Page 7 of High Stakes

“Fallon...” His voice is a sinister caress, sliding under the door, wrapping around my soul.

I don’t respond. I can’t give myself away—not when escape still feels possible, even if it’s slipping further from my grasp. Every sense is heightened, every muscle tensed for flight—or fight.

The door stays closed, but his footsteps move on, then return. His shadow blocks the thin strip of light under the door.

The door creaks open, a sliver of light slicing through the darkness. I stifle my breath. Leone’s figure looms in the doorway, a silhouette of impending doom.

“Fallon,” his voice is deceptively soft.

I tighten my grip on the object, its purpose forgotten as his eyes—sharp and unyielding—lock onto mine, then dart to what I’m holding. His gaze narrows, and I sense the shift in the air, the tension coiling like a spring.

I take an involuntary step backward, my foot catching on something. I stumble, the object slipping from my grasp, falling into the dark cavity of whatever I’d leaned on.

A sharp click, and harsh light floods the space, revealing the room. My heart plummets as I realize what I’ve stumbled upon—a crib. Its stark white rails stand out like bones in the brightness. The cold metal object I held is an urn. My breath hitches as I see the name etched on the headboard of the crib: Angelo.

Leone’s presence fills the room, his energy a suffocating force. He steps forward, and I recoil, the urn slipping from my hands into the crib. A delicate urn, etched with a cherub’s wings, whispering of innocence lost and grief too profound for words.

“You dare to come in here,” he growls, his voice low, each word a threat.

I should move, should run, but my legs betray me. I’m rooted to the spot, my breath caught in my throat as I realize the poem tattooed on his chest wasn’t about his ex-wife—it was about his son. Angelo. A child lost before his time.

Leone steps closer, his rage barely contained, and I realize too late the gravity of what I’ve discovered. The urn is cool and heavy, and as I set it back into the crib, I see his shadow returning. He steps into the room, a storm cloud of fury and grief.

“Leone, I—” I start, but he cuts me off with a look, his face contorted with raw emotion.

“I didn’t mean to come in here,” I stammer, but my words falter. I’ve trespassed into sacred territory, a mausoleum of broken dreams and unspoken goodbyes.

His dark eyes bore into mine, searching, accusing, and I feel exposed—vulnerable. There’s no escape from the wrath simmering just beneath the surface of his calm.

For a moment, unbearable silence hangs between us, laden with the ghosts of what could have been, and the reality of what is. Angelo, a name that will forever haunt me yet offers a sliver of understanding the complex, dangerous man in front of me.

“Please,” I whisper, my voice hoarse with fear. “I didn’t mean?—”

“Silenzio!” Leone snaps, his voice harsh, filled with barely restrained fury. He stalks toward me, and I retreat, step by faltering step, until my back hits the wall, trapping me.

“Leone, I—” My plea dies as his hand shoots out, fingers tangling cruelly in my hair. A sharp cry escapes my lips, pain lancing through my scalp.

“Shhh...” His other hand moves, giving me no time to react, the sharp pinch on my neck sends icy dread down my spine. The world warps, my vision blurs, and I feel myself slipping into the dark.

“Non così forte ora, eh?” he whispers, his voice soft against my ear, chilling in its tenderness.

“Huh?” I manage, confusion clouding my senses as the drug takes hold.

“Not so strong now.”

I try to fight the drug coursing through me, but it’s like grasping at smoke. My knees buckle, and I’m falling, falling...

Darkness swallows me whole.

Cold.Hard. Unforgiving.

My body screams as consciousness creeps back, every bruise, every abrasion waking me to the nightmare I’m still in. Naked and shivering, I open my eyes to the familiar darkness of the basement. This is not the chair. I’m lying on the floor, the concrete pressing cold against my bare skin.

A soft moan escapes my lips as I push up with my hands, terror clawing at my throat as I turn my head, dreading what I might find.

Marcel.

His lifeless eyes stare blankly, his face frozen in shock. I scramble away, my breaths coming in ragged gasps, until my back slams against the cold wall. Every inch I move is agony, my skin protesting with each movement.

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