Chapter 1: Shadows and the King
The nightclub was alive before midnight, but it truly awakened after the clock passed twelve. Hidden beneath the city's polished skyline, it pulsed like a secret heart, beating harder than the world above ever dared to.
The bass throbbed deep through the foundations, vibrating against the leather seats, the mirrored walls, and the carefully engineered architecture that swallowed sound before it leaked into the streets. Lights carved through thick smoke in sharp beams, red and gold sweeping over writhing bodies on the dance floor. Perfume, liquor, sweat, and danger mixed in the air until it was intoxicating.
This was no ordinary nightclub. This was the jewel in me. Leone empire, a place where fortunes were won and lost in whispers, where alliances were struck with a handshake in the dark, and where a wrong glance could end a man's life before sunrise.
From his private booth overlooking it all, mr.Leone sat like a sovereign surveying his Mostly people known him by the name of leo.
The booth itself was a fortress—tucked against the wall, lined with velvet and glass, guarded by two towering men in tailored suits. No one entered without permission. Even those who dared to meet his eye from below did so quickly, before looking away. Few survived the weight of Leo's gaze for long.
He leaned back with the kind of ease only men of true power carried. A glass of whiskey, gold in the shifting light, swirled in his hand. He wasn't drinking for pleasure. He was drinking because he could. Because every gesture—even lifting a glass—was a declaration that he was untouchable.
The music throbbed, the crowd surged, but in the cocoon of his booth, Leo existed in stillness, like a predator hidden in the grass. Watching. Waiting.
A shadow leaned closer to him.
"Mr. Leo ."
The voice belonged to Mark, his secretary. Not a bodyguard, not an enforcer—Leo had others for that. Mark's weapon was sharper: a meticulous mind, a perfect memory. He was the kind of man who remembered every number on a balance sheet, every face at a gala, and every rumor whispered too carelessly.
Tonight, though, his face was tense, his lips pressed into a line. He clutched a slim leather folder against his chest, though it was unlikely he intended to hand it over here.
"There's a man downstairs," Mark said, voice low so that even the nearest guard couldn't overhear. "He doesn't belong here."
Leo didn't look at him. He tilted his glass instead, watching the reflection of the lights break in amber ripples.
"Then why hasn't he been removed?"
Mark hesitated. That alone was unusual; he rarely hesitated. "Because he's… different. Too calm for this place. Doesn't look threatening, but there's something about him. As if he expected to be here."
For the first time that night, Leo's gaze lifted from his drink. His eyes, dark and sharp, cut toward Mark like a blade.
"Handle it," he said, each word clipped. "If he's trouble, he won't walk out."
Mark inclined his head, but the faint line of unease never left his face.
"Kai a unusual guy"..
At the edge of the dance floor, Kai stood like a misplaced piece of a puzzle.
He didn't belong. That much was obvious. His jacket was plain, modest against the sea of glittering sequins and slick suits. His smile, quiet and unassuming, didn't fit the wild abandon of the crowd. But most of all, his stillness set him apart.
Where others danced, shouted, or stumbled, Kai simply watched. His eyes swept the room with a calmness that bordered on unnatural, reading every angle, every doorway, every guard. It was the kind of gaze that didn't just see—it measured.
"Strange place for a man like me," he murmured under his breath, almost amused. He adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, a small, deliberate gesture that betrayed no nerves.
His presence was no accident. Every step, every glance, was calculated. He had walked into the lion's den with his eyes open.
As he moved through the press of bodies, his path seemed aimless, but it was not. He slipped past drunken men with too much money, women who laughed too loudly, bartenders who poured with practiced speed. He brushed by dealers, runners, minor players—all pawns in Leo 's vast machine.
And then, as if by chance—or by fate—he reached the exit.
Leo was there, descending from his booth with two guards in tow.
The collision was inevitable.
Kai brushed against Leo's shoulder. A light touch, nothing more. But in that instant, the atmosphere shifted like a knife drawn in silence.
Leo froze. His hand twitched toward the weapon hidden beneath his jacket, and his eyes locked onto Kai's with a predator's glare.
"Watch yourself," he growled. His voice was low, dangerous, heavy enough to crush.
Kai stepped back, hands raised slightly in mock apology. His smile was polite—almost too polite.
"My fault," he said smoothly. "I didn't see you."
Leo's eyes scanned him, head to toe. Instinct gnawed at him, sharp and unrelenting. Something was wrong about this man.
"This isn't a place for amateurs," Leo said, voice edged with disdain. "Walk carefully, or you'll regret it."
Kai inclined his head, still smiling. "Thank you for the advice, Mr. I'll be careful."
Leo sneered and brushed past, muttering to Mark without breaking stride.
"Next time, don't let strangers wander in. He's wasting my air."
As the king of the club vanished into the shadows, Kai's smile slipped away. In its place, a colder expression flickered across his face, gone as quickly as it came.
"Enjoy your air while it lasts," he whispered.
Leo's office, three floors above the nightclub, was a world apart.
The pounding bass faded into silence here, replaced by the soft hum of city lights bleeding through floor-to-ceiling windows. Bookshelves lined the walls, their spines gleaming. Abstract art in deep reds and blacks stared down like silent witnesses. A mahogany desk dominated the room, polished to perfection, buried beneath reports, ledgers, and dossiers.
It was not just an office. It was a throne room.
Leo sat behind the desk, cigarette smoldering between his fingers. The reports Mark had prepared lay open before him. His sharp eyes devoured every line, weighing profits and losses, risks and advantages.
To the world outside, he was the model of success. His name glittered on charity galas and business journals. His empire stretched into luxury goods, technology, construction. Investors whispered his name with reverence.
But beneath the mask lay the truth: arms deals across oceans, illegal mines carved into mountainsides, politicians bought with blood money. His was an empire of shadows, vast and untouchable.
Few knew the whole of it. Fewer still understood the paradox: Leo , a man of elegance, was also a man of brutality.
And he had built it all by obeying one rule—trust no one.
He hadn't been born into this. His father had been a small-time smuggler, struggling to hold his place in a ruthless world. Betrayal came from the man closest to him. The betrayal cost the Ricci family everything—their lives, their home. All but Leo were buried in the wreckage.
Leo had survived.
At eighteen, with nothing but ashes, he took control of what little remained of his father's syndicate. Where others saw weakness, he carved strength. Where others wavered, he struck. And brick by brick, corpse by corpse, he built an empire that now stretched across continents.
The memory of betrayal remained, burned into him. Trust was a lie. Weakness was death.
At thirty, he was untouchable. Or so he believed.
A knock broke his thoughts.
"Enter," Leo said, without looking up.
The door opened, and Mark stepped inside, planner in hand. He closed the door softly, like a man entering a cathedral.
"Is the stranger gone?" Leo asked, flicking ash into a crystal tray.
"Yes," Mark said. His voice was calm, but his eyes carried unease. "But…"
Leo raised a brow. "But?"
"He didn't react like others do when they stumble into our world. No fear. No confusion. He carried himself as if he belonged here. Almost as if he wanted you to notice him."
Leo exhaled smoke, lips curving into a cold smirk. "Irrelevant. If he lingers, he won't last the night."
Mark shifted his weight, tightening his grip on the planner. "Sir… do you ever think about the rumors?"
Leo's gaze lifted, sharp as glass. "What rumors?"
"Whispers of someone greater. That Someone enter 's who pulls strings even in the shadows we rule. A ruler above rulers."
Leo:huhh...
Leo's laugh was short, humorless, but edged with disdain. "Fairy tales. There's no one above me. Don't waste your time chasing ghosts."
Mark bowed his head, but hesitation lingered in his eyes as he backed out of the room.
Silence fell once more.
Leo leaned back in his chair, the city sprawling before him in the window's reflection. The smoke from his cigarette curled like a phantom above his head.
For the first time in years, unease touched him. Instinct gnawed, faint but relentless, whispering that something was shifting in the dark.
He turned his head toward the corner of the room.
On its perch, a grey parrot tilted its head, eyes gleaming like black glass.
"What do you think, Nero?" Leo asked.
The bird ruffled its feathers, then squawked in a harsh, uncanny echo.
"No trust! No trust!"
Leo let out a chuckle, low and cold. "Smarter than most men."
He rose, walking to the window. The city sprawled beneath him, alive with light and secrets. It was his kingdom, every tower and alley bending to his will.
And yet, as he stared into the shadows between the lights, Leo —the untouchable k
ing—felt something he had not felt in years.
A crack.
As though the shadows were no longer his to command.
As though the shadows were watching him back.