Leona Castiel walked a fine line between duty and pleasure.

He didn’t exactly enjoy his job. It was messy, dark, and undeniably dangerous.

Yet, part of him thrived in it. He cleaned the streets of filth that dared to step out of line. The screams of agony that echoed through the empty basement halls were like music to his ears.

All so she could stay safe.

**Georgina Floyd**.

The most beautiful girl he’d ever laid eyes on, with soft jade eyes and sunkissed skin. She worked at the cafe down the street, brewing coffee behind the counter, taking orders from excited customers. Many times, he watched her from the shadows, tucking her caramel-blond hair into a messy ponytail, nervously chewing on her lower lip as she cleaned spills and prepped dishes for the constant flow of customers.

He enjoyed watching her work. It was one of his favorite pastimes. He liked to imagine her in his own kitchen, swaying her seductive hips to some obnoxious pop song, working at the marble island. Not that she knew he existed— she didn’t even know his name. But Leona knew everything about her.

Her favorite movie. Her favorite food. Her address. Even the exact name of the hair product she used—the one that left a sweet vanilla and cinnamon scent…

A loud scream interrupted his blissful daydreaming, the unwelcome sound emitting from the tortured man had been working on for the past hour or so. Leona didn’t mind. His mind had wandered before, and this was an opportunity to meet a new…acquaintance.

The man, Mr. Wickhamm, was older—late forties, possibly early fifties. His once pristine suit was now drenched in sweat and blood, the fabric torn and disheveled. He’d been sitting in the chair for far too long, bound, gagged, and on the edge of madness. His eyes were wide with fear, and his panting breaths echoed in the otherwise silent room.

Leona leaned forward, making eye contact with the terrified man, and let out a slow, deliberate sigh. “Mr. Wickhamm,” he purred, his voice low but striking with an unspoken command. “I do hope this is worth your time.”

Wickhamm’s breathing hitched as he trembled in his restraints. His desperation hung in the air, thick as the blood pooling around him. Leona’s gaze wandered, inspecting the man in front of him with clinical detachment. His appearance was no longer that of a respectable businessman, but a wretched, broken soul who had long lost his dignity.

“Tell me, Mr. Wickhamm,” Leona murmured, “What brings a man like you to these depths?”

The man whimpered but said nothing, his eyes flicking from Leona’s icy gaze to the tools scattered around the room. There was no escape. He knew that now.

Leona picked up a knife, admiring its sharpness as he ran his finger along its edge. “The thing about men like you, Mr. Wickhamm,” he continued, his voice dropping an octave, “is that you think you’re untouchable. But everyone has a weakness. Some people have wives, some have children, and others…” He paused, taking a slow step toward the trembling man. “Others have greed.”

Wickhamm’s eyes flickered with recognition.

“You were hired, weren’t you?” Leona asked, his voice softening as he leaned closer. “To hurt someone. A girl, actually. Georgina Floyd.” He let the name hang in the air like a toxin, waiting for the man’s reaction.

Mr. Wickhamm’s face went pale, his lips parting in an unspoken plea. “I—I didn’t have a choice,” he stammered, but Leona silenced him with a raised hand.

“I know,” Leona said, his voice calm as ever. “That’s what makes this so… tedious. People like you always think they have no choice, don’t they?”

The man’s eyes darted around the room, looking for any escape, but there was none. Not here.

Leona stepped back, tilting his head in thought. “You see, I have this little problem,” he murmured, half to himself. “There’s a girl I care about—a soft and sweet thing, like summer.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he stared at Wickhamm. “And you… you tried to bring the filth of my world too close to hers.”

Wickhamm shuddered, his breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I clean up messes, Wickhamm,” Leona said, his voice suddenly sharp. “And you? You’re just another stain.”

He gripped the older man’s hair, yanking his head back, exposing the pale skin of his neck. The light overhead flickered once, casting an eerie glow over the grim scene.

Leona’s hand was steady as he brought the blade to the man’s throat, his fingers warm against the cool steel. “Tell me, Mr. Wickhamm,” he drawled, his tone velvet-soft, “Was the money worth it? Did the few miserable bills they stuffed into your pocket justify the hell you’ve landed yourself in?”

Wickhamm’s lips trembled, his breath hitching, but no answer came.

Leona sighed with palpable disappointment. He wiped the blade clean with a pristine white handkerchief, now streaked with crimson. “And here I thought we were building a rapport.”

Stepping back, he surveyed his work—the blood, the tension, the despair. But in the end, it all had a purpose. A purpose he was about to fulfill.

He could almost hear her voice now, Georgina’s sweet laughter drifting through his mind. The thought of her, warm and innocent, kept him grounded even as he dealt with the filth of the world.

With a final glance at Wickhamm, Leona moved forward again, a cold smile curving on his lips. “Now… Let’s see if you can be of any use to me.”

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The room was still, save for the soft drip of blood from the body at Leona,s feet. The silence stretched on, interrupted only by the faint hum of Leona’s breathing as he cleaned his blade. His eyes flickered briefly to the shadows in the corner of the room.

A dark figure hovered there, barely more than a silhouette.

Leona let out an exasperated sigh, his voice low but sharp. “You know, it’s getting old, Cassien. Stop lurking in the damn corner.”

The figure shifted, a quiet chuckle escaping from the shadows. The outline of a man stepped forward into the weak light. Cassien. His shoulder-length curly brown hair framed a face that was both striking and unsettling, with obsidian eyes that seemed to swallow the light around them.

“Couldn’t resist,” Cassien smirked, his voice dripping with a mix of cynicism and amusement. “It’s the only time I get to enjoy the show. You should make it longer, Leona. Really drag it out next time.”

Leona didn’t respond immediately, simply wiping the last of the blood off his knife before sheathing it.  “You’re always here for the ‘entertainment’, aren’t you?”

Cassien shrugged with a lazy smile, his eyes gleaming with a mischievous spark. “What can I say? It’s better than watching those damn politicians play their little power games. At least you get to do something.”

Leona gave a half-smile, clearly unbothered by the comment. “I’m sure I’ll find more entertainment at ‘The Den.’”

Cassien’s expression shifted slightly, no longer playful. “Right, the meeting with the bosses. Let me guess: more promises, more negotiations? Same old dance.”

Leona shot him a quick look, his gaze sharp. “Exactly. And while I’m there, you’ll be dealing with the mess here.”

Cassien’s lips curled upward again, and he cracked his knuckles nonchalantly. “Leave it to me. I’ll clean up the body. No one will ever know he was here.”

Leona gave a nod of approval, pushing a loose lock of chestnut hair back into place as he moved toward the door. “Good. No trace. The last thing I need is complications.”

Cassien tilted his head, the faintest of smiles tugging at his lips. “Always a pleasure watching you work. But I’ll take care of the rest. Go handle your little meeting.”

Leona paused at the door, his hand on the handle. “Don’t make a mess of it. Remember what happens when things aren’t clean.”

With that, Leona left, his footsteps fading as he descended into the night. The sound of the door clicking shut was the final note before Cassien moved swiftly into action, already planning how to erase every trace of the night’s grim work.

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Leona slid into the plush leather seat of the Aston Martin DB11, the engine purring to life with a satisfying roar. The night was still young, but his mind was already racing ahead. The meeting with the neighboring bosses was essential—there was power to be claimed, alliances to be secured. But none of it mattered if it didn’t protect her.

As the tires gripped the asphalt, Leona’s gaze flickered to the rearview mirror, his mind briefly drifting back to Georgina. He had seen her earlier, lost in the world of her little cafe, unaware of the darkness that encroached on her life. She would never know the extent of his actions, the depths of the darkness he navigated just to keep her safe. She didn’t need to.

His eyes hardened as he navigated the streets, his thoughts already turning to the meeting ahead. Deals would be made, power shifted, but all of it would serve one purpose.

Georgina.

No one else could stand in his way. She would be his, and anyone who thought otherwise would soon regret it.