The night was quiet in the Romano estate. A storm brewed somewhere in the distance, thunder rolling faintly like a warning.
Leonardo sat back behind his mahogany desk, cigarette smoke curling lazily through the dimly lit room. His sleeves were rolled up, veins tensed beneath the tattooed skin of his forearms. There was the subtle scent of gun oil in the air — the scent of a man who never truly slept.
Across from him, Alex Romano entered the room with a file in his hand, expression calm but alert.
"You said you found him," Leonardo murmured, his voice low, heavy.
Alex nodded, stepping forward to place the file on the desk. "Belrum Moren. He's been hidden under that name for almost a decade now."
Leonardo flipped open the file. It was filled with neatly clipped photographs and reports — the kind of information that cost time, patience, and loyalty.
"He's settled on the outskirts of the city," Alex began. "Owns a legit business — Moren Electronics & Supplies. A front, naturally. He uses it to channel in old associates and profits from under-the-table transactions. Nothing too extravagant. He's careful."
Leonardo studied one of the photographs — Belrum emerging from a silver car, shaking hands with government officials, the picture of a respectable citizen.
Alex continued, "He's kept a small circle. Doesn't attend large events anymore. He's few security guard and a few loyal employees. Keeps to himself."
Leonardo's jaw tightened slightly, his finger tapping along the edge of the photo. "Family?"
Alex nodded. "His wife, Ishal Moren — half British, half Indian. Passed away in an accident seven years or so ago. Car accident. She was a classical musician, quite popular in the Delhi circuit before she got married to him."
Leonardo's eyes darkened slightly. "And childrens?"
"Isabella Moren. Twenty five years old. She was born in Italy but raised there after her mother's death. We haven't found a detailed information about her though because she doesn't goes out much....Belrum protects and loves her very much. We only know that a dance teacher goes there everyday."
Leonardo leaned back in his chair, silent for a long moment. The soft glow of the desk lamp cast half his face in light, half in shadow — a perfect reflection of the man he was.
he muttered quietly, more to himself than to Alex. "So he built his peace far from where he burned ours."
Alex crossed his arms. "He's been clean ever since, Leo. No new enemies, no illegal trades, nothing that leaves a trace. He's smart — he learned from his mistake."
Leonardo's lips twisted into a parody of a smile. "Smart men still bleed, brother. They just take longer to realize they're dying. In years he have built his own weakness Alex. His daughter is his weakness and i will make sure to make him feel the longing and pain of loosing someone you love....."
Alex hesitated. "You want me to get in quiet? Perhaps establish surveillance?"
Leonardo's eyes were still on the photograph of the villa — the white columns towering, the garden expansive, the peaceful deception of safety.
"Not yet," he said, his voice low, measured. "Let him feel safe for a little while longer. Let him believe the past has forgotten his name."
He closed the file and rested his hand on it — firm, final. "Then… we take everything."
As Alex nodded and went to leave, Leonardo's gaze drifted to one picture that had slipped from the folder — a candid of Belrum walking with a young woman. The girl's hair flowed in waves down her back, her face half-turned, sunlight softening her features.
He didn't recognize her, not yet. But something in that picture — her bearing, her quiet stance — tightened his chest in a way he hadn't felt in years.
He placed the photograph aside, almost carelessly, though his eyes lingered on it for a second longer than they should have.
The rain outside started up again, slow and steady.
And somewhere in the city, beneath the same storm, a girl named Isabella Moren was dancing — blissfully unaware that her father's sins had just come knocking on her door.