Smoke After Fire

By the next morning, the fight was all anyone could talk about.

“Leon fucking Veyra went head-to-head with Enzo D’Amato—”

“And he didn’t back down.”

“Yeah, but Enzo landed more hits.”

“No, Veyra did! I saw him pin the bastard to the wall—”

The cafeteria was boiling over with it. Students whispered in corners, some bold enough to film and post clips online. Every angle showed the same thing: fists flying, eyes burning, two kings trying to crush each other.

Leon sat slouched at the back table with Theo and Riku, tray untouched. His lip was swollen, a bruise coloring his jaw purple-blue. He smirked anyway, blowing smoke toward the ceiling.

“Guess I’m campus famous now.” He tapped his lighter against the table. “Not that I wasn’t already.”

Riku grinned, neon hair falling in his eyes. “You’ve officially pissed off the wrong guy. You should feel honored.”

Theo shoved a bottle of water into Leon’s hand. “Drink. You’re dehydrated.”

Leon groaned. “You sound like my grandma.”

“Better than sounding like your dad.” Theo shot back.

That shut him up.

Across the hall, the Velvet Circle occupied their usual corner—untouchable, like a pack of wolves that didn’t have to snarl to be feared. Enzo sat at the head, white hair messy, hoodie collar hiding the bruise along his throat.

Adrian scrolled through his phone, lips twisting. “You’ve gone viral, Enz. Half the campus thinks Veyra’s a hero, the other half thinks he’s suicidal.”

Damian’s eyes narrowed. “He’s reckless, that’s all. He doesn’t know when to shut his mouth.”

Cassian leaned forward, voice low. “Still. Not many stand toe-to-toe with you.”

Enzo didn’t answer right away. He stared at his untouched coffee, fingers tapping the rim. The fight replayed in his head like static he couldn’t shake.

Veyra’s fists—fast, untrained but sharp.

Veyra’s eyes—dark, defiant, refusing to look away.

And—fuck—Veyra’s scent.

Enzo had caught it for half a second in the chaos. Not the musky arrogance of an alpha. Not the bland neutrality of a beta. Something else. Something rarer, sweeter, hidden beneath smoke and leather.

But that was impossible. Everyone knew Leon Veyra was an alpha.

“Enzo,” Damian’s voice cut in, sharp. “You’re not actually thinking about him, are you?”

Enzo leaned back, expression carved from stone. “I think he’s a waste of air.”

But the lie tasted bitter.

That afternoon, Leon lit up another cigarette behind the gym, Theo tossing a basketball lazily beside him, Riku sprawled on the steps humming some filthy song.

“You know he’s gonna come for you again,” Riku said. “Mafia boys don’t take humiliation lightly.”

Leon smirked. “Good. I’d hate for him to be boring.”

But when the smoke curled around his face, he wasn’t grinning anymore. He was thinking about those cold silver eyes, the bruising grip on his hoodie, the way Enzo had looked at him like he was a puzzle waiting to be solved.

And Leon hated puzzles.

Especially when he was the fucking answer.

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