The piers were still at midnight — too still for a spot that had spilled blood.
A man crouched on the hard ground, wrists tied, his face puffy and bleeding. His breath was in short, desperate gasps, each one resounding hollowly off the shipping containers that surrounded them.
Bootsteps rang out — slow, deliberate, measured.
Leonardo Romano emerged from the night like a specter in a well-tailored black coat. The men standing around him went silent as he came to a stop in front of the thief. Even the waves fell quiet. The light of the lamp danced across the edge of his jaw, sharp and clean, and the soft gleam of the silver cross pinned to his collar. His eyes were dark and serene — too serene.
He stood before the kneeling man and gazed down at him. "You stole from me," he muttered. "From us."
The man trembled, gagging in terror. "P-please, Leo, I swear—"
Leonardo cocked his head to one side. "My father told me once, 'A man who steals once will steal again. Unless you take away what he steals with.'"
He raised his arms like questioning something to his men without glancing back.
The steel reflected in the lamplight.
The man's plea grew desperate. "Please—don't—"
Leonardo leaned down beside him, his voice barely unkind. "You stole from the Romano clan. You stole our merchandise. You broke our trust. And you expected that would be over with an apology?"
The cry that ripped across the docks was drowned in the waves. His men didn't blink. Leonardo didn't blink. He let go of the bloody knife, rose, and cleaned his gloves.
"So what did you do with my goods?" He inquired.
The man wept, shaking in agony. "I-I sold it.to Rome Mafia Mr Brooke"
Leonardo's eyes turned cold at once. "Now that's some guts yoh have there...."
The man attempted to say something else, but Leonardo's gun shut him up with a single, neat shot.
The corpse slumped forward, dead, blood spilling into the sea.
Leonardo looked the dead body for a moment silently — not with anger, not even satisfaction — merely cold finality.
Then he adjusted his cuffs and said softly, "Feed him to the tide. Let the sea remember his name."
He walked away, his footsteps echoing in the blackness as his men pulled the body towards the water.
------------
------
The black car was in wait for him when he came to the end of the pier. His brother, Alex Romano, stood leaning against it, cigarette clutched between his fingers. Smoke drifted lazily around his pointed features.
"Apparently too long," Alex growled, flicking the cigarette into the sea.
Leonardo shot him a look. "I was being patient."
"Your kind of patience still ends with a corpse."
"Some men only understand silence," Leonardo replied coolly.
Alex chuckled, though his eyes were tired. "You're becoming more like Father every day."
Leonardo paused at the door, his jaw tightening slightly at the mention of their father. "Don't," he warned softly.
Alex nodded once, understanding the line he'd nearly crossed. Then his voice lowered, serious.
"I found him."
Leonardo's gaze sharpened. "Found who?"
"The bastard who betrayed our family. The one who made Father fall."
For the first time that night, Leonardo's composure cracked — just slightly. "You're sure?"
Alex nodded. "He's alive. He changed his name. Goes by Belrum Moren now."
Silence stretched between them. Then Leonardo's voice dropped to a whisper. "Ben Smith… now Belrum Moren."
Alex took a step closer. "He's been in hiding for years. But he's not just existing — he's thriving. Owns businesses, trades in politics. Pretends like he never bathed in our blood."
Leonardo's eyes blackened with each word. He pulled open the car door and got in, his voice low but raging.
"Then it's time he knows that ghosts can still bleed."
--