The isolation with Violet in the elevator was a welcome relief from reality. However, the reunion would have to be put on hold until the rest of his family could be accounted for in the black out. He kissed his wife goodbye with a hunger that screamed for him to stay by her side. Though, both had a few things to cross of their list.
Chicago was on fire in the blackout, not surprising given the cityâs history of riots and violence. Though, it didnât stop Leon from walking the streets with a confidence and essence that screamed danger to anyone who dared approach. He stopped by Aurea last; heâd catch up with the rest at Roma once he was finished. Costello security surrounded the perimeter, as to be expected and the armed men updated him on all they knew.Â
Leon intended on getting in contact with his family members once he got to his office but his eyes were greeted with a headline that made him burn. His father was dead. According to the news the cause was unknown but Leon was fairly certain he knew who was responsible.
A princeâs crown was replaced with a Kingâs as the Sinclairs officially declared war. Overwhelmed by frustration, grief and desperation, Leon forced the papers and frames off his desk in one fluid motion. He stood over the frame, gripping the wood tightly until his knuckles turned white. He took a breath. Every inch of his body wanted to stalk the streets killing anyone who looked at him the wrong way, though Marcel raised him to be smarter than his impulses.
Now was not a time for grief. It was a time for strategy.
Leon sat in his office chair and spun to face away from the door. He needed to think. Breathe. Calm the fuck down.
Hearing someone at the threshold of his office, he cracked a knuckle. He didnât turn to face who entered, but he asked, âwhat do you want?â his tone harsh and unforgiving.Â
