"Zhang Wei. Is that you?"
Leon's voice was low, cold, spat like a nail hammered into steel.
His fists were clenched tightly at his sides, the leather of his gloves groaning slightly with pressure.
He had driven here straight from the penthouse. Straight from dropping Kaya off, from the way her quiet gaze had followed him into the elevator, the press of her perfume still lingering on his collar.
But he'd left her behind in the safety of glass and silk.
This place? This was not for softness.
This was for reckoning.
The compound Damien had secured was dim and bare-boned, more warehouse than holding cell. Harsh fluorescent lights buzzed overhead like dying insects, washing everything in a sickly blue tint.
The air smelled of metal and sweat and concrete left to rot. Somewhere in the corner, a leaking pipe clicked steadily like a ticking clock.
And there, chained like an offering to a single steel column, was the man who had crossed him.
Zhang Wei.
He looked smaller than Leon remembered. Hunched, unshaven, eyes wide and bloodshot. His orange jumpsuit, cheap, government-issued, creased at the edges, swallowed his frame. The cuffs around his wrists bit into his skin.
He jolted at Leon's voice, snapping upright.
"Y-Yes… Mr. Feng," Zhang stammered, head bowed low.
Once, he had been an intern. Then an entry-level staffer in the distribution chain. Quiet. Dull. Now, he was a parasite who had leeched funds, stock, and tech from Leon's company for months.
And gotten bold with it.
That was the worst part.
The boldness.
Leon took a single step forward, his shoes echoing hard on the concrete floor.
"Did you really think no one would find you?" Leon's voice dropped lower, cutting like a blade through damp air. "Did you think I wouldn't scour the whole damn earth to make an example out of you?"
Zhang's head whipped up. "I-I didn't mean—"
But that was as far as he got.
Leon's fist cracked across Zhang's face with the force of a breaking storm.
The sound ricocheted off the walls, sharp, brutal, final.
Zhang's body slammed against the column, cheek blooming red, blood streaking from the corner of his mouth. He whimpered, half a sob, half a gasp, pain slicing through him in violent threads.
Damien, standing a few feet away with arms crossed and jaw tense, didn't move.
Not yet.
Leon stared down at Zhang, fury darkening his eyes to pitch. His lips were drawn, teeth grinding silently.
He lifted his arm again, fist already curling back. This one wouldn't miss.
But Damien moved fast.
"Leon!"
Leon's fist hovered mid-air, muscles trembling with fury. His chest rose and fell rapidly, and for a moment, all that filled the room was the sound of his breathing, like a storm restrained behind glass.
Slowly, his hand lowered, jaw clenched tight enough to pop.
"We're not children," Leon hissed, his voice raw, like it scraped its way up his throat. His glare flicked to Damien, sharp and crackling.
Damien didn't flinch. "No. We're not," he said, stepping closer, eyes hard. "So stop acting like one."
Leon said nothing. But his chest heaved once more before his hands dropped to his sides.
Zhang slumped lower against the column, sweat pouring down his temples, lip quivering. Fear had soaked through his skin, his eyes pleaded, but no one here was moved.
Leon looked down at him, then past him.
And then, he moved again.
This time, without a word, he turned and reached for a rusted piece of metal piping that jutted from the wall, half hidden in shadow. It scraped free with a shriek of aged steel, the sound ringing too loud in the close space.
Damien's eyes widened slightly. "Oh, for goodness sake…"
But he didn't speak again.
He didn't dare.
Leon turned the pipe slowly in his hand, testing its weight. It fit too perfectly in his palm. For a split second, the air in the room thickened, like even the walls held their breath.
Zhang whimpered. "P-please, Mr Feng... I—I'll give it back. Everything. I swear—"
Leon didn't raise the pipe.
He just stared at him. Cold. Measured.Calculating the damage. Calculating what mercy even meant anymore.
Then, after a beat that felt like an hour, he exhaled. The metal clanged softly as he set it down beside the wall.
"I'm not a street thug," Leon muttered. His voice was quiet, dangerous in how calm it had become.
He looked back at Damien, his tone clipped.
"Take him away."
Damien gave a sharp nod.
From the shadows, four men stepped forward, officers from Leon's private security unit. They didn't wear uniforms, but the coldness in their eyes told enough.
They uncuffed Zhang and dragged him to his feet. His legs buckled, but they held him upright like a sack of dead weight.
Leon turned away before they were even out the door.
~
The ride was quiet.
City lights smeared like war paint against the tinted windows. Leon sat with his arms folded, the aftermath of violence still simmering in his blood.
Damien sat beside him, watching.
"What's tomorrow's schedule?" Leon asked, voice low.
Damien tapped his tablet. "Eleven a.m., lunch with Bill Chalmers. He's financing the Southeastern logistics hub."
Leon gave a humorless laugh. "Ah. Chalmers. Fourth richest man in the country. Wants to build a port like it's an empire."
"You're not wrong."
Leon's lips twisted, tired. "He's useful."
A pause.
Damien spoke again. "How was the gala?"
Leon looked out the window. "Predictable," he said. "Powerful men pretending they don't bleed. Women in glittering gowns, circling them like sharks."
Damien tilted his head. "I saw the pictures. Kaya fit in well."
Leon's tone didn't change. "She looked the part."
"She handled the splash incident well too."
Leon's eyes narrowed. "She didn't need to."
Damien glanced sideways at him. "Is she okay?"
Leon finally looked over. "She's fine."
Then, colder, firmer: "Drop it."
Damien raised his hands in surrender and turned back to his screen.