Their Rivalry

2

Life is like a game, be a player or be played.

Madrid, Spain ~ Leonardo's POV

I Jolted out of my king sized bed when my arm came down on a warm body.

The fuck? Whose name did I not give two shits 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 to wherever she came from.

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

The blonde begun to stir when I was done dressing up. Just in time. I picked up her lingerie and the rest of her skimpy clothing, and watched her sit up.

"Buenos días, querido." She greeted sultrily, and added a seductive yawn as she batted her fake, long lashes at me. (Good morning, darling)

I tossed her clothes at her, which she managed to catch without toppling over, "Son las 1:45 de la tarde, Theresa. Vestirse." I ordered. (It's 1:45 in the afternoon, Theresa. Get dressed)

"¡Es la maldita Trisha! Te lo he dicho tantas veces desde que nos conocimos." (It's fucking Trisha! I've told you so many times since we met)

"Lo mismo, querida. Ahora vístete." My patience was running thin. (Same thing, dear. Now get dressed)

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.

"He terminado." She murmured. (I've finished)

"Bien. Vete y olvida que alguna vez me conociste." I stated. (Good. Go away and forget that you ever knew me)

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 few minutes later, I found myself downstairs in the kitchen. My parents were having lunch at one of the smaller tables 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.

"Ellos te necesitan en la mansión." My father informed me once I was seated. (They need you in the mansion)

The De Los Santos mansion housed the members of the Spanish mafia except 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?" (Why)

"Se encontró una rata metiendo la nariz en lugares que no le correspondían. Los otros miembros de la Rosa de Sangre ya están allí, pero él aún se niega a dar información. Hazlo hablar." He ended, and I responded with a curt nod. (A rat was found sticking its nose in places it didn't belong. The other members of the Blood Rose are already there, but he still refuses to give any information. Make him talk)

I finished up my food as my mother spoke.

"Hijo, me encantaría que te tomaras un Descanso de tu repugnante pasatiempo por un tiempo." She grimaced, "Esa es la décima chica que sale corriendo de aquí asustada esta semana." (Son, I'd love for you to take a break from your disgusting hobby for a while. That's the tenth girl running out of here scared this week)

I flashed her a loving smile, "Como deséese, mamá." (As you wish, mom)

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

My white Lamborghini 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.

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 and black eyes. Being the only female in the gang, it earned her two overprotective big brothers.

"¿Dónde está?" I enquired, shrugging off my blazer and handing it over to Camilla. (Where is he)

"Celda 005." She replied. (Cell 005)

"¿Cómo entró?" I rolled up the sleeves of my shirt. (How did he get in)

"Ese es el problema. Había estado aquí todo el tempo y sólo decidió hacer in movimiento ahora." Miguel answered this time. (That's the problem. He had been here all along and only decided to make a move now)

"¿Interesante, cualquier otra cosa?" (Interesting, anything else)

"Sí. De las pocas palabras que logramos arrancarle, dedujimos que no es de aquí." Camilla replied, unlocking the door to the cell. (Yes. From the few words we managed to extract from him, we deduced that he is not from here)

We stepped inside the cell 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. "Haz lo peor," He confidently spat out. (Do your worst)

Oh, I planned to do just that. Camilla had been right though; the bastard definitely wasn't Spanish. How then had it taken so long for my men to realise that he wasn't one of them?

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 up 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 my 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 in English.

I ignored him and concentrated on carving out the last word. When I was done, the words 'la Rosa de Sangre' was in cursive on his chest and blood oozed out artistically.

"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 that answer, this torture session was far from over.

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!"

The fuck?!