Page 29 of High Stakes

The question catches me off guard, a lump forming in my throat. “Rebecca,” I answer. “But you’d have to find her first.”

“Rebecca?” Vittorio’s interest sharpens, his tone lightly probing. “She’s not with us?”

Leone’s grip tightens. “Rebecca left after my sister was born. I haven’t seen her since.”

Vittorio leans back, his gaze thoughtful. “That’s quite mysterious. You think she might be… dead?”

The question hangs heavily and irritates me for some reason. “Why? Are you trying to find out about my family to use them against me, too, because I’m pretty sure they are all dead.” My words come off harsher than I expected. Vittorio seems taken aback by my reply, so he purses his lips.

“They aren’t, but if you take that tone again with my father, I might change that.” Leone threatens, and I look at him, wondering if he is joking or if my father is alive. I know he said he was but part of me refuses to believe that until I see for myself.

“Seems you were right about her behavior. Regardless, she will show respect when she meets your Mamma, or she will have me to deal with,” Vittorio adds, and I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

“She will be on her best behavior. You don’t need to worry,” Leone tells him.

Vittorio nods, but his eyes remain on me, not quite letting the topic go. “Good because it’s a tough world for a child without a mother,” he muses. “Don’t you think, Fallon?”

“Depends,” I answer, then swallow hard. Leone’s warning is clear in my mind. I press my lips in a line because my answer wouldn’t be one he would like. Leone goes to say something, but his father waves him off.

“You disagree? Now I am curious,” Vittorio says, and I regret answering at all. “What is your opinion of being a mother?” he asks, and Leone’s answer is to squeeze my thigh to the point of bruising as if warning me to be careful how I answer.

“Depends on the mother, I guess,” I answer, and he nods slowly. “Elaborate?” he asks.

“I don’t understand the point of your line of questioning?” I tell him. “My opinion on becoming a mother doesn’t have any weight, so why would my opinion of them mean anything?”

He shrugs, sipping his drink. “Clearly, you don’t like yours; I am just hoping you’ll get along with my wife because her opinion of you will hold weight,” he tells me.

“If she is anything like Leone, we’ll get on just fine because she won’t give me a choice,” I tell him.

“Too right. My wife can be a handful. But she is eager for grandkids, so I’m sure she will happily tolerate you, at least until you’ve served your purpose.”

The mention of Leone’s mother tightens my stomach. “I look forward to meeting her,” I manage to say, keeping my voice steady.

“Well, now that is settled, I think we better move on to the Russians and what we plan to do about them. They are becoming an issue,” he says, turning his attention back to Leone and Dante waves down a waitress. I sigh, leaning into Leone.

“Can I be excused?” I whisper.

“When Milo returns,” he tells me, not even looking at me. I move to the seat next to him only to notice the stripper steal the drinks from the waitress. “Something wrong?” Vittorio asks while looking over his shoulder at where I am staring.

“No, Mr. Pressutti,” I answer. The girl serves the drinks before moving toward Leone. He dismisses her, but her gaze goes to me.

“Shouldn’t you be on the other floor?” she snaps at me. I blink at her, caught off guard by her tone. She points to my uniform with a sneer.

Vittorio’s gaze shifts lazily to her, his eyes narrowing in disdain. “What floor? What are you talking about, girl?” he spits, his tone dripping with contempt.

She squares her shoulders, clearly trying to maintain her composure. “Yes, sir. She isn’t rostered on this floor. I would know since I am tonight’s floor manager.”

Mr. Pressutti snorts loudly, his disdain palpable. “She is fine here with us,” he tells her, waving her off dismissively as if she were nothing more than an irritating insect. His nonchalance is almost shocking, even to me, as he turns his attention back to his drink.

The floor manager’s face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and anger. She nods stiffly, pursing her bright red lips and steeling her gaze. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks, her voice strained.

Vittorio doesn’t even bother to look at her. “No,” he grunts, his attention already elsewhere. Dismissed, she turns on her heel and leaves, her posture rigid with suppressed fury.

Leone watches her retreat with a faint smirk before leaning back in his chair. “People need to learn their place,” Vittorio murmurs, his eyes flicking back to me briefly.

“As she will,” Leone states, he glances over his shoulder at her.

Leone’s voice slices through the air. “Yes, come here.” His words are like ice shards piercing through the thick air. I don’t dare to look at the girl; my gaze locks on the windows. Surely he wouldn’t be so cruel to parade her in front of me?

---