Chapter 2
Two
M ilo
I stand in the dimly lit hallway, my heart pounding as I watch Leone storm up the basement stairs. He’s been down there twice tonight, though the second time, I don’t think he went inside. I left the surveillance room, so I can’t be sure. His face twists with anger and frustration, sweat glistening on his forehead. My gut churns with anxiety—something is terribly wrong.
“Leone, what happened?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady. “Is Fallon okay?”
“You don’t know when to give up!” he snaps, not even looking at me. “You’re too lenient with her, Milo. She needs to learn her place.”
“Maybe I could talk to her?” The thought of not knowing how she is, is killing me. “Maybe she’d respond better to a gentler approach?”
“Ha!” Leone scoffs, his dark eyes flashing with fury. “You think your softness will get through to her? She betrayed us, Milo! There’s no going back from that.”
“Please, just let me try,” I plead. My words fall on deaf ears. Leone shakes his head, gripping the railing so hard his knuckles turn white.
“I’m going out,” he says coldly, pushing past me and heading for the front door. The heavy thud of it slamming shut echoes through the house, leaving me alone with my thoughts and worries.
I feel helpless, like I’m drowning in my own uncertainty. Fallon’s betrayal still stings, but I can’t shake the feeling he’ll only push her further away. Cursing, I walk to the surveillance room, unable to stop thinking about the times I used to watch Fallon at the club. She was always so full of life, so... normal. And I envied her for it, knowing my world was far more dangerous than she could ever imagine.
With Leone gone, I’m left alone. The weight of Fallon’s deception presses down on me like a crashing wave. How could I have been so blind? Over the last two months, she became more submissive, her behavior changed so drastically it should have set off alarms. Instead, I let myself believe she was coming around to being with us.
I drop into the seat and turn to the dim glow of the monitors. Fallon is on camera. Her once vibrant spirit now seems broken—her body slumped, defeated. I can’t bear to see her like this much longer. Yet if I go down there, I might make things worse for her when Leone finds out.
Despite the turmoil inside me, I can’t tear my eyes away from the monitor. Each second feels like an eternity, and I long to do something, anything, to change the situation. With Leone’s anger fresh in my mind, I know I need to tread carefully.
My thoughts race, searching for a solution that won’t cause further damage. I need to find a way to show her there’s still hope. If she just plays along, does as she’s told, maybe he won’t be so brutal.
The image on the screen takes me back to the days I’d follow her during her breaks at the club. I remember how carefree she seemed—a sharp contrast to my dangerous world. That’s what initially drew me to her. And deep down, I knew she deserved better than this life.
The memory hits like a punch to the gut, as clear as if it happened yesterday. I’m standing across the street from the Chinese restaurant, watching Fallon through the window. Her blonde hair cascades down her back, her eyes shine with an intensity which has always captivated me.
I can’t help but smile as I watch her receive two takeout containers filled with fried rice. It’s payday at the club, and this small luxury is something she indulges in once a month.
Fallon takes a seat by the window, her eyes vacant as she stares out into the bustling street. I found myself wondering what thoughts swirl inside her head, what dreams and desires lie beneath her beautiful exterior. As much as I want to approach her, to talk to her, I know I can’t—not without putting her in danger. In my world, women are as much temptation as they are weapons to be used against us. So, I stood there watching, drinking in every detail of her.
A homeless man snaps me out of my reverie. He pushes his cart past the window, momentarily blocking my view. Irritation flares, and I shift to get a better look.
“Merda,” I curse when I realize she’s no longer at the window seat. My heart races as I scan the crowded restaurant, trying to find her.
The bell above the door jingles, and my heart skips a beat. Fallon steps out, cradling two takeout containers as she heads back to the club. Her focused expression draws me in closer.
As she passes the homeless man digging through a garbage can, she hesitates briefly, then turns back toward him. I watch with bated breath.
“Here,” she says softly, handing him one of the full containers. The man’s eyes widen in surprise, but before he can thank her, she’s already walking away.
Admiring her selflessness, I feel a twinge of guilt. Moments like these make it harder to stay hidden, to keep my distance when all I want is to be close to her. Her confidence and subtle beauty remind me of how different our worlds are. Deep down, I always held onto the hope those worlds might one day collide. Little did I know they would collide so devastatingly.
I followed her back to the club, staying out of sight as she approached her father, who was cleaning the gold paneling by the windows. He gazed up, his face brightening with a warm smile to mirror hers.
“Hey, Dad,” she greeted him, holding up one container.
“You didn’t have enough?” he asked, raising a brow.
“No, I did,” she shrugged. “I gave half to a homeless man. I hope you don’t mind.”
Her father studied her for a moment, pride in his voice. “No, sweetheart, you did the right thing,” he said, as I snuck behind the foyer counter.
I couldn’t help but compare this interaction to my own with my father. If I had done something similar, he would have beaten me for wasting money. Nathan seemed proud of Fallon, and I found it odd how different our fathers were. It made me wonder—if I’d had a decent one, would I be where I am today?
“I may have failed at most things, but I raised you right,” her father told her. “He needed it more than us.” She set the container on his cart, but he shook his head.
“No, take it. I finish soon. I’ll make something at home. You’ve got five more hours,” he told her. She tried to give him the container again, but he refused.
Fallon relented, pecking her father on the cheek and heading to the staff rooms. I turned to Sydney, who worked the foyer.
“Has Nathan taken his break?” Sydney sighed, glancing at Nathan.
“Who, the old man?” she scoffed. Her demeanor shifted when she caught my arched brow and realized who she was talking to. “Sorry, boss, didn’t realize it was you,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze.
I waved her off, not wanting to dwell on her mistake, and pointed to Nathan. “Answer the question.”
“Nathan never takes his break,” she replied quickly. “He likes to get home early.”
“Interesting,” I murmured. It only added to my curiosity. Despite their circumstances, she and her father shared an unbreakable bond. They looked out for each other, always putting the other first.
“Tell the kitchens Nathan McAllister is to win tonight’s drawing and to send him home with extra,” I told her. Sydney paused and I could read what she wanted to say on her face. She wanted to ask why but thought better of it and quickly rang the kitchens.
I clench my fists, trying to control my emotions. Deep down, I know Leone’s struggling like I am, but his anger is blinding him, and it’s ruining her.
My resolve hardens. I can’t let Fallon suffer any longer. Ignoring Leone’s orders, I head to the garage, searching for something to pick the basement lock. This will cause a fight when he returns, but I know he won’t kill me—unless I try to run off with her. As I rummage through the tools, Rocco enters, a curious look on his face.
“What are you doing?” he asks, concern evident in his voice.
“Leone won’t let me see her. She’s been down there for over a week,” I explain, determination building. “I’m getting her out.”
“Sei pazzo,” Rocco mutters, shaking his head. I glare at him for calling me crazy. Maybe I am. A few months ago, I’d never have crossed Leone. Fallon changes things. “Leone will be furious. But…” he trails off and starts helping me.
We find the tools we need to pick the lock. As we head to the basement door, fear and anticipation course through me. We’re defying Leone, but it’s worth the risk for Fallon.
After a few minutes of fiddling with the lock, the heavy basement door swings open with a loud creak, and an unbearable stench assaults me. My stomach lurches, bile rising in my throat as I press my fingers to my nose. Beside me, Rocco mutters a string of Italian curses, his face twisted in disgust.
“Be quick,” he warns, tense. “When Leone finds out, he’ll want blood.”
I nod, knowing the consequences. It’s a risk I’m willing to take. As my eyes adjust to the dim light, I spot a security camera above the door.
“Leone already knows,” I tell Rocco, pointing at the camera. “He’s watching us right now.”
“Merda,” Rocco curses. “Well, fuck it. Let’s make this worth it. I’ll run her a bath.”
Rocco rushes off, leaving me alone at Fallon’s makeshift prison. I step inside, trying not to dwell on the fact Leone is likely watching my every move. The sight of Fallon—pale, exhausted, and handcuffed to the chair—makes me sick. Fury boils within me, directed at Leone for treating her like this, and at myself for not stopping him sooner.
I approach cautiously. Her green eyes, once vibrant, now dull and lifeless, squint against the sudden light. She doesn’t move. Tears streak down her cheeks, and it only takes a second to realize why. I crouch down, and she blinks deliberately, her eyes shifting to the side. I grip her chin, turning her face to see a massive spider near her hairline. I stumble back, not expecting it. She whimpers.
“Shh, shh,” I hush her, quickly flicking it off. The moment it’s gone, she gasps, making me wonder how long she’s endured the thing crawling over her. The thought sends a shiver down my spine.
“Wh-what are you doing?” she croaks, her voice raw from disuse.
Kneeling, I untie the rope binding her legs. My fingers fumble with the knots, frustration mounting as I realize I don’t have the key for her handcuffs. First, I need to free her legs.
As I work on the rope, Maria, one of our household staff, rushes in, her hand covering her mouth in shock. She speaks rapidly in Italian, clearly alarmed by the scene.
“Get me bolt cutters,” I reply in Italian, my tone urgent. Maria nods and hurries off, leaving me to continue freeing Fallon’s legs.