The sharp, rhythmic sound of polished shoes echoed through the vast, empty warehouse.
A man strode forward, flanked on either side by men dressed impeccably in tailored suits.
Their movements were synchronized, calculated.
They walked until they reached a heavy metal door. One of the escorts stepped forward, smoothly pulling it open.
The man at the center entered first. The others followed.
Inside, the scene was already set.
Blood splattered the floor.
Suspended from the ceiling, a man hung upside down—his body bruised, his face swollen beyond recognition. He wore nothing but a pair of boxers, his skin streaked with blood, his breaths ragged and shallow.
The newcomer halted, surveying the sight before him with quiet precision.
His hands sank into the pockets of his off-white trousers, his gaze unreadable.
His short black hair was neatly styled, not a strand out of place. Despite the brutal scene, his face remained calm, almost innocent—but there was something deceptive about that image.
This man had sad eyes with an innocent face.He was Broad-shouldered, effortlessly composed, he stood in a crisp white long-sleeve shirt, the top two buttons undone, revealing just enough to hint at quiet authority.
This man was Leonardo Leonardo.
Thirty-five years old. Owner of L2 Group—one of the most powerful corporate entities in the country.
A decade ago, L2 Group was a small enterprise. Though its original owner remained unnamed, an acting CEO had always been in charge.
Then, three years ago, Leo appeared.
Nobody expected the young, polished CEO to be the true mastermind behind L2's staggering success. Speculation ran rampant—many had assumed the company belonged to someone older, someone with a more public legacy.
No one truly knew his family origins. Some cared. Most didn't.
What they did know was this:
Leo was meticulous. charismatic. A perfectionist. His obsession with precision extended beyond his business—it shaped his demeanor, his immaculate sense of style.
Two years ago, at an elite investment party, he first encountered Lynette Daelan and Azaela Mark.
From the moment he met Lynette, something shifted.
He fell—not just for her beauty, but for her presence, her allure, the way she carried herself with effortless grace.
Yet, he never spoke of his feelings.
It wasn't because she was married.
It wasn't because he feared competition.
He had met Lynette's husband before. And in Leo's eyes, he was insignificant.
Leo had always known what he wanted. He had always understood patience,though he wasn't patient at all matters.
But when he spoke of Lynette—whenever she crossed his mind—he called her many loving names but the best was by a name that carried a quiet reverence.
Mi Cielo.
"Wake him up," Leonardo ordered, stepping back.
One of the men moved swiftly, splashing cold water over the prisoner's swollen face. The man coughed violently as he regained consciousness, his eyes barely able to open from the swelling.
"Le…" he tried to speak.
Leonardo's brows lifted in mock surprise. "Man! Who did this to you? This is not how you should look. Put him down!" he commanded.
Without hesitation, some of the men moved forward, cutting him loose and lowering him to the ground.
Leo walked over to a nearby couch and settled into it, his posture relaxed but his gaze sharp. He motioned for one of his men to bring the prisoner forward.
Two men hauled him up, seating him on the couch—but not too close to Leo.
The man opened his mouth, instinctively shifting forward, as though seeking comfort in proximity.
Leo stopped him with a single, uninterested glance. "Stay where you are. Man, do you really want to stain my white with your blood?" His tone was cool, detached—as if he were addressing something filthy.
The prisoner recoiled, trembling. "I'm sorry… Leo… please forgive me! I know my mistakes—it will never happen again, I swear!" he pleaded, voice cracking with desperation.
Leo's gaze darkened. "Mistakes?" He narrowed his eyes.
"I don't know wha—"
Leo cut him off.
"Brother, if you wanted out of this, you could have just said so," he interrupted—smiling.
The prisoner shuddered at that smile.
Leo leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You know… Mi Cielo.... is still missing," he murmured, letting the words hang in the air.
Then his eyes sharpened.
"And you…" His voice dropped slightly, filled with quiet menace.
"You decided to stress me more with that police friend of yours."
The prisoner panicked. "Leo, he's not a friend!I swear—on my **mother's grave!" he cried.
Leo placed a finger against his lips. "Shushhh."His voice was quiet, calculated.
He closed his eyes slowly, exhaling as if savoring the silence.
Then, just as deliberately, he opened his eyes again—fixing his gaze on the trembling man before him.
"Why are you the only one yelling?" he asked, his tone eerily calm. "Friend or not, you will reunite soon."
His words sent a chill through the air.
"But the thing is… even though you told me you were tired, your end remains the same," Leo added, his voice almost thoughtful.
"Leo…" the man gasped, bursting into fresh tears. His hands rubbed together frantically in a desperate plea.
Leo barely reacted. Instead, he turned his gaze toward the dimly lit corner of the room, as if contemplating something beyond them.
"You know…" he mused, "I could have just let you go. How many years have we known each other? Twelve years? Fifteen?"
Slowly, Leo leaned in, his lips curling into a smile.
"But if I let you go, it will happen again," he continued. "Then I let you go… then it happens again… ahh." He shook his head and waved his hand dismissively.
"You shouldn't have done that."
The man's breathing grew erratic. His sorrow-filled eyes pleaded for mercy.
"I… I thought we were like brothers," he choked out, panting, his voice breaking. "I even felt like you were my brother from another mother…" His tears spilled faster now.
Leo chuckled. "Funny man."
He lifted a fist to his lips, stifling his amusement, then casually crossed his legs.
"Someone." He gestured with a flick of his fingers. "Bring his police friend here so he can see him again."
A tall, broad-shouldered man stepped forward—Axe, one of Leo's closest guards. His shaved head gleamed under the dim lighting as he leaned down toward Leo.
Lowering his voice, he muttered,"Boss… that crazy doc, David Joshua… he took his organs and forgot to close him up. Should I… bring him like that?"
Though Axe spoke quietly, the man beside Leo heard every word.
His eyes widened in horror.
Leo barely glanced his way. "I'm done with him. Take him away."
In an instant, some men grabbed hold of the prisoner.
"You heartless motherf—!" the man screamed, breaking free just long enough to lunge at Leo, gripping his shirt in desperation.
But it was short-lived.
The guards swiftly pulled him back, forcing him away as they muttered apologies to their boss.
"What the hell!" Leo yelled, swiftly unbuttoning his now-stained shirt before throwing it to the floor in disgust.
"Axe, get me a new shirt," he ordered, his voice sharp.
Just as the words left his mouth, the sharp ringing of a phone interrupted the moment.
"Boss, you have a call," Axe announced, retrieving the phone from his pocket and handing it over.
Leo barely glanced at the screen before muttering, "Devil on red."
He picked up the call, pressing the phone to his ear.
"Azaela."
Silence stretched for a moment. Leo's expression shifted—his playful edge gone, replaced with serious focus.
Then the call ended.
Slowly, a grin crept onto his lips.
"Axe," he murmured.
"Boss?" Axe responded, standing at attention.
Leo leaned back slightly, amusement flickering in his eyes.
"Mi Cielo is back."