CLAIMED BY THE MAFIA KINGS 1st of the Mafia Queen Series

Leo's POV

Blood and sweat hung in the air like cheap cologne. The man kneeling in front of me reeked of fear, his hands trembling as he pushed the duffel bag forward. The zipper strained against the crumpled mess of cash inside, as pathetic as the man himself.

"Is this a joke?" Matteo's voice cut through the silence beside me, cold and sharp. The kind of cold that made men like this piss themselves.

The thug swallowed hard, wiping his face with a shaking hand. "I-it's all I could get, I swear-"

I silenced him with a look. His mouth snapped shut, terror flickering across his face as his knees scraped against the concrete floor. Good. Let him squirm. Let him feel it.

This wasn't personal. This was business. And in my business, there were no second chances. The rules were simple: You pay. You respect. You don't fuck with me.

I crouched down, grabbing the duffel. The weight of it was wrong. I knew it the second I lifted it. Too light. My jaw tightened, and I tossed it to Matteo without a word.

Matteo unzipped it, sifting through the bills like he was sorting trash. His lips curled in disgust as he grabbed a handful of crumpled twenties, letting them fall to the floor.

"You're short," Matteo growled, his voice low and menacing. "Three hundred grand short."

The thug's eyes widened, his face draining of color. "I-please, Mr. Weston, I'll get the rest. I just need more time-"

Time. They always begged for time.

"Look at me," I said, my voice quiet, controlled. It cut through the room like a blade. The man flinched but obeyed, his wide, panicked eyes locking with mine. He was trembling like a cornered animal, and I could see it: the wheels turning in his head, calculating how far he could run. He didn't realize it was already over.

"You came into my city," I began, standing up slowly, keeping my gaze locked on him. "You made a deal. You failed to deliver. That's not how this works."

"I-I have a family," he stammered, desperation dripping from every word. "Please, I'll get the money, I swear-"

"Everyone has a family," I said, brushing off his plea like dust from my suit. "It doesn't make you special. It just means more people to cry when you're gone."

Before he could say another word, Matteo stepped forward. His movements were calm, deliberate, and utterly merciless. He pulled out his gun with the kind of casual grace that only came from years of practice.

The thug's eyes went wide, his body jerking back as if he could somehow escape. But there was nowhere to go. His fate had been sealed the moment he walked into my city thinking he could cheat me.

Matteo moved fast, pressing the barrel of the gun to the man's temple.

"No!" the man screamed, scrambling, his voice cracking under the weight of his terror. He barely had time to panic before....

Bang!

The shot echoed through the warehouse, loud and final. The body hit the floor with a dull thud, blood pooling beneath him as the bitter scent of gunpowder filled the air.

I didn't flinch. The rush of control, the usual satisfaction I felt in moments like this, was absent today. It should've made me feel powerful. Instead, there was just... nothing.

"Clean this up," I ordered, my voice flat as I turned toward the exit. "Send a message to his crew. They owe me three hundred grand. Make sure they understand what happens if they don't deliver."

Matteo nodded, already signaling the cleanup team as I stepped into the cold night air. The sky was pitch black, the streetlights casting long, fractured shadows across the pavement. My driver was waiting, the car's engine humming softly.

I slid into the backseat, and the door clicked shut behind me. The silence inside the car was suffocating, pressing against me as we pulled away from the warehouse. Usually, moments like these helped me think, helped me focus. But tonight, my mind was already elsewhere.

Her.

Lyra Carson.

No matter how much I tried to focus on business, on the empire I'd built brick by bloody brick, she kept invading my thoughts. It had been two days since I hired her. Two days since she stood in my office and looked me in the eye without a trace of fear. And ever since, she'd been there: in my head, under my skin.

The worst part? I didn't know if I wanted her out.

I closed my eyes, letting the hum of the car lull me into a fog. But instead of clearing my mind, it only sharpened the image of her. Those sharp green eyes, the way her voice didn't waver when she spoke to me, the quiet confidence she carried like armor.

Most people flinched under my gaze. They stammered, cowered, tripped over themselves to get out of my way. But Lyra? She didn't. She met me head-on, unflinching. And it gnawed at me. Intrigued me.

Why the hell wasn't she afraid?

The car pulled up to the estate, the towering gates creaking open as we rolled inside. The moment I stepped out and into the mansion, I felt it again,that subtle shift in the air. Her presence was like a hum beneath the surface, soft but impossible to ignore.

I found myself heading toward Mira's room without thinking, my footsteps echoing softly through the dimly lit halls. When I reached the doorway, I stopped, leaning against the frame.

And there she was.

Lyra sat on the floor beside Mira, her back to me. She was reading softly from a book, her voice low and soothing. Her fingers brushed gently through Mira's hair, the kind of tenderness that stopped me in my tracks.

Mira was listening. Actually listening. For the first time in months, she wasn't lost in her own world. She wasn't staring at the floor or retreating into silence. She was watching Lyra, her small fingers clutching the edge of her sweater as she hung on every word.

I stood there, something unfamiliar tightening in my chest. Lyra didn't know it, but she was doing what no one else had been able to do,she was reaching her. And for the first time, I saw a flicker of light in Mira's eyes, a hint of the girl she used to be before everything fell apart.

Lyra's voice softened, and she glanced up, her gaze locking with mine.

There it was again. That look.

It was calm, steady, unafraid. She didn't flinch under my gaze, didn't look away or shrink back like everyone else. Her eyes met mine like a challenge, and it made my blood hum in a way I hadn't felt in years.

I should've turned away, should've walked out of the room. But I didn't. I couldn't.

Something about the way she filled the space, the way she handled Mira with such quiet strength, made it impossible to look away. She didn't belong in this house, in my world. She was warmth and softness in a place built on cold, hard edges.

And that made her dangerous.

Because in my world, distractions got people killed.

She didn't speak, didn't break the moment, but the corner of her mouth curved upward, just slightly. Not a smile,more like an acknowledgment. She knew. She could see the effect she had on me.

And that was a problem.

A problem I needed to solve.

I straightened, forcing myself to break the spell. "Don't let her stay up too late," I said, my voice colder than I intended.

Lyra nodded, her expression unreadable, and turned back to Mira. But as I walked away, I could feel her gaze on me, a weight I couldn't shake.

I made my way to my office, the quiet clicking of my shoes against the marble floor echoing in the back of my mind. My pulse was still racing, my jaw clenched tight.

She was a distraction. A complication I couldn't afford.

And yet, as I poured myself a drink and stared out the window at the sprawling estate below, I couldn't stop thinking about her.

Lyra Carson was going to be a problem.

The question was: What the hell was I going to do about it?