His parents were thrown in prison on false charges. Two months later, they were gone. Officially, it was called suicide, but Zion never believed it. Even as a child, he knew the truth. They had been silenced.
He was left alone.
No relatives ca. No one wanted the son of criminals. He grew up surviving on scraps, sleeping in shelters, fighting hunger with pride. He didn’t inherit their genius in code, but he did inherit their fire: the ability to adapt, to lead, to outthink.
By the ti he was fifteen, he had learned to negotiate, to manipulate deals, and to read people better than any textbook could teach. When the chance ca to make money, real money, he took it.
He joined the Mafia.
Not for violence or power, but for survival. For revenge. For a way to build the fortune he needed to buy back what once belonged to his parents. He started small, handling accounts, laundering funds, and structuring investnts behind the scenes. They called him "The Clean Hand," the boy who could make dirty money look saintly.
But the deeper he went, the more he realized he could use their empire for sothing else: to destroy the corporations that had destroyed his family.
And so he did. Slowly and quietly.
One by one, he bought out smaller firms, destabilized corrupt companies, and reclaid the data his parents once created. The X Project was the final step, a modernized version of his parents’ stolen software, rebuilt not through programming skill but through his strategic genius. He hired the best coders, funded new labs, and protected it like it was his own heart.
When Scarlett learned the full story, she couldn’t sleep that night. Every image she’d had of Zion, the arrogant, composed CEO, the perfectionist who never smiled, shattered and rebuilt into sothing else.
He wasn’t cold. He was scarred.
He wasn’t heartless. He was surviving.
And he wasn’t greedy. He was trying to reclaim the life stolen from him.
When he pulled back, she smiled softly. "You’re welco," she said.
He blinked at her, sothing unreadable in his eyes.
Then she added teasingly, "Next ti, at least warn before you hug . I almost tasered you out of reflex."
Zion chuckled and shook his head. "Noted."
"Good. Also, if you ever overwork yourself again, I’ll hack your sleep tracker and blast lullabies through your house speakers."
He laughed deeply, and Scarlett smiled, quietly relieved.
⊹₊˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧˚₊⊹
anwhile, Bella finally t Jeffrey again after a long ti, and within seconds she rembered exactly why her ears had been enjoying peace lately.
Jeffrey stord into her office, his hair a total ss, dark circles under his eyes, and a cup of coffee clutched in one trembling hand. "Why does the boss keep sending on dangerous missions, huh?!" he shouted dramatically, pacing back and forth as if giving a public speech. "Did he forget that I’m a hacker, not a guard, not a mafia soldier, not even a delivery guy?! I deal with code, not bullets!"
Bella blinked, startled, watching him as if he’d just returned from war. "Um, are you okay?" she asked cautiously.
"Okay?" Jeffrey gasped, as though she had insulted him. "Do I look okay? You know what happened last night? Those tall guys he sent with , yeah, those muscle heads, threw a bomb. A bomb! Just because soone said their hairstyle looked outdated! Who does that? Who throws bombs when they’re offended? Grow so emotional control, for god’s sake!" He threw his arms in the air, completely exasperated. "I swear, it’s like working with high schoolers who have rocket launchers!"
Bella’s lips twitched, trying very hard not to laugh. "That sounds scary," she said politely, though her tone betrayed amusent.
"Scary?" Jeffrey continued, slamming his hand on the table dramatically. "It was traumatizing! I had to roll under a jeep to survive, Bella! My back still hurts! My clothes sll like smoke! And those guys just laughed while I was crawling for my life like a crushed pancake!"
Bella tried to look sympathetic, really tried, but the way he was describing everything with such over-the-top gestures was too much. Her pity evaporated halfway through his monologue.
"Then the boss called five minutes later and said, ’Good job, Jeffrey.’ Good job?! He didn’t even ask if I still had my limbs attached!" Jeffrey went on, pacing furiously. "You know what I want, Bella? A raise. No, a vacation! A raise and a vacation! Sowhere with no explosions, no psychos, and definitely no more tall people with bombs!"
Bella pressed her lips together, trying not to burst into laughter. "Maybe you should ask the boss for that," she said gently.
Jeffrey froze mid-rant, his eyes widening in absolute horror. "Ask him? Do you want to die?! The last ti I asked him for anything, he stared at for five seconds and I forgot English!" he shouted dramatically, throwing his hands up. "And do you know—"
A sharp cough interrupted his rant.
Jeffrey stiffened instantly. The color drained from his face as he turned his head ever so slowly, like soone realizing they’d summoned a ghost.
There, leaning casually against the door fra, stood Leo.
His sleeves were rolled up, his gray eyes calm yet so intense they could silence an entire army. His shirt fit his fra perfectly, the top buttons undone, revealing a hint of collarbone. He wasn’t angry. That would have been rciful. He just watched. And that alone made Jeffrey feel like confessing every sin he’d ever committed.
"B-boss?" Jeffrey squeaked. "H-how long have you been there?"
"Long enough," Leo said coldy, his voice smooth as silk yet sharp enough to slice through Jeffrey’s nerves. He tilted his head slightly. "You want a raise?"
Jeffrey blinked. "W-what? No! Of course not! I was just expressing gratitude for the existing raise! The last one! The wonderful raise!" He laughed nervously, beads of sweat forming on his forehead. "In fact, I think I should return part of it for being such a loyal employee, right, Isaac?"
He turned desperately to Bella for backup.
Bella froze like a deer caught in headlights. Her lips parted, but no sound ca out. Her brain scread, Don’t get involved. Don’t you dare get involved.
"Hmm." Leo’s tone dropped lower, quieter, almost amused. "So you don’t want a raise."
Jeffrey’s heart nearly stopped. "I—uh—sir—well, if you insist, I an, who am I to refuse your generosity—"
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