Russian scorpion

Tour around the villa

By the third day, the wound in Leo’s shoulder still burned, but the fire had dulled into a slow, steady ache. The bandages were changed every morning—rough hands, cold antiseptic, and silence. The Russians gave him food, water, medicine, but nothing more. No explanations. No answers. Just the feeling of being kept.

Leo hated waiting.

The ceiling above his bed had become a prison of plaster patterns. His body, used to movement, used to sweat and combat, pulsed with restless energy. By midday, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He swung his legs off the bed, ignoring the stab of pain in his shoulder. His feet touched the marble floor—cold, polished, unnervingly clean. He pulled on the black shirt they had left him and stepped into the corridor.

The villa was enormous. High ceilings, the walls lined with portraits of men whose gazes seemed to follow him. Heavy curtains swallowed the sunlight, but here and there shafts of golden light pierced through, cutting across the carpets in narrow beams. The air smelled faintly of cigars, aged leather, and old secrets.

His footsteps echoed as he walked, every sound magnified in the silence. He passed long corridors, doors closed and guarded by silence, until he turned a corner—

And stopped.

Two men stood there. Broad shoulders, tailored suits stretched across muscled frames. They were leaning casually against the wall, speaking in Russian too fast for Leo to catch, but their laughter stopped the moment they saw him. Their eyes, cold and sharp, swept over him like blades.

Leo’s lips curved into a half-smirk, masking the sudden tension in his chest. “What? Never seen a man take a walk before?”

The taller one, a blond with a scar running down his cheek, answered with a chuckle. “Our guest finally decides to move.” His accent was thick, words heavy like stone.

The other, darker, leaned forward slightly, his grin too sharp to be friendly. “You should be resting. You bleed easy now, yes?”

Leo’s jaw tightened, but he refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing weakness. He stepped forward, slow and deliberate, his eyes never leaving theirs. “Don’t worry. If I bleed, I’ll make sure it’s worth it.”

They exchanged a look, an unspoken calculation. For a moment, Leo felt the weight of their scrutiny, like wolves sizing up prey. But then the blond clapped the other on the shoulder and laughed. “He has teeth. Good. You’ll need them here.”

Leo moved past them, his pulse steady but sharp. He could feel their gazes burning into his back as he walked down the corridor.

He pushed further into the villa. The deeper he went, the more it felt alive—like the house itself was breathing. He found himself in a wide hall where the walls were lined with bookshelves, each shelf heavy with volumes in Russian, Turkish, and English. A grand piano stood in one corner, its black surface gleaming under the dim light.

At the far end, three men sat around a table playing cards. Their jackets were off, guns visible at their sides. One of them noticed Leo and nudged the others. All three looked up, expressions unreadable.

Leo gave them a sharp nod, not slowing his pace. His instincts screamed keep moving, but his pride refused to show hesitation. He crossed the hall, feeling their stares trailing him, a silent acknowledgment that he was walking through their world now.

Every room whispered of power and danger. The villa wasn’t just a house—it was a somthing also .

By the time Leo reached the end of the hall and pushed open the tall glass doors, he found himself stepping into a courtyard. The night air was cool, brushing against his skin, carrying with it the faint scent of roses and gun oil. The courtyard was large, paved with stone, and ringed with men who stood watch, silent sentinels under the starlight.

Leo stood there for a moment, breathing in freedom he didn’t really have. His shoulder throbbed, his muscles ached, but his spirit burned hotter than ever.

He wasn’t here as a guest. He knew that now. He was here because the Russians wanted him close. Too close.

And as one of the guards shifted his rifle, Leo allowed himself a smile that was half amusement, half defiance.

Let them watch. Let them wait. I’ll walk every corner of this cage until I know exactly how to break it.

Leo had barely stepped into another corridor when the sound of quick footsteps echoed behind him. Light, uneven, too eager to belong to the cold-faced guards who usually patrolled these halls. He ignored it, hoping it would fade, but instead the footsteps quickened until someone fell into step right beside him.

The boy couldn’t have been older than eighteen. Dark-haired, sharp-eyed, with a suit that didn’t quite fit him right—too loose at the shoulders, too long at the sleeves. He walked with an exaggerated confidence, the kind that was borrowed rather than earned.

“Hey,” the boy said, grinning as though they were old friends. “You’re Leo, right? The fighter. The one who knocked out ten guys in one night. Everyone talks about you.”

Leo kept walking. His gaze stayed forward, sharp, steady. His shoulder still throbbed with every step, and the last thing he wanted was to waste breath on a child with too much curiosity.

But the boy didn’t get the hint. He slid closer, tilting his head up at Leo. “You know, I fight too. Well… not in the ring. Yet. But I could. I’m fast. I’ve trained with knives.” He mimed a clumsy stabbing motion with his fingers, making swooshing noises with his mouth.

Leo stopped for half a second, gave him a flat stare, then resumed walking.

The boy laughed nervously. “Okay, okay, maybe not knives. But I’m quick with my hands. Bam! Pow!” He threw a few sloppy punches in the air, almost hitting the wall. “See? Pretty good, right?”

Leo finally spoke, his voice low and edged. “You’ll break your own nose before you break anyone else’s.”

The boy blinked, then laughed again, as if Leo had just told a joke. “You’re funny. They say you don’t talk much, but I think you’re just… mysterious. Girls like mysterious.” He winked, clearly thinking himself clever.

Leo exhaled through his nose, a sound closer to a growl than a sigh. He lengthened his stride, but the boy matched it step for step, practically bouncing beside him.

“You know,” the boy continued, “I could be useful to you. Everyone here respects me. My uncle is a big name in the organization. I can get you things. Women. Weapons. Information. I know where the good stuff is hidden.”

Leo stopped again. Slowly this time. He turned his head just enough to look down at the boy. His eyes were cold steel, his jaw set tight.

The boy swallowed, his grin faltering under the weight of Leo’s stare. But then, desperate to fill the silence, he blurted: “Or… or maybe you just need a friend.”

Leo tilted his head, the corner of his mouth twitching—not into a smile, but something darker. “If I needed a friend,” he said sharply, “I wouldn’t choose someone who talks more than he breathes.”

The boy froze, his eyes wide. Then, surprisingly, he chuckled again, though it was weaker this time. “Okay, okay. Fair point. You’re sharp, I like that. But you’ll see. You’ll need me one day.”

Leo turned away without another word and resumed walking. The boy’s footsteps hesitated, then followed again at a cautious distance, like a puppy too stubborn to stay put.

By the time Leo reached the courtyard doors, his patience was hanging by a thread. He pushed them open, letting the cool night air wash over him. Behind him, the boy piped up one last time:

“So… you are my friend ?”

Leo let the door slam shut between them without answering.

And for the first time since he’d woken up in this villa, he almost laughed. Almost.

after hour

The room was quiet, but not the kind of quiet that soothed. It was the suffocating silence that pressed against Leo’s ears, broken only by the dull throb in his right shoulder. The bandages clung to his skin, stiff with dried blood, and every pulse of pain sent fire racing through his arm.

He sat hunched on the edge of his bed, one hand gripping his knee, the other useless at his side. For the past half hour he hadn’t moved, just endured. Waiting for the pain to ease. It never did.

The walls of the room felt closer tonight, the air heavy with smoke that drifted in faintly from somewhere outside the villa. He leaned back slowly, his body screaming at the movement, and let his head rest against the cool plaster. The ceiling blurred above him. His breath came out slow, uneven, a hiss of frustration leaving his lips.

The window stood half open. The curtains stirred in the faint April breeze, carrying with it the distant hum of men laughing, voices spilling from the courtyard. Against his better judgment, Leo dragged his eyes toward it, searching for distraction, for anything other than the fire in his shoulder.

And that was when he saw him.

Andre. It was the same man who brought him here and the same man who fought with him.

The man stood in the courtyard below, his broad figure unmistakable even in the dim glow of the lamps. His posture was relaxed, yet there was a weight to him, an aura that drew attention without effort. Andre lifted his head slightly, as if something unseen had tugged his gaze upward.

Their eyes met.

For a second, Leo froze. His breath caught in his throat.

Then Andre smiled. Not wide, not mocking, but sharp enough to carry meaning. A knowing smile.

Leo’s stomach knotted. He cursed silently under his breath and leaned back from the window, but it was already too late. He knew that smile, that acknowledgment. Andre had seen him, and Leo knew exactly what it meant: he would come now.

The thought dragged a sigh from Leo’s lips. He tilted his head back, his jaw tightening as another wave of pain tore through his shoulder. His hand instinctively clutched at the bandage, pressing down, but it didn’t help. The sting only deepened.

He closed his eyes, listening. He could almost imagine the sound of footsteps climbing the stairs already, heavy and deliberate. The kind of steps a man like Andre would never rush—because he didn’t need to.

Leo muttered to himself, low and bitter. “Perfect. Just what I need.” ..

The ache in his arm seemed sharper now, as though his body itself was mocking him. He hated this—the vulnerability, the waiting, the knowledge that someone else was coming to intrude on his silence.

But he also knew there was no stopping it. Andre had seen him. And Andre never ignored what he saw.

Leo drew in a long breath through his nose, steadying himself. His reflection flickered faintly in the glass of the window, pale and shadowed, his features twisted with exhaustion.

The floor creaked outside his door.

Leo’s eyes opened slowly, sharp and resigned all at once. His jaw clenched. His heart beat heavier, not faster.

Andre was coming.