Page 64 of High Stakes

“This isn’t over,” he warns, his voice low and dangerous. “We will talk about this, Leone. But right now…” his gaze to Fallon and Milo behind me, he sneers but looks at me.

“I’ll send someone for Lorenzo,” he tells me.

I nod, not trusting myself to speak. I turn back to Milo, who’s trying to stand with Fallon’s help. He’s battered and bruised, but he’s alive. That’s all that matters.

Without another word, I help Milo to his feet and lead him out of the dungeon, my father’s gaze burning into my back as we leave. This isn’t over—far from it. But for now, all I care about is getting Milo out of here and making sure he’s safe.

Twenty-Two

Fallon

The mansion is filled with a heavy, suffocating silence; the only sounds are the distant ticking of a clock and the occasional drip of water somewhere in the pipes. The air reeks of blood, sweat, and the cold metal scent of gunpowder. It’s a silence that weighs heavily on my chest, making it difficult to breathe as I sit beside Milo, my hands shaking as I press a cloth to his injuries.

He’s hurt, but he’s alive. The medical team Vittorio brought in has done their job, cleaning and stitching up the worst of his wounds. Still, the sight of him—bruised and battered, his face swollen, his lip split—makes my heart clench painfully in my chest.

Leone is pacing the room like a caged animal, his face a mask of barely contained fury. His jaw is tight, his fists clenched at his sides, but he hasn’t said a word since Doctor Stevens left. His silence is almost more terrifying than his anger—it’s the quiet before the storm, the moment when you know something is about to snap.

Leone’s father stands by the doorway, having returned to have his men retrieve Lorenzo, his expression a mixture of disappointment and disgust. Vittorio’s eyes flicker between Leone and me, but he avoids looking at Milo entirely. When he finally speaks, his voice is cold and filled with disdain.

“I raised you better than this, Leone,” Vittorio says, his voice low but cutting. “Sharing your wife with another man, allowing this kind of filth under our roof. It’s disgraceful.”

Leone stops pacing and turns to face his father, his eyes dark with a storm of emotions. “This is my family,” he snaps, his voice hard. “My decisions. Milo and Fallon are mine. You don’t get to judge what we are.”

Vittorio’s lip curls in disgust. “You’ve lost your way, Leone. Your mother and me didn’t raise you to be this sort of man.” He pauses, his gaze turning icy as it lands on me. “And as for you, Fallon, I don’t know what kind of hold you have over my son, but don’t think for a moment I approve of any of this.”

I swallow hard, feeling the weight of his disapproval like a physical blow. I want to say something, to defend myself, but the words die in my throat. What could I possibly say to justify the mess we’ve all found ourselves in?

Vittorio shakes his head as if he can’t stand to be in the room any longer. With that, he strides out of the room, the door closing behind him with a finality that sends a shiver down my spine. Leone stands there for a moment, his chest heaving with barely controlled rage before he finally exhales and turns back to us.

Milo, who has been quiet through the whole exchange, lets out a low snort. It’s a weak sound, but there’s still humor in it, like he’s not fazed by any of this. “Come here,” Milo tells me, patting his lap.

“You’re hurt,” I tell him. He shakes his head, his hand tugging at Leone’s shirt I pulled on.

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, his voice rough but steady as he looks at me. “Just a few scrapes and bruises. I’ve had worse.”

I can’t help but frown at him, my concern is evident. “Milo, you’re hurt. How can you even be thinking about this?” My voice wavers as I speak, my fingers trembling as they brush over the bandage on his side.

He grins at me, his eyes lighting up with that familiar playful glint, even through the pain. “Because, Fallon,” he says, his tone teasing as he reaches out to pull me onto his lap, “there are better ways to distract myself from the pain. And I can think of nothing better than you.”

I try to resist, worry still gnawing at me, but Milo’s hands are insistent, and despite my concerns, I find myself sinking into his embrace. His body is warm beneath mine, his grip firm and unyielding as he holds me close.

“Milo,” I start, trying to pull back, but his fingers tighten on my hips, pulling me down against him. “You’re seriously injured. This isn’t the time?—”

But Milo doesn’t care. His hands slide up my thighs, his touch sending a shiver of heat through me despite the situation. “I’m fine,” he murmurs, his lips brushing against my neck. “You’re all the medicine I need.”

I’m about to protest again when Leone steps closer, his gaze dark and intense as he watches us. There’s a hunger in his eyes, a possessiveness that sends a thrill of fear and anticipation through me. He reaches out, his hand cupping my chin, forcing me to look up at him.

“I swear if you cock block me right now,” Milo mutters, and Leone smiles.

“I’m not,” Leone tells him, and I meet his gaze, my breath hitching in my throat. There’s something in his eyes I can’t deny, something that pulls me in despite the fear that coils in my stomach. Slowly, I nod, unable to find the words to speak.

Leone’s lips curl into a dark smile, and he leans down, capturing my mouth in a fierce, demanding kiss. His hands are everywhere—on my skin, in my hair, pulling me closer until I’m pressed between him and Milo, their bodies surrounding me, their heat overwhelming.

Milo’s lips find my neck, his breath hot against my skin as his hands slide under my shirt, pushing it up and over my head.

Milo’s hands guide me down onto him, and I gasp at the sensation, my body trembling as he fills me completely. His grip on my hips is strong, steadying me as Leone moves behind me, his hand trailing down my spine, sending sparks of pleasure shooting through me.

Leone’s breath is hot against my ear as he whispers, “You’re ours, Fallon. No one else can have you.”

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