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Madrid, Spain ~ Leonardo’s POV

I jolted out of my bed when my arm came down on a warm body.

The fuck? Whose name did I not give a shit about this time?

I rolled over to glance at the blonde whose bare chest heaved massively as she slept. Yeah, a night with me could do that to you. I decided not to wake her up. She would need all the energy she could muster to catch the next taxi back to wherever she came from.

I brushed back a stray lock of my hair and then got out of bed. Just like the blonde, I was stark naked. I walked into the bathroom for a relaxing cold shower and to brush my teeth as well. I wrapped a large gray towel dangerously low around my hips before returning to the bedroom.

I was fully dressed in shorts and a tee when the blonde begun to stir. Just in time.

I picked up her lingerie and the rest of her skimpy clothing while she pulled a cloth over her breasts before sitting up.

“Buenos días, querido.” She greeted sultrily, and added a seductive yawn as she batted her fake, long lashes at me.

I tossed her clothes at her, which she managed to catch without toppling over, “It’s 1:45 in the afternoon, Theresa. Get dressed.” I replied.

“It’s fucking Trisha! I’ve told you so many times since we met.”

“Same thing, querida. Now get dressed.” The words escaped my mouth as an order this time.

She hurriedly dressed up and was done in a few minutes, noticing that I was so close to losing my patience. She grabbed her purse and stuffed it with her phone and other belongings that had found their way onto my bed.

“I’ve finished.” She murmured.

“Bueno. Get out and forget we ever met.” I stated.

Unlike a few women in the past who were rotten somewhere six feet under for having the audacity to defy me, she nodded her head and scurried out of my room, and hopefully, my life. 

A while after she’d left, I headed downstairs for the kitchen. My parents were having lunch at a smaller table in the dining area. I pulled a seat next to my mother and waited for the cook to serve me with a plate of the fideuà.

“You’re needed at the mansion.” My father informed me once I was seated.

The De Los Santos mansion housed the other members of the Spanish mafia but the Don, his gang, and their families. They resided here in my father’s villa thanks to my mother’s constant demands for privacy.

“¿Por qué?”

“A rat was found sticking its nose in places it didn’t belong. The other members of la Rosa de Sangre are already there, but he still refuses to give out any information. Make him talk.” He ended, and I responded with a curt nod.

I finished up my food just as my mother parted her lips to speak. Here it comes.

“Hijo, I’d love for you to take a break from your revolting hobby for a while.” She grimaced, “That’s the third girl running out of here scared shit this week.”

I flashed her a loving smile, “As you wish, mamá.”

She kissed me on the jaw in gratitude before getting up to leave. My father who followed closely behind her, paused and turned to me with disbelief written all over his face.

He knew.

I wasn’t going to take a break. I was just going to stop bringing the women here. What was the point in owning a chain link of hotels if I couldn’t get laid in any of them?

My dark blue Porsche came to a halt in the opened garage of the mansion. A man informed me that the others were still in the basement, trying to get the intruder to talk. I headed straight down there, ignoring the many greetings that were thrown my way. I wasn’t rude, they were just annoying.

Meet the other members of la Rosa de Sangre. Miguel Iglesias, my second in command, had dark chocolate brown hair, black eyes, and a non-existent sex life. Camilla Arianna Flores, the hacker, had curly mid-length black hair, black eyes, and an arse I’d have loved to tap if I didn’t see her as a sister. Being the only female in the gang, it earned her two overprotective big brothers.

“¿Dónde está?” I inquired, shrugging off my blazer and handing it over to Camilla.

“Celda 005.” She replied.

“How did he get in?” I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt.

“That’s the problem. He has been here all along and only decided to make a move now.” Miguel answered this time.

“Interesante. Anything else?”

“Sí. From the few words we managed to get out of him, we deduced that he is not from here.” Camilla replied, unlocking the door to the cell.

We stepped inside with a cool demeanour. Miguel stood to my right and Camilla to my left. Flicking the light switch on, I smirked confidently at the bruised-up man. It was my turn to have some fun.

I steadily moved towards him. “Do your worst,” He confidently spat out.

Trust me, there was no way he would survive that. Camilla was right though; the bastard wasn’t Spanish. How then had it taken so long for my men to realize that he wasn’t one of them? Someone better had a good explanation after I was done here.

I grabbed a dagger from the metal table nearby and laced it in the ethanol used in cleaning up the prisoners we wanted to keep alive. I plunged it into an open wound on his shoulder blade and twisted it. I stared with a blank expression as he screamed out in agony, writhing pathetically at the feel of the blade in his wound.

I took hold of the handle and dragged the dagger downwards from his shoulder, opening the wound even more. His dark red blood dripped onto the floor, satisfying me. Sharply pulling out the blade, I ripped off his shirt to create room for a signature artwork. I slowly carved out the first two words on his chest, then the third before he cracked.

“Please stop! I’ll tell you everything. Just, please…” He wheezed as he blurted out the words.

I ignored him and concentrated on carving out the last word. When I had finished, the words ‘la Rosa de Sangre’ was in cursive on his chest and blood oozed out nicely.

“My job was to gather everything I could about your mafia, its strengths and weaknesses. I got in almost a year ago but was told to lay low until today.”

I ignored him and picked up a cleaver. There was something he still hadn’t told me. Who sent him? Until I got an answer to that, neither of us were leaving the cell. If he’d been here for that long, then he knew exactly how these sessions worked.

I laid out his fingers on the arm of the chair he was bound to. I pressed down on his hand with my free one to prevent him from forming a fist. A blood curling scream followed the loss of his little finger.

“The English mafia! They sent me!”

What the fuck?