Page 18 of High Stakes

“Fallon, I know you’re not okay,” I insist, concern evident in my tone. “I saw you crying. Are you in pain?”

She doesn’t answer, her silence weighing heavily between us, and I suddenly want to break the door between us. “I’ll get Leone,” I say hesitantly, unsure if it’s even the right thing to do.

“Please don’t!” she begs, desperation lacing her voice. “Just leave me alone. I’m fine.”

I huff, ready to argue, when I notice the key left in the lock of the door. Was it deliberate? Did Leone leave it deliberately? Or was it a careless mistake?

“Look, Fallon,” I say softly. “I won’t get Leone. Please tell me what’s wrong. Let me help you.” I tell her, staring at the key in the lock. I glance up at the camera. He left the key, so would he be mad if I opened her door?

She remains silent, leaving me feeling uncertain and suddenly nervous. I know I must tread carefully, not just for her sake but for my own as well. The line between loyalty and betrayal is a thin one these days with Leone, and I can’t let myself cross it. However, there’s something about Fallon that makes me want to protect her, even if it means going against Leone.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice barely audible. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

As the silence stretches on, I stand there at the door, my heart pounding in my chest, waiting for her response.

Taking a deep breath, I slowly turn the key and push the door open, deciding to take Leone’s wrath. The sight that greets me is pure distress; Fallon is desperately trying to clean herself up, her clothes and hands covered in blood. Panic rises in my chest,thinking she has hurt herself. I knew she was struggling, but to do this?

“Fallon!” I exclaim, rushing toward her. She tries to cover herself with the blanket. “Crap, I’m going to wake Leone and get first aid.”

“No!” her voice is desperate, as her hand reaches out to grab my arm, stopping me. “Please, don’t get Leone,” she begs, her voice shaking. She grabs my shirt with her bloodied fingers. “No! He’ll be angry. He’s never going to let me out. He’ll take my light. I can’t go back in the dark.”

“You’re hurt. I can’t leave you like this; he’ll be angrier, Fallon,” I tell her, turning away, and she gets up, grabbing my shirt again, trying to stop me.

“I’m not hurt, please,” she begs.

Confused by her words, I pause when something wet drips onto my bare feet. Glancing down, I see more blood pooling on the floor, and my concern intensifies. “Where are you hurt?” I ask, taking a step closer, worried she has stabbed herself.

“I’m not,” she mutters, her face turning a deep shade of red as she avoids eye contact.

It takes me a moment to understand, and once I do, a mixture of relief and worry washes over me simultaneously. She’s on her period, and Leone will be furious. I clench my fists, knowing confronting him could put Fallon and myself at risk. I can’t just stand here and do nothing.

My heart pounds in my chest as I try to devise a plan which won’t end with Leone hurting Fallon or worse. “I promise I won’t say anything,” I tell her, my voice low and urgent. “You know he’s going to notice, Fallon. There is no way he won’t. He is down here every day.”

Fallon rubs her arms, shivering from the cold dampness of the basement. Her eyes plead with me as she asks, “Can you sneak me up to shower? Maybe get me some tampons?” Even asshe says the words, she knows it won’t be enough. He has been forcing his seed in her for days, sometimes twice a day. He’ll notice a tampon.

Yet, right as I’m on the verge of quietly taking her out of the basement toward the bathroom, the sound of footsteps nearing brings us to an abrupt halt.

“Shit,” I mutter under my breath, pushing Fallon back toward the bed. My heart races as I hear Leone’s voice, the darkness of his tone chills me.

“Why are you down here?” he growls, his eyes searching for any sign of deception.

“Leone, I—” I stammer, trying to control the panic coursing through me.

“What the hell are you doing?” he snarls, cutting me off.

Leone studies me for a moment, his piercing gaze threatening to break through my façade when his eyes dart to Fallon, her blood-coated thighs, and his ruined shirt before his eyes go to the bed.

Eight

Fallon

I stand here, shivering not just from the cold. My gaze is fixed on the floor, but I can feel Leone’s eyes on me, heavy and assessing. He’s quiet, brooding almost, and it sends a tremor through my already battered nerves.

Milo shifts beside me, his presence a strange sort of comfort despite everything. An unspoken tension coils in the room, and I can sense he wants to say something or do something. He holds back. His loyalty to Leone is as unwavering as it is complex.

Finally, Leone’s voice cuts through the silence, crisp and devoid of warmth. “Get her cleaned up.” It’s not a suggestion; it’s an order Milo doesn’t hesitate to follow.

Leone doesn’t wait for a response. He turns on his heel, and the door opens. Then, he slams it with such force I cringe, an involuntary reaction making my heart skip a beat.

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