Leo’s POV (25 years old)\ I always knew she’d be ours. From the moment she ran through our estate in that little white dress, trailing after her father during those boring mafia dinners, I knew. She belonged with us. With me.\ Zayn won’t say it out loud, of course. He hides behind his cold eyes and his sniper rifle, but I’ve seen the way he watches her. The way his jaw tightens when she laughs with someone else.\ Me? I don’t hide it. I flirt. I tease. I corner her in hallways and whisper things she pretends not to understand. I want her to feel it—this fire between us.\ But we wait. Because if we tell her the truth too soon, she’ll vanish. She still thinks she can escape this world. Escape us.\ Let her try.\ She’ll come back.\ She always does.\ \ Leo is the fire. The charmer. The devil wrapped in a silk shirt and a crooked grin. Where Zayn walks in silence, Leo arrives with swagger and heat.\ He doesn’t kill clean.\ He crashes his enemies. Cuts them down with blades—katana, daggers, sometimes just a shard of steel in his palm. He likes the mess, the chaos. There’s a thrill in watching fear dawn in someone’s eyes before he splits them in two.\ But he’s not all rage. With her, he’s possessive, intense, almost tender. He smiles too easily, touches her too often, always lingering just a moment longer than necessary.\ He wants her to see the man beneath the blood.\ But he won’t hide the beast to get her.\ \ \ Leo is 6’0", just slightly shorter than Zayn, but his presence feels louder, larger. He’s built like a panther—lithe but powerful, graceful in the way chaos sometimes is. His snow-white hair is striking, wild in a way that makes him look untouchable, untamed. He often wears it loose or slicked back when things get serious.\ His eyes are molten amber, gleaming with danger and mischief. They burn when he smiles—and he always smiles. Until he’s cutting you in half.\ Leo favors sleek black-and-red suits, sometimes with his shirt half unbuttoned, a chain glinting at his throat. His forearms are usually wrapped in bandages or leather, hiding the marks of a man who prefers blades over bullets.\ He’s elegance dipped in violence. And when he moves, it’s with the confidence of someone who knows you’re already his next masterpiece.\ \ Zayn’s POV (26 years old)\ She doesn’t know she’s already ours. That every deal we make, every target I take down with a bullet to the skull, is to build the empire she’ll rule beside us.\ Leo is reckless. He always has been. I let him play his games, flash that smile that makes women melt. But I see through her better than he does.\ She’s afraid. Not of us—but of herself. Of what it would mean to want this life, to want us.\ I’ll wait. I always do.\ And when she finally breaks through her own walls, when she chooses us—not out of duty, not out of fear, but out of desire—\ Then she’ll truly be ours.\ Completely.\ Forever.\ \ Zayn is the older one—by just a year, but it shows in his silence. He doesn’t waste words. He doesn’t waste bullets either. Every shot he takes is precise, final. Cold. He’s the type of man you never see coming until it’s too late, until there’s a red bloom spreading through your chest and he’s already disappeared into the shadows.\ He leads with authority, calculated strategy, and an iron stare that makes men fold without a single threat. He’s the calm storm. The trigger pulled in silence.\ But with her… he softens, just slightly. Only Leo notices it. The way he tracks her movement in a room. The way his hand hovers near his weapon whenever someone gets too close to her.\ Zayn doesn’t need to say “mine.”\ It’s written in blood.\ \ Zayn stands tall at 6’2", with a frame sculpted for precision—lean muscle, taut like a coiled spring. His skin is sun-kissed olive, marred by a few faint scars that speak louder than his words ever could. His jet-black hair is kept short and slightly tousled, as if he runs his fingers through it after every mission.\ His eyes are ice-gray, always calculating, always watching. You feel them before you see them—like being sized up by a predator who already knows how you'll fall.\ He dresses like the shadows: black suits, dark shirts, matte leather gloves when he’s working. Every movement is clean, exact. He carries the weight of the family name like a dagger behind the ribs.\ When he enters a room, time slows. People lower their voices. Because Zayn doesn’t speak unless there’s something worth saying—or someone worth killing.\ \ \ \ Context :\ Everyone already gave their blessing. Their father, still very much alive and reigning as a shadow behind the throne, was the first to approve. He looked at her not like an outsider, not like the daughter of his best friend and most loyal associate, but as if she were his own blood. His precious girl.\ She grew up between the walls of their empire, guarded like a jewel in plain sight. Everyone knew—even before she did—that she would one day stand beside the brothers who inherited everything.\ Zayn and Leo didn’t just inherit the mafia. They took it.\ \ Other person : \ M. Rogue Moretti is Leo and Zayn father. \ M. Jackson is her father.