Page 73 of High Stakes

The men shout back at her in Russian, their voices sharp and threatening. I can’t understand their words, but their intent is clear. Maria freezes, her hands trembling as one of the men points his gun at her. She starts frantically pleading in Italian, her words a desperate attempt to calm the situation.

“Per favore, non fatelo! Non farle del male!” (Please, don’t do this! Don’t hurt her!) Maria cries, her voice cracking with fear.

“Run, Maria! Just run!” I beg, my voice breaking as I struggle against the men holding me. But Maria doesn’t move. She’s paralyzed, her eyes darting between me and the gun aimed at her.

One of the men barks another command in Russian, his patience wearing thin. Maria, still pleading, starts to back away slowly, tears streaming down her face.

“Non posso lasciarti, Fallon!” she wails, but at that time, I only recognized my name, but the men didn’t care. They drag me toward the door, ignoring her pleas. As they force me outside, I catch a glimpse of Rocco lying on the ground near the entryway,blood pooling beneath him from a gunshot wound to the chest. My stomach churns at the sight, and I feel bile rise in my throat.

“Maria, stay back!” I scream, but it’s too late. The men shove me into the back seat of a waiting car, slamming the door shut behind me. I pound on the window, trying to get out, but the child locks are on, trapping me inside. Maria rushes to Rocco, flipping him over and shaking him, wailing loudly.

The car speeds off, and I’m thrown against the door, my heart racing as I watch the mansion fade into the distance. My mind is in a frenzy, fear clawing at my insides as I try to make sense of what’s happening.

As we approach the gates, the car slows down, and another car pulls up beside us and I see two guards dead on the ground at the gates. The window of the other car rolls down, and my blood runs cold when I see who’s inside.

Dante.

He smirks at me from the driver’s seat, his eyes gleaming with a mix of satisfaction and malice. The horrid scars Leone gave him crinkling as he smiles. My mind races, trying to make sense of what I’m seeing. Dante… he’s betrayed us. He’s working with the Russians.

“Dante!” I scream, thrashing in the back seat, but the man beside me grabs me, his grip ironclad as he pins me to the seat.

The cars pass by each other slowly, Dante’s smirk widening as he observes the chaos he’s created. I can’t believe this is happening. Dante—Leone’s own brother is working with the Russians.

The car suddenly jerks forward, speeding up as it leaves the estate behind. Desperation fuels my movements, and I thrash harder, using all my strength to break free from the man’s hold.

I manage to land a hard elbow to his face, and he grunts in pain, loosening his grip just enough for me to lunge for the passenger door; I grip the handle. The car swerves as the drivertries to keep control and slow the car to a stop, cursing in Russian as he tries to grab me. I push the door open and throw myself out of the moving vehicle.

The impact with the ground knocks the wind out of me, but I scramble to my feet, adrenaline pumping through my veins as I start to run. I can hear the men shouting behind me, their footsteps pounding against the dirt as they give chase.

But I don’t look back. I run as fast as I can, my lungs burning with every breath as I push myself to keep going. I can see the trees ahead, a chance to lose them in the woods if I can just make it that far.

But they’re faster. They catch up to me, tackling me to the ground with brutal force. I cry out as my body hits the dirt, pain radiating through me as they drag me back to the car.

“?? ?????? ?? ????????!” one of them growls, his voice filled with anger as he grabs me, and I thrash.

“English, asshole!” I screech at him.

“I said. You’re not going anywhere!” he shoves me back into the car.

This time, they don’t take any chances. They toss me into the trunk, slamming it shut and plunging me into darkness. My heart races as I bang on the inside, screaming for help, but my cries are muffled by the thick metal surrounding me.

I’m trapped, alone in the darkness, with no idea where they’re taking me or what they plan to do.

The car jerks into motion, each bump and sway of the vehicle jarring me within the confines of the trunk. My mind races. Time stretches out, each minute feeling like a lifetime filled with darkness. But I can’t afford to lose myself in a panic attack. I need to focus and think. But that is easier said than done because no matter how much I try, all I can think of is that I can’t see.

The car jerks into motion, jostling me around the cramped space. It’s pitch black, and the stifling air reeks of rubber and gasoline. I press my palms against the trunk lid, testing for any give. Nothing.

I know I can’t overpower them; they are men built like tanks. My hands brush against something hard and metallic – a tire iron. I grip it tightly, feeling a surge of hope. It’s small, but it’s better than nothing.

When the car swerves harshly, I brace myself against the sides of the trunk, my knuckles turning white as I grip the iron. My mind races, thinking of possible escape routes and formulating plans.

Then the car stops. Doors slam shut, and there’s a moment of eerie silence when the sound of footsteps approach. My heart hammers against my chest as I brace myself for whatever comes next.

The trunk opens abruptly, blinding light invading my makeshift prison. I squint trying to make out the figures looming over me.

“Well, now, aren’t you a feisty one?” a voice drawls. It sounds vaguely familiar. I’m blinded by the sudden light. I blink rapidly, trying to adjust, but the harsh glare of the sun only serves to intensify the pounding in my head.

A hand reaches in, snatching the iron from my hand and tossing it, they grab me roughly by the arm and haul me out of the trunk. I stumble as my feet hit the ground, and it takes a moment for me to steady myself.

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