Page 61 of High Stakes

Just as I’m about to collapse from exhaustion, a car comes into view, its headlights cutting through the darkness. Relief floods through me as I recognize the car—Leone’s car.

He slams on the brakes, the car skidding to a stop in front of me. The door flies open, and Leone jumps out, his eyes wide with shock and anger as he takes in my disheveled appearance.

“Fallon, what the fuck happened?” he demands, his voice laced with fury.

“Milo,” I manage to gasp, my voice barely above a whisper. “Dante… Dante is torturing him in the basement.”

Leone’s expression darkens, his jaw clenching as he pulls me into his arms, his body vibrating with barely restrained rage. “Get in the car,” he orders, his voice low and dangerous.

My body trembles as I climb into the car, my hands shaking uncontrollably. Vittorio, who had been in the passenger seat, quickly moves to the back, wrapping his coat around me as I huddle against him, my body wracked with sobs.

“What is going on? What happened?” Vittorio demands.

“Is it the Russians? Where is Milo?” Vittorio demands, while I can only stare ahead as Leone floors it and heads back to the house.

Twenty-One

Leone

The moment I cross the threshold of the mansion, rage courses through my veins like wildfire. The image of Fallon outside, naked, terrified, and clinging to my father, haunts me with every step. Her tear-streaked face, her trembling form—this isn’t fear I can ignore. This isn’t something I’ll allow to go unpunished.

“Dante!” I bellow my voice reverberating off the walls as I storm through the corridors. Fallon trails behind with my father, clutching his arm as if it’s her only lifeline. She’s barely keeping up, her fear hanging heavy in the air. But she’s safe now, and my concern for her is only eclipsed by the white-hot fury boiling within me.

Dante emerges from the main hallway, his posture relaxed, and wearing a twisted sneer as he watches me approach. The sight of his smug expression is enough to send my temper flaring dangerously close to the edge.

“You bastard!” I roar, charging at him. My fist connects with his jaw with a satisfying crack, sending him staggering back. But I don’t stop there. I grab him by the collar, slamming himagainst the nearest wall with enough force to rattle the paintings hanging there.

“Where the fuck is Milo?” I growl, my voice low and deadly as I press my forearm against his throat, cutting off his air. “Where is he, Dante?”

Dante struggles beneath my hold, his hands clawing at my arm, but I press harder, my anger giving me strength. “He was fucking your wife, Leone,” he chokes out, his voice rasping. “You brought a whore into this family, and he betrayed you with her.”

My father steps forward, his face a mask of confusion and concern. “Leone, what’s going on? What has Dante done?”

“He’s crossed a line,” I snap, not taking my eyes off Dante’s face, which is beginning to turn an alarming shade of red. “He’s fucking crossed a line, and I’m going to make him pay for it.”

“Leone, stop!” My father demands, his voice sharp as he places a hand on my shoulder, trying to pull me away from Dante. “This isn’t the way to handle this!”

But I’m beyond reasoning. The only thing I can think about is Milo—my brother in all but blood—being harmed because of Dante’s petty jealousy.

“Where is he?” I demand again, my grip tightening as I shake Dante, making his head snap back against the wall. “Tell me where he is, or I swear to God, I’ll kill you right here.”

“Basement,” Dante gasps, his voice barely more than a wheeze. “He’s in the basement… with Lorenzo.”

The mention of Lorenzo sends a fresh wave of fury through me. I release Dante, letting him slump to the floor, gasping for air. Without another word, I spin on my heel and storm toward the basement, my father following close behind, shouting my name.

But I don’t stop. I can’t stop. Not until I see Milo with my own eyes.

The air grows colder as I descend the stairs to the basement, the walls closing in around me. The sounds of fists meeting flesh grow louder with each step, echoing off the stone walls. My blood turns to ice as I realize what I’m about to walk into.

When I reach the bottom of the stairs, I find the door already ajar. The sight that greets me as I push it open makes my heart stop.

Milo is on the ground, bloodied and barely conscious, while Lorenzo stands over him, his fists drenched in Milo’s blood. The cold detachment in Lorenzo’s eyes as he delivers blow after blow ignites something primal in me.

Without hesitation, I draw my gun, the metal cool against my palm as I level it at Lorenzo’s head. “Step away from him, now.”

Lorenzo pauses, his eyes flicking up to meet mine. There’s a brief flash of surprise in his gaze, but it quickly hardens into something else—something deadly. He smirks, taking a step back as if daring me to pull the trigger.

And I do.

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