Page 26 of High Stakes

“N

ot particularly,” I retort, attempting to mask the fear layering my voice with indifference. Leone’s dark eyes narrow on me for a moment, he lets out another low chuckle, the sound more menacing than humorous.

“Brave,” he muses almost to himself, reaching out with one hand and trailing a finger down my cheek, smearing the blood still wet from his earlier fight. I shiver at his touch but remain still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my discomfort.

Rocco grunts something from the front seat, pulling Leone’s attention away from me. I quietly release the breath I’ve been holding, sagging back against the seat and closing my eyes again.

As the car races through dark city streets, the adrenaline coursing through me dissipates, replaced by a gnawing dread. My hands are shaking, and I don’t know whether it’s from fear or residual shock. I glance at Leone. He’s entirely in control now. But the memory of his violent decapitation of his would-be attacker is chilling.

I shake my head, trying to erase the image from my mind, wrapping my arms tightly around myself as if I can lock away the trembles wracking through my body. Leone tosses his jacket on my lap, and I look at him. “You’re cold,” he answers, and I nod, slipping my arms inside his blood-soaked jacket, yet the inside is primarily dry except where he was shot.

Leone turns toward me, his gaze penetrating mine, his features cold and hard. Does nothing shake this man, or is he desensitized to everything? Leone doesn’t need to say anything; his silence says it all. He wants to know if I am okay, but he is waiting for me to freak out or break down. Which would be a normal reaction; maybe something is wrong with me, yet I feel unusually numb. A sudden chill ghosts over me, and I let out a breath I don’t realize I have been holding.

Nervously, I gaze away from him and glance out the window. The city is a blur of lights and shadows rushing by. Every few seconds, we pass another car or zipping lights of some club, a fragment of an ordinary world feels surreal and distant in the face of tonight’s horror.

Fear mingles with fascination as I steal another look at Leone, taking in his rugged profile highlighted by the passing streetlights. Somewhere along the line, those lines blurred into something far more complicated than I could ever have imagined. I should have let the man kill him, but I didn’t. Somehow, the thought of him being hurt or killed scared me more than anything he would do to me.

Suddenly, he shifts, leaning back against the seat with a grimace of pain as he lifts his hand off his shoulder wound. Blood seeps through his fingers, staining his shirt crimson. The sight hits me like a punch to the gut. I know Milo was shot, too. They all were, yet they are somehow functioning as if it were normal—a scratch.

I reach into Leone’s jacket pockets, knowing he usually has a handkerchief somewhere. “Going to rob me already?” he asks, and I glare at him. “I’m not dead yet, love. It will take more than a shoulder wound. Lydia would have at least waited for my body to be cold first,” he tells me, but I ignore him. Suddenly, his wallet smacks my lap. “Want the password for my safe, too?” he asks. I huff out a breath and look to the front to see Rocco watching me with a silly smirk.

Rummaging more, I find his pockets empty. Looking at Milo, who still has his jacket on, I try reach for his only to remember my seatbelt. Taking off my seat belt, I lean forward and peer over his shoulder, spotting one poking out of the top pocket. “Seat belt!” Milo snaps at me when I fish my hand in his pocket.

“She is robbing us all now,” Leone laughs behind me when I feel a sharp tug on my hair. Leone rips me back on his lap and then grunts at the impact. “What are you doing?” he snaps as I try to climb off his lap. I hold up the handkerchief, only for him to snatch my wrist. I turn toward him hesitantly, and his gaze goes to my hand. Did he really think I would be stupid enough to rob him, or maybe he thought I was trying to finish off the Russians’ job for them?

“I wasn’t robbing you. Besides, what do I need money for if I am dead, which I would be if I tried.” I tell him. He lets my wrist go, and I try to slide off his lap, but he holds me in place.

“Seatbelt!” Milo snaps at him from the driver’s seat. Leone rolls his eyes, unclips his, and wraps it around both of us. Now, I raise an eyebrow at him, but he says nothing; he just stares at me.

My heart is pounding as I reach for his shoulder. Leone tenses but doesn’t stop me. His piercing brown eyes meet mine as I press the cloth against the wound, trying to ignore how his muscles flex under my touch.

As we draw closer to the casino, there’s a sudden change in the air. The streets are clearing, open spaces are replacing buildings, and the looming neon lights of the casino come into view.

The car pulls around the back of the casino, away from prying eyes. As we climb out, Milo barks orders to someone on his phone. He ends the call and gestures at Leone. “Your office. We need to get cleaned up before anyone sees us.”

We take the back stairs two at a time, Leone’s firm grip on my waist guiding me. The door to his office swings open. He pours a drink from a crystal decanter on his desk and chugs it down like water.

“Drink?” he offers, gesturing toward the bottle. Milo shakes his head, but Rocco takes up the offer with a gruff, “Thank You.”

Milo calls down to the foyer and demands three fresh sets of clothes be brought up. His sharp eyes glance at me. Then he adds another request for a uniform in my size.

As we wait for the clothes, Milo and Rocco start to undress, their injured bodies marred with fresh cuts and older scars. Rocco has a puncture in his side which went all the way through, but his ribs are badly bruised. Milo has been shot, but luckily, it was more of a graze.

“Fallon!” Leone snarls, making me jump, and I glance at him. “Eyes to yourself. I don’t need you ogling my men.”

“Man, she can ogle me all she wants,” Milo tells him, and Rocco seems to remember I am in the room. Leone waves him off.

“Those pants stay on unless you want to lose what’s underneath them,” Leone warns him.

Leone remains seated but loosens his bloodied shirt, revealing more of those sculpted muscles which seem chiseled from stone. A knock on the door sounds, and I move to answer it, only for the girl to barge in, smacking me with the door.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you,” she sneers, and I realize it’s the girl from the stripper club.

The girl stands in the doorway, her face contorted in a sneer, her lips curled with disgust. Her clothes are tight and revealing, her boobs almost spilling out of her dress. As she barges into the room, the door slams into my side with a sharp sting, causing me to flinch. The girl’s eyes sweep over me, her gaze cold and dismissive, as if I am nothing but an inconvenience.

“Where’s Sydney?” Milo snaps at her.

“I was on my way up to the VIP section, so I told her I could bring them up,” she tells him, and Milo presses his lips in a line.

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