Page 22 of High Stakes

Fallon

After weeks in the basement, being back in this room feels strange. Milo nudges me further in, and I catch the faint smell of cigarette smoke wafting from the open balcony door. Leone must be out there.

I step in, uncertain, making my way to the couch as Leone enters, sliding the balcony door shut behind him. He’s shirtless, wearing only black silk boxers. His gaze locks on mine, hard and unreadable, his jaw clenched as if he’s as unsettled by my presence here as I am. I quickly look away as Milo heads into Leone’s closet.

I swallow, glancing down at my bare legs, thankful for the underwear and sanitary products Leone gave me.

“The bed,” Leone orders, his voice gravelly. “I’m not staying up all night wondering if you’ll try to run again.”

Chewing my lip, I obey, not daring to defy him. The last place I want to be is back in the basement. As I approach the bed, his eyes track my every movement.

“Middle!” he barks, and the word sends a wave of fear through me. Reluctantly, I climb into the bed and lie down, my body aching from my time in the cold, damp basement.

Milo emerges moments later and settles beside me. Leone plugs in his phone and switches off the lamp. The room plunges into darkness, thick and oppressive, though I’m grateful to be here with them, not alone in the basement. There’s an uneasy truce between us tonight—a rare moment of mercy.

Leone leans down, his breath hot on my neck as he whispers, “You’re going to behave, aren’t you, Fallon?”

My heart races, a mixture of fear and confusing desire surging through me. Why do I feel any desire for this man? I can only assume it’s the craving for touch—any kind that isn’t painful.

“Because if you don’t,” he continues, “you know where you’ll end up.”

I nod, unable to speak, and he clamps a handcuff on my wrist. A tear slides down my cheek.

“Please,” I murmur, “I’m right beside you. You’ll know if I move.”

He doesn’t respond, just pulls my hand above my head, securing it to the headboard. His gaze lingers on me, illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the windows, giving his face an almost haunting look. Then his eyes shift to the hand I’ve placed on his chest.

“I won’t run. I shouldn’t have the first time,” I whisper.

“You said that before,” he replies swiftly and I bite my lip.

“Why should I believe you this time?” he presses.

“I don’t want to end up back in the basement,” I admit, my voice trembling. Just the thought of being locked in the dark again terrifies me.

He studies me for a moment, then glances at Milo, who’s watching us. Leone sighs, his hand dropping, though he leavesthe cuff on. Instead, he snaps the other side onto Milo’s wrist. Milo rolls toward me, his arm draped across my waist so I can be more comfortable. At least my arm won’t ache from being suspended above my head.

Leone lies down facing me. His hands roam over my body but stop where Milo’s arm rests. For tonight, his touch is surprisingly gentle, a rare softness I’m unaccustomed to.

“You won’t run,” he says, leaning closer. “And you won’t fight me.”

I shake my head, knowing it’s pointless. Almost testing me, he kisses me, gently at first. Fighting him would get me nowhere, so I kiss him back. For a second, I can almost forget the monster beneath the façade—almost. Satisfied, he rolls onto his back, leaving me alone. Thankfully.

It takes me forever to fall asleep, my mind whirring with anxiety over what’s to come. When I finally do, I don’t sleep for long.

In the middle of the night, Leone’s phone rings, shattering the fragile peace. He answers, his voice tense. “What is it?”

“Leone,” Dante’s voice fills the room, “one of our compounds has been hit. Our men are dead. You and Milo need to meet me. Sloan’s been hurt. I’m on my way now.”

Milo sits up beside me, immediately alert.

“Damn it,” Leone mutters, tossing the handcuff keys to Milo. “Lock her in the basement; we have to check this out.”

“No, please!” I cry, clutching Leone’s arm. He flicks on the lamp, glaring at me.

“Don’t put me back there. I’ll go with you. I won’t cause any trouble, I swear,” I plead, my voice desperate.

“Fallon, you have no idea what you’re asking. It’s not a place for a woman—whoever hit the compound could still be there,” he growls.

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