Glass and Blood

Splash!

The sound of shattering glass ripped through the Rossi mansion, echoing down the empty halls like a war cry. Another crash followed. Then another. Rage tore through Leonard's study room like a storm, destroying everything in its path.

Leonard stood in the center of the chaos, chest rising and falling with rapid, furious breaths. His eyes burned with a wild light, pupils sharp with hate. His hands shook — not from fear, but from the kind of anger that made a man dangerous.

A whiskey glass lay in glittering shards at his feet, the golden liquid seeping into the rug. The faint bruise on his cheek throbbed with each beat of his pulse, a humiliating reminder of Alessandro’s fist.

“How dare he!” Leonard snarled through clenched teeth. He grabbed a chair and slammed it to the floor, the wood cracking on impact.

“How dare he put his hands on me!” His voice was raw, almost hoarse with rage.

Martin stood in the doorway, watching in silence. He’d seen Leonard angry before, but this… this was different. The fury tonight was colder, heavier. Something else was brewing beneath it.

Leonard reached for the edge of his desk and flipped it over, sending papers, pens, and glass scattering in a chaotic explosion. He leaned on the overturned wood for a moment, breathing hard, his gaze unfocused.

“That arrogant son of a bitch,” he spat, glaring at the wall as though Alessandro himself stood there.

“He thinks he can humiliate me in front of everyone. In front of my family. In front of his bodyguard” His voice cracked—not from weakness, but from the strain of holding back something darker.

Martin remained still, offering no comfort.

Leonard turned sharply toward him, eyes narrowed.

“You’re just going to stand there? Nothing to say?”

“With respect… what would you like me to say, sir?” Martin asked carefully.

Leonard laughed—a hollow, bitter sound that didn’t belong in a human throat. He raked a hand through his dark hair, tugging at the roots as if pain could ground him. He began to pace, his mind replaying the moment Alessandro’s fist connected with his jaw. Again. And again. And again. Each memory stoked the fire until it burned hotter than before.

Then he stopped. Still as stone.

“He thinks he’s untouchable,” Leonard said, almost too softly. The quiet was more dangerous than the yelling.

“He thinks he can walk away from this like nothing happened.” His lips curled into something that could barely be called a smile.

His gaze lifted to Martin.

“Tell me something. Apart from family, who’s closest to Alessandro?”

Martin blinked at the sudden question.

“Luca,” he said after a beat. “Apart from his father, it’s Luca. His bodyguard. Everyone knows Alessandro isn’t close to his younger brother… the one who left years ago.”

A slow, dangerous grin spread across Leonard’s face.

“Then I guessed right.”

He stepped closer to Martin, his voice dropping to a venomous whisper.

“I want him. Dead.”

Martin’s eyes widened.

“You want Luca dead?”

“Yes,” Leonard said without hesitation. He began pacing again, but now his steps carried purpose. “He’s the reason Alessandro dared to touch me. Luca interrupted my conversation with Marco. That bastard pushed me.” His tone dripped with poison.

“Sir, with all due respect, Luca is heavily guarded,” Martinez said cautiously. “There’s no Alessandro without him. He’s always within arm’s reach—”

“I don’t care,” Leonard cut in, his voice sharp enough to slice through the air.

“I want him. I don’t care what it costs—money, blood, leverage. Drag him to me in chains if you have to. I’ll be the one to end him.”

The room went silent. The only sound was the faint creak of rainwater dripping from the roof outside.

“And when we get him,” Leonard continued, his tone quieter but deadlier, “I’ll send Alessandro a message. The same way he did when he took Marco.”

“What kind of message?” Martin asked warily.

Leonard’s smirk widened.

“The kind he won’t forget. The kind that’ll make him regret ever laying his hands on me.”

He reached for a half-full bottle of aged liquor lying on its side. He took a long drink, the burn doing nothing to cool the fire in his chest.

“Sir, Luca is just a bodyguard,” Martin tried again. “Shouldn’t we focus on getting Marco back? Alessandro—”

The sudden smash of the bottle shattering against the wall cut him off. Amber liquid splattered across the carpet, the scent of expensive whiskey filling the air.

“I don’t care if it’s Marco, Luca, or his damned pet dog,” Leonard said, his breathing heavy. “I just want to take something from him. Something he can’t get back.”

He moved to the window, staring out at the night. The rain had stopped, but the sky hung heavy and dark, clouds swirling like a brewing war. His reflection stared back at him—bruise and all. But it wouldn’t be there much longer.

“This isn’t over, Alessandro,” Leonard murmured to himself, his voice almost tender in its venom. “Not by a long shot.”

Behind him, Martin said nothing. He didn’t have to. The message was already written—in blood.