The Mafia Kings Contract

Chapter Two : The Offer

Leila couldn't stop shaking.

Even after the gunshots. Even after the blood. Even after the men pulled her away from that room before her knees completely gave out beneath her.

The shaking stayed.

It sat inside her bones now.

One of the men guided her through another hallway lined with dark marble walls and expensive gold lighting that looked soft enough to belong inside a luxury hotel, not a building where people got executed three floors above the city.

Her bare arms folded tightly over herself.

The towel around her body suddenly felt thinner than paper.

Humiliatingly thin.

She could still feel Zane Rogers' eyes on her even though he was no longer in the hallway.

“This way,” the man beside her said.

His tone wasn't cruel. That somehow made it worse.

Leila followed him silently.

The floor beneath her feet was polished black stone, cold enough to remind her that she was still barefoot. Every few seconds, another memory from that room flashed inside her head.

The gun.

The blood.

The sound the body made when it hit the floor.

Her stomach twisted violently.

She swallowed hard.

The man stopped in front of a door and pushed it open.

“Wait here.”

Leila stepped inside cautiously.

The room looked nothing like she expected.

No chains.

No dark dungeon.

No signs that she had just been kidn*pped by dangerous men.

Instead, she found herself inside what looked like a luxury guest suite. Cream walls. Soft lighting. A king-sized bed that probably cost more than her apartment rent for two years.

The door shut behind her.

Leila stood frozen in the middle of the room.

Then reality crashed back into her all over again.

She looked down at herself.

At the towel.

At her bare skin.

Heat rushed painfully into her face.

God.

She had stood in front of that man and his men almost naked.

Not just any man.

A man who had calmly shot someone three times and looked bored afterward.

Leila pressed both hands over her face.

A weak sound escaped her throat before she could stop it.

This couldn't be real.

None of this could be real.

A knock came at the door.

Leila jumped so hard her back hit the wall.

“Miss Leila,” a female voice called gently from outside. “May I come in?”

Leila hesitated before speaking.

“Why?”

“Mr. Rogers sent clothes for you.”

Her embarrassment deepened instantly.

Of course he did.

Because he had seen her.

Completely.

Leila closed her eyes briefly before walking toward the door.

When she opened it, a woman around her late thirties stood outside carrying several shopping bags.

Unlike the men downstairs, she looked normal.

Professional.

Calm.

That somehow unsettled Leila more.

“You can leave them there,” Leila muttered.

The woman stepped inside carefully and placed the bags on the bed.

“There are toiletries in the bathroom,” she said politely. “Mr. Rogers requested that you get dressed. He'll speak with you shortly.”

Leila stiffened.

“I don't want to speak with him.”

The woman gave her a look that wasn't pity exactly.

More like realism.

“I don't think that's your decision anymore.”

Then she left.

The door clicked shut.

Leila stared at it for a long moment.

Then at the bags.

Slowly, she walked toward the bed.

Inside the first bag was a black dress.

Simple.

Elegant.

Expensive.

The second contained undergarments still wrapped in store packaging.

The third had flat shoes.

Everything her exact size.

Leila's stomach tightened again.

How?

How had they gotten her size that quickly?

The realization hit her immediately after.

They had touched her.

Measured her.

Looked at her.

Goosebumps crawled beneath her skin even though she was used to men looking at her.

Leila grabbed the wrapped dress and disappeared into the bathroom.

The second the door locked behind her, she turned on the sink and gripped its edges hard.

Her reflection stared back at her from the mirror.

Mascara smeared beneath her eyes.

Hair disheveled.

Fear written all over her face.

She barely recognized herself.

Leila inhaled slowly.

Then another breath.

Then another.

It didn't help.

Nothing about tonight could be fixed with breathing.

She was about to unwrap the dress when her phone suddenly fell out from between the folds.

Her eyes widened.

“How long have they been monitoring me?” she whispered.

But she cared less about that once she unlocked the phone and saw the notifications waiting for her.

One missed call.

Her landlord.

Three unread messages from school administration.

Outstanding tuition notice.

Final reminder.

Failure to complete payment would result in suspension.

Leila laughed once.

A hollow, broken sound.

Of course.

Even after k********g and murder, bills still existed.

The world really didn't care.

She changed quickly.

The dress hugged her body perfectly.

It looked like the kind of dress worn by women who belonged inside rooms with wealthy men.

Not women who spent half their nights calculating transport fare.

Leila stared at herself again.

Then she whispered quietly,

“What do you want from me?”

This time, the question wasn't directed at herself.

A second knock came twenty minutes later.

“Mr. Rogers is waiting.”

Leila followed the man through another hallway.

This building was enormous.

Every corridor looked expensive enough to belong inside a billionaire's fantasy.

Yet the silence inside it felt dangerous.

Like the walls themselves carried secrets.

Finally, the man stopped before a pair of large double doors.

“Inside,” he said.

Then he walked away.

Leila swallowed.

Her hand hovered briefly near the handle before she forced herself to push the doors open.

The room beyond was darker than she expected.

Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooked the glowing Chicago skyline.

Zane Rogers stood near the glass with one hand inside his pocket.

Still wearing the same dark suit.

Still looking terrifyingly composed.

He didn't turn immediately.

For a few seconds, the only sound in the room was the distant hum of traffic far below.

Then finally—

“Sit down.”

Leila didn't move.

“I said sit.”

His tone wasn't loud.

That was the problem.

It didn't need to be.

Slowly, Leila walked toward the chair across from the desk and sat carefully.

Zane turned then.

His gaze swept over her once.

Quick. Controlled. Assessing.

That unsettled her even more than obvious desire would've.

“The dress fits,” he said.

Leila's jaw tightened immediately.

Embarrassment flared hot beneath her skin.

“You had your men strip me to get my measurements?”

“You were unconscious and wrapped in a towel.”

“That doesn't answer the question.”

One corner of his mouth moved slightly.

Not a smile.

Something colder.

“No,” he said calmly. “The woman downstairs handled it.”

Leila looked away instantly.

She hated that relief even existed.

Zane studied her quietly for a moment before walking toward the desk.

“Do you know who Thomas Veil is?”

Leila frowned.

“No.”

“You will.”

He sat down across from her.

Even seated, he somehow still controlled the entire room.

“Five days from now,” he continued, “Thomas will attend a charity ball downtown. Private guest list. Politicians. Investors. Men who hide crimes behind expensive suits and fake philanthropy.”

Leila stayed silent.

“You are going with me.”

Her eyes snapped up instantly.

“What?”

“You'll attend the event as one of the VIP guests, approach Thomas Veil during the evening, and get him alone in the eastern corridor connected to the ballroom. Once he enters the corridor, my men take over from there.”

Leila stared at him.

Then blinked.

Then laughed once in disbelief.

“You're insane.”

Zane gave her a cold look.

But she continued anyway.

“You kidn*pped me for this?”

Something unreadable flickered briefly across his face.

Interesting.

She had courage.

Leila stood abruptly.

“I don't even know this man!”

“That is exactly why you are useful.”

“No. Absolutely not.” She shook her head immediately. “Find someone else.”

“I already did.”

His eyes lifted slowly toward her.

“You.”

Leila felt her pulse spike.

“I am not helping you kidnap anybody.”

“You already helped tonight.”

Her face drained.

“What?”

“Sir Leonardo was one of Thomas Veil's financial couriers.” Zane leaned back slightly. “Your appointment with him tonight was arranged through channels connected to Veil's operation. My men tracked the meeting.”

Leila stared at him in horror.

“No. No, I didn't know anything about that.”

“I know.”

“Then let me leave.”

“I can't do that.”

His answer came instantly.

Not cruel.

Not emotional.

Just final.

Leila felt fear crawl back into her chest.

“Why?”

“Because you have seen too much already.”

The room fell silent.

The city lights reflected faintly across the glass behind him.

Leila suddenly understood something terrifying.

This man wasn't threatening her emotionally.

He was simply explaining reality.

And somehow that made him worse.

“You murdered someone in front of me,” she whispered.

“Yes.”

Leila's throat tightened.

“You're insane,” she repeated softly.

He smirked faintly.

That threw her off balance for some reason.

Zane reached into the desk drawer and pulled out a slim black file.

He slid it toward her.

“Thomas Veil.”

Leila looked down cautiously.

Inside were photographs.

Different women.

Bruised.

Terrified.

One looked barely older than seventeen.

Leila's stomach turned.

“What is this?”

“The reason he dies.”

Her breathing slowed.

Zane watched her carefully.

“Thomas runs trafficking routes through several cities. Politicians protect him. Police accept his money. Evidence disappears before it reaches courtrooms.” He paused briefly. “People like him survive because nobody can get close enough.”

Leila looked back at the photographs.

Something cold moved through her chest.

“And you think I can?”

“I know you can.”

“Why me?”

“Because men like Thomas underestimate women they believe they can buy.”

The words landed harder than they should have.

Leila's jaw tightened.

Zane noticed.

Of course he noticed.

“You think because I slept with wealthy men for money that means I'll help you do this?”

“I think survival makes people adaptable.” His gaze stayed steady on hers. “And I think you need money badly enough to listen before pretending otherwise.”

The humiliation hit instantly.

Sharp.

Precise.

Leila looked away before he could see how deeply the words landed.

Because the worst part was that he wasn't entirely wrong.

Her tuition.

Her rent.

The debt collectors.

Everything suddenly rushed back at once.

Zane opened another drawer.

Then placed a check on the desk.

Leila's breath caught.

Ten million naira.

For one second, the number didn't even feel real.

Then reality slammed into her.

Ten million.

That amount could erase everything crushing her life.

School.

Debt.

Rent.

Her entire future.

Zane watched her expression carefully.

“Interesting,” he murmured.

Leila looked up sharply.

“What?”

“The human face always changes when desperation meets opportunity.”

Her cheeks burned immediately.

“Go to hell.”

A quiet scoff escaped him.

Not offended.

Amused.

“If morality paid tuition fees,” he said calmly, “people like Thomas Veil wouldn't exist.”

Leila hated that sentence.

Because somewhere deep down, part of her understood exactly what he meant.

She stared at the check again.

Ten million naira.

Enough money to completely change her life.

But attached to a man who made her skin crawl.

“And if I refuse?” she asked quietly.

Zane stood.

The movement instantly shifted the energy in the room.

“You won't.”

The certainty in his voice angered her.

“You don't know me.”

“No,” he agreed. “But I know pressure.”

He buttoned his suit jacket slowly.

“Get some rest tonight.”

Leila frowned.

“That's it?”

“For now.”

He started walking toward the door.

Then paused beside her.

Close enough now that she could smell the expensive cologne lingering beneath gunpowder and whiskey.

“One more thing,” he said.

Leila looked up reluctantly.

“The next time you scream in my building, make sure it's for a better reason.”

Heat flooded her face instantly.

Humiliation.

Anger.

Embarrassment.

Zane left before she could respond.

The door shut behind him.

Leila remained frozen in the chair.

Then finally, she grabbed the check again.

Ten million naira.

Her fingers tightened around it.

Her chest felt heavy.

Nothing about this felt real.

She should have been trying to escape.

Calling the police.

Running.

Instead, she sat inside a billionaire's building thinking about whether ten million naira was enough money to walk willingly into danger.

And the worst part?

Part of her already knew the answer.

Hours later, Leila lay awake in the massive bed staring at the ceiling.

Sleep wouldn't come.

She couldn't understand why a man like Zane Rogers cared so much about stopping traffickers and money laundering.

Around two in the morning, her phone buzzed suddenly beside her.

Leila sat up instantly.

Unknown Number.

But somehow she already knew.

Her thumb hovered briefly before opening the message.

Her heartbeat slowed as she read.

Be downstairs by 10 a.m.

My men will pick you up for a test.

Then another message appeared.

Let's see how good you really are.

Leila stared at the screen.

The words settled slowly inside her chest.

A test.

How good she really was.

Fear crept through her again.

But beneath the fear was something else now.

Something dangerous.

Curiosity.

And that frightened her almost as much as Zane Rogers himself.