And yes, it scared me. Because for so long, being Leon Darrow meant control, strategy, power. It meant surviving. But this—cooking with friends, yelling at pies, laughing over garlic—this felt like living. A part of me mourned Leon. He was brutal, brilliant, and dangerously cool. But a louder part whispered:
“Leon never felt this alive.”
Not even when he outsmarted billionaires.
Not even when he held entire cities in his pocket.
Not even when he rerouted Mongolian gold through three continents while sipping espresso in a bathrobe.
So yes… Thanksgiving? Still weird. Still confusing.
But as I stared at that turkey—golden, sizzling, majestic—I realized something else:
I was happy. Really happy. And that scared me even more than the camel toe maid.
*****
Then came dinner—that glorious
