Page 4 of High Stakes

“Has Nathan taken his break?” Sydney sighed, glancing at Nathan.

“Who, the old man?” she scoffed. Her demeanor shifted when she caught my arched brow and realized who she was talking to. “Sorry, boss, didn’t realize it was you,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze.

I waved her off, not wanting to dwell on her mistake, and pointed to Nathan. “Answer the question.”

“Nathan never takes his break,” she replied quickly. “He likes to get home early.”

“Interesting,” I murmured. It only added to my curiosity. Despite their circumstances, she and her father shared an unbreakable bond. They looked out for each other, always putting the other first.

“Tell the kitchens Nathan McAllister is to win tonight’s drawing and to send him home with extra,” I told her. Sydney paused and I could read what she wanted to say on her face. She wanted to ask why but thought better of it and quickly rang the kitchens.

I clench my fists,trying to control my emotions. Deep down, I know Leone’s struggling like I am, but his anger is blinding him, and it’s ruining her.

My resolve hardens. I can’t let Fallon suffer any longer. Ignoring Leone’s orders, I head to the garage, searching for something to pick the basement lock. This will cause a fight when he returns, but I know he won’t kill me—unless I try to run off with her. As I rummage through the tools, Rocco enters, a curious look on his face.

“What are you doing?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.

“Leone won’t let me see her. She’s been down there for over a week,” I explain, determination building. “I’m getting her out.”

“Sei pazzo,” Rocco mutters, shaking his head. I glare at him for calling me crazy. Maybe I am. A few months ago, I’d never have crossed Leone. Fallon changes things. “Leone will be furious. But…” he trails off and starts helping me.

We find the tools we need to pick the lock. As we head to the basement door, fear and anticipation course through me. We’re defying Leone, but it’s worth the risk for Fallon.

After a few minutes of fiddling with the lock, the heavy basement door swings open with a loud creak, and an unbearable stench assaults me. My stomach lurches, bile rising in my throat as I press my fingers to my nose. Beside me, Rocco mutters a string of Italian curses, his face twisted in disgust.

“Be quick,” he warns, tense. “When Leone finds out, he’ll want blood.”

I nod, knowing the consequences. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I spot a security camera above the door.

“Leone already knows,” I tell Rocco, pointing at the camera. “He’s watching us right now.”

“Merda,” Rocco curses. “Well, fuck it. Let’s make this worth it. I’ll run her a bath.”

Rocco rushes off, leaving me alone at Fallon’s makeshift prison. I step inside, trying not to dwell on the fact Leone is likely watching my every move. The sight of Fallon—pale, exhausted, and handcuffed to the chair—makes me sick. Fury boils within me, directed at Leone for treating her like this, and at myself for not stopping him sooner.

I approach cautiously. Her green eyes, once vibrant, now dull and lifeless, squint against the sudden light. She doesn’t move. Tears streak down her cheeks, and it only takes a second to realize why. I crouch down, and she blinks deliberately, her eyesshifting to the side. I grip her chin, turning her face to see a massive spider near her hairline. I stumble back, not expecting it. She whimpers.

“Shh, shh,” I hush her, quickly flicking it off. The moment it’s gone, she gasps, making me wonder how long she’s endured the thing crawling over her. The thought sends a shiver down my spine.

“Wh-what are you doing?” she croaks, her voice raw from disuse.

Kneeling, I untie the rope binding her legs. My fingers fumble with the knots, frustration mounting as I realize I don’t have the key for her handcuffs. First, I need to free her legs.

As I work on the rope, Maria, one of our household staff, rushes in, her hand covering her mouth in shock. She speaks rapidly in Italian, clearly alarmed by the scene.

“Get me bolt cutters,” I reply in Italian, my tone urgent. Maria nods and hurries off, leaving me to continue freeing Fallon’s legs.

Three

Fallon

My heart hammers against my chest, each beat echoing the desperation that’s been clawing at me for days. And in that dim, suffocating space is Milo. He rids me of the spider and his hands work methodically at the ropes binding my ankles to the chair, his movements steady, deliberate. He doesn’t look at me. Not once.

I wonder if it’s because he can’t bear to see what his boss has done to me—or if he simply doesn’t care.

For a moment, Milo freezes. His hands pause, and a flicker of something crosses his face. Conflict? Guilt? I can’t tell, and it vanishes before I can be sure. He mutters something in Italian, his tone sharp and clipped. The words are foreign to me, but their meaning is clear: he’s not here to talk.

The door bangs open, and Maria rushes in, a whirlwind of anxious energy. She flicks the light switch futilely. Of course, there’s no bulb; Leone made sure even light was a luxury I couldn’t have.

---