CHAPTER EIGHT - Fuel to Fire
767 Words
The sound of shattering glass echoed violently through the halls of the Rossi mansion. Another crash followed, then another — a storm of rage tearing its way through the room like a force of nature.
Leo Rossi stood in the center of the destruction, chest heaving, eyes wild with fury. His hands were trembling, but not from fear. From rage. His face was flushed red, the faint bruise on his cheek throbbing with every rapid heartbeat. The shattered remains of a whiskey glass lay scattered at his feet, glistening like broken diamonds in the low light.
“How dare he,” Leo growled through gritted teeth. He shoved a chair to the ground with a vicious shove, the wood splintering as it slammed against the floor. "How dare he put his hands on me."
Martinez and Greg stood near the doorway, tense but silent. They knew better than to interrupt when Leo was like this. They had seen it before — the fury, the tantrums, the storm that had to run its course. But tonight was different. Tonight, there was something darker burning beneath the anger.
Leo grabbed the edge of his desk and flipped it over with a snarl, papers and glass scattering across the floor. His breaths came in ragged gasps as he turned toward his guards, chest heaving.
“That arrogant son of a b***h,” he spat. “Thinks he can humiliate me in front of everyone. In front of my family.” His voice cracked slightly at the end, fury boiling over into something uglier.
Neither Martinez nor Greg moved. They had no words of comfort to offer — not that Leo would have wanted them.
“You’re just going to stand there?” Leo barked, his eyes flashing. “Say something!”
Martinez shifted slightly, his expression carefully neutral. “With respect… what would you like us to say, sir?”
Leo let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through his dark hair, tugging harshly at the roots. He was pacing now, the adrenaline coursing through his veins too strong to keep him still. The memory of Alessandro’s fist connecting with his jaw replayed over and over in his mind, each repetition stoking the fire burning in his chest.
He stopped suddenly, eyes narrowing. “He thinks he’s untouchable,” Leo said softly. The calmness in his voice was more unsettling than the rage had been. "Thinks he can walk away from this like nothing happened.”
He turned back to Martinez, tilting his head slightly. “Tell me something,” he said. “Do you know who Alessandro’s favorite guard is?”
Martinez blinked, surprised by the question. “Luca,” he answered. “Everyone knows that.”
Leo’s lips curved into a slow, dangerous smirk. The shift in his expression was almost chilling.
“Good,” he said softly. “Then I want him.”
Martinez frowned. “You want… Luca?”
“Yes,” Leo said, his voice dripping with venom. He began to pace again, but this time there was purpose in his steps. “He’s the reason for this. The reason Alessandro had the nerve to embarrass me. Luca’s the one who gives him confidence. Makes him think he’s invincible.”
Greg finally spoke, his voice cautious. “Sir, with all due respect… Luca is well-protected. Alessandro keeps him close.”
“I don’t care,” Leo snapped, his gaze sharpening. “I want him. I don’t care what it costs — money, leverage, blood. I want him dragged to me in chains if that’s what it takes.”
The room fell silent again. The intensity in Leo’s voice left no room for argument.
“And when we get him,” Leo continued, his tone quieter now but no less menacing, “I’ll send a message. A message Alessandro will never forget.”
Martinez hesitated for a moment. “What kind of message?”
Leo’s smile widened. It wasn’t a smile that reached his eyes. “The kind that leaves scars,” he said.
He turned toward the window, looking out at the dark sky beyond. The rain had stopped, but the night remained heavy with the promise of another storm. Leo’s reflection stared back at him from the glass — the bruise on his face standing out like a mark of failure.
But it wouldn’t be there for long.
“This isn’t over,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Not by a long shot.”
Behind him, Martinez and Greg exchanged a glance. Neither of them said a word. They didn’t need to.
- Writer
