Page 37 of High Stakes

Fourteen

Fallon

We spent most of the day watching TV and sleeping. Leone never mentioned last night, and I don’t mention it. But as the sun sank low and shadows danced upon the polished floors of Leone’s sprawling mansion, I could feel the tension coil in the room, as palpable as the thick cigar smoke clinging to Leone’s sharp suits. Leone sets a black pantsuit on the bed for me, and I glance at him. “Get ready. We are leaving to have dinner with my mother in half an hour,” Leone tells me just as Milo steps out of the shower, a towel wrapped around his hips. He heads into the walk-in robe while I start getting ready. It takes me about twenty minutes to get ready, and by that time, Leone’s entire demeanor has changed; he almost seems angry, making me wonder what is wrong with him.

He ushers us into the car, and I notice Rocco tagging along as he climbs in the passenger seat next to Milo, who is driving. Leone says nothing for most of the drive until we hit a back road.

As we drive up the long, winding driveway toward Leone’s parents’ mansion, my heart races with the anticipation ofmeeting his mother. I nervously wring my hands in my lap as Leone gives me a list of rules to follow during our visit.

“You speak only when spoken to, don’t backchat, and don’t even think about seeking help from my mother – you’ll find none,” he warns me, his voice cold and unyielding. “You are not allowed to let her know our marriage is forced, and you must not upset my father.”

I can’t help but roll my eyes at the absurdity of it all, mockingly asking, “Am I even allowed to breathe? It seems like I’m not allowed to be present.”

Leone glares at me, his brown eyes darkening with irritation. “Stay away from my mother; I don’t want her upset.”

“Isn’t the entire purpose of this dinner to meet her, but I can’t even breathe in her direction, apparently?” It’s clear there’s more to this situation than he’s letting on.

He hesitates for a moment, rubbing the back of his neck, seemingly uncomfortable, but he continues. “My mother is a recovering alcoholic. She’s been sober for a few months now, and I don’t want her upset.”

I nod. He continues, “She’s very observant, Fallon. Keep your distance from Milo.”

“Okay,” I agree, swallowing my apprehension as we approach Vitorio’s mansion.

The Italian-style mansion is breathtaking, with its intricate stonework and lush gardens surrounding the property. As we walk through the grand entrance, I try to focus on the beauty of the place, but my thoughts keep circling back to what I’ve just learned about Leone’s mother.

Leone, Milo, Rocco, and I are escorted inside by a pair of attentive butlers. Vittorio greets us in the lavish foyer, which opens up to a high ceiling adorned with a magnificent chandelier that casts a warm glow over the marble floors. Large family portraits hang on the walls and a sweeping staircase with anintricately carved banister. It's breathtaking, just like Leone's; only Leone feels colder. This has a woman's touch, and it is homely.

“Welcome,” Vittorio says, extending his hand to shake ours. “Virginia is in the kitchen finishing dinner.”

Instead of following Vittorio’s suggestion, Leone strides past the kitchen and heads straight for the dining room, his jaw set in a stubborn line. I bite my lip, feeling the tension brewing in the air as we all follow him. The dining room is equally impressive, with a long mahogany table that gleams under the light of another exquisite chandelier. A large bay window overlooks the gardens. Not that I can see much outside because of the darkening sky.

“Leone,” Vittorio says, his voice strained with frustration. “Aren’t you going to greet your mother? You haven’t seen her in six months, and she’s sober now.”

“Is she really?” Leone questions, sitting at the head of the large dining table. He crosses his arms and glares at his father, daring him to challenge his disbelief.

Vittorio sighs, looking weary. “Yes, she is. Lorenzo is with her at all times, and I have other ways of knowing she’s been sober.” His gaze softens, pleading with Leone to give Virginia a chance.

“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Leone grumbles, drumming his fingers on the table.

Before Vittorio can say anything else, I cut in. “We should say hello. It’s rude not to, and she’s gone to all this trouble cooking for us.” My voice comes out as a whisper, but Leone hears me loud and clear.

His jaw clenches as he turns his glare toward me. “You have some nerve lecturing me about being rude to my mother when you can’t stand your own.”

Yanking me closer by my arm, Leone’s grip tightens painfully. Milo moves to intervene, catching Leone’s eyebefore regaining his composure. Rocco averts his gaze, clearly uncomfortable with the situation.

“My mother was a drug addict who nearly killed my sister, Leone,” I tell him, my voice firm with conviction. “She abandoned me, and I haven’t seen her since. I’ve never met the woman sober.” My gaze locks with his, challenging him to dispute my words. “Your mother is sober or trying at least. That has to count for something.”

Leone’s eyes flash with anger, and he shoves me away, only Vittorio steps in, catching me with surprisingly gentle hands. I expect to be scolded for talking back to his son, but instead, Vittorio pleads with Leone. “She is trying. Please don’t ruin this for her; she’s been planning this dinner for weeks.”

“Fine,” Leone grumbles, pushing his chair back and standing. “Let’s get this over with, then.” Glancing over my shoulder, I see Vittorio’s expression, which is one of disappointment but not anger.

Leone leads me to the kitchen, Vittorio following quickly behind while Milo and Rocco stay put. The moment we step inside, I realize Vittorio wasn’t exaggerating about Virginia’s cooking. The kitchen is a blend of rustic and modern, with exposed wooden beams and gleaming stainless-steel appliances. The aroma of fresh herbs and simmering sauces fills the air. Seeing Virginia, I can tell where Leone gets his good looks; she has olive skin and vibrant eyes and moves gracefully between the stove and the counter, her hair cascading in rich, dark waves down her deep rouge dress. She looks exotic to me; her features are sharp, and she has high cheekbones, but is still soft. I had expected a maid or cook to be helping, but she’s doing it all herself, creating a feast that covers the counters. A guard sits at the counter, phone in hand, keeping watch over her.

As we enter, Virginia looks up, and a radiant smile lights up her face. She rushes over, embracing Leone in an enthusiastichug. Leone awkwardly pats her on the back then introduces me to her.

“Mamma, this is Fallon. Fallon, this Virginia,” he states in an almost bored tone. I can’t help but notice the venomous hatred in Leone’s eyes when he looks at his mother, and it breaks my heart. The woman just wants her son’s love and forgiveness, but Leone refuses to see that. Though I try to maintain a polite distance, Virginia pulls me into a tight hug, her excitement palpable. “You can call me Gina,” she tells me as I hug her back. The guard scoffs.

“I’ve been your guard for nearly twenty years, and it took me ten of them to be allowed to use your nickname,” he grumbles at her. She swats at his arm.

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