Page 63 of High Stakes

Dante’s scream tears through the room, but I don’t stop. I drag the knife downward in a slow, deliberate line, making sure it’ll scar as I carve a huge F in the side of his face. “You made her bleed, be grateful I don’t bleed you out!”

“Leone, enough!” my father shouts, grabbing my shoulder. I shrug him off without taking my eyes off Dante.

“No, he is going to remember this, every fucking time he sees his reflection,” I hiss, my voice trembling with fury. “Every time you open your fucking mouth, you’ll think of me.” My father paces clutching his hair, he knows this has been a long time coming. Dante has pushed me too far this time.

“Not his face Leone, if you need blood take it but leave his fucking face,” my father pleads.

Dante sobs beneath me, his hands clawing at my arms like a pathetic animal. I shift the blade to his other cheek, and for a moment, I hesitate—not because I feel any guilt, but because I want this to last. So I carve an M in his cheek so he never forgets why I branded him. “That one is for Milo,” I sneer.

My father shoves at my arm. “Leone! He’s your brother!”

I laugh, a low, bitter sound. “Milo is my brother. The only one who matters. Dante is nothing but vermin.”

The knife slices through his other cheek in one smooth motion. Dante’s scream is weaker this time, his body shaking violently beneath me.

I wipe the blade on his shirt and lean in close, close enough that he can feel my breath against his blood-slick face. “You’ll never touch them again. Do you hear me?” I say quietly, my voice deadly calm. “Never.”

He nods, his face barely recognizable from all the blood and I stand up. My father steps between us, his hands on my chest, trying to push me back. “Leone, enough! You’ve made your point!”

I stand, towering over Dante’s crumpled form. He’s a bloody mess, his face carved up, his breaths shallow and wheezing.

“And this is the man you want to hand our empire over to father, look at what he did to my fucking face!”

“Shut up, Dante,” I growl, pulling my gun. My father looks torn as he stares between us and then at his man dead at our feet.

“He killed Lorenzo!” Dante says and I lift my gun to his head.

“And you’ll be next if you don’t shut up!” I tell him, pressing the barrel of the gun against his forehead. My finger tightens on the trigger, and every muscle in my body is coiled, ready to end this once and for all.

“Leone, think about what you’re doing,” my father urges, his voice low and insistent. “You’re angry, I get that. But this is not the way.”

I can feel the weight of my father’s gaze, the pressure to make the right decision. But what is the right decision? How do I choose between the family I was born into and the family I’ve built with Milo and Fallon?

The gun feels heavy in my hand, the cold metal presses against Dante’s skin. He’s shaking now, he knows our father won’t save him. But he doesn’t apologize. He doesn’t beg for his life. Instead, he glares at me with a hatred that matches my own.

“Do it,” Dante spits, his voice trembling with rage and fear. “Prove you would choose him over family.”

But the thought of letting him live, of letting him get away with what he’s done to Milo, to Fallon—it makes my blood boil.

“Leone,” My father’s voice is softer now, almost pleading. “Please. Don’t do this. Your mother would be devastated, I just got her back to a good place.”

I close my eyes, the tension in my body reaching a breaking point. Then, with a guttural growl, I lower the gun. I don’t release it, my knuckles white with the force of my grip, but I don’t fire.

Dante exhales shakily, relief washing over his face, but I’m not done with him. I take a step back, shoving the gun into its holster and grabbing Dante by the collar, dragging him toward the basement door.

“You’re done,” I hiss, my voice low and dangerous. “Get the fuck out of my house. If I ever see you again, I won’t hesitate to put a bullet in your head.”

“Leone—” Dante starts, but I cut him off with a brutal punch to the face, the impact sending him staggering back into the wall.

“I don’t want to hear a fucking word from you,” I snarl. “You’re lucky I’m letting you walk out of here alive.”

Dante glares at me, his eyes full of hatred, but he doesn’t argue. He knows I’m serious.

“Enough!” my father shouts, his voice booming in the small space. “This ends now. Dante, leave before I let Leone finish what he started. Go try take care of that fucking face before it scars.” It will scar, I made sure of it, even the best doctors will struggle to erase that from his face.

Dante glares at me, his eyes filled with hatred, but he knows better than to challenge our father. With a final sneer, he pushes himself to his feet and stumbles out of the room, his footsteps echoing in the hallway.

As he disappears, the tension in the room slowly begins to dissipate, but the damage has been done. My father looks at me, disappointment and disgust written all over his face.

---