The bright afternoon sun bathed the streets of New York in a golden haze as Leona wandered down the crowded sidewalk. Her wavy hair bounced lightly with each step, and her warm smile drew little more than passing glances — just another cheerful newcomer, blending into the city's endless rhythm.
Leona Vale is the kind of person who leaves warmth in her wake — a walking ray of sunshine wrapped in soft smiles and easy laughter. Standing at 5'10", she has a slender yet subtly toned figure, her posture relaxed yet poised. Her moderately fair complexion is marked by a faint dusting of freckles across her nose. Her eyes, a soft shade of hazel, carried a friendly warmth — a feature that makes her appear even more approachable.
Her mid-length wavy hair, a rich chestnut brown, often tumbles loosely over her shoulders, giving her a carefree, effortless charm. She dresses casually — simple jeans, oversized sweaters, and sneakers — blending perfectly with her bright and soft personality.
She was warmth personified — a gentle soul with a smile that could brighten even the darkest room. Her laughter was soft, like wind chimes dancing in a breeze, and her kindness knew no bounds. She had this way of making people feel safe, as if no problem was too heavy when she was around. With her delicate features, wide doe-like eyes, and a voice that carried the softness of a whispered secret, Leona seemed almost too fragile for a world so harsh. Anyone who met her believed she couldn't hurt a fly — a ray of sunshine in a city full of shadows.
She paused outside a dimly lit bar — "Ember's Edge" — the crimson letters flickering faintly on the weathered sign above the door. A small paper was taped to the window:
"NOW HIRING: WAITRESSES WANTED — NO EXPERIENCE NEEDED."
Leona's smile widened. Perfect.
Pushing open the door, she stepped inside, greeted by the scent of stale whiskey and the low hum of muffled conversations. The place wasn't particularly lively — quiet booths tucked into shadowed corners, a few empty glasses abandoned on the counter. It was the kind of bar where whispers meant more than words, where tension clung to the air like smoke.
She was like a breath of spring in a place that reeked of smoke and sin. The bar — dimly lit, loud, and crawling with men who lived by violence — seemed to swallow her whole. Yet there she stood, her warm smile softening the edges of a world far too sharp. Her delicate steps barely made a sound against the scuffed wooden floors, and her gentle voice felt out of place amidst the crude jokes and clinking glasses. She didn't belong there — too soft, too sweet — yet somehow, that's what made her presence impossible to ignore.
A man leaned against the bar, scribbling something into a ledger. His sharp gaze flicked up when he noticed her.
"You lost?" he asked, voice gruff.
"Actually…" Leona held up the hiring flyer with a bright smile. "I saw this outside. Figured I'd try my luck."
His eyes scanned her — from her sunny expression to the delicate butterfly pendant resting just above her collarbone. She seemed harmless, too bright for a place like this.
"You sure you're cut out for this?" he asked skeptically.
"I can carry a tray," she quipped. "And I don't break glasses too often."
The man snorted — the closest thing to a smile she figured she'd get from him — then jerked his head toward the back.
"Talk to the manager," he muttered. "If he likes you, you're in."
Leona grinned. "Thanks!"
Turning on her heel, she moved toward the back — completely oblivious to the weight of the stares that followed her.
She was the definition of pretty — soft features, wide eyes full of warmth, and a smile that seemed to belong in a cozy café rather than a bar soaked in tension. She didn't fit the place — not with her delicate presence or the gentle way she spoke. Yet when the manager's gaze lingered a moment too long, sizing her up, he made his decision.
"We're short-staffed," he muttered gruffly. "You'll do."
Leona knew she wasn't their first choice — she didn't have the hardened attitude the others did — but a job was a job, and she desperately needed one.
But the real chaos… that came later.
Because what Leona didn't know was that Ember's Edge wasn't just any bar. It was one of Valerio Moretti's properties — and the very place Elias Greco had been found dead just hours earlier.
Vesper's blade was still fresh in everyone's memory — and now, here she was… walking straight into the lion's den without a clue.
That night, as the hours dragged on, the bar's usual chaos unfolded. Rowdy laughter mixed with drunken slurs, and the air felt heavy with smoke and sweat. Leona weaved through the crowd, her steps careful, her head down. She didn't belong here — and she knew it.
Leona balanced a tray in her hands, weaving carefully through the crowded bar. The air was thick with noise — glasses clinking, rough laughter, and muffled conversations bleeding into each other.
She was just steps away from a table when someone bumped into her. The tray slipped from her hands, glasses crashing to the floor.
"I'm so sorry!" Leona gasped, her eyes wide as she crouched to gather the shards.
"It wasn't your fault," a deep voice cut in — firm, yet somehow gentle.
She looked up — and froze.
The man towering over her was intimidating in every sense — broad shoulders, sharp features, and grey eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. His presence demanded attention, and judging by how the room seemed to hush slightly, he was someone important.
"I…" Leona stumbled over her words, unsure what to say.
Valerio's gaze flicked to her trembling hands, then back to her face. "You shouldn't be here," he muttered before turning and walking away.
Leona stared after him, heart pounding in her chest. She didn't know who he was — not yet — but something about that look in his eyes told her this wasn't the last time their paths would cross.
Leona hurried to clean the broken glass, her fingers trembling slightly. The sharp edges bit into her fingertips, but she barely noticed — her mind was still stuck on him.
Who was that? She wondered. His presence lingered in the air, heavy and unsettling. The way the crowd had shifted, how the noise seemed to dull the moment he appeared — this man wasn't just anyone.
"You alright?" one of the waitresses, a sharp-eyed woman named Clara, knelt beside her.
"Yeah," Leona forced a smile, though her hands still shook. "Just… startled."
Clara scoffed. "That's Valerio Moretti," she muttered in a low voice, as if even saying his name too loud was a risk. "Owner of this place… and a whole lot more."
Leona's smile faltered. Moretti? The name sounded familiar — one whispered in warning by people who knew better.
"You're lucky," Clara added, dumping the shards into a dustpan. "He doesn't usually care enough to say anything."
Lucky? Leona didn't feel lucky. The weight of his gaze still lingered on her skin.
I shouldn't be here, his words echoed in her mind.
For a moment, Leona considered walking away — quitting before she even started. But rent was due, and she couldn't afford to be picky.
So, she straightened her apron, plastered a smile back on her face, and returned to the crowd — unaware that Valerio's eyes were still on her from across the room.
Valerio leaned back against the bar's shadowed corner, his glass untouched as his gaze lingered on Leona. She moved carefully through the crowd, her smile warm yet hesitant — as if she didn't quite belong. And she didn't.
The women who usually worked in places like this were sharp-tongued and hardened, their eyes reflecting the same coldness that came with surviving in his world. But Leona… she was different. There was a softness to her — an innocence the others lacked.
He watched as she smiled apologetically at a group of men who flirted with her, her voice barely above a whisper as she excused herself. No sharp retort, no fake charm — just quiet kindness that somehow felt more disarming than any threat.
She shouldn't be here, Valerio thought again. This place — this life — would swallow her whole. And yet, she smiled like she hadn't noticed the shadows pressing in around her.
Valerio wasn't sure why he cared. He didn't get involved — not with women like her. But something about the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, her fingers still trembling slightly from their earlier encounter, had him gripping his glass a little tighter.
Stay away from her, his instincts warned. But somehow, Valerio knew it wouldn't be that simple.
Valerio Moretti wasn't known for attachments — and he preferred it that way. Women threw themselves at him, drawn to his power, his wealth, or simply the danger that followed him like a shadow. But to him, they were nothing more than a temporary fix — a distraction to quiet the chaos in his head.
Lately, that chaos had only grown louder. Vesper. The name alone twisted something cold in his chest — a ruthless ghost that had haunted him for years. The man — if it even was a man — who had carved a knife through his family's pride and left a bloody stain on his past. The night his grandfather was murdered still clung to him, no matter how much whiskey he drowned it in.
That's why Valerio stuck to what he knew — one night, no strings, no questions. Women were a temporary escape, a way to silence the restless thoughts that clawed at him. And tonight, that was exactly what he needed.
With a low sigh, Valerio signaled the bartender for another drink. The whiskey burned his throat, but it wasn't enough to erase the memory of Vesper's signature blade — that damned letter 'V' — glinting beneath the bar lights in his mind.
He needed a distraction. Something — someone — to pull him from the spiral threatening to consume him.
And yet, as his gaze drifted back to Leona, moving softly between tables with that quiet innocence… Valerio knew she was the last thing he should be focusing on.
But he couldn't seem to look away.
Valerio leaned against the bar, his gaze flicking back to Leona as she moved through the crowd. Her presence stuck with him — soft, sweet, and entirely out of place in a world like his. Maybe that's why he couldn't stop looking at her.
By the time she passed near him again, he was ready.
"Hey," Valerio's voice drawled low as he stepped into her path.
Leona stopped, blinking up at him. "Oh… um, can I get you something?"
"Yeah," he smirked faintly, eyes dragging over her delicate features. "How about a drink… and maybe some company after your shift?"
Leona's smile faltered, just slightly. "I'm… flattered, but I don't think that's a good idea."
Valerio's brows lifted in surprise. Women never turned him down — especially not ones working in a bar like this. "Come on," he said, lowering his voice. "Just one drink."
Her polite smile returned, but there was an unmistakable firmness behind it. "I'm not really… interested."
Valerio chuckled, more out of disbelief than amusement. "You sure?" He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to that low tone that usually worked. "Could be fun."
"I'm sure," she said softly, stepping back. Her smile was still there, but her eyes — warm as they seemed — held no hesitation.
Valerio stood there, watching her disappear into the crowd. For a moment, he was too stunned to react.
She said no… just like that?
Most women tried to impress him — or pretended they weren't interested just to keep him chasing. But Leona? She didn't play the game at all. No flirtation, no teasing — just a simple no.
And oddly enough… that made her even harder to ignore.