Chapter Text
He ripped off the balaclava from his face, its fibers sticking to his skin, he flung it into the overflowing dumpster at the end of the street. It stunk there—small alley, dim street lamp, odor of decay and old smoke, perfect spot for a disappearance. The jacket followed suit, then the shoes. He tore them off with practiced ease and flung them into the dumpster without even bothering to take a look at them.
From his pocket, he fished out the debit card, useless now that all the money was withdrawn. For a split second, he ran his fingers over it and let it fall in with the rest of his possessions.
He shrugged off his backpack and dropped it to the ground, unzipping it with steady hands that didn’t quite match the pounding in his chest. His fingers closed around the small oil bottle. He uncorked it and emptied its contents all over his garbage and then lit a match.
The fire sparked immediately; it consumed everything quickly, eating up every scrap of fabric, plastic, paper—the contents that lay forgotten. The flames rose upwards in a frenzy, creating shadows on the walls as they devoured everything. Leaving nothing but memories.
He watched, staring long enough to be assured the fire did its job. Then, he turned his attention back to the bag, he checked again for the money—all of it was still there. Then, he took out a plain tote bag from one of the pockets and stuffed the backpack into it, to not raise any suspicion.
After inhaling deeply, he adjusted the fabric of his gloves. Making sure that there wouldn’t be any traces left behind. After doing this, he turned towards the wall where he started climbing using the rope, his movements quick and soundless.
On the other side, they were waiting for him… for this. He exhaled, steadying himself, this was worth it.
It had to be.
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“Again…” Oscar said, lifting his hand up just a bit, as he sat cross-legged on a cushion on the floor, his tangerine scent hovering around the air, his hair was messy. “How exactly are we supposed to convince them to give us the jobs we want?”
Nico exhaled in frustration as he paced back and forth in the center of the living room, he had mentally run through this conversation multiple times before. “We don’t,” he answered, almost snarling. “Not directly. That’s not how this works. With the interviews, the resumes, the references—we’ve already done half the job. We just need to push things in the right direction.”
“Easy for you to say, mate,” Lando said from the sofa, lazily tapping a pen with his fingers as his orange scent flowed camly around the room, although his jaw tensed up. “You already have the job.”
Nico stopped pacing, turning to glare at him. “You have it too,” he shot back. “They called you back, didn’t they?”
“Yes,” Lando admitted, shoulders sinking slightly, “but that doesn’t mean anything yet.”
“It doesn’t guarantee the right job,” Seb remarked, his raspberry scent intensifying as he leaned against the coffee table, arms folded, his blonde locks catching the afternoon light. “Just because you got lucky enough to land as Charles’s assistant doesn’t mean the rest of us will end up anywhere near those alphas.”
Nico scoffed, running a hand through his hair. “First of all, there’s nothing ‘lucky’ about working for Charles. That man is a stone,” he said, dead serious. “I’ve worked with him for a year, and I swear I’ve never seen him show a single facial expression. I’m not even convinced he’s human. He barely blinks.”
Oscar stared at him for a second. “Great,” he said flatly. “So we’re even more fucked.”
“No,” Nico insisted, sharper this time, like he needed them to believe it. “I made sure the right positions would be available.”
Seb’s head tilted slightly, brow raising in suspicion. “And how exactly did you make sure of that?”
Nico waved a dismissive hand. “You don’t need the details.”
“That’s not reassuring,” Lando muttered under his breath.
Oscar shifted on the pillow, glancing between them. “Okay, but there’s four of us… and five of them,” he pointed out, lifting a hand again like he was counting. “How is that supposed to work?”
Nico’s lips pressed into a thin line before he spoke again. “I’ve studied them,” he said, almost reluctantly. “The plan works if we manage to take down four. Majority rule.” Silence fell for a second. Seb, Lando, and Oscar all exchanged looks—are you serious? written all over their faces. Nico huffed. “Oh, come on. Don’t look at me like that unless one of you has a better idea.”
Seb sighed, pushing himself up slightly from the table. “Fine,” he said. “Then who’s the one we’re skipping?”
“Lewis,” Nico answered immediately.
Oscar frowned. “Why him?”
Nico didn’t hesitate. “Because if Charles is a fucking stone, that guy is a mountain. I’m not even sure he talks unless it’s to bark orders.”
Nico saw that Seb was about to say something—he opened his mouth to speak—but no words came out because the click of the front door being unlocked and opening cut him off. Nico turned, along with everyone else.
Max walked into the room, his cheeks reddened from the cold, his hair damp. He was breathing heavily, still not quite recovered from the cold air outside—but his face beamed with a grin.
“Hi, guys,” Max said, already shrugging off his jacket, his voice light and his strawberry scent filling the room with obliviousness.
Nico’s expression softened instantly. “Hey,” he said, a small smile pulling at his lips as he stepped forward. “How did it go?”
Max looked up at him, eyes sparkling in a way that gave the answer away before he even spoke. “I got the job.”
Just for a brief moment, everything came to a standstill—until Nico stepped closer to him within two short strides. “Congratulations,” Nico murmured almost instantly, embracing Max tightly and enveloping him in a strong hug, feeling both relieved and proud. But before Max could even respond, other arms joined in.
“Yeah, congrats, Maxie. I’m so proud of you,” Seb said warmly, pressing close, his voice softer than usual.
And then, everything became chaotic again. More arms. More voices. Lando and Oscar came in, congratulating Max without any second thoughts, and their voices mixed with laughter that seemed to dispel the air that was hanging in the room just a second ago.
Max giggled softly his hands seemed to have a hard time finding a solid grip on someone, trying to support himself amid all those people hugging him. "Thanks, guys—" he giggled out of breath, "thanks."
“We need to celebrate,” Nico said, already sounding decided, like this was non-negotiable.
Max’s grin widened instantly. “Yes! With popcorn and movies, please?”
Nico chuckled under his breath. “Sure. Why not?”
“But wait,” Lando cut in, leaning forward from the couch, pointing his pen toward Max like he’d just remembered something important. “Where is your new job?”
Max held himself back just a bit. The excitement did not vanish from Max’s face, but there was a slight change there, enough that one could discern. Max bit his lower lip, his eyes glancing towards Nico as if seeking some kind of approval or reassurance from him.
Max let out a small breath. “Roccia Scarlatta,” he said, voice quieter now, but there was still a hint of pride in it, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Nico felt it physically—the air leaving his lungs like he’d been punched. “What?” he asked, the word coming out sharper, more breathless than he intended.
Max blinked, the shift in Nico’s tone immediately putting him on edge. “I—I knew Seb was applying there,” he said quickly, his voice softer now, almost careful. “And I thought… it would be a good idea if I was with you too.”
Nico swallowed hard. “Of course,” he said, forcing his voice to stay even, steady. “That’s… a great idea.” He didn’t let go of Max’s hand, even as something tight and uneasy settled in his chest. “But—” Nico added, gentler now, trying to sound casual, “don’t you think you’d prefer taking the year off?”
A pout formed on Max’s lips almost instantly, his brows knitting together in a soft frown. “You don’t want me to work with you guys?”
“No!” Seb said immediately, stepping forward like he’d been waiting to correct that. “Of course we do.” He wrapped an arm around Max’s shoulders, pulling him halfway into his side. “That’s not it at all.”
But Max did not relax. The scowl remained, with his lips still protruded slightly, his eyes darting from one to the other as if trying to comprehend something that was left unsaid.
Nico let out a sigh, ruffling his hair before moving closer to them. “It’s not that we don’t want you there,” he said, softer now. “It’s just—” He hesitated, the words catching for a second. “We… talked about it.” He reached out, gently cupping Max’s face to make him look at him. “Seb and I are getting a really good salary,” Nico continued, trying to keep his tone light, reasonable. “And we just thought it might be a good idea for you to take a year off. You graduated early, Max. You don’t have to rush into anything.” Max’s eyes softened just slightly under his touch, but the uncertainty didn’t leave. “Why not do something fun?” Nico added, brushing his thumb lightly against Max’s cheek. “Take a course, travel, try something new. We can afford it. You don’t need to worry about anything right now.”
“Yes!” Seb jumped in, tightening his hold around Max like he was trying to sell the idea with sheer enthusiasm. “That would be amazing, Max.”
“Yeah, that actually sounds great,” Lando added from the couch, leaning forward now, a small smile on his face. “You never really got a break.”
“And you can always take the job later,” Oscar chimed in, nodding as if it was the most logical thing in the world. “Opportunities like that don’t just disappear overnight.”
Max’s pout grew even more pronounced. “But…,” he began hesitantly, his tone softening. Max cast his gaze downward briefly before looking back up into Nico’s face, a look which caused Nico’s heart to constrict. “I just…” Max hesitated, swallowing, his fingers curling slightly into the fabric of his sleeve. “I thought we could work together.” The words landed heavy. “That was what I wanted,” he added, blinking quickly.
Nico sensed it then—the sudden tug on his chest. The one that caused him to be momentarily unable to catch his breath. He recognized that look on Max’s face—he was struggling to hold back tears. And Nico just couldn’t be the reason for it. Not after everything. Not after the promise he’d made to himself to protect him.
“I…” Nico started, but the words didn’t come easily. He pressed his lips together, glancing away for a brief second before looking back at him. He sighed. “Okay,” he said finally, nodding once. “If that’s what you want.”
“What?” Seb’s voice cut in immediately, eyes widening in disbelief as he pulled back slightly. “Nico—”
Nico shrugged, not looking at him. “Just—” He exhaled, running a hand over the back of his neck before focusing on Max again. “Just don’t overdo it, okay?” His tone softened again, more serious now. “Take it easy. Don’t go too far too fast like you did in college, alright?”
Max nodded quickly. “Okay, Nico,” he said, a small smile returning, fragile but real. “I promise.”
Nico nodded again even if that pressure in his chest did not dissipate. He could feel it—the burden of Lando’s, Oscar’s, and Seb’s eyes on him, heavy and judgy. However, this was his idea, and if that required him to tweak everything and ensure that Max stayed close without danger… then so be it.
“Alright,” Nico said after a moment, forcing a lighter tone as he stepped back. “Let’s watch that movie.” He glanced toward the kitchen. “I’ll make the popcorn.”
Max’s face brightened instantly, like the tension had never existed. “Yes!” he said, already moving. “I’ll help with the drinks.”
* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ
Max stood perfectly still, shoulders squared, Nico tugged on his tie once again. “Stay still,” Nico whispered, his fingers smoothing out the fabric even when there wasn't anything wrong with it. Max didn't say a word as he stared at him, smiling softly. “Remember,” Nico said, not looking up yet, “call me if you need anything.” His tone was firm, almost rehearsed. “Anything, Max. I mean it.”
Max nodded lightly. “I know.”
“And text me your department as soon as you find out,” Nico added quickly, finally meeting his eyes. “I’ll come get you and we’ll have lunch together, alright?”
“Okay, Nico,” Max said, the smile on his face softening, warmer now. “I will.”
With one last unnecessary fiddling on his tie, Nico took a step back, looking over him from head to toe as if he was looking for some imperfection in him. “Good,” he said, apparently satisfied with what he saw.
“Good morning.” The voice came from behind them, carrying a distinct French accent that immediately drew Max’s attention.
He turned around to see a well-groomed young man, wearing a tailored black suit that made him look like a seasoned business executive. His black hair was slicked back and he had a well-groomed stubble on his chin.
“I’m Esteban Ocon,” he introduced himself, offering a polite smile. “I’m part of the Human Resources department. I’ll be showing you around today and answering any questions you might have.”
As he moved nearer, he sensed the scent—gentle, sweet. Vanilla. Definitely an omega. Max’s eyes darted to where Seb, Lando, and Oscar were standing, all of whom seemed aware now, no longer nervous but filled with intrigue and enthusiasm.
Then he looked back at Nico, who immediately returned his look and gave him a little, encouraging smile. Max smiled and turned back to Esteban taking a breath and tugging at the strap of his backpack.
“Alright,” Esteban continued, clapping his hands together softly. “First things first—I’ll give you a quick tour of the building. Then I’ll take you to your respective departments and get you settled in.”
They trailed behind him through the building, and within minutes, Max knew this place was enormous.
The cafeteria was contemporary and clean, filled with sunlight and hushed conversation. The kitchen was immaculate and well-stocked. Then came the restrooms, the emergency exits, the meeting rooms, the printers, the mail room. Esteban took them through one department after another, seamlessly flowing from one space to another.
The halls seemed endless, glass walls catching reflections of them in passing. Elevator doors chimed open and shut before him.
Max felt utterly lost. It was like being trapped in some sort of maze. The building was vast with too many floors, offices and all those corridors folded into one another in a way that made keeping track impossible.
Max could tell the trip up to the executives' floor on the elevator was somehow quieter—the atmosphere more refined, even when the elevator doors slid open.
Esteban led them along an elegant corridor, door after door closed, glass partitions catching their footsteps in passing.
“Alright,” Esteban said with a polite smile as they came to a stop. “Max, this will be your desk.”
Max's eyes moved following the direction of Esteban’s hand. The desk was neat, tidy, minimalistic, but not cold. There was a big screen, neatly stacked documents, and then there was that leather chair which looked way too expensive to be sitting on all day.
“You’ll be working with Mr. Gasly,” Esteban added.
Max turned around. Standing just a few paces behind him, observing him, was a man. Unkempt brown hair that still seemed put together somehow, an angular face, and piercing blue eyes that saw everything. Wearing his gray suit like it was tailor-made for him, every single detail perfect yet seeming almost casual at the same time.
He was already smiling. “Pleasure to meet you,” Mr. Gasly said, his French accent smooth as he stepped forward, extending his hand.
The moment he got closer, Max caught it. Leather. Strong, deep, alpha. It wasn’t overwhelming, but it was present—the kind of scent that filled a room without asking for permission.
Max straightened instinctively, stepping forward to meet him halfway, his own hand lifting. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Gasly,” he replied, his voice polite, steady. Their hands met—firm grip, brief, professional—but Max could feel the weight behind it.
“I’ll leave you to it, then,” Esteban said, glancing between them. There was a flicker of something in his expression—subtle, but there. Something Max couldn’t quite place. “Pierre will walk you through everything.”
Max barely had time to process it before Esteban stepped back, though the faint tension between the two men didn’t go unnoticed.
“Thank you, Esteban,” Mr. Gasly said, his tone polite, but clipped just enough to feel different from before. Then his attention shifted back to Max completely. “So,” he said, his smile returning, softer now but no less sharp, “before we get into the basics… do you have any questions? About the office, the company—anything at all?”
Max shook his head quickly. “No, everything’s clear, Mr. Gasly.”
That earned him a small grin. “Please,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “call me Pierre. ‘Mr. Gasly’ is my father, and I’m not quite ready to feel that old yet.”
Max let out a small giggle, the tension in his shoulders easing almost instantly. “Understood… Mr—Pierre,” he corrected himself, cheeks warming slightly.
Pierre chuckled, clearly amused. “We’ll work on that.” He gestured lightly toward the desk. “For now, let’s get you set up. Your login details should be in that envelope.” Max followed his gaze, spotting the neatly placed envelope on the desk, his name printed cleanly across the front. “And then,” Pierre continued, his tone shifting just slightly—more focused now, more professional, “we’ll go over the basics. There are a few things you’ll need to manage as my assistant.”
Max nodded, adjusting the strap of his backpack as he stepped closer to the desk, his fingers brushing over the envelope before picking it up.
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He left Max first. Oscar could see him as Esteban led them to the corridor, his face gentle just for a moment—until the door closed, and reality came back.
As Esteban led him along other corridors, more quiet than the rest, the tone of things changed. The discussions became quieter. There were few eye contacts as people kept looking at their computers.
“Finance department,” Esteban said, stopping in front of a glass-walled office space.
Inside, everything was precise. Structured. Clean lines, dark wood, muted tones—power dressed as simplicity. A man stood near one of the desks, already waiting.
“Mr. Sainz,” Esteban called, stepping forward. “This is Oscar Norris. He’ll be your new assistant.”
Towering, muscular, hair cut neatly, skin having a golden hue, his brown eyes were sharp enough to scan everything in one gaze. Intimidating. Then came the scent of Cedar. Earthy, robust, and definitely alpha. Not as strong as others, but heavy. But Oscar did not even blink an eye. He had done his homework on him. All of them.
“Nice to meet you,” Mr. Sainz said, stepping forward and extending his hand.
Oscar mirrored the motion smoothly. “Nice to meet you too, Mr. Sainz.” Their handshake was firm—professional—but there was weight behind it. A quiet expectation.
“I’ll leave you to it,” Esteban said, glancing between them. He gave Oscar a brief, almost unreadable look before turning away, already gesturing for Lando and Sebastian to follow him further down the corridor.
“Thank you,” Mr. Sainz replied, but his attention had already shifted fully to Oscar. “So,” he began, walking past him toward the desk, expecting Oscar to follow. “I heard you graduated in finance from Columbia.”
“That’s right,” Oscar said, falling into step beside him, posture straight, tone even.
Mr. Sainz nodded once. “Good,” he said. “Though I should clarify something from the start—college is not the same as real work.”
Oscar’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly. He forced himself to keep his expression neutral, his hands relaxed at his sides. Don’t react.
“Out there,” Mr. Sainz continued, gesturing vaguely as he spoke, “you’re taught theory. Here, expectations are different. Higher. Mistakes cost money.”
Oscar breathed in deeply through his nostrils, and the smell of cedar grew stronger in the confined space. This man doesn’t even know me. Yet he was already speaking about—
He stopped himself from thinking about anything further. He did not understand what had prompted him to agree to this madness. Nico’s plan was based on sheer speculation and rage. Lando and Sebastian had gotten dragged into it because of Daniel—because they could not let it go. And he was here, playing along because of his idiotic brother. For a revenge that wasn’t even his.
“Any questions?” The voice snapped him back.
Oscar blinked once, refocusing, his expression smoothing instantly into something polite. “No,” he said easily. “Everything is perfectly clear.”
A lie. He had no idea what the alpha had just said for the past minute. “I expect nothing less than perfection from my assistant,” Mr. Sainz replied, his tone calm but firm. Not a threat—just a statement. Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, “You can start immediately.”
Oscar nodded once. “And if you need anything,” Mr. Sainz continued, gesturing toward a desk a few spaces away, “I’m sure Mr. Bottas can help clarify.”
Oscar followed the direction of his hand. A man with blonde hair and a mustache sat a few desks over, focused on his screen, barely acknowledging them. He turned back, offering Mr. Sainz a smile—sweet, polite, perfectly practiced. “Of course.”
Yet underneath, a chill took hold. Because as he took sit on his chair and arranged his belongings with meticulous care, there was an idea that stuck—a singular certainty. I am going to love destroying you.
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As soon as Esteban let Max in Gasly's department, Seb felt something tighten around his heart that made him feel like he was going to faint.
This wasn't planned. Max was not supposed to be here. He began thinking about all the worst-case scenarios and how things could have gone wrong. What if Max got caught in something he didn’t understand?
What if he got hurt… or worse. Seb swallowed hard, forcing himself to push down the fear and nausea, to keep his expression neutral as Esteban guided them forward. He had to fix this; they had to make a new plan.
“Mr. Räikkönen,” Esteban said, stopping in front of a desk. “This is Sebastian Verstappen. He’ll be your new assistant.”
Seb only half listened to him. His gaze was fixed on the man standing before him. Kimi Räikkönen.
He knew him by name. Weapons expert. One of the most lethal men in the entire building, maybe even in the whole city. The kind of man you talked about only when it was necessary. Blonde, almost translucent under the office lighting. Icy blue eyes, flat and unreadable. And his scent, the strong smell of whiskey, it was cold. Like a chill running down his throat and settling into the pit of his stomach.
Christ. Not sure if that could ever be thawed out. But he tried anyway. He stood up a little straighter, relaxing his shoulders and tipping his head back just a fraction. He loosened his face, letting his eyelashes fall a little lower than normal, forming a small, practiced smile.
“Nice to meet you, Mr. Räikkönen,” he said, his voice smooth, light—just enough warmth to contrast the man in front of him.
Nothing. He gave a single nod—barely a movement, more acknowledgment than greeting. “The information you’ll need is in the computer,” he said, his voice flat in a finish accent equally cold. Then he turned.
He walked away, leaving Seb standing there with his smile still half-formed and absolutely useless. Seb blinked once.
“You’ll be okay,” Esteban said from behind him, his tone gentler this time, like he could sense the shift.
Seb took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his hair, making himself start over. He would be fine. It had nothing to do with comfort. It had everything to do with getting revenge on the coldhearted jerk for what he did to Daniel.
“Of course,” Seb said instead, turning back with a polite smile, smooth and effortless like nothing had just happened. “Thank you, Mr. Ocon.”
Esteban nodded and began to walk away, pulling Lando with him. Lando turned around to look over his shoulder with one eyebrow arched in an unspoken query. Seb shook his head ever so slightly.
And as he turned and walked towards the desk, to the chilly and lonely area where Kimi had vacated, it dawned on him that he needed a new strategy. One that would bring him closer to his goal without the risk of dying from cold.
* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ
When Esteban left him in front of the IT department, Lando felt as if he was about to pass out. That definitely wasn't what was supposed to happen. The department was colder than anywhere else, literally in terms of temperature, but mostly in terms of vibe. Perfectly arranged rows of desks with their shining computer screens, and keyboard tapping at an almost mechanical pace.
Lando swallowed hard, there was something very wrong about this place. His desk was small and hidden among two others. Far away from where they had imagined it to be. There was an envelope on it. Lando took it with trembling hands and tore it apart to get the paper inside.
It wasn't much. No instruction. No guide. Not even remotely as helpful as his manager. Mr. Perez had been unhelpful beyond imagination. He had greeted Lando with just a nod and then simply said, "You can start working now," and left him alone.
The computer screen now welcomed Lando as if it knew that its time of glory was upon it again. Lando typed in his credentials with unnecessary force and accessed the system.
There weren't any guides, no orientation, just files and folders and programs he was expected to understand instantly. Lando sank into his chair with an exhausted breath. He would definitely have to kill Nico for this. If he would be doing this kind of work for more than a week, there was absolutely no way he would be able to keep up the facade.
It didn't matter how badly he wanted revenge. It didn't matter how angry and upset he was because of Daniel. This wasn't what they agreed on.
Lando opened the company's messaging application and started typing. He didn't spend time thinking and quickly created a new group chat.
Lando read the last message. “...Hold in there,” he whispered to himself, rereading the message thinking that perhaps it would make more sense after the second try.
Easy for Oscar to say. At least he wasn’t stuck here. Lando sank back into his chair, his hands massaging his temples as he closed his eyes momentarily, trying to hold back the rage building up inside him.
He drew in a deep breath and then another one. Yes, he could do this, he had to. Because as much as he wanted to walk out right now—as easy as it would be to just leave this mess behind—Daniel did not have that luxury.
Nor did they. Opening his eyes once again, Lando looked at the computer screen in front of him. "...Fine," he whispered, but his jaw was set.
* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ
“Just head to the Operations department and give this to Mr. Leclerc,” Pierre said, handing him the folder with a quick, efficient motion.
Max nodded immediately, taking it carefully. “I will,” he said, holding it close. Then, after a small pause, he added, “Do you want me to bring you a coffee afterwards, Mr. Pierre?”
Pierre chuckled softly, shaking his head as he leaned back slightly in his chair. “Max,” he said, amused, “please just call me Pierre. No need for the ‘Mr.’”
Max smiled, a little sheepish. “Right. Sorry—Pierre.”
“And no, I’m good,” Pierre continued, waving a hand dismissively. “But you’ve already finished everything I gave you, so if you want to grab something for yourself, go ahead. Take a break.”
Max’s eyes lit up slightly. “Thank you so much—Mr—” He stopped himself mid-word, cheeks warming. “—Pierre.”
Pierre laughed again, more openly this time. “Just go,” he said, shaking his head. “And if Mr. Leclerc isn’t in his office, don’t wait around. Just leave the folder on his desk so he sees it when he gets back, alright?”
“Okay,” Max said, nodding.
He tightened his hold on the folder as he stepped out of Pierre's office. There wasn’t much distance to the Operations department; Nico had gone to great lengths to show Max the way, in case he ever needed to find him. Max navigated the pathway confidently, although he gripped the folder just a bit tighter with each step.
As soon as he arrived he realized everything was different. Desks filled with people, computer monitors glowing, and quiet chatter all around. There was an air of efficiency here as everyone seemed to know what they were doing.
His eyes immediately found their way toward the office at the far end of the room. The empty chair of Nico’s desk just outside of it disappointed Max slightly, but he set that feeling aside and focused on the matter at hand. Taking a deep breath, he made his way toward the office door.
There, beyond him stood the office of Mr. Leclerc, closed, polished, and somehow very imposing. He knocked twice but there was no answer, so he carefully opened the door and stepped into the office. It was empty. He closed the door quietly behind him, a sound that carried just a little too much echo in the silent room.
Max paused. The office was… beautiful. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across one wall, letting in soft, natural light that spilled over everything, casting long, shadows across the polished floor. Beyond the glass, the New York city skyline extended endlessly. At the end of the room sat a large, minimalist desk—sharp lines, dark surface, perfectly organized. A high-backed chair stood behind it, imposing in its simplicity, with two guest chairs positioned neatly in front. This office was about the same size as Pierre’s. But there was something different about this place. This place gave a heavy sense, as if the room required quietness.
Max shifted slightly where he stood, his grip tightening around the folder for just a second before he forced himself to move forward. The entire office smelled like chocolate. Rich, deep and warm enough that it almost felt tangible in the air. Max’s mouth watered before he could stop it.
He blinked and shook off that thought as he hurried towards the desk, holding the folder closer to his body. He cracked the folder open just wide enough to make sure it had everything Pierre requested.
After checking, he placed the folder down on the desk—right next to the tall stack of folders that were already arranged properly on top of the desk—when he saw an open folder.
Max hesitated for a second. Then his gaze flickered down, curiosity pulling at him before he could stop himself. The information inside was…
His breath hitched, as he held onto the side of the folder tightly, when the door opened. Max tensed, feeling a skip in his heartbeat, as he moved quickly to place Pierre’s folder right on top of the stack. He turned but stopped abruptly.
A man stood at the entrance. An alpha. Messy brown hair, like it had been dragged through impatient fingers. Deep green eyes locked onto him instantly, sharp and assessing. One brow raised slightly, arms crossed over his chest like he’d been standing there longer than Max realized. And the dark chocolate scent was stronger now. Overwhelming in the enclosed space.
“I’m sorry for the intrusion, Mr. Leclerc,” Max said quickly, forcing himself to steady his voice as he recovered from the initial shock. “Mr—” he hesitated for a fraction of a second, correcting himself, “—Pierre asked me to bring you this folder.”
A smile tugged at the alpha’s lips. But it didn’t reach his eyes. “Mr. Pierre?” he repeated, his French accent smooth but edged with something sharper.
Max blinked, heat creeping up his neck. “I—mm—yeah… I mean—Mr. Gasly.”
Mr. Leclerc gave a slow nod. “I know who he is,” he said simply. Then he started walking toward him. And despite the space in the office—the distance between them—Max suddenly felt like there was nowhere to go. Each step closed the gap too easily. Max swallowed. “And you are?” Mr. Leclerc asked, his gaze never leaving him.
“Max Verstappen, sir,” Max replied, his voice quieter now, but steady.
“Verstappen?” The alpha’s brow lifted slightly higher as he stopped just inches away. Max nodded, his throat suddenly dry. He didn’t get the chance to say anything else. “And how old are you, Max?” Mr. Leclerc continued, his tone almost curious. “You look barely…” He paused, eyes flicking over him briefly. “…legal.”
Max’s lips parted slightly before he pressed them together, instinctively licking them as the dryness set in from the proximity. “I’m 20 years old,” he answered.
Mr. Leclerc studied him for a second longer. “Shouldn’t you be in college?” he asked.
Max shook his head quickly. “No, sir. I graduated early.”
Max could not interpret the expression in the eyes of Mr. Leclerc. He drew nearer and without even considering it, Max took a step backward until his buttocks bumped against the desk.
The distance between them was reduced further until Max stood almost nose-to-nose with Mr. Leclerc.
Mr. Leclerc didn’t stop. His gaze moved over Max with deliberate precision, taking him in from head to toe—lingering just a fraction longer than necessary. It paused at his lips. Then lifted back to his eyes. The intensity of it made Max’s breath catch.
Those green eyes were… piercing. Not just looking at him, but through him, like he was being measured, evaluated, stripped down to something simpler. Max swallowed, his legs suddenly feeling weaker than they had any right to.
“I should go back,” he said softly, his voice quieter than he intended.
Mr. Leclerc’s lips curved into a small grin. “Sure,” he said. But he didn’t move.
Max faltered, and the silence was just a fraction too long until he made himself straighten and move from the desk. Max moved aside in order to leave, and it was not until then that Mr. Leclerc made his own slight movement. Just enough for him to slip past.
Max breath out without knowing that he had stopped breathing in, he now felt like his chest could actually expand for the first time since entering the office. He took two steps towards the door. Then he stopped.
Something in his mind called him back and even before he could consider his action, he turned around. Mr. Leclerc was staring at him, the same unidentifiable smile on his face.
Max hesitated. “Your report is wrong.” The words slipped out before he could stop them.
“What?” Mr. Leclerc asked, the smile dropping instantly, his brows pulling together in a sharp frown.
Max tilted his head slightly toward the desk. “The shipment,” he clarified, his voice steadier now, slipping into something more familiar. “There’s no way it arrives in New York on time using that route.” Mr. Leclerc’s gaze sharpened. “The better option,” Max continued, stepping half a pace closer despite himself, “would be to request the raw materials from Texas. That way production here doesn’t stop while you wait for the supplier.”
“But that would delay Texas’ production,” Mr. Leclerc countered, tilting his head slightly, studying him again—differently this time.
“Not really,” Max replied, almost automatically. “They usually keep excess inventory to avoid cutting boxes short during unexpected demand. They can send part of that buffer.” He paused briefly, then added, more quietly but with certainty, “And their supplier delivers faster. If they request restock today, they should recover their extra inventory within three days.”
“When did you start working here?” Mr. Leclerc asked.
Max swallowed, the weight of what he’d just done settling in all at once. “I’m sorry,” he said quickly, shaking his head, taking a small step back. “I didn’t mean to overstep.”
“No,” Mr. Leclerc said quickly. He stepped closer—too close—and before Max could react, his hand closed gently around Max’s. “You didn’t overstep.”
The touch was light, almost reassuring, but it sent a strange tension up Max’s arm anyway. He hesitated, caught off guard, before giving a small nod. “I… I started working here this morning, Mr. Leclerc,” Max said.
Mr. Leclerc nodded; he appeared to be doing so in an absentminded way. He wore a slight frown on his face, as if he were lost in thought, reflecting upon what Max had just mentioned.
“If you’ll excuse me,” he added carefully, gesturing toward the door behind him, “I should get back.”
One more head nod. With the distraction still on him, he frowned. Max swallowed and slowly extracted his hand before walking away, his pace fast but not frantic. The silence hung after him, thick, almost as if it was watching him. He grabbed the door knob.
“Max.” The sound of his name stopped him instantly.
He turned. “Yes, Mr. Leclerc?”
Charles was watching him again, but something had changed. The frown was gone. In its place—a smile. Not the same as before, this one lingered, slower, deliberate… and his eye were brighter now, sharp with something Max couldn’t quite place.
“Please,” Charles said, voice softer this time, “call me Charles.”
Max nodded quickly. “Of course—”
“And,” Charles added before he could finish, stepping just slightly closer again, “could you tell Pierre to call me?”
Max blinked, then nodded. “Sure. I’ll let him know, Mr. Le—“
“Charles,” he corrected, the smile widening just a fraction.
Max exhaled softly, almost embarrassed. “Right. Charles. Sorry.”
Charles’s grin deepened, clearly amused now. “Thank you, Max.”
Max merely nodded his head and moved away without a pause. He went outside through the door, and as soon as he did, there was a change in the atmosphere.
Fresh, crisp, and clear air, of that heavy, dark chocolate scent that had filled the office and wrapped around him. Max took a deep breath and finally filled his lungs with the fresh, invigorating air.
“Max?” Nico’s voice cut through his thoughts. Max looked up. Nico was standing by his desk just outside Charles’ office, his expression already tight with concern. “Are you okay?” he asked, stepping closer. “What were you doing in Mr. Leclerc’s office?”
Max blinked, grounding himself. “Yes—I’m fine,” he said quickly, swallowing once. “I was just delivering something Mr. Gasly asked me to.” Nico nodded, but the worry didn’t disappear completely. It lingered in his eyes, sharp and protective. Max offered him a small smile, softer this time, trying to ease it. “I need to tell Mr. Gasly that Mr. Leclerc wants to talk to him,” he added. “I’ll see you at five?”
Nico hesitated for a second longer, then nodded, his expression finally easing. “Okay,” he said, a faint smile returning. “See you later.”
Max nodded back before turning to leave, the weight of the encounter still lingering faintly under his skin.
* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ
The double work was tiring. Managing a billion-dollar pharmaceutical company during the daytime and running a criminal organization based on blood and drugs during the nighttime gave them little time to relax.
During his youth, he considered it redundant. Why bother dividing the power when they could easily take control of the world? However, in hindsight it was the best cover job anyone could get.
Using legal funds to hide illegal activities, warehouses holding medicines during the daytime and substances at night, and documentation to show that everything was legal and untouchable. They were forced to do so, but it didn’t mean it was easy.
Despite having so many subordinates and workers under their command, they were still responsible for the operation itself. There would be decisions and problems that only they could solve.
“Mr. Hamilton.”
Lewis didn’t turn immediately. He already knew the voice. “Hulk,” he acknowledged after a second, glancing over his shoulder at the blonde German man—one of their most trusted.
“The package is here,” Nico said.
Lewis gave a single nod. “Thank you.”
The heavy door of the office inside the bunker shut but then reopened almost immediately after. It was Kimi who entered first, wearing a white shirt, or at least what used to be a white shirt, now blood-stained and drying in irregular patches. As always, he kept his usual unreadable face. Then Carlos entered after him, his footsteps measured and precise.
“I thought Pierre and Charles were already here,” Carlos said, glancing around the space as he moved further in.
Lewis shook his head. “No. They’re dealing with something related to Roccia Scarlatta. They’ll be here soon.”
“Hmmm,” Carlos mused aloud, already fetching one chair and sitting down.
Only five chairs, one per family. It was a rather silent room, dimly lit, with the walls almost pressing inward, like the whole place was meant not only for secrets but for control.
Kimi bypassed the table altogether, heading directly to the small bar behind it, where he poured himself a glass of vodka. Lifting it to his mouth, he took a sip of vodka as if it was nothing more than water.
Lewis eyed him for a split second and then turned his eyes towards the table. They weren’t even all here yet. And already he could feel it. This was going to be a long night.