#chapter 37

The sharp click of polished shoes echoed across the marble. Charles Leclerc stepped into the atrium, his jaw set, his eyes cold with something older than rage. The two men flanked him— private security, judging by the expensive tailoring of their suits.

By the time he reached the front doors, Charles Leclerc was already waiting. He was dressed in silk and anger, the dark robe hanging loose around his shoulders like he’d been dragged from sleep. 

He stood at the base of the grand staircase like he was an oil painting come to life, all scorn and silk and spotless white cuffs. His expression was more contempt than confusion.

Across the foyer, Lando’s shadow grew shorter before he finally approached. 

“Lando,” Charles greeted, voice smooth as silk pulled taut, practically through gritted teeth. “To what do we owe the pleasure? Or has etiquette finally died in Monte Carlo?”

“You didn’t answer your phone,” Lando mock-pouted.

“You’ve lost your mind,” Charles replied, nothing but venom in his voice. “You must have a very short memory, Norris. Or perhaps no memory at all. Surely even a street rat like you knows better than to bring a blood feud to someone’s home.”

Lando proceeded to step inside without being asked.

The guards flinched but didn’t stop him. Maybe they were under orders, or maybe they knew better.

“What the hell are you thinking?” Charles continued nonetheless, voice low and lethal. “You think you can come to my house, in the middle of the goddamn night, and– what? What exactly is the plan here, Norris?”

With all the nonchalance in the world, Lando’s eyes flicked to the portraits on the walls. Generations of Leclercs, frozen in oil and arrogance. 

But Lando Norris walked like he wasn’t surrounded by the best money had to offer or men twice his size with weapons slung across their shoulders. He walked in like he wasn’t one twitch away from never walking out.

The leather of his motorcycle jacket was dripping from the storm outside. The red accents on the shoulders of his jackets glistened, reflecting the little light from outside ominously. Even his hair was misty, darkening the color as if to suit his intentions for the night.

In short, Lando Norris walked in like a threat in human form.

What confused Charles even more than the ease with which the Brit had entered, was the nonchalance with which he’d done it.  

Charles laughed. He couldn’t help but find humor in this blatant act of idiocy.

Only a fool would do something like this.

But Lando continued to stand there, an unsettling calm in his posture, like he had all the time in the world. As if he wasn’t at the doorstep of Charles’s home, soaking the entry carpet with the dirty water from his shoes like it wasn’t handmade Turkish silk, woven just for the Leclercs.

The audacity–  

Charles took a step forward, his fury restrained only by old money etiquette.

“Perhaps you are too stupid to know, but let me explain this to you,” he inhaled deeply, breathing in all the patience he possibly could so he wouldn’t strangle Lando with his bare hands.

“You want to settle something with me, you do it like a man. You do it on the streets, with terms, controlled. But this?” He gestured around them. The chandelier above them almost seemed to tremble faintly from the sheer force of the Monagesque’s voice. “This is war without rules.”

“Good,” Lando answered, his voice flat as he appeared entirely unamused. “Because I’m done with rules.”

Charles’s lips twitched – not a smile, but a warning.

“You forget who you’re speaking to,” he seethed, words forced from between clenched teeth.

“No,” Lando replied. “I remember exactly who I’m speaking to. A man so careful with his hands he sends other people to do his dirty work.”

The guards moved to take a step forward, sensing the rising tension. Before they could move any further, Charles stopped them with an arrogant wave.

“I take it this is about the girl?” Charles asked, tone suddenly dismissive, like he could toss the whole topic away like lint off his sleeve.

Lando didn’t flinch, tensing every muscle in his body until the entirety of him went rigid.

Say her name from your filthy mouth, I dare you. I’ll rip your throat out before I let you say her name. You don’t even deserve to know it, you bastard.   

There was a beat of silence where something ugly passed behind Charles’s eyes — remorse, or perhaps regret that they hadn’t aimed better.

“I warned you,” Charles said slowly, carefully. “You dragged her into this.”

Silence.

“No,” Lando shot back. “A lot of blood has been spilled, Leclerc. Margot, Daniel…” a brief flicker of emotion crossed his eyes, but it was gone before the other man could even notice it.

“And I am not in the business of forgiveness.”

Charles gave a patient sigh, like standing here was boring him, like he was wasting time explaining simple mathematics to a toddler. “They were mere casualties of consequence. You know what happens when people get close to you.”

There it was. That sentence.

It pulled the last stitch of restraint from Lando’s chest.

Lando’s voice dropped, quieter than a whisper, sharper than glass. “You want to talk about consequence?”

He then reached into his coat pocket. The guards went to step forward again, this time to restrain Lando before he could pull out his weapon. Curious, Charles raised a hand, and they froze where they stood.

Lando peered up at them, as if annoyed by the buzzing of a persistent fly instead of two men, trained and armed. As he maintained eye contact, he reached into one of the zipped pockets of his jacket and pulled out a small black drive.

“Logan found this. Oscar verified it.”

Lando tossed it forward, the men watching it as it slid across the marble, until it stopped neatly at Charles’s feet.

The older man stared down, then back up. “And what is it I am looking at?”

“A mistake,” Lando announced breezily, a hint of a smirk curling at the corner of his lips. “Your mistake.”

Charles didn’t blink. Lando didn’t wait.

“If you play it, you might recognize the person there. Your brother was caught outside Brews & Books, back in November. It’s funny, because I don't remember you having any business in that area…” he trailed off dramatically, entertaining himself by passively observing the ornate decor around them

“Imagine my surprise when I see Little Leclerc’s face caught on the corner cam at the bookstore.”

Though Lando was smiling, even Charles was smart enough to know that this was nowhere near as small an issue as Lando’s tone might suggest.

“Rookie mistake,” he smiled.

Carefully, Charles lifted his gaze from his inspection of the drive to look up at the man stood across from him. “So, what, you came here? To my home?” A flicker of disbelief crossed Charles's features, and then the fury settled in. “You’re mad. This is a line no one crosses.”

“Oh, spare me the performance,” Lando snapped. “You’ve killed in clubs, burned businesses to the ground, shot people in broad daylight. Don’t lecture me on lines!”

“I warned you to stay out of this.”

“You killed my friend,” Lando said, jaw clenched. “You tried to kill the only person I have left.”

“Daniel was collateral,” Charles hissed, stepping closer, the mask cracking just enough to show teeth. “He was simply standing too close to you. Don’t you get it? ”

Lando’s hands curled into fists, but he didn’t move.

Instead, he studied the man in front of him — Charles, dressed in black-on-black, composed even in wrath, but letting through something far more interesting now. Something that glimmered at the edges of certainty.

Fear.

“You always act so untouchable,” Lando said, quietly now. “But even your little empire has cracks, doesn’t it?”

Charles’s brow ticked.

Lando kept going. “You cleaned up everything so carefully. Bribed witnesses. Burned tapes. Covered your tracks. But even you missed something.”

He stepped forward, ignoring the additional guards that had suddenly materialized at the sides of the room.

“Arthur.”

Charles’s expression faltered — just slightly, but enough. His stance shifted to a more defensive one. Lando was on very thin ice. 

“Careful, Norris.”

It was like he didn’t even hear him. Lando was on a roll, and he was nowhere near going back now. “The kid’s green. You’re groomin’ him for something, yeah? Future heir, ’s that it? Hm, but he’s sloppy. Doesn’t know how to stay in the shadows like you. And guess what?”

Lando pulled out his phone and pressed play.

Grainy footage rolled – a timestamp, a street corner. The shop sign was unmistakable: Brews & Books. And a too-familiar figure ducking around the alley in a hoodie just a little too clean, eyes darting behind dark sunglasses.

Arthur Leclerc.

Charles didn’t breathe.

“I know where he’s been,” Lando said. “I know what he’s seen. And if I follow him long enough, I’ll know everything you’ve tried to hide.”

“You threaten him—”

“I didn’t say a word yet,” Lando interrupted. “But you get it now, don’t you? This isn’t about money or respect or even revenge anymore. No, none of that.

I jus’ think it’s about time someone teach you a lesson.”

Charles’s face flushed not with fear, but with fury. His expression contorted, transformed into one of controlled, burning, blistering rage.

“You come into my house and threaten my brother?” he boomed. “Do you really want a war that bad, Norris?”

Lando shrugged. “I didn’t come here for war. I came here for you.”

The younger of the two stepped closer now, the sound of his shoes echoing in the still silence of the grandiose hall.

“But hey, if you want t’ make it about Arthur, I’ll adjust.”

“Leave him out of this.”

“Why?” Lando asked, voice low, his head tilting almost as if he was genuinely confused. Even his voice changed, suddenly syrupy sweet and full of mock naivety. “Because he’s young? Because he’s innocent? Because he’s the only piece of your dynasty that can still look in the mirror without seeing ghosts?”

Charles stepped forward, the rage radiating off him like heat from a furnace.

“This is your death wish,” he said. “And I promise you, Lando — if you leave here tonight, it’ll be in a bodybag.”

Lando smirked.

“For your sake, Leclerc? You better be right.”

As Lando brushed the excess water off the pads of his shoulders, Charles stepped up to him.  “You’re out of your depth, Norris,” Charles declared. “Whatever stunt you think this is — it ends here.”

Lando stepped inside anyway, crossing the threshold of the entrance like it meant nothing. He now stood squarely beneath the extravagant chandelier that hung from the center of the domed ceiling, looking more comfortable than Charles himself. “Then stop me.”

The heavy doors slammed shut behind him, the two guards that had been standing beside Charles now flanking the floor to ceiling windows on either side. Charles didn’t flinch. He didn’t have to – the house was a fortress, and he clearly thought himself to be untouchable.

“You think showing up to a man’s home — his sanctuary — will earn you justice? You of all people should know there is no such thing as justice.” Charles sneered.

“No,” Lando corrected. “I think it’ll earn me your attention. And I’ve got it now, haven’t I?”

Charles stepped forward, the heat rising in his voice. “This is a declaration of war. The kind that doesn’t get walked back.”

“You started that the moment Margot died.”

“I didn’t pull the trigger.”

“No,” Lando said, jaw clenched, “but you gave the order.”

Charles’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t deny it. Instead, he laughed — a short, humorless thing. “Look at you. You’ve done more damage to yourself than I ever could.”

Charles’s smile dropped. The air grew still.

“This is your last chance,” he said tightly. “Walk out of here while you still can. You may have your network, your girl, your tragic little vendettas, but here, Norris? You are outgunned, outnumbered, and out of time.”

“I think you’re mistaken.” He turned slowly, letting his words hang in the air like a noose tightening.

Charles didn’t respond, but Lando saw the flicker – barely half a second where his weight shifted. His shoulders squared — too quick, too sharp.

Defensive.

Protective.

Lando surveyed Charles’s expression carefully, taking his time until he seemed to have found what he was looking for.

“You think you are so untouchable, so protected here, in this little castle of yours,” Lando gestured to the estate surrounding them. “But I’ve been going through old footage, CCTV, armory logs, phone pings. And you know what I found?”

Lando took another bold step forward, looking far too certain of himself for someone who Charles believed was supposed to be scared shitless by now.

Perhaps he had been too kind a host, he mused.

“What?” he demanded, irritated and clearly done with Lando’s games. "What is it that you think you found?”

“A pattern. You were always too clean. But someone wasn’t.”

He took a step forward, past the guards who now stood just a touch tenser, just a touch readier.

“Little brother,” Lando said quietly. “The one who’s always three steps behind.”

Charles’s eyes sharpened.

“Arthur,” Lando continued. “He’s the one who got caught outside Brews & Books in your unmarked car, with the wrong plates. He’s the one who trailed me that day.”

But it was the next thing he said that struck fear down to Charles’s bones.

“And I think he’s here tonight.”

“You have no proof,” Charles snapped, but it was too fast, too defensive.

Lando smiled. “I don’t need proof. I just needed doubt. And you’ve got plenty of it.”

Silence hung like wire between them.

“You touch him,” Charles said, voice low and furious, “and I will bury you.”

“Oh, please,” Lando said, stepping close enough to see the hate in his eyes. “You’re the one who taught me, yeah? There are no rules.”

“Do you realize what you’ve done?” Charles asked, descending the last few steps. His voice was soft, dangerous. “You don’t come into a man’s house. That’s not a rule. That’s law. Even the dirtiest of us respect that line. What you've done here isn't business. It's insult. And now you think you can threaten my brother? That’s suicide.”

Lando took a step closer. Charles faltered—not in step, but in certainty. It lasted a second. Maybe less.

“After what you did,” Lando continued. “You thought I’d stay civilized after that?”

“Civilization,” Charles murmured, “is the only thing keeping people like you breathing.”

Lando’s gaze narrowed. “Then maybe it’s time someone stopped playing civil.”

Just then, as if divinely timed, a door opened. Another figure stepped out—taller, younger, all nerves and false bravado.

Arthur.

He froze when he saw Lando.

Lando didn’t turn his head, but his eyes moved. Just enough to catch the flicker of guilt, the half-step backward, the shadow of recognition.

He knows what he did.

Arthur’s spine snapped straight. He opened his mouth — then closed it. Too slow, too unsure.

Charles turned, sharp. “Arthur—”

“Did he know?” Lando cut in. “Or maybe he was just following orders? Actually, it doesn’ matter now, does it? Because he got caught. Your downfall has arrived, Charles Leclerc. And it starts with the weak link.”

Arthur bristled, having the audacity to look offended. “I’m not—”

“You’re a pawn,” Lando sneered, turning his attention to the younger boy. “That’s why he sent you. Disposable enough to shadow me, stupid enough to get seen”

“I didn’t shoot her—” Arthur snapped, but it was too late.

“That’s enough!” Charles shouted, his face reddening as he threatened to explode with fury. He held up a hand, silencing his brother before he could dig himself into any deeper trouble, before he got himself into something Charles couldn’t get him out of.

Finally, Charles straightened, buttoning his cuff with all the performative calm of a man trying not to explode.

“Get lost, Norris,” he spat, before turning to his guards. “Kill him, don’t kill him, I don’t care.”

He glared at Lando, obsidian eyes boring into his own with the most fury Lando had ever seen.

“I want him gone.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,” Lando smiled, fluttering his lashes mockingly. 

Did he think this was some kind of joke?

Charles sighed, before going to pull his handgun from the waist of his pajamas. It looked like he’d have to take care of this himself. He didn’t mind, though it did mean there would be a bigger mess to clean up.

Charles glared at Arthur to get back inside, away from the inevitable mess that would unfold here tonight. He looked back to Lando having already pulled out his own gun.

Lando stepped forward again. The guards tensed, unsure whether they were supposed to intervene.

Still, Charles didn’t move, torn between his anger and a morbid sort of curiosity. 

“I’m not here for games, Leclerc. I’m not here to dance around threats or sit across the table like we’re equals. I’m here because you killed Daniel. I’m here because your brother put my girl in the crosshairs. And I’m here,” he said, voice low and final, “because I want you to understand something very clearly before this ends.”

Charles went eerily still.

Lando wasn’t here to talk. He wasn’t here to bargain. He was here because he’d been pushed so far off the edge of sanity that the only way out was through.

"I'm not here to threaten you."

The words echoed in the marble-clad quiet of the Leclerc estate. A space carved from power, gleaming with untouchable wealth. The kind of place where men like Charles were meant to be invincible.

There was a pause.

Then Lando smiled—sharp, mean.

"I'm here to end you."

“You– You’re bluffing,” Charles stammered.

Lando smiled. Simple, clean, and more dangerous than any knife to the ribs. Charles’s eyes narrowed. The temperature in the room seemed to drop even further.

“You are out of your mind,” Charles muttered, but there was no real conviction in his voice. Only the hint of uncertainty that Lando’s words had planted.

“I’m not.”

“You couldn’t possibly think you could even lay a finger on me here, let alone kill me,” Charles laughed, but it was a strange, nervous sort of chuckle – nowhere near the confidence that was meant to daunt his enemy.

Lando didn’t reply. Looking bored, he simple made a slow, deliberate motion with his hand. He raised a single finger, waved out once, side to side, as if ringing an invisible bell, before pointing right at Charles.

A red dot appeared then.

Right over Charles’s heart.

The red laser sight of a sniper flickered on Charles’s chest. Then, it shifted, just barely, to the center of his forehead.

Good work, Oscar.

Charles’s breath caught in his throat as the realization hit, the color draining from his face. It was like time itself slowed, his pulse skipping a beat.

A sniper. A cold, precise killer waiting for a moment.

He’d be dead before his guards could even draw their weapons.

“D’you still think I’m bluffing?” Lando asked, as his hand slowly dropped. 

“You wouldn’t.”

Lando raised his palm, closing it into a fist before resting it by his side. The light disappeared with it.

Charles had only begun to take a breath of relief when–  

Glass shattered. 

A single shot rang out.

Then, chaos ensued.

Charles moved without thinking, instinct cutting through his initial shock. He ducked behind one of the expensive sculptures, his heart racing. The echo of glass, the sharp staccato of bullets, all of it instantly transformed the polished, pristine estate into a warzone.

His men didn’t have time to regroup. The moment he looked back to check on his men, he knew they would be of no use to him — all of them either dead or about to be, as they used their assault rifles to return fire at a target they couldn’t even see. 

Lando had played him. He’d been stalling, waiting for backup until he knew he had the advantage, and Charles had played right into his hand. Now, he was rapidly losing control of the situation, and it gnawed at him.

As Charles ran to duck behind another pillar, he watched as the statue he’d just been crouched behind shattered to pieces, a pullet piercing straight through its marble foundation. The gunfire was relentless.

How many gunmen did Lando have? He needs to call backup, needs more guards, needs—

But before Charles could complete that thought, the gunfire stopped, the final ringing silence following the last shot. As he tactfully peered out from behind the stone pillar, he watched a cold, cruel grin spread across Lando’s face.

“You’re not very good at this, are you, Charles?” Lando singsonged, unnervingly pristine amidst the active threat and destruction.

“I have reinforcements on the way,” Charles panted, fixing Lando with a threatening glare. “You may have your shooter, but I have an army, Norris. What will you do then?”

Lando didn’t answer. In the moment in between, Charles’s eyes swept the space — looking for his guards, planning out his angles. He made no sudden moves yet –  not with Lando standing there like a lit match in a room full of gasoline.

“You’ve made your point,” Charles yelled, voice controlled as he stalled for time. “But you forget — this is my house. And I don’t lose control in my house.”

“No,” Lando said, eyes glinting. “But you do lose something else.”

It happened slowly.

Charles opened his mouth to answer—only to realize he hadn’t seen Arthur in at least ten minutes. First, he glanced toward the right hall, where his youngest brother had last been standing. 

Nothing.

Then, when the gunfire stopped, a whisper came into Charles’s earpiece. “What is it?” Charles whispered, trying to confirm the words lost in the electronic garble.

The voice on the other end of his line hesitated. “We’ve… lost visuals on Arthur.”

Charles went still.

“What?”

Arthur’s guard repeated it, quieter. “Not sure when. He was on the east wing minutes ago.”

Lando’s smile widened—wolfish now. Sharp. “Oops.”

“You think I’m afraid of you?” Charles bellowed, finally stepping out from where he’d sought cover. “You’re out of your depth.”

Lando tilted his head. “Then why haven’t you stopped me yet?”

The older man shouted into his earpiece. “Find Arthur.”

No response.

He frowned. “Now!”

When still he heard nothing, Lando’s smile widened like the crack of a coffin lid.

“You don’t know what you’re doing,” Charles stated coldly.

“I know exactly what I’m doing,” Lando snorted, stepping deeper into the house. He seemed right at home amidst the destruction and the opulence. “The only thing I’m not sure of yet is whether I’ll use bullets or rope.”

“You think you can walk into my house and—”

“Funny thing,” Lando said. “You still keep calling it your house.”

Charles stiffened.

“You think just because you built this kingdom that it makes you untouchable. You think men like you stay kings forever,” Lando practically sang. He took one more step forward, and for the first time, Charles took a step back.

“Yet here I am.”

“Security—”

“Won’t reach you in time.” Lando tilted his head. “They haven’t had eyes on Arthur in nearly twenty minutes, by the way. Disappointing, really.”

Charles’s face twitched, just slightly. “Don’t lie to me!”

“Oh, Charles. We’ve known each other a long time now. Wouldn’ you know if I was lying?”

The room fell silent. Too silent.

“You’ve lost eyes on your brother.”

The words landed like a gunshot. Charles stiffened, composure slipping just enough for Lando to see it—the hit had connected.

“You think you’re clever,” Charles muttered, a sad attempt at regaining his footing. “But we keep track of our own.”

“Clearly not well enough.” Lando smiled, looking quite pleased with himself.

“You see, I thought about killing you first,” Lando explained, eyeing the older brother, voice light but empty of warmth. “But then I realized... people like you don’t break when you bleed. You break when your legacy does.”

He turned slightly, his eyes on the door as if waiting for someone.

Charles suddenly surged forward, carrying the full momentum of his entire body weight — some pathetic, hail mary attempt at catching Lando off guard but Lando caught him by the collar and slammed him back against the nearest wall.

“You wouldn’t—” he choked out, face pressed up against the wall.

But Lando cut him off. “I already did.”

Charles blinked, his face flickering for the briefest of moments. There it was—the hesitation in his eyes. The flicker of fear.

Lando continued, his words deliberate, as if pulling back the layers of a secret too dangerous for anyone to know.  “Kid’s just a pawn, but he’s a pawn you forgot to protect. You left him out in the open — vulnerable — and now I’ve got him.”

Charles took a step forward, fury rising in him like a tidal wave. His voice was tight, barely contained. “You’re bluffing.”

“Am I?” Lando asked, tilting his head slightly, like he was savoring the moment. "Do you really want to test it?"

Charles’s blood turned cold. “Where is he?”

Lando didn’t answer.

“You were looking for someone?” he taunted.

Charles didn’t have time to react. The front gate was slammed open, interrupting their intimate little affair. The sound of footsteps behind him made him turn, just in time to see Oscar entering the room, stepping out of the shadows with a calm precision that sent a fresh wave of dread down Charles’s spine.

Amidst the shattered glass and stretching shadows, Oscar appeared to be moving like an apparition in the chaos. He was Lando’s gunman, a ghost of death made real.

The Aussie had always been more quiet, choosing to observe more often than to announce his presence with witty quips. But now, he stood too quiet, too composed. It was as if he knew this was the moment to ensure the final nail in the coffin was driven home.

Oscar, Lando’s cold-blooded enforcer, stepped into the foyer. His presence was as subtle as a strike of lightning—quick, precise, and deadly. Charles couldn’t possibly understand why Oscar was here, why Lando would give up his trump card like that but making him vulnerable out here in the open. He didn’t understand, at least until he looked beside him.

Charles’s blood turned to ice.

In Oscar’s hands, he carried a figure bound and gagged, a sack over the head. The second figure was taller, the canvas bag over the head obscuring his face, his wrists bound behind his back. Charles watched him struggle against the restraints, noticed him wearing—

Charles’s stomach turned.

I know that jacket.

It was his brother’s favorite, a vintage racing bomber with a cracked red stripe on the sleeve. Worn at the collar, frayed at the edges. Custom-sized. There was no mistaking it.

Arthur.

His baby brother.

He was alive, but barely. His hands were tied, a black cloth bag thrown over his head, and he was making muffled, weak noises through the cloth. A low, desperate plea that Charles wanted to never hear. His younger brother was barely able to stand, and when Oscar shoved him forward, Charles’s breath hitched.

It was Arthur Leclerc, his own younger brother, who had been shoved into the room like a rag doll, arms bound, a bag over his head. His muffled shouts for help reverberated through the chamber like a dying heartbeat.

“No…” Charles whispered, voice barely audible.

Lando watched him, his gaze calculating, a predatory look in his gaze.

“Don’t.” Charles’s voice cracked – a warning, a plea.

Oscar’s grip was ruthless. At Lando’s nod, he shoved the boy forward. Arthur fell hard, his knees instantly hitting marble. He let out a choked, muffled noise —desperation– and flinched as cold metal pressed against the center of his forehead.

Lando’s gun.

“Lando—”

“D’you feel that?” Lando asked softly, almost kindly. “That pulse ‘n your throat? That ache ‘n your chest? That’s what it feels like when someone takes the one thing you’d kill t’ protect.”

Charles could barely hear him. He didn’t know if it was the leftover ringing from the gunshot or the sound of his own blood rushing in his ears, but everything felt muted. All he could do was stare at those shoes. He couldn’t peel his eyes away from those sneakers, the white pair with the green trim — Arthur’s favorite, a limited pair Charles remembered he’d spent weeks trying to track down.

Charles struggled against where Lando had him held against the wall. “Stop—”

Lando let him go. With his gun already in hand, he slowly turned his attention back to Arthur, before pressing the cold barrel to the bowed head in front of him once again.

Oscar came to stand beside him, his face expressionless.

Would they really kill a child? Would they really make him watch as they blew his little brother’s brains out?

Charles felt vomit rise in his throat. He watched as the boy shook, trying to breathe. A muffled sound broke free—raw panic.

“Norris,” Charles called weakly. “That’s my brother.”

“Oh, is it?” Lando said, feigning surprise. “Huh. Shame.”

“You can’t—”

“I definitely can,” Lando said flatly.

He twisted the gun, just enough for the metal to dig into the front of the boy’s skull.

“You hurt me. It’s only fair I get to hurt you too. Plus, m’ bein’ quite nice, really. Look, I didn’t even do anything to you. Just your brother, but since he was the one tailin’ me, he’s fair game, yeah?”

The gun pressed harder against his skin, creating an indent from the pressure. Beneath the canvas, the younger boy whimpered.

Charles’s composure cracked just a fracture. “Please,” he said tightly. “Whatever it is you want, we– we can negotiate.”

“Oh, now you want to talk?”

Lando chuckled, until it turned into a deep, full-bodied laugh. Charles looked at him like he had finally, properly gone insane, but he didn’t care.

What about this is funny?

“There it is!”

He looked up at Charles, his face lit up with sort of indescribable joy. “You know, I always wondered what would finally do it. What would finally make you beg?”

As Charles knew now, it was always Arthur. 

Arthur, the weak link. Arthur, the brother who couldn’t shut his mouth and didn’t know how not to be seen. Arthur, who killed a woman because he thought it would make him a man.

The boy’s knees scraped as he tried to shift, too terrified to do much else as the marble floor pressed uncomfortably against his kneecaps.

The muffled screams from Arthur—the desperate, guttural noises of a man who knew exactly what was happening, even though his face was covered—cut through the air. Charles’s face rapidly drained of color, his body going rigid with a mixture of disbelief and panic.

Lando didn’t give him a chance to speak. He didn’t care for the pleas Charles might make, the way his voice would crack or his eyes would soften in desperation. No, this was a moment of pure control. Power. Lando’s finger rested on the cold metal, pressing just hard enough to remind Charles who was truly in charge here.

Charles’s face twisted. “If you touch him—”

"Put him down," Lando ordered.

Oscar, without hesitation, shoved Arthur to the floor, making him fold closer to the floor with a harsh thud. Arthur’s body slumped from the impact. His breaths were ragged, but it wasn’t just fear that had him shivering. It was the desperate effort of muffled screams.

“No!” Charles screamed, but he couldn’t move. His body refused to cooperate as his gaze locked onto his brother’s trembling form.

Arthur was on his knees, his head down. His voice was still distorted, struggling against the gag.

Lando’s voice was eerily calm.

“Do you recognize him, Charles?” he asked, leaning in just slightly, waving his gun around casually like it was a toy instead of a real weapon. “I thought you might. Funny how the details slip away when you’re so busy hiding your tracks.”

His head snapped to Lando, fury sparking in his eyes.

"You can’t do this. You—" Charles’s voice was tight, desperate. "If you kill him— if you kill Arthur— you’ll never get what you want. You’ll never see anything through. You’ll lose.”

Lando’s eyes hardened. He didn't blink. Instead, he simply pressed the barrel of the gun against the back of Arthur's head, just hard enough to make the boy flinch.

The world held its breath.

Click.

He pressed the barrel against the side of the bag-covered head. The figure beneath flinched. The gagged cry that came from under the canvas was unmistakably raw and terrified.

That’s when Charles snapped.

“Stop. Stop. Stop!” He shouted, his voice cracking through the silence. “Norris— Norris, don’t.”

Lando looked up, gaze glinting like a knife just before it slid in.Charles’s eyes darted back to his brother, his mind racing. The sound of Arthur's muffled cries was the only thing that filled the air.

"Please, don’t," Charles breathed. "Please, Norris. He’s just a kid. He’s not a part of this. I never meant for him to be."

Lando let the silence drag on, letting Charles stew in his fear. He wanted him to feel it, to understand that the blood on his hands wasn’t just from his own choices, but from the lives he’d destroyed in the process.

Charles’s voice cracked again. “I’ll give you whatever you want. Just... don’t kill him.”

Lando smirked, lifting the gun just slightly so that it was no longer pressed against Arthur’s head.

"What do you think?" Lando mused aloud. "What is your life worth, Charles? What is Arthur’s life worth?"

Charles clenched his teeth.

"You think this is a victory for you, don’t you?" he spat. He hated this, hated how Lando was treating it like this was some game, rather than a matter of life or death. He hated feeling like a puppet on strings, dancing to whatever tune Norris sang. But most of all, he hated Norris for forcing him to look in the mirror and recognize the monster in his reflection.

Lando's smile only grew colder.

"Victory? No. It’s just... retribution."

The moment stretched on, before Lando quickly grew bored of all of the talking and decided it was finally time for action.

"Alright, let’s do this,” Lando nodded to Oscar, cracking his neck and stretching his wrist.

Charles’s expression shattered—rage giving way to something rawer: terror. He immediately jumped in, intending to at least put himself between Arthur and Lando’s gun. He didn’t know if that would stop Lando, but maybe it’d confuse him or deter him or at least buy Arthur an extra second so he could try to escape.

As fate would have it, he found himself in a similar position just an instant later, the business end of Oscar’s personal handgun pointed right between his eyes.

“Easy there, mate.”

Charles directed his attention to Lando, like he was the one with the power to change this. But then he saw the way Lando’s gun was pointed at his brother, the safety clicked off.

”You wouldn’t—” he tried pathetically. He couldn’t help it. For once, Charles Leclerc was all out of cards to play.

“Let me guess,” Lando cut in, mocking. “Family is sacred?”

He tilted his head. “You should’ve thought of that before Arthur pulled the trigger.”

And then, with the same calm Charles had once used to sign death warrants, Lando raised a single finger to hover over the trigger.

“NO!”

Charles tried to lunge.  Oscar stopped him with nothing but a step forward and then Lando  whispered a single word in his ear.

“Beg.”

It came out of him like a command. Not loud. Not cruel. Just final.

Charles froze.

“You want to talk about rules?” Lando said, voice low and unforgiving. “You broke them. You started a war you didn’t finish. Now you’re gonna learn what happens when someone like me decides to finish it for you.”

Charles’s breathing turned ragged.

“Please,” he whispered.

Lando stepped closer.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“Please,” Charles said again. “Please, don’t hurt him. He didn’t—he’s just a boy. He didn’t understand. He was trying to prove himself.”

“And he did,” Lando said. “Just not in the way you hoped.”

Charles dropped to his knees, hands open.

“I’ll give you whatever you want. Money. Territory. Everything. Just let him go.”

Lando considered that. Then, he smiled – a thin, soulless thing.

Arthur’s muffled screams echoed louder as he struggled, the desperation in his movements adding weight to the tension. The sound of his little brother’s panicked cries was the only thing Charles could focus on. His hand, trembling now, reached forward as if trying to stop it, to make it all stop, but the words came out in a frantic whisper.

“Please.”

Lando let the silence stretch between them before he responded. “You had your chance, Charles. You had the opportunity to stop this. But you’re too fucking careless, too arrogant, and now it’s your little brother who’s gonna pay the price for your mistakes.”

Oscar stepped back, keeping a steady hand on the gun in his belt, while Lando continued, his words slow and deliberate. "I don’t care about your empire, Charles. I don’t care about your family’s legacy. But I will care about you when you beg. I’ll care about it because it’ll be the last thing I hear from you.”

Charles’s shoulders slumped, the full weight of everything crashing into him like a flood. The power—the control—was slipping away, bit by bit, and it terrified him. For the first time, he saw it. The pure, unrelenting force that was Lando Norris. And he knew, deep down, he would never escape it.

The gun was still pressed to Arthur’s head.

Lando leaned in close, just inches away, his voice barely a whisper.

“Beg. Like you mean it. Like your brother’s life depends on it.”

Charles, his throat tight, his body fighting the instinct to break, finally whispered, the words barely audible.

“Please, I’m begging you... don’t.”

Lando’s eyes flicked to Oscar, who took a step back, giving him space. For a long moment, Lando stared at Charles, his cold gaze unwavering.

“You should’ve known better,” Lando murmured. And then, as if flipping a switch, he pulled the gun back, the danger not entirely gone but a shift in how he wielded it.

Charles collapsed to his knees, breath ragged, the weight of his failure crashing down around him.

“I’ll make it quick,” Lando promised softly.

And with that, the empire Charles Leclerc built began to crumble.

His eyes widened in horror.

No. No. No. This– That wasn’t the deal. He can’t–

The word tore out of Charles like muscle from bone. “Merde— don’t!”

Lando smiled.

“Ah, finally. So you do have a heart,” he said softly.

Charles stepped forward, panic chasing the tail of his voice. “You don’t want to do this. Norris— Lando, I’m serious. This is not the way—”

“Why not?” Lando’s tone was glacial. “You used your brother like a pawn. If you don’t care who gets caught in your crossfire, why should I?”

“I care!” Charles shouted. “He’s just a kid, he—he doesn’t know what he’s doing—he’s not part of this!”

Lando clicked the safety off.

And then, quietly, “Oscar?”

Oscar nodded. “On it.”

Then, with theatrical ease, he reached up and ripped the bag off the boy’s head. Charles breathed the greatest sigh of relief, finally breathing oxygen for what felt like the first time in years, as his eyes finally landed on that familiar mop of blond hair–

Wait, blond?

Arthur doesn’t have blond hair.

Charles blinked again, only to find Logan, his blond hair tousled, his eyes wide and gleaming with mischief.

Wide-eyed. Gagged. Blonde. Same height. That jacket. Familiar green-trimmed sneakers.

Logan coughed as Oscar helped him take the gag off. “Fucking hell—your gun is cold, man.”

Oscar grunted. “You kept squirming.”

Lando stood, gun still in hand, but no longer aimed.

He looked at Charles, whose face had gone pale, every bit of power and superiority draining out of him like wine from a shattered glass. Logan stood up with a groan, rubbing his wrists as he came to stand beside his boss. He was grinning now, the gag halfway down his neck.

“Evening,” he saluted. He turned to Lando and Oscar then. “Y’know, next time, I wanna be the scary one.”

“Next time,” Lando rolled his eyes.

Charles staggered back.

His face twisted in disbelief, horror, then dawning realization.

He’d begged… for the wrong person?

Lando lowered the gun and tucked it away.

“Where’s…” he cleared his throat, hoarse from yelling and pleading. “Where is Arthur?”

Footsteps echoed behind them. Max Fewtrell strolled in from the side hallway, chewing on a toothpick like this was a neighborhood bodega.

“Arthur’s not here,” he said cheerfully, the way people might discuss the weather. “But I did find his laptop. And his phone. And his little black book. Amazing what you can find when the house is this big and the help’s this underpaid.”

Charles didn’t speak. He only stared at the objects like they would somehow speak and tell him where his brother was.

Lando crouched down, leaned in. “See, Charles,” he murmured. “I came here to prove I could’ve ended you any time I wanted.”

Lando crouched, getting eye-level with Charles now, whose anger was smoldering into something raw and painful.

“I didn’t kill—”

“No,” Lando said. “But you let it happen. And that’s worse.”

He straightened.

“From now on, every time you look over your shoulder, you’ll see me. Every mirror, every dark corner, every deal you try to make—I’ll be there, haunting you. You don’t get to sleep peacefully ever again.” 

“Then kill me,” Charles spat. “If you want revenge so badly, do it. Get it over with.”

Lando leaned in close, voice nearly a whisper.

“Oh, I don’t want to kill you, Charlie. I wanted to ruin you.”

He crouched down in front of Charles and looked him in the eye.

“I want you to wake up every day knowing that the thing you love most is alive because I let him live. Not you. Not your money. Me.”

Charles’s shoulders shook.

And with that, Lando and his boys turned their backs on a shattered prince, walking out into the night—Logan in tow, Oscar guarding the flank, Max not far behind.

They left the Leclerc estate in ruin—not in ash or blood, but in something far worse.

Fear.

The doors slammed shut one after another.

The car was silent for a few beats, the windows fogged slightly with the residue of adrenaline, cold air curling through the open vents, and the scent of gun oil still clinging to Lando’s jacket.

Lando slid into the driver’s seat without a word. Max, of course, took shotgun. Oscar and Logan were left to climb into the back, Logan still rubbing at his wrists, the red marks raw.

Lando didn’t turn the key yet. He just sat, eyes forward, letting the silence settle. His jaw was tight, knuckles still a little pale around the steering wheel.

“Well,” Logan muttered, “that was fun!”

Lando didn’t answer. He sat in the passenger seat with his head tilted back, eyes half-lidded, like the sound of silence itself tasted better than air. A small, amused curl played on his lips — one that hadn’t moved since he left Charles Leclerc kneeling in his own marble entryway like a man begging the devil to go easy.

Max climbed in last, casually tossing Arthur’s confiscated belongings into the center console.

“You could’ve told me you were going full Bond villain,” he said, but there was no real bite, just a grin of shared satisfaction. “You had me searching between oil paintings and family crests like I was casing the fucking Louvre.”

Lando just laughed. “Noted.”

“His laptop was unlocked,” Max added. “No password. Classic little brother move.”

He turned then, looking back at the two sitting in the back of the car. “And where’d you two come from? I thought you were taking care of the thing in America this weekend?”

Oscar grinned. “Nah, we stuck around for this. Boss left his phone on in his pocket, so we heard everything. Leclerc didn’t even know what hit him.”

“And the jacket?” Logan asked. “How’d you know he’d recognize it?”

“He’s a big brother,” Lando said simply. “They notice stupid shit like that.”

“Hmm, Arthur’s laptop was unlocked,” Max added. “No password. Classic little brother move.”

The laughter faded gradually, like dust settling after a storm. Silence trickled back in. Outside the windows, the road stretched long and dark, the only light coming from the dashboard and the faint glow of the city in the distance.

Oscar cracked his neck in the passenger seat. Logan was still half-bound in the back, rubbing at the angry red marks on his wrists and shaking off the adrenaline.

“You really went full drama with the tape and everything, huh?” Logan muttered, voice still somewhat hoarse.

“You looked great,” Oscar said, deadpan.

“Thanks,” Logan grunted. “I was aiming for kidnapped chic.”

Oscar punched him on the arm, and the two shared a laugh.

“You didn’t have to tie me so tight though,” Logan muttered, tugging at the red marks. “My bones are not decorative.”

Oscar rolled his eyes at that. “You wanted it to be convincing, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, but I also want to be able to type again. What if I get arthritis from this? You know how cold it was in that room? My knuckles were—”

“Logan.”

Lando look at him through the rearview mirror. “You did great. Now stop complainin’.”

That shut him up.

But only for about thirty seconds.

Logan whistled low. “So what now? Charles isn’t going to just lie down and take this. It’s only a matter of time until he finds Arthur. And when he does—what’s stopping him from coming after us?”

For a second, the only sound was the faint purr of the engine. Then Lando’s eyes met Max’s in the rearview mirror. They exchanged a single look.

“He won’t find Arthur.”

Logan blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” Lando said, finally turning in his seat to glance back, “he’s already long gone.”

“Gone where?”

“Little Leclerc’s already on his way to someplace new.”

Logan blinked. “Wait– what?”

Oscar leaned forward a little. “You’re kidding. How?”

Lando let a small, dangerous smile curve at the corner of his mouth. “I texted Max the minute I walked through the front door. Told him which wing to check.”

Lando kept speaking, quiet and sharp. “Arthur had an escort waiting the moment he stepped out for ‘air.’ Thought it was a Leclerc security driver. He’ll wake up three countries away, passport stamped, head spinning.”

Logan gawked. “Where’d you send him?”

Lando reached into his coat and pulled out his phone. He held it up to show them a live location dot ticking slowly across a map.

“Saarbrücken,” he said simply.

Oscar let out a low, impressed whistle. “Germany?”

Lando gave a small, satisfied nod. 

Logan squinted at the map, brows furrowed. “Who’s in Saarbrücken?”

Lando’s smirk widened.

“Our German friend is gonna get him there,” he said. “He still owes me a favor or two. He’s Ex–Stasi, collects vintage knives.”

Oscar barked a laugh. “That guy?”

Logan was still squinted at the map, brows furrowed. “What’s in Saarbrücken?”

Lando’s smirk widened.

“Nico Hulkenberg, he’s gonna take very good care of Arthur,” Lando said, voice cool and unhurried. “Feed him, keep him safe, teach him how to properly scrub the serials off a gun, maybe.”

Logan slumped back in his seat. “Jesus.”

“Mhm.” Lando finally glanced at the rearview mirror, the corner of his mouth twitching upward. “More importantly, he’s gonna get him to Vettel.”

Logan squinted. “Vettel…?”

Lando’s grin widened. “Sebastian. He’s good people. He was in the game for bit, absolute menace. But he’s retired now.”

“Oh my god,” Logan practically squealed with excitement. “You gave Arthur to the Sebastian Vettel?”

Oscar laughed. “Perfect. That man once raised three goats and an orphaned fox in his garage. He’ll make Arthur chamomile tea and emotionally rehabilitate him in two weeks flat.”

“He’s already halfway to Bavaria by now,” Max updated, checking his phone. “With no phone, no idea where he’s going, and zero chance of escape.”

“He’ll take good care of him,” Lando added, rolling the window down to let in the cold night air. “Kid’s harmless. He just needs a change of scenery and someone who knows how to make him feel useful. Sebastian’s good at that kinda stuff.”

Logan slumped back into the seat, half-amused, half-exasperated. “I hate how smart this all was.”

A look passed over Lando’s face, something surprisingly thoughtful. Max realized for the first time how close he’d been to giving up one of the few principles he had left in this world.

Lando must’ve been feeling what it’d be like to almost kill a kid.

“Arthur needed a new start,” Lando announced, clearing his throat. “And Seb’s got a whole ranch in the Alps now. So  he’ll be walking goats and reading philosophy in no time.”

Max barked a laugh. “Assuming he doesn’t drive Niko insane first.”

“He won’t.” Lando’s tone was final. “He won’t be anyone’s pawn again.”

The car fell quiet again.

It was a moment later when Logan added, whispering lowly as he leaned in closer. “You’re kinda terrifying, you know that?”

Lando didn’t answer. He only smiled.

They drove in silence after that, the weight of what they’d finally accomplished trailing behind them like smoke.