Page 27 of High Stakes

The room falls quiet, and I grit my teeth, not wanting to meet the end of Leone’s belt again. Swallowing down my anger, I hold the door as she enters with the clothes. Milo snatches his clothes off her, and I help him, opening the small first aid kit she also brought.

Turning my back on her, she moves to Rocco and sets Leone’s clothes on his desk. “Do you need anything else, sir?” I pretend not to hear the double meaning in her voice.

“No, that is all,” he tells her, and she leaves, but not before shooting me a smug look. The door closes behind her with a soft click.

I feel my heart pound against my rib cage, adrenaline rushing through my veins as the door closes. The room is tense, and the silence feels more deafening than ever. I turn around to face Leone, his piercing brown eyes boring into mine.

For a moment, all is quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric as Milo changes into his clean clothes. I keep my eyes trained on the first aid kit, my hands deftly gathering supplies to help Rocco. Leone’s eyes are on me; I can feel their heat burning into my back.

“Come here, Fallon,” he orders, pointing toward the desk with a flick of his fingers. I gulp and obey, heading over to him.

My steps are hesitant, each leaving behind a trembling echo on the floor. As I reach him, I take a moment to study his face. Beneath the coldness and cruelty which usually fill his eyes, I can see something else, or maybe it’s just my wishful thinking.

Rocco comes over, plucking a bandage, and I search for a larger one, realizing the one he has isn’t big enough. My hands tremble as I open the first aid kit further, flinching when Leone’s rough hand grabs my wrist. His touch is cold, and makes me jump.

“Let me,” he insists gruffly, taking over the task of cleaning Rocco’s wounds.

The air grows thick with unspoken tension as he works on Rocco’s wounds, focusing intently on his task, while Rocco doesn’t argue, just perches his ass on the end of Leone’s desk. In moments like these, he shows a different side of himself - a man capable of care and concern but only for those within his circle.

I observe him, noticing the way his brow furrows in concentration and how his fingers delicately handle the gauze and alcohol swabs. Suddenly feeling out of place, I step back, only to have his gaze snap to mine immediately.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Leone growls lowly, halting me in my tracks.

“I… I thought…”

“Stay,” he commands curtly. I nod, taking a step back toward them.

As I resume my position by their side, Leone’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before returning to the task at hand. The room falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional grimace from Rocco.

When he is done, Leone tosses me the first aid kit and sits at his desk. He motions toward the clothes on the desk; it’s a work uniform. I pick it up when Rocco speaks.

“I’ll go keep an eye on the floor,” he grunts, standing abruptly and heading for the door.

Leone nods his response, never breaking his gaze from me.

I take a deep breath as Rocco leaves the room, trying to squelch the tendrils of fear snaking up my spine. With the door closed, we’re alone - just Milo, Leone, and me. I slip off my ruined clothes and pull the slacks on, only for them to fall to my feet. I curse, picking them up, noticing it’s a man’s 4xL sizing. Bitch. Leone grabs the shirt, pulls it from the plastic sleeve, and sighs.

“It’s men’s also. Bloody stupid girl didn’t even check,” he mutters.

“More like she did it deliberately,” I mutter, but instantly regret the words. The room falls so silent you can hear a pin drop. Leone watches me for a second when Milo’s phone rings. He answers it, and I look at Leone, reaching for the shirt, but he shakes his head.

“I’ll send Milo,” he says, but I shake my head.

“I could go and…” my words trail off, knowing he would never allow it.

“It was Rocco. Your father and Dante are here. They’re in the lounge,” Milo tells him.

“You go down and straight back here,” Leone says, making me jump when I realize he is talking to me. He is talking to me, right? Leone stands, stepping toward me. He grabs the back of my neck and drags me closer. “I’ll know if you run, and I will find you,” Leone tells me, stroking the back of my neck. He then pinches the spot, and a sharp pain lances up my neck, making me hiss. Leone leans closer, his lips grazing my ear.

“I’ll always know,” he whispers, tapping the spot. “This little device ensures it,” he shoves me away and pulls on his shirt. I rub my neck, only to stop when I feel a small bump. I lift myother hand, feeling it; it’s like a small oblong bead under my skin.

“You run, I’ll find you. Try tampering with it. I will also know,” he tells me as he pulls his blazer on.

“Straight down and back here until we return,” he tells me as he leaves his office.

I watch the door close behind him, the finality of it echoing my trapped state. My hand moves again to my neck, probing the raised skin where he’s tagged me like some wild animal. A shudder ripples through me at the thought. I can almost feel his smug satisfaction. Pulling myself together, I leave his office and shuffle down the dimly lit corridor toward the staff room. The polished marble floors reflect faintly the soft, ambient glow of recessed lights set into the ceiling.

I find myself racing down the hallways to the staff rooms. I grab a new uniform that fits from the endless stacks before sprinting toward the bathrooms. I change quickly, knowing he will send someone looking for me if I take too long. Moving to the sink basins, I gasp at my appearance.

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