Page 13 of High Stakes

Fallon

I tug the thin blanket tighter around my shoulders, the coarse fabric barely warding off the chill seeping into my bones. I can’t eat; every time I glance at the untouched plate on the nightstand, Leone’s venomous words echo in my mind, robbing me of any appetite. My stomach clenches, more from dread than hunger.

I curl into a tighter ball, pressing my back against the cold wall, as if the icy surface might absorb some of the fear coursing through me. It’s a futile hope. The darkness presses in, suffocating, while thoughts of Emma swirl in my head. Is she laughing right now, her blue eyes sparkling with innocent joy feels so distant to me now? And my father—does he even know where I am? The helplessness claws at me relentlessly, refusing to let go.

A shiver runs through me, not entirely from the cold. What about Milo? His absence gnaws at the edges of my consciousness. Leone hasn’t mentioned him since... since he knocked Milo out upstairs. Is he lying somewhere lifeless, hisloyalty repaid with betrayal? Or is he another pawn in Leone’s twisted game, waiting in the shadows?

Milo’s face flashes in my mind—those sharp, calculating eyes could soften and harden in the same breath. There’s an unsettling comfort in recalling how his gaze lingered on me. Now, silence beats louder than any promise or threat ever voiced. It promises that my mind will destroy me long before Leone does.

Despite the terror consuming me, a small, flickering flame of defiance refuses to be extinguished. Emma needs me. My father needs me. I need to believe there’s a way out of this, even when every door seems irrevocably shut.

I draw a shaky breath, pushing away the images of what might have happened to Milo. Dead or alive, he’s a question mark in this twisted narrative I can’t escape. I hold onto the anger, the hatred for Leone. It’s a lifeline in a sea of uncertainty, keeping me warm when the blanket fails, keeping me breathing when the air feels too thin.

And it keeps me alive when everything else threatens to pull me under.

Time crawls, each second stretching into eternity. There’s no way to tell if a minute has passed, or an hour, especially with no light. All I know is the sound of my breath, the rattles of pipes, and the cold settling deeper into my bones. Yet, it’s the fear that truly gnaws at me.

Suddenly, the door creaks open, tearing me from my thoughts. A blade of light cuts through the darkness, and I squint against its harsh intrusion. My heart slams against my ribcage as Leone’s figure looms in the doorway, the embodiment of my nightmares.

Instinctively, I shuffle backward on the bed, pressing myself against the cold wall. His eyes—those deep, dark wells of cruelty—lock onto mine. The light from outside silhouettes him ingolden hues, like an angel. But he’s a demon, and this is hell. Maybe both, since demons are fallen angels. And a true demon might let me bargain my way out. Leone offers no such mercy. He wants his pound of flesh.

A shiver courses through me, not from the cold, but from the sinister intent in his eyes as he steps closer.

“Leone,” I rasp, my voice barely audible. I want to scream, to demand answers about Milo, Emma, my father, and Sienna. But fear clamps down on my tongue.

He doesn’t respond. Instead, he advances, a predator closing in on his prey. With a swift motion, he yanks the blanket from my trembling body. I whimper, the sudden loss of the thin layer of protection leaving me exposed and vulnerable.

“Please,” I breathe out, my voice choked by fear. But there’s no mercy in his eyes—only something far more chilling.

“Shhh,” he hisses, his hand shooting out to snatch my ankle. I thrash wildly, trying to dislodge his grip, but he’s too strong. His fingers are iron bands as he drags me closer, pain spiking up my leg.

“Stop fighting, Fallon,” Leone growls, his voice thick with threat. “Or I won’t be so gentle.”

I freeze, terror rooting me to the spot. He reaches into a bag I hadn’t noticed, and my breath catches when he pulls out an object that chills me to the core—a turkey baster. My stomach turns as the horrifying implications become clear. I shake my head frantically, eyes wide with disgust.

“No… don’t,” I manage, my voice breaking.

Trapping my legs with an ironclad hold, he muffles my scream with his hand as he forces the instrument inside me with brutal force. A sob tears from my throat. “Shut up, or I’ll do it the hard way,” he snarls, his breath hot against my ear.

The world narrows to pain and panic, to the suffocating weight of his body pinning me down, to the vile act he commitswithout a shred of humanity. I am nothing to him—an object, an incubator for his heir. And as much as I want to fight, claw, and scream, I know any resistance will only bring more violence.

“Now open your legs,” he snarls. I squirm, the object lodged inside me, and the sharp, invasive pressure makes my entire body clench.

“Remember who you belong to. Remember who I am. I’m done playing games. Either do as I say, or I’ll have no use for you,” he whispers, a dark promise echoing around me. Tears slip down my cheeks, and my legs fall flat against the bed. He pushes off me, satisfied with my compliance.

I lie there, motionless. The only sound is my ragged breathing and the sickening squelch of Leone’s seed as it escapes me. He straightens, his face twisted into a mask of satisfaction I can barely look at. With an abrupt movement, he discards the tool into a bag—evidence of his premeditation.

“Stay still,” he orders coldly as the timer on his phone starts ticking. The digital numbers mock me with their steady countdown, each second an eternity of stillness demanded by this monster.

So I remain still, every muscle tense with revulsion. Fear roots me in place, knowing what more he could do if provoked. Finally, the timer beeps, piercing the silence. My heart pounds as Leone checks his phone and gives a curt nod.

“Good,” he says, as though praising a well-behaved pet. Then he exits, his heavy steps receding down the hall, leaving me alone with my loathing and disgust.

The door creaks open again—much later—and light floods the room. It’s not Leone this time, but Milo. His figure is silhouetted in the doorway, and as he steps closer, the dim glow reveals a fresh bruise marring his otherwise stoic face—a black eye which makes him wince when the light hits it just right.

“Leone said you didn’t eat,” Milo states, his voice betraying none of the concern he showed earlier. All traces of compassion are gone. He’s back to being Leone’s minion.

He sets a tray of food on the bedside table, his movements deliberate and mechanical. There’s a moment, a heartbeat, where our eyes meet. He holds a storm of emotions he quickly buries beneath indifference.

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