Page 15 of High Stakes

“No! You and I made a deal to share her. She would never choose this life for herself. She was protecting her family. What are you protecting? Your legacy? Your reputation? You don’t need to own the entire strip. You’re a billionaire. Fuck Santos. Fuck the club. You wanted to burn the city to the ground for Lydia, then she betrayed you, so you killed her. Now you’re treating Fallon like she took your son from you. She took money—something you’ll never run out of.”

“She took you from me and is turning everyone in my own home against me.”

“No, you did that when you took the woman I love and reduced her to a shell of who she was,” he snarls, ripping the door open. “She never took your home from you. It was never one to begin with. You made sure of that when you locked her in those cells. She isn’t Lydia, Leone. She doesn’t want your money or your drugs. She wants her family. Fallon wants to feel safe—something she’s never known. You’d know if you watched the cameras. She’s only ever known responsibility, obligation, and sacrifice. And you’re proving that’s all she ever will be.”

He slams the door behind him.

I suck in a breath, trying to calm myself to keep from punching him. Milo’s probably the only one who could get away with talking to me like that, aside from Maria. I fall back into the chair, turning my attention to the cameras.

Fallon gets up and feels for the sink. She turns on the faucet and drinks directly from the tap. Then, she moves back to the bed, knocking the plate over. It shatters, and she flinches, bending down to clean it up, cutting her fingers on the shards. I light a cigar, watching as she tears my shirt, wrapping it aroundher bleeding hand. She tugs the blanket up and leans against the wall.

As I take a drag, I think I see her lips moving. Squinting at the screen, I wonder if I imagined it. The subtle twitch of her lips makes me curious. I check my keys, ensuring they’re in my pocket, then lean forward, flicking the volume on and turning the dial all the way up.

She isn’t talking. She’s reciting a dark poem; one I’ve never heard before. Her words echo in the room, and suddenly, I wonder—am I the spider she fears?

“Through the silence creeps a fright,

A spider stalks in the dead of night,

Its fangs so sharp, its timing right,

Trapping prey in webs spun tight.”

My brows furrow as I rewind and listen again. It’s no rhyme I’ve ever heard. Then again, nursery rhymes weren’t part of my childhood. My mother didn’t exactly tuck me in and read me bedtime stories. She wasn’t that kind of mother. She was the kind who pretended not to see what my father did. The kind who sacrificed her son to avoid the beatings meant for her.

I push away from the screen, straightening my clothes, then quickly leave the surveillance room. I know I need to head to work, but Milo refuses to come, and I need him with me. I know it’s pointless to ask, so I head to work alone—again.

I’m staringat the mahogany surface of my desk, trying to collect myself, when a knock interrupts the silence. My head lifts. “Enter,” I bark, expecting one of my workers with some trivial matter.

It’s not them. It’s a problem I can’t solve with force or fear. Because this man has no fear when it comes to his daughters.

Nathan storms into my office, his face etched with worry and desperation. His blue eyes, so much like Emma’s, usually calm and reassuring, now flicker with a fierce intensity.

“Leone, for God’s sake, tell me Fallon’s alright. Let me speak with her,” he demands, his voice breathless. I’ve been avoiding him as much as possible, usually making sure I’m not here when his shift ends. But today, I can’t avoid it.

“Out, Nathan,” I command coldly, my voice devoid of the warmth I once held for this man. “This isn’t a place for family reunions.”

Nathan plants his feet firmly on the ground. His jaw clenches, and the fire in his eyes tells me he won’t leave without what he came for. I don’t want to hurt him—he’s not the enemy—but he’s caught in the crossfire of my dark plans.

“I want proof she’s alive. Let me see her,” he pleads. “Emma asks for her every day. She needs to see her or at least hear her voice. I need to know if Fallon's okay.”

“Out of the question,” I tell him. I know he won’t leave unless I drag him out. Despite having enough money to take time off, Sydney has told me he never misses a shift, hoping to catch me. Now, I’ve got no choice but to face him.

I curse under my breath and decide to give him proof. My fingers glide across the keyboard, pulling up the security feed from Fallon’s room. Her figure appears motionless on the screen, almost blending into the shadows.

“See? She’s fine,” I say, gesturing toward the screen, though an unsettling feeling tightens in my chest. Fallon’s in the same position as I left her, though she isn’t reciting her poem now. Still, the haunting words linger in my mind.

Nathan steps closer, squinting at the screen. “I can’t see anything. The room’s too dark. Can you turn up the brightness?”He pulls his glasses from his pocket as if they’ll help him see her better.

“There are no lights in there,” I admit, my tone curt. It’s part of the control, part of the punishment. No light, minimal contact, silence. I’ve watched men go mad in those cells, deprived of sensory input. It’s effective. The words feel bitter as I speak them, and Nathan’s face pales.

Milo’s words echo in my head: “Some things you can’t come back from.”

Nathan’s face, lined with horror, confirms the weight of those words. For a moment, we both stand in silence, the tension between us palpable.

“You can’t keep her in the dark, Leone,” he snaps, my name like a curse. Nathan turns away, his shoulders slumping as the fight drains out of him.

“She should’ve thought of that before betraying me. Be grateful I let her live, Nathan,” I say, staring at the screen.

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