Chapter 6
Six
L eone
I stride down the dimly lit corridor, the sound of my steps a steady beat against the cold stone floor. Two weeks—fourteen days that feel like both an eternity and a heartbeat. Each visit to Fallon’s room is the same; no fight remains, only a vacant stare which chills me more than I care to admit.
“Maria says you’re due for your cycle,” I murmur as I enter the room where Fallon lies on the bed, staring through me with those deep green eyes which once burned with fierce determination. Now, there’s only emptiness. “The moment you miss it, we’ll know.”
Her silence cuts deep. I can’t tell if it’s satisfaction or disgust simmering within me as I approach her. In the dark, I claim her body, forcing my seed into her daily. I search her gaze for any sign of life. But she’s gone, retreated somewhere I can’t follow, leaving me with a hollow victory.
I pat the bed, gesturing for her to move down, and it’s almost as if she doesn’t hear me. Shaking my head, I grip her ankles and yank her closer.
“I want to shower. I stink,” she murmurs. I ignore her, forcing her legs apart as I insert the turkey baster inside her. Checking my watch, this routine is becoming all too familiar. At least she’s stopped fighting.
“I want to shower, Leone,” she repeats, her voice steady. “I want to speak to my father,” she whispers, her words barely audible.
“I’ll think about it,” I say. “Only if you eat. Maria told me you didn’t eat yesterday again.” She ignores me as she often does.
“Starving yourself won’t work. I’ll force a tube down your throat and funnel food into you if necessary. Eat, and I’ll let you shower.”
“My father?” she asks, glancing at me. For the first time in a week, there’s a flicker of hope in her eyes. She’s testing me, trying to figure out if I killed him after the night Marcel died. Sienna’s father will come for her in two months, but I’ve dealt with the fallout from Marcel’s death. His assets are dissolved, and after a few phone calls, he no longer exists. Publicly, rumors say he fled the country due to the allegations we spun about his involvement in trafficking. Not false, just conveniently timed. Now, the papers focus on those caught in Marcel’s web, leaving me untouched. I’m just a casino owner, a businessman to the city.
Instead of answering her, I leave when the door beeps. Maria enters with Fallon’s dinner. I step aside, letting her pass.
“No cutlery,” I tell Maria, and her shoulders tense.
“I’ll wait with her. Fallon won’t hurt me. Will you, bella?” Maria asks in English, a language she dislikes speaking but uses for Fallon’s sake.
I press my lips together and shake my head. Maria sighs, muttering as she takes the cutlery. Fallon stares at the huge steak, mashed potatoes, and steamed vegetables piled high on her plate.
Once Maria leaves, I lock the door and follow her upstairs. Reluctantly, I pause. I need to head to work but also make sure Fallon eats. I walk to the surveillance room, unsurprised to find Milo glaring at the screen, watching her.
He doesn’t acknowledge me. I grab the mouse and move the camera. She watches as it shifts, seeing only the blinking light, but I see everything. Her fingers feel across the bed until they find the plate, which she drags onto her lap.
“You treat her like a farm animal,” Milo says, unable to watch as Fallon picks up the T-bone steak, feeling for the bone before tearing into it with her teeth. It’s as if the food is tasteless. Maria’s cooking is never bland, but Fallon grabs handfuls of mashed potatoes, stuffing them into her mouth, making a mess of herself and the bed. I drop into the chair and lean back.
“How long do you intend to punish her?” Milo asks. I turn to him. “You know some things you can’t come back from.”
I clench my jaw. “You’re acting like I’ve raped and beaten her.”
“Haven’t you?” he says, rising as I do.
“Choose your next words wisely, Milo. I’m at my wit’s end with you.”
“She was supposed to be ours, and I have no say in anything. You won’t even let me see her.”
“Because you’re weak when it comes to her,” I sneer.
“And you’re a fucking coward,” Milo snaps. “You’re exactly like your father.”
I see red. My hands wrap around his throat, shoving him against the wall. He laughs.
“You wouldn’t feel offended if what I said wasn’t true,” Milo says, holding my gaze. “You hate your mother, blame her for not protecting you. But from what I know, she was in the same situation as Fallon. The only difference is your father used his cock,” Milo spits, shoving me off. My breath comes hard and sharp as he tries to pass.
“She made a fucking deal. She knew what she was getting into the moment she crossed me.”
“No! You and I made a deal to share her. She would never choose this life for herself. She was protecting her family. What are you protecting? Your legacy? Your reputation? You don’t need to own the entire strip. You’re a billionaire. Fuck Santos. Fuck the club. You wanted to burn the city to the ground for Lydia, then she betrayed you, so you killed her. Now you’re treating Fallon like she took your son from you. She took money—something you’ll never run out of.”
“She took you from me and is turning everyone in my own home against me.”
“No, you did that when you took the woman I love and reduced her to a shell of who she was,” he snarls, ripping the door open. “She never took your home from you. It was never one to begin with. You made sure of that when you locked her in those cells. She isn’t Lydia, Leone. She doesn’t want your money or your drugs. She wants her family. Fallon wants to feel safe—something she’s never known. You’d know if you watched the cameras. She’s only ever known responsibility, obligation, and sacrifice. And you’re proving that’s all she ever will be.”
He slams the door behind him.
I suck in a breath, trying to calm myself to keep from punching him. Milo’s probably the only one who could get away with talking to me like that, aside from Maria. I fall back into the chair, turning my attention to the cameras.
Fallon gets up and feels for the sink. She turns on the faucet and drinks directly from the tap. Then, she moves back to the bed, knocking the plate over. It shatters, and she flinches, bending down to clean it up, cutting her fingers on the shards. I light a cigar, watching as she tears my shirt, wrapping it around her bleeding hand. She tugs the blanket up and leans against the wall.
As I take a drag, I think I see her lips moving. Squinting at the screen, I wonder if I imagined it. The subtle twitch of her lips makes me curious. I check my keys, ensuring they’re in my pocket, then lean forward, flicking the volume on and turning the dial all the way up.
She isn’t talking. She’s reciting a dark poem; one I’ve never heard before. Her words echo in the room, and suddenly, I wonder—am I the spider she fears?
“Through the silence creeps a fright,
A spider stalks in the dead of night,
Its fangs so sharp, its timing right,
Trapping prey in webs spun tight.”
My brows furrow as I rewind and listen again. It’s no rhyme I’ve ever heard. Then again, nursery rhymes weren’t part of my childhood. My mother didn’t exactly tuck me in and read me bedtime stories. She wasn’t that kind of mother. She was the kind who pretended not to see what my father did. The kind who sacrificed her son to avoid the beatings meant for her.
I push away from the screen, straightening my clothes, then quickly leave the surveillance room. I know I need to head to work, but Milo refuses to come, and I need him with me. I know it’s pointless to ask, so I head to work alone—again.
I’m staring at the mahogany surface of my desk, trying to collect myself, when a knock interrupts the silence. My head lifts. “Enter,” I bark, expecting one of my workers with some trivial matter.
It’s not them. It’s a problem I can’t solve with force or fear. Because this man has no fear when it comes to his daughters.
Nathan storms into my office, his face etched with worry and desperation. His blue eyes, so much like Emma’s, usually calm and reassuring, now flicker with a fierce intensity.
“Leone, for God’s sake, tell me Fallon’s alright. Let me speak with her,” he demands, his voice breathless. I’ve been avoiding him as much as possible, usually making sure I’m not here when his shift ends. But today, I can’t avoid it.
“Out, Nathan,” I command coldly, my voice devoid of the warmth I once held for this man. “This isn’t a place for family reunions.”
Nathan plants his feet firmly on the ground. His jaw clenches, and the fire in his eyes tells me he won’t leave without what he came for. I don’t want to hurt him—he’s not the enemy—but he’s caught in the crossfire of my dark plans.
“I want proof she’s alive. Let me see her,” he pleads. “Emma asks for her every day. She needs to see her or at least hear her voice. I need to know if Fallon's okay.”
“Out of the question,” I tell him. I know he won’t leave unless I drag him out. Despite having enough money to take time off, Sydney has told me he never misses a shift, hoping to catch me. Now, I’ve got no choice but to face him.
I curse under my breath and decide to give him proof. My fingers glide across the keyboard, pulling up the security feed from Fallon’s room. Her figure appears motionless on the screen, almost blending into the shadows.
“See? She’s fine,” I say, gesturing toward the screen, though an unsettling feeling tightens in my chest. Fallon’s in the same position as I left her, though she isn’t reciting her poem now. Still, the haunting words linger in my mind.
Nathan steps closer, squinting at the screen. “I can’t see anything. The room’s too dark. Can you turn up the brightness?” He pulls his glasses from his pocket as if they’ll help him see her better.
“There are no lights in there,” I admit, my tone curt. It’s part of the control, part of the punishment. No light, minimal contact, silence. I’ve watched men go mad in those cells, deprived of sensory input. It’s effective. The words feel bitter as I speak them, and Nathan’s face pales.
Milo’s words echo in my head: “Some things you can’t come back from.”
Nathan’s face, lined with horror, confirms the weight of those words. For a moment, we both stand in silence, the tension between us palpable.
“You can’t keep her in the dark, Leone,” he snaps, my name like a curse. Nathan turns away, his shoulders slumping as the fight drains out of him.
“She should’ve thought of that before betraying me. Be grateful I let her live, Nathan,” I say, staring at the screen.
“You don’t understand,” Nathan says, his voice cracking. “She’s terrified of the dark.”
A laugh escapes me—harsh and bitter. It feels ridiculous, pathetic even. But Nathan’s expression isn’t one of deceit.
“Leave, Nathan,” I command, though his resolve doesn’t waver.
“Damn it, Leone! Give her some light. A lamp, anything!” His voice breaks, cutting through the cold atmosphere of my office. His plea echoes off the walls, slicing into me in a way I didn’t expect.
I pause, considering him. The tremor in his voice ignites something unfamiliar in me—guilt, maybe. I shove it aside.
“Why?” I ask, curious despite myself.
“She’s my firefly,” he whispers. I’ve heard him call her the nickname before, but now the word hits differently for some reason, like it’s not some cute childhood nickname.
“I know her childhood nickname,” I reply, still unsure where this is going.
Nathan shakes his head. “No, she was my light. She protected her sister when I couldn’t,” he says, his voice thick with emotion.
I narrow my eyes, confusion surfacing. He sighs, the fight draining from him as he stares down at the floor, weighed down by his past.
“After my wife left, I needed help with the kids while I worked. I never thought my own mother would be so cruel, but she was the only family I had. Emma was a sick baby, her medication expensive. I thought everything was fine.”
I lean back, arms folded, waiting for him to continue.
“I was working,” he glances away from me, but he swallows down whatever emotion seems to have choked him. “The school called, asking why Fallon wasn’t attending classes. I had no idea. I’d been too busy working away. My mother had promised to look after them. I found out later she’d been locking Fallon in a cupboard with her newborn sister.”
Shocked by his admittance, I find myself listening closely despite my indifference. Nathan’s eyes fill with old pain as he meets my gaze.
“I worked nonstop, Leone. I came home on weekends, thinking everything was fine. But Fallon spent years locked away in a cupboard with Emma. She spent years in therapy trying to overcome her fear of the dark. You locking her away would be bringing back every memory of my mother’s torture on her.”
“You’re lying, you’re telling me your mother locked her away for years and you didn’t notice?” I scoff.
His voice cracks, the weight of his confession evident in every syllable. “I thought she liked fireflies,” he says softly, as if talking to himself. “She used to catch them on the weekends when I would be home. She’d cry for hours if she couldn’t find any.”
His words echo in my mind, clashing with the memory of Fallon begging for the lightbulb. It’s the one thing she hasn’t stopped asking for—the light.
“And where is your mother now?” Nathan's gaze turns darker and he is unable to meet my eye.
“Your mother, where is she?” I repeat.
“She is still out there,” Nathan answers finally though his gaze is distant.
“Excuse me?” I ask shocked. If this woman did this she should be locked up, or worse.
Nathan’s eyes lift to meet mine. “She can't hurt her no more, that I can assure you.” The hatred in his gaze I realize is not directed at me but by the mother who spawned him. Though, now I am more curious than ever because this man has shown how far he would go for his daughters by robbing the most feared man in the city.
“You killed her didn't you?” I ask and he clenches his teeth, his Adam's apple bobbing.
“Does Fallon know you're a murderer?” I ask him knowing I now have leverage on this man.
“I never said I killed her.” I laugh.
“You didn't have to, you seem to forget who I am Nathan, what I am. I can see it on your face, I know your hands are bloody like mine.” Nathan stands straighter, moving toward me he places his hands on my desk.
“She deserved it, and I would do it again.” I lean back in my chair, watching him. “But at least what I did, I did for my girls. I don’t kill and torture people for entertainment. But you, locking my daughter down there with no lights…” I glare at him wondering where he is daring to go with this.
“You aren't punishing her! You are just showing her that you're exactly like her grandmother.”
“Is that so Nathan?” I lean forward.
“I'm not some frail old woman, and your daughter is still down there until I say otherwise.” Nathan pushes off my desk.
“Now get out,” I snarl, anger boiling inside me. Nathan stumbles back, his face twisting with his anger and grief.
“She is not your enemy!”
“That's for me to decide. Now, I said, get out!” He turns and leaves without another word.
The silence he leaves behind feels suffocating. My mind races, images of Fallon—her lifeless eyes, her robotic movements—burned into my memory. The realization of what I’ve done, of who I’ve become, claws at me. With a trembling hand, I grab my keys and storm out of the office. The drive home is a blur, the engine’s roar barely drowning out the chaos in my head.
I slam the car door shut and stride into the house, each step fueled by a mixture of anger and guilt. I go straight to the kitchen, searching for a lightbulb. Stealing one from a lamp, unsure where Maria keeps the rest, I head for the basement.
At the door, I hesitate for a moment, then descend into the darkness. I unlock her door and step inside. She jumps, squinting at me, then sighs, assuming I’m here for the usual routine. She scoots down the bed, spreading her legs in resigned expectation.
I ignore her. Moving to the center of the room, I fumble as I screw the lightbulb back in place. The click of the switch echoes in the cold, empty space as I test the light once then flick it off again.
I leave without a word, closing the door softly behind me. My heart hammers in my chest, the adrenaline still surging. I lean against the wall, holding my breath, listening.
A flicker—a small sound—the soft click of the switch.
And then, the sobbing starts.
Her cries seep through the cracks, a sound of brokenness that pierces me. Each sob tears through me, knowing the terror I’ve inflicted on her. Her tears are acid, stripping away any veneer of control and power I thought I had.
There’s no dominance here. No strength.
Only cruelty. Only cowardice.
Milo was right. I am a fucking coward.
As her sobs continue, unrelenting, I realize the darkness I’ve forced upon Fallon is nothing compared to the blackness swallowing my soul. Sliding down the wall, I bury my head in my hands.