Page 57 of High Stakes

Dante’s smirk widens, a taunting edge to his expression. “Relax, Leone. Just keeping an eye on things.”

But I know better than to trust his words. Dante’s always had his own agenda, and I’d be a fool to think that’s changed. “Sorry, I am just tired,” Fallon says with a yawn. Dante raises an eyebrow at her, and I don’t miss the way his gaze cuts to Milo.

“Enough,” Vittorio says, cutting through the tension. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, I need a drink.”

“I thought we were heading to the play?” my mother asks him.

“Next one, love, I am tired after tonight’s drama. We can stay here for the night.” My father glances at me, and I nod. “I don’t like all this mess with the Russians at the moment. We should stay in,” he tells her, and she sighs.

“Can I at least get some clothes from home?”

“I’ll get Lorenzo to bring some over,” he answers swiftly.

I nod, though my mind is far from settled. There’s too much at stake, too many unanswered questions. But for now, I’ll playalong. I need to figure out what Dante’s up to, and if he’s the one feeding information to the Russians, I’ll deal with him myself.

We move to the dining room, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. The table is set, the food laid out with care, but there’s a heaviness in the air that no amount of luxury can disguise as my father grabs a bottle of whiskey and pours a glass for himself but takes the bottle to the table.

Fallon takes a seat beside Milo; her movements are careful, as if she’s trying not to draw too much attention. But I see the way Dante’s eyes linger on her, the way his gaze shifts between her and Milo with a calculating glint.

The thought of Dante even thinking about Fallon in any way sends a surge of anger through me. She’s mine, and I won’t tolerate anyone—even my own brother—trying to come between us.

As we begin to eat, the conversation is stilted, each of us too aware of the tension simmering just beneath the surface. My mother tries to keep the conversation light, talking about business and the latest news, but it’s clear everyone’s mind is elsewhere.

Fallon barely touches her food, her gaze flicking between me and Milo as if she’s trying to gauge the mood in the room. I can sense her unease, the way her fingers tremble slightly as she reaches for her glass of water.

Dante, of course, doesn’t miss it, either. His eyes narrow, and I catch the subtle shift in his expression—an almost predatory interest that makes my skin crawl.

“So, Fallon,” Dante says suddenly, his tone too casual to be genuine. “How are you finding married life?”

The question is innocent enough on the surface, but there’s an underlying edge to it that sets me on edge.

Fallon hesitates, clearly uncomfortable under Dante’s scrutiny. “It’s… fine,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

Dante’s smile widens, but there’s no warmth in it. “I’m sure it is,” he says, his tone laced with mockery.

I place my hand on Fallon’s, squeezing it slightly in a silent warning. She needs to be careful around Dante—he’s dangerous, and I don’t want her getting caught up in whatever game he’s playing.

The rest of the meal passes in a strained silence, the tension in the room thickening with every passing minute. Even Vittorio seems on edge, his gaze flicking between me and Dante with a mixture of concern and frustration.

Finally, the meal comes to an end, and I push my chair back, unable to stand the tension any longer. “I need some air,” I mutter, rising from the table.

Milo stands as well, clearly not willing to leave me alone. I glance at Fallon, who looks relieved at the prospect of leaving the table, but I know I can’t take her with me. Not with Dante watching.

“Stay here,” I tell her, my tone firm. “I’ll be back soon.”

Fallon nods, her eyes wide with worry, but she doesn’t argue. She knows better than to defy me in front of everyone.

As I step out onto the balcony, the cool night air hits me like a slap in the face, clearing my mind. Milo follows me, his expression grim.

“What do you think?” I ask, my voice low.

Milo glances back at the dining room, his brow furrowed. “Dante’s up to something,” he says, his tone filled with certainty.

“I know,” I reply, my voice tight. “And I don’t like it.”

Milo nods in agreement, his expression hardening. “We need to keep an eye on him.”

“I will,” I say, my tone filled with determination. “And if I find out he’s behind any of this shit with the Russians…”

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