Harem System: Spending Money On Women For 100% Rebate! - Chapter 336 - 336: A Leak?

Kyle slipped out from under the tangled sheets, careful not to disturb the peaceful rhythm of Ella’s breathing. The room was bathed in the soft, predawn haze filtering through the curtains, casting a gentle glow over her form. Her red hair splayed across the pillow like spilled ink, her lips slightly parted in sleep, a faint flush still coloring her cheeks from the orgasm they shared. She looked vulnerable in a way she never allowed when awake—her usual fiery armor stripped away, leaving only the woman who’d surrendered to him hours ago. Kyle paused at the edge of the bed, his hand hovering over her shoulder for a moment, tempted to wake her with a kiss or a whisper. But no. She needed rest after what they’d shared.

He dressed quietly in the dim light—jeans, a dark hoodie, sneakers—grabbing his keys and phone from the nightstand. The apartment felt too still, too intimate, as if the walls themselves were whispering judgments about the complications he’d just amplified. With one last glance at Ella, her chest rising and falling in serene oblivion, Kyle slipped out the door, locking it behind him with a soft click.

The hallway air hit him like a cold slap, grounding him in the reality waiting outside.

Stepping into the crisp evening chill, Kyle slid into his driver’s seat, the engine purring to life with a low rumble that mirrored the turmoil in his gut. He pulled out onto the empty streets.

Confusion gnawed at him like a persistent itch he couldn’t scratch. Nakamura’s plan echoed in his mind: hop a flight to England, kidnap Marcello’s daughter, use her as leverage to dismantle the mafia threat. It sounded straightforward in theory—a surgical strike to end the dangers creeping into his life. But Kyle wasn’t a fool. The girl he’d encountered before—the one who’d tried to orchestrate his death—might be a spoiled brat, entitlement dripping from her every word and glare. Yet, Marcello, that calculating bastard, wouldn’t have shipped her off without reason. Protection? A strategic move to keep her out of the crossfire? Kidnapping her would shatter whatever fragile peace Marcello was enforcing, forcing his hand into something drastic—retaliation that could engulf everyone Kyle cared about.

And what about the mafia’s reach? Kyle’s knuckles whitened on the wheel as he merged onto the highway. They could have gone for Ella already. Hell, they probably knew about her—her ties to Cleopatra, her proximity to him. It wasn’t like he was some invincible guardian, a supernatural shield against bullets and blades. He was just a man with a rebate system and a knack for survival, not a god. If they wanted her, they’d take her, rules or no rules. But maybe there were rules.

Like in those old movies he used to binge—The Godfather, Goodfellas—where family was off-limits, a sacred line even monsters wouldn’t cross. Was that Marcello’s code? Or just Hollywood bullshit? Crossing it himself by snatching the daughter could unravel that unspoken pact, turning a cold war hot and painting targets on Jane, Cassandra, even little Jasmine.

Nakamura’s angle twisted the knife deeper. Was the sly bastard setting him up? Kyle’s mind raced through the possibilities as streetlights blurred past. Nakamura played the mentor, the partner, but his Yakuza roots ran deep.

Sending Kyle across the ocean for a high-risk grab screamed misdirection. What if the “shield” Nakamura promised was just bait, drawing Kyle into a trap where the families or even Cleopatra could pick him off? The rebate system had made him untouchable in wealth—billions stacking up like digital bricks—but money didn’t stop a sniper’s bullet or a poisoned drink. True power needed backing, alliances forged in blood and sweat before he could truly soar. Without it, he was just a rich mark waiting to be killed.

Cleopatra flickered in his thoughts like a dark flame—ruthless, enigmatic, with resources that could eclipse even Marcello’s. She could be his way in, a twisted alliance to topple the mafia from within. Her demand to kill Marcello aligned with Nakamura’s play, but trusting her felt like dancing with a viper. If all else failed… Kyle’s stomach turned at the thought. He could use Ella and take over the power Cleopatra had maintained after their parents’ passing which meant he would need to get Cleopatra out of the way.

There was only one way to do that, a bullet through the head.

He needed clarity, one final gauge of Marcello before committing. Seeing the Don face-to-face, reading the cracks in his armor—that could tip the scales. Like clockwork, as if the universe mocked his indecision, his phone rang from the cupholder. The screen lit up with an unfamiliar number, no caller ID, just a string of digits that screamed burner. Kyle’s pulse quickened; he tapped the Bluetooth, the call connecting with a faint static hum.

“Hello?” His voice was steady, laced with caution.

A woman’s voice filtered through—smooth, accented with a French lilt that carried authority like a well-worn crown.

[[Mr. Kyle. Or should I say, the rising star of Hollywood? This is Isabeau Delacroix. I believe you’ve heard of me—or at least, the family I represent,]] The voice said over the phone.

Kyle’s breath caught. Isabeau—the head of the Delacroix family, one of Marcello’s key allies in the mafia’s fractured empire. Her name didn’t ring a bell but how she presented it implied she belonged to one of the families. What the hell did she want?

“Madame Delacroix. This is unexpected. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Kyle knew he had to maintain his composure as this was the only appropriate response in such a situation. Her laugh was low, melodic, like velvet over steel.

[[Pleasure? Perhaps for you. The Dons are gathering again—urgent matters, as I’m sure your little bird Nakamura has hinted. Marcello extends an invitation. Neutral ground, tomorrow night. Come alone. We have much to discuss about your… entanglements.]] Isabeu pointed out and Kyle’s heart felt like it was about to implode the moment he heard this.

Entanglements. Cleopatra? The daughter? Kyle’s mind whirred— this could be the face-to-face he craved, a chance to probe Marcello’s defenses. Or a trap, luring him into the lion’s den.

“Why me? I’m just a producer with a side hustle,” Kyle was trying his best to downplay his importance.

[[Don’t play coy,]] she purred, her tone sharpening.

[[You’ve dipped your toes in our waters. Cleopatra’s whispers reach far, and Marcello dislikes loose ends. Attend, and perhaps you’ll find the backing you seek. Refuse… well…]] She didn’t complete the sentence but Kyle knew exactly what she was implying.

How did she know about Cleopatra? This was the most worrying thing out of everything she had said.

The line went dead, leaving Kyle in the roar of his engine and the weight of choices.

“Yeah… I’m fucked,” Kyle muttered under his breath as a coordinate appeared on his navigator.