Page 35 of High Stakes

Then, without another word, he turns away and pulls open the shower door.

“I find out you’re up to something,” he doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.

Just then, Milo returns with my pajamas, and Leone shoves past him and Milo looks at me questionably. I shake my head and finish showering, only to step out into the room to find Milo on his side of the bed and Leone steps in from the balcony, having finished a smoke.

He glances at me from the corner of his eyes and moves toward the bed. “Smokes are on the table if you want one,” he tells me. He’s trusting me on the balcony by myself. Milo rolls as I move into the room and around the other side of the bed. Reaching the balcony, I step outside, and the sun is coming up. I groan, but step outside. Snatching his packet up and lighting one, only to cough my lungs up at the harshness. Instantly, I regret smoking after not having one in weeks. Yet after a fewmore drags on it, I let out a breath only to hear the sliding door open. Looking over at it, I find it’s Leone.

I move to put it out, thinking he wants me back inside when he speaks.

“You can finish it.”

I sit back on the chair.

“Milo said you don’t want to go back to the basement,” he continues. “That you’ll try?”

I nod.

“But you don’t want a baby,” he says. I say nothing, knowing lying won’t work when he knows the answer already.

“We are having dinner with my mother tomorrow night. You mess it up, you go back to the basement.”

I nod. “I won’t,” I tell him, putting the smoke out and moving toward the door. He blocks it. Looking down at me, he clenches his jaw but eventually steps back inside, and I follow, closing the door. He climbs into bed, and I climb over him to the middle, where Milo opens his arms. I don’t hesitate to accept his warmth as I lay down, only to stare at Leone’s back.

Thirteen

Leone

Sleep evades me tonight, my mind alive with thoughts about the Russians and their next move. The knowledge I have a traitor in my midst gnaws at me; the warehouse was a recent acquisition, its ownership known only to a select few and my family. Someone close to me has been feeding information to them, and I can’t shake off the feeling it’s someone in our inner circle.

As I lay here with Fallon nestled between Milo and myself, her soft whimper pulls me from my thoughts. She kicks in her sleep, stirring restlessly. I roll over to give her space, ready to wake her when she settles again. Her eyes remain closed, oblivious to me facing her. I watch her for a moment, drinking in the sight of her – even in sleep, she’s beautiful.

Milo’s arm wraps around Fallon, pulling her closer to him as she tries to squirm away. Her face is twisted in discomfort, her brow furrowed as she struggles against his grip. I watch Fallon twist and writhe in the grip of something only she can see in her dreams. Milo, oblivious in sleep, has an arm thrown overher waist, holding her to him even as she struggles against the confines of the dream.

The moonlight filters through the window, casting a glow on Fallon’s skin that is beaded with sweat. She squirms restlessly against Milo’s unconscious hold, lost in the throes of a vivid dream. I can’t help but wonder what chases her in her sleep.

Fallon starts to speak - soft whispers at first which flutter into the silence. Her words make no sense. But then her voice grows more distinct, and I lean forward, trying to hear what she is saying.

“Fireflies…so beautiful…” she sighs wistfully, a faint smile on her lips.

I smirk, amused by her words at first, until her tone changes. There’s an urgency now which wasn’t there before. “Wake up… please don’t sleep,” she begs whatever is haunting her dreams.

Milo stirs next to Fallon at this point - her distress seeping into his subconsciousness enough to rouse him slightly. He murmurs soothing words into the quiet room and presses a gentle kiss onto the curve of her shoulder.

“Cara mia… you’re okay,” he mumbles drowsily, sinking back into sleep again.

Her words linger in the air long after she has spoken; it’s unsettling me more than I care to admit.

She awakens with a startle, sitting upright on our bed. Her eyes dart around the room as if searching for something in the darkness before falling upon her sweat-soaked top. A curse slips past her lips as she feels the dampness beneath her. She looks at Milo slipping out from under the sheet, not realizing I am awake and watching her.

Climbing over Milo with a yawn and rubbing at tired eyes, she shuffles off toward the bathroom. I keep my breathing steady, feigning sleep while observing each of her movements intently. She spends a few minutes in the bathroom, coming outwith just a towel. My brows pinch as I watch her go to the walk-in robe.

She re-emerges after some time, now clad in one of my shirts and track pants — the sight brings an unexpected smile to my face. But then she heads toward the bathroom and comes back out; she glances at the bed but doesn’t realize I’m awake. I wonder briefly what she is going to do when she moves toward the door with purposeful strides that have me gritting my teeth in frustration.

She tries the handle and curses; I close my eyes, pretending to be asleep when she moves toward Milo. I hear her rummaging through the bedside table, looking for the key. She finds it, and I hear her leave. I should have known better than to trust her. Deciding against waking Milo up for this particular issue, I pull out my phone and flick through camera feeds until I find Fallon making cautious steps toward the lower level.

I don’t wait any longer, I silently follow her; however, instead of heading for an exit like expected, she starts checking doors on the bottom floor, and I hesitate, wondering what she is searching for.

Just as I’m about to reveal myself to stop this game of cat and mouse, she enters the laundry room. My eyes flicker back to my phone’s screen just in time to catch sight of her bloody pants.

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