Act V – Chapter 13: "Five Words Too Many"
The New York mobster escorted Leo inside, up the stairs leading to the massive complex.
Outside, the luxury industrial building dominated the neighborhood, all glass and steel.
Before crossing the threshold, Leo glanced over his shoulder and briefly nodded toward a building across the street.
Inside that building, two henchmen were watching the scene through binoculars.
"That was a risky bet… using just a laser with no weapon behind it…" the first one growled.
The man with the binoculars never took his eyes off Leo.
"He was right," he replied. "It's impossible to get into that building armed."
He exhaled, shaken.
"Fuck… that kid, what is he playing at?"
Leo finally entered the complex.
The mobster looked up at the structure, a proud smile on his lips.
"Impressive, huh?" he said. "You got any like that in Las Vegas?"
"We have a lot of buildings in Las Vegas," Leo replied calmly. "But I admit this one is impressive. Apparently, it was built in 2015, nearly sixty meters tall. Its construction caused a scandal over the working conditions of the laborers and—"
"Fuck off, what the hell is your deal?!" the mobster cut in, giving him a sideways look. "You've got a crush on buildings? Did you study this before coming or what?"
Leo shrugged slightly, like it was nothing.
"Come on, stop fucking around and get inside," the mobster growled, shoving him slightly toward the lobby.
The hundred men behind Leo followed closely.
Once inside the main lobby, bathed in artificial light, the New York boss transformed.
He threw his arms wide as another boss arrived with his wife. His smile turned warm, almost familial.
"Hey! My friend!" he called out.
Nothing like the reception Leo had gotten.
Leo stayed in the background, calm.
The new mobster scrutinized Leo, then turned to the New York boss.
"Changed your bodyguard?" he asked.
The boss snorted.
"No. This is the representative of the Javier family."
The two men looked at each other, then burst out laughing.
"What's that old fox up to now?" the other boss exclaimed. "What's he planning this time? He's earned his reputation as an unpredictable man, haha!"
Leo didn't react. He simply extended his hand.
"Pleased to meet you," he said.
The mobster, beside his wife, looked at him with quiet contempt.
He lowered his eyes to Leo's outstretched hand.
"You want something? A coin?" he said, before breaking into laughter again.
Leo withdrew his hand, just as calm.
The New York boss stared at him, straight as a pole.
"What do you want? An invitation? Go take a walk, I don't know…"
"Excuse me," Leo replied, bowing cordially.
He stepped away from the group, without another word.
In the reception hall, he began walking slowly, as if he were just admiring the decor. But he gave small nods to some of his men.
Discreetly, they moved at his request, taking positions at specific points.
The bosses arrived one by one, followed by their guards and their mistresses, slowly filling the reception hall.
All passed in front of Leo without giving him more than a distracted glance.
"What's he doing?" one asked, holding a glass. "Is he military or something?"
"His boss literally sent him to his death," another laughed. "He must be tense."
"Let him marinate a bit… it could be fun."
Leo, for his part, stayed in his corner. Back against a pillar, cold gaze, scanning the surroundings without a word.
One of the guests, already far too drunk, finally approached him, a wide smile on his lips.
"So, kid, not enjoying yourself?" he said. "Look at all this food, this alcohol, and these beautiful women!"
Silence.
The man stared at him.
"Fuck, kid, why are you so serious?"
Images exploded in Leo's head.
The wind rose, howling between the towers, then twisted into a tornado that, a few seconds later, ignited, becoming a column of flames.
Buildings collapsing.
People screaming.
Los Angeles, April 27, 2024.
Him, at sixteen, in the middle of the chaos.
He ran through the streets, in the midst of a panicked crowd.
"This way! Quickly! Keep moving!" he shouted, pushing people, supporting others by the arm.
"Hold on! This way!" Leo repeated.
A woman stumbled in front of him, falling to her knees after a brief earthquake.
"I've got you, get up, it'll be okay…" he started, pulling her by the arm.
"Thank you…" she whispered.
A crash tore through the air.
A gigantic debris, ripped from a building, crashed down brutally.
The blast threw Leo to the ground.
When he came to, the world was nothing but a dull rumble.
In his trembling, panting hand, he was holding only… the woman's hand.
His breath was cut off, he panicked in the distance: a huge beast, as tall as a building, was tearing away sections of concrete with immense claws. Facing it, a slender figure with long silver hair—his adopted little sister, the one "Maria" had taken in after Leo's mother abandoned him —was colliding with the Beast with inhuman force.
Paralyzed, rolling through the air like a meteor: another block of concrete.
It was heading straight for him.
Just before impact, it stopped dead, suspended a few centimeters from his face.
As if held back by an invisible force.
A soft female voice resonated just behind him.
"I'm here, Leo."
The young Leo, in a panic attack, in tears, said only one thing:
"Zoé… Please… Help
my sister"
Back to the present.
"I just like calm," Leo replied.
The man burst out laughing.
"You're weird… This is far from calm. Are you deaf or what? Haha!"
Leo glanced at him out of the corner of his eye, then looked away again toward the reception.
"Yes, it is," he murmured to himself.
For him, as long as the ground wasn't shaking, as long as no fiery tornado was swallowing buildings, as long as he didn't have a dead hand in his, it was calm.
The man went back to getting drunk.
Start of the grand meeting.
The seven families were finally gathered.
In the huge conference hall of the complex, a long oval table occupied the center. Around it, the bosses took their places, each accompanied by a few close guards and family members.
A henchman leaned toward Leo as he approached the table.
"You were right," he murmured in his ear.
Leo nodded silently, then sat at the seat reserved for the Javier family.
A salt‑and‑pepper‑haired man spoke, voice deep.
"Giovanni Moretti, Moretti family, Chicago."
To his right, a woman in a red dress slit to the thigh straightened slightly.
"Sofia Almeida, Rio de Janeiro."
The introductions continued.
"Viktor Dragunov, Moscow."
"Kenji Sato, Tokyo."
"Malik Rahman, Dubai."
"Arturo Valdez, Miami."
Finally, the New York boss, cigar in mouth, leaned slightly forward.
"Salvatore Romano, New York."
A few laughs, a few exchanged glances. The guards, however, stayed serious, posted in a wider circle around the table.
As the meeting was about to begin, Leo cleared his throat.
"Before you begin," he said calmly, "I'd like to mention an unfortunate event that recently occurred."
All eyes turned to him, already annoyed.
Sofia Almeida leaned over the table, staring at him haughtily.
"Since when do interns get to speak?" she said, before giggling.
A few stifled laughs flew around.
Leo barely looked at her.
"It seems we have some communication flaws," he said simply.
He pulled a small device from his pocket. A black box, discreet, with a single button.
He pressed it.
The room vibrated.
A slight tremor ran through the floor, glasses chimed, a chandelier shook on the ceiling. The guards immediately put their hands on their weapons, some half‑rising.
"What the hell is this?!" Moretti growled. "We were all searched at the entrance!"
"We were," Leo confirmed calmly. "That's exactly why I didn't bring anything important on me."
He set the box on the table, without letting go.
"This building was constructed in 2015," he began. "Sixty meters tall, record fundraising, investors rushing. You know the story: grand opening, publicity spot, champagne, influencers…"
He paused.
"What you know less about are the internal reports on working conditions. Underpaid workers, doubled hours, botched safety. Some standards couldn't be met on time. Complaints were buried. Investors were too busy making their publicity spots."
He shrugged slightly.
"I'll spare you the technical details… but let's just say introducing explosive charges from the outside wasn't that complicated when you know the plans."
Faces froze.
The guards stopped moving.
Even the laughter died.
"Do I have your full attention now?" he asked.
Tense silence.
Las Vegas – At the same moment
Don Javier, in his office. Gregorio stood before him, a glass in hand, visibly tense.
"You wanted me to ask, so I ask," Gregorio said. "Why did you send Leo there instead of you? Do you want to test him, or sacrifice him?"
Javier leaned back in his chair, an almost amused smile at the corner of his lips.
"My old friend, do you think I'd sacrifice my best investment?" he replied.
"He doesn't even kill, your 'best investment'. He looks… healthier than all of us, doesn't he?" Gregorio said, a bit bitter.
Javier let out a brief laugh.
"That's exactly the problem, Gregorio. You see a serious guy, almost military, and you tell yourself he's stable."
He leaned a little closer.
"Do you know what you haven't seen? Los Angeles."
Javier's gaze grew harder.
"Do you know what it's like, at sixteen, to run under collapsing buildings, surrounded by superhumans fighting like gods while you're useless? He tried to save people. He got some out. Others… he only got pieces back… long story… who knows what that kid really went through."
Gregorio clenched his jaw.
"So what?"
"So from that day on, he can't stand two things," Javier answered. "The unexpected… and powerlessness."
He poured himself another drink.
"You explode quickly. You scream, you hit, you calm down. He prepares. He controls everything. He thinks of every exit, every window, every angle. That's not seriousness. That's an obsession."
New York – The meeting
A heavy silence had settled.
A young man in his twenties, expensive suit, impeccable haircut—Moretti's son—suddenly stood up.
"Who do you think you are?!" he shouted. "You think you can intimidate my father with your stories? You're disrespecting this table!"
Leo still had the box in one hand.
With the other, he pulled out his gun in one fluid motion.
The shot fired.
Dry, precise.
The bullet shattered the young Moretti's kneecap.
He screamed, collapsed to the floor, his leg bent at an unnatural angle. He tried to rise, hands in blood, eyes wild.
"Don't get up," Leo said in a flat voice.
"You son of a bitch!" the young man spat.
Leo looked at him, expressionless.
"That's five words too many."
He adjusted his aim, calmly.
The second shot fired, into the other leg.
The young man's cry was tearing. He crumpled, convulsing, his face distorted by pain.
Salvatore Romano, the New York boss, jumped to his feet, red with anger.
"That's enough!" he exclaimed, trying to regain control of the meeting.
Leo fixed him straight in the eyes. Direct contact, no blinking, no flinching.
Then, without a word, without even looking, he raised his gun toward the young Moretti, on the ground, terrified, sobbing.
"Three," Leo said.
He shot into the left foot.
The young man screamed again, an inhuman sound.
"Four," Leo murmured.
He shot into the right foot.
The young man's body twisted, but he could no longer move his legs. He crawled, strangely, dragging himself through the blood.
"Five."
Leo took a step toward him, closed the distance, then placed the gun directly a few centimeters from his right ear.
He fired.
The sound was sickening, wet, followed by a high whistle then absolute silence for the young man.
His ear was exploded, bloody. He could no longer hear from one ear.
His gaze had a moment of pure panic: his mouth opened, under the shock. He didn't even know if he was screaming anymore.
He was alive.
He was deaf in one ear.
He was broken.
The room had frozen.
Even the guards, who had never seen anything like this, didn't move.
The son of a boss had just been slowly tortured, not killed, but annihilated.
Salvatore turned pale, jaw clenched, unable to find a word.
The room exploded in cries of protest, guards started drawing their weapons.
Leo stood up.
In one movement, he lifted the box slightly higher.
"I advise anyone to try nothing," he said coldly.
He pressed the button again.
A second tremor shook the building, stronger.
Dust fell from the ceiling, a crack appeared in a corner of the wall.
A dull noise was heard in the foundations.
The guards stopped.
The bosses did too.
All understood two things:
The building was booby‑trapped.
And if they shot now, they might all die, their families included.
Leo lowered his gun toward the young Moretti, groaning on the floor.
He crouched slightly, without losing his calm, and locked eyes with the terrified young man.
"Your father disrespected me," he said, voice steady beside his good ear. "What do we do now?"
Las Vegas
Gregorio swallowed, uncomfortable.
"You want me to say it?" Javier resumed, taking a sip. "You think you're afraid of Gwen because she kills quickly and easily."
Gregorio looked up.
"Isn't that the case?"
"If you had to choose," Javier continued, "it's better to be Gwen's enemy than Leo's."
"Why?"
Javier smiled, without joy.
"Because Gwen kills you."
He set his glass down.
"Leo, though… he lets you live. But he breaks you in a way you'll never recover from."
Boss Moretti trembled with rage, fists clenched on the table, eyes bloodshot.
"After all this," he spat, "do you really think you'll get away with it? I'll hunt you down, kid. To the end of the world."
Leo calmly raised his gaze to him.
"All of you have heard of a rumor," he began. "The one that says Don Javier has, at his command, a survivor of the Zero Program."
The room tensed. Some looked away. Others frowned.
"Well, it's true," Leo continued. "Her name is Gwen. And… she's my girlfriend."
A slight smile passed over his face.
"And guess what? She's very, very in love. An almost dangerous love."
Protests erupted around the table.
"That's just stories, that stuff!"
"Rumors to scare kids!"
Leo looked down at the young Moretti, groaning on the floor, and distractedly stroked his hair, like calming a wounded dog.
"Bring me the tablet," he said without raising his voice.
One of his henchmen obeyed, handing him a tablet that he set in the center of the table, facing the bosses.
"As I was saying," Leo resumed, "one of you recently interfered in Don Javier's business. You sabotaged, attacked, touched what didn't belong to you. So we sent Gwen to take care of that annoyance."
He started the video.
On the screen, Gwen appeared in a warehouse.
In a few seconds, things degenerated: lightning, walls smashed through, twisted metal, men thrown around like dolls. The building was literally torn apart in monstrously short time. Gwen's supernatural powers made the scene almost unreal.
No one spoke anymore.
"Do you know how fast lightning travels?" Leo asked in a light tone. "Very, very fast."
He let silence hang.
"Imagine I don't come back," he continued. "Be sure of one thing: she will track down the responsible parties to the last. No matter where you are in the world, she'll find you. And you won't even have time to realize you're already dead."
He raised his eyes, scanning the table.
"So that's it. It's simple."
He tightened his fingers on the box in front of him.
"Either you shoot me, you all die buried here, with your families. And my girlfriend will take care of what's left of you and your businesses."
"Or… you resist and with a single message, all your businesses disappear in… let's say, a flash."
"Or then… well, in short, I'm not going to draw you a picture, you've already seen enough."
He let the word drop heavily.
"I hope we've resolved our communication problems," he concluded.
He gently patted the head of the young Moretti, barely conscious, then stood up.
"One last thing," he added, turning to the table. "The next meeting will take place in Las Vegas. I think you've understood that I don't like wasting my time."
He pocketed the box, signaled to his men, and headed for the exit, leaving behind him a room full of powerful bosses… subdued by coercion.
Salvatore Romano, the New York boss, gritted his teeth.
Strangely, nothing was funny anymore.
To be continued