Page 10 of High Stakes

“Once you’re pregnant, you can leave this room,” I say, the words dropping like stones into the stillness.

She freezes. The terror flickers in her eyes, the unasked question hanging between us. I’m not oblivious to her fear but don’t address it. Her reaction is swift—fear, horror, a silent scream in her eyes. No brutality, no forced submission. Instead, I remove the lightbulb, plunging the room into darkness, save for the faint glow of the night-vision camera. It’s a precaution, a way to keep her in check.

“Please, leave the light on,” she begs, her voice cracking.

I ignore her plea. I glance at the camera in the corner. The red light blinks once, switching to night vision. Footsteps echo in the hall. I turn to find Maria standing there.

“Milo went and got Chinese food,” she says, holding out a plate.

“Please, eat, Fallon,” Maria murmurs, looking past me at Fallon on the bed. She glances at me, hoping I’ll allow it. I step aside, letting her in. She sets the plate down when I notice the cutlery.

“No cutlery, Maria. She can use her hands,” I say. Maria tenses, looking apologetically at Fallon, but giving her a glass plate is bad enough without adding a fork and knife.

“Can she have the spoon? It’s mostly fried rice. Milo said it’s what she used to order,” Maria asks. Fallon’s confusion is evident, but she says nothing, likely out of fear for Maria. Fallon hands back the spoon.

“It’s fine, Maria,” Fallon says. “I can use my fingers.” Maria nods, hesitating to leave, but she does, unwilling to push further.

I stare at Fallon, who stares at the plate. She hasn’t eaten in days, but she makes no move to eat. She just stares at it like it’s foreign.

“Try anything with the glass plate, and I’ll take it out on Maria. Understand?” I warn. Fallon glares, then nods.

“Can I have a light?” she asks, her voice a pleading whimper.

“No,” I say sharply. My job done; I walk out, locking the door behind me, her pleas fading as I go.

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I call Rocco. “Clean up the other room,” I order. “And dispose of the body.”

The line goes dead, and so does the part of me that might have cared once upon a time.

When I shut the basement door, I turn to find Milo nursing a swollen eye. His loyalty is both a curse and an asset. He looksat me, concern etched across his face, the question stark in his eyes.

“I got Chinese and put it in the fridge for you…” He stops. “Did you hurt her?” His voice is raw, a mix of fear and anger.

I won’t dignify that with a response. I pull out the container of food Milo went and got, the scent of soy and spices filling the air as I place it in the microwave.

“Leone, answer me!” Milo spits angrily. He tosses the ice pack in the sink.

“Consider yourself lucky, Milo. She’s still breathing because I allow it. Push me further, and I might reconsider.”

I don’t wait for Milo’s response. The microwave beeps, the sound loud in the strained silence between us. I pull out the steaming container and set it on the counter, the smell of food doing nothing to cut through the tension in the room.

Milo steps forward, eyes blazing with barely restrained fury. “You can’t keep treating her like this.”

I meet his gaze, unflinching. “And you can’t keep defying me.”

“She doesn’t deserve this.”

“She betrayed us, Milo. She ran off with another man.” My voice drops to a low growl, anger simmering beneath the surface. I can feel it pulsing through me, the sharp sting of betrayal as fresh as it was when I found her with Marcus. She would have left with him had we not stopped her.

Milo’s fists clench at his sides, but he holds his ground. “She was scared, Leone. And Marcus was a slimy bastard. God only knows what he told her.”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say coldly, grabbing a fork from the drawer and stabbing it into the rice. “She crossed the line. She knows her place now.”

Milo’s jaw tightens. “Is that what this is? You breaking her until she submits?”

I look at him, really look at him, and for a brief moment, I see the conflict in his eyes. Fallon has done something to him. She’s infected him with her softness, her vulnerability. And that’s dangerous. I need him sharp, not tangled in feelings which could get him killed.

“How I punish my wife is none of your concern. You’d do well to remember that,” I say, turning back to my food and dismissing him.

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