose to save your empire.”
Riccardo exhaled shakily. “Anything.”
“Anything?” Leonardo repeated softly. His accent rolled over the word like smoke. He stood again, moving closer, slow and deliberate, until Riccardo had to look up to meet his eyes.
“Careful with that word,” Leonardo said. “It sounds like a promise.”
Riccardo swallowed. “Then name it.”
Leonardo’s stare lingered for a long moment. Then, he smiled — small, dangerous. “Your daughter.”
The words hit like gunfire.
Riccardo froze. Frank’s eyes widened. Even Marco glanced sideways, though he didn’t look surprised.
“Excuse me?” Riccardo said, disbelief cracking through his tone.
Leonardo said nothing. He just looked at him, his face unreadable, as if daring him to repeat it.
“My… my daughter?” Riccardo stammered. “Aria?”
Leonardo gave a single nod. “Sì.”
Riccardo blinked, stunned. “She has nothing to do with this.”
Leonardo shrugged, lowering himself back into his chair. “Everything has a price.”
“You can’t be serious.”
Marco’s calm voice broke in. “You came here asking for his help. That’s the price. No one walks out of a deal with the De Bologna family without paying something real.”
Riccardo stood, anger flashing in his eyes. “She’s my child, not a currency!”
Leonardo’s jaw flexed, but he didn’t stand. He didn’t even look angry — just mildly uninterested, like the conversation bored him now. “Then you’ll lose everything else,” he said simply.
“You’re insane,” Riccardo spat. “I came here to make a deal, not to sell my family.”
Leonardo’s eyes darkened, and his tone dropped to something so calm it was terrifying. “You came here because you’re already losing your family.”
That silence again. Thick, dangerous, suffocating.
Frank shifted uncomfortably. “Sir,” he whispered, touching Riccardo’s arm. “Maybe we should—”
Riccardo raised a hand to silence him. He turned to Leonardo, voice trembling with both fury and disbelief. “You think you can take whatever you want because people fear you. But not this. Not my daughter.”
Leonardo didn’t answer. He just held Riccardo’s gaze — eyes cold, steady, unreadable. Then he looked away, dismissing him with a quiet, chilling finality. “Then we have nothing to discuss.”
Riccardo’s chest heaved. He looked at Marco, then Frank, then back at Leonardo. “You’ll regret this.”
Leonardo didn’t flinch. He only swirled his glass, watching the whiskey catch the light. “I never regret,” he murmured.
Riccardo grabbed the file from the table, his hand shaking. “We’re done here.”
Marco opened the door for them without a word. Frank followed close behind, tension in his shoulders. Riccardo paused at the doorway, turning one last time to look at Leonardo.
Leonardo didn’t meet his eyes. He simply leaned back, cold and still, as if the world outside his office meant nothing.
When Riccardo stormed out, the heavy door shut behind him with a deep thud that echoed across the room.
Marco exhaled slowly. “That went well,” he muttered dryly.
Leonardo smirked faintly, eyes fixed on the closed door. “He’ll come back,” he said quietly.
Marco raised a brow. “You think so?”
“I don’t think,” Leonardo replied, standing and adjusting his cufflinks. “I know.”
He finished his drink, setting the empty glass down with a soft click.
“Everyone comes back,” he said.
And the night swallowed the sound of his voice.
- Writer
