Chapter 9
Nine
F allon
After weeks in the basement, being back in this room feels strange. Milo nudges me further in, and I catch the faint smell of cigarette smoke wafting from the open balcony door. Leone must be out there.
I step in, uncertain, making my way to the couch as Leone enters, sliding the balcony door shut behind him. He’s shirtless, wearing only black silk boxers. His gaze locks on mine, hard and unreadable, his jaw clenched as if he’s as unsettled by my presence here as I am. I quickly look away as Milo heads into Leone’s closet.
I swallow, glancing down at my bare legs, thankful for the underwear and sanitary products Leone gave me.
“The bed,” Leone orders, his voice gravelly. “I’m not staying up all night wondering if you’ll try to run again.”
Chewing my lip, I obey, not daring to defy him. The last place I want to be is back in the basement. As I approach the bed, his eyes track my every movement.
“Middle!” he barks, and the word sends a wave of fear through me. Reluctantly, I climb into the bed and lie down, my body aching from my time in the cold, damp basement.
Milo emerges moments later and settles beside me. Leone plugs in his phone and switches off the lamp. The room plunges into darkness, thick and oppressive, though I’m grateful to be here with them, not alone in the basement. There’s an uneasy truce between us tonight—a rare moment of mercy.
Leone leans down, his breath hot on my neck as he whispers, “You’re going to behave, aren’t you, Fallon?”
My heart races, a mixture of fear and confusing desire surging through me. Why do I feel any desire for this man? I can only assume it’s the craving for touch—any kind that isn’t painful.
“Because if you don’t,” he continues, “you know where you’ll end up.”
I nod, unable to speak, and he clamps a handcuff on my wrist. A tear slides down my cheek.
“Please,” I murmur, “I’m right beside you. You’ll know if I move.”
He doesn’t respond, just pulls my hand above my head, securing it to the headboard. His gaze lingers on me, illuminated by the faint moonlight streaming through the windows, giving his face an almost haunting look. Then his eyes shift to the hand I’ve placed on his chest.
“I won’t run. I shouldn’t have the first time,” I whisper.
“You said that before,” he replies swiftly and I bite my lip.
“Why should I believe you this time?” he presses.
“I don’t want to end up back in the basement,” I admit, my voice trembling. Just the thought of being locked in the dark again terrifies me.
He studies me for a moment, then glances at Milo, who’s watching us. Leone sighs, his hand dropping, though he leaves the cuff on. Instead, he snaps the other side onto Milo’s wrist. Milo rolls toward me, his arm draped across my waist so I can be more comfortable. At least my arm won’t ache from being suspended above my head.
Leone lies down facing me. His hands roam over my body but stop where Milo’s arm rests. For tonight, his touch is surprisingly gentle, a rare softness I’m unaccustomed to.
“You won’t run,” he says, leaning closer. “And you won’t fight me.”
I shake my head, knowing it’s pointless. Almost testing me, he kisses me, gently at first. Fighting him would get me nowhere, so I kiss him back. For a second, I can almost forget the monster beneath the facade—almost. Satisfied, he rolls onto his back, leaving me alone. Thankfully.
It takes me forever to fall asleep, my mind whirring with anxiety over what’s to come. When I finally do, I don’t sleep for long.
In the middle of the night, Leone’s phone rings, shattering the fragile peace. He answers, his voice tense. “What is it?”
“Leone,” Dante’s voice fills the room, “one of our compounds has been hit. Our men are dead. You and Milo need to meet me. Sloan’s been hurt. I’m on my way now.”
Milo sits up beside me, immediately alert.
“Damn it,” Leone mutters, tossing the handcuff keys to Milo. “Lock her in the basement; we have to check this out.”
“No, please!” I cry, clutching Leone’s arm. He flicks on the lamp, glaring at me.
“Don’t put me back there. I’ll go with you. I won’t cause any trouble, I swear,” I plead, my voice desperate.
“Fallon, you have no idea what you’re asking. It’s not a place for a woman—whoever hit the compound could still be there,” he growls.
“Leone,” Milo cuts in, undoing the cuff. “Maybe she can come with us. She’ll stay in the car with Rocco.”
Leone doesn’t look pleased, and for a moment, I’m convinced he’ll drag me to the basement himself. But then he hesitates, locking eyes with me, searching for any sign of rebellion. Finally, he relents with a nod.
“Fine. But you stay in the car. Understand?”
I nod eagerly, grateful for any escape from the basement.
“Get dressed!” Leone snaps, and I rush to the closet. To my surprise, he didn’t throw out the clothes he got for me. Did he plan on locking me down there forever?
Minutes later, I’m loaded into the car beside Rocco, with Leone in the driver’s seat and Milo up front.
The seat feels harder than stone as I grip its edge, trying to calm my nerves. The dark streets blur past, shadows swallowing the city as we race toward the warehouse. Milo sits quietly, checking his phone as updates come in.
“Sloan should meet us there. He says the wound is superficial,” Milo tells Leone. “How far out is Dante?”
“An hour. He’s coming from my father’s place. Had to deal with the diversions,” Leone replies. Milo nods, pulling a gun from inside his jacket and checking it with practiced ease. His calmness is jarring next to the panic brewing inside me.
“Did Sloan say anything about who it might be?” Leone asks.
“No reply since the last message,” Milo says, glancing at his phone. The tension in the car thickens. Leone’s eyes flicker to me in the rearview mirror, then back to the road.
“Fuck, we should’ve left her behind,” Leone mutters. I tense, half expecting him to turn the car around and throw me back into the basement.
“Too late now,” Milo replies. “We go back, Sloan could be dead by the time we get there.”
Leone exhales sharply but says nothing. Rocco remains quiet beside me, alert but calm as he listens.
As we pull up to the shadowy warehouse, I peer out the window, the looming structure even more foreboding in the dark. Tension coils in my stomach, and I can’t keep the question from escaping.
“Shouldn’t the police be swarming this place?” I ask, glancing between Milo and Leone.
Milo turns, a wry smile barely touching his lips. “Dante caused a distraction at the docks. It’ll keep them occupied for a few hours.” His voice is calm, as if orchestrating chaos and manipulating city resources were just another part of his day.
I frown. “What happened at the docks?”
Leone meets my gaze in the mirror before returning to the road. “A few fires, some well-timed explosions. Enough to make sure every available unit is tied up there, not patrolling here.”
“The police are busy containing the damage and figuring out if it’s an accident,” Milo adds, his tone apologetic. “Gives us time to handle our business.”
I sink into the seat, the reality of their words settling in. The lengths they’d go to... it’s both impressive and terrifying.
“And if they finish early?”
Leone’s eyes meet mine in the mirror again, hard and unyielding. “Then we deal with it. We’re always two steps ahead, Fallon. Always.”
Milo nods, a grim determination settling over him. “Trust us. We’ve done this more times than you can imagine. Tonight’s no different.”
As the car rolls to a stop, I brace myself, gripping the door handle. The weight of their world presses down on me, relentless and inescapable.
Leone’s voice cuts through the tension as he opens his door. “Stay in the car with Rocco. We shouldn’t be long.” He looks at Rocco, who nods.
“Wait here,” Rocco warns, his voice serious.
I nod, swallowing hard, my ears straining to catch their conversation as they head toward the warehouse. But the words are muffled, adding to my rising anxiety.
“Something’s off…” Leone mutters, his voice low and tense.
“Maybe he’s inside,” Milo suggests, though his tone suggests he doesn’t believe it.
Rocco shifts in his seat, itching to join them. “Should I go check?”
Leone glances back. “No. Stay with Fallon. We’ll check it out.”
Reluctantly, Rocco settles back, his hand resting near his gun. Leone and Milo disappear into the shadows, their figures ghostly in the dim light.
The following silence is suffocating, each second stretching into an agonizing eternity. Then, the night erupts.
Gunshots shatter the stillness, rapid and violent. I jump, hands flying to my mouth to stifle a scream. Rocco reacts instantly, diving across the seat to shield me as bullets rain down, shattering the windows.
“Stay down!” he yells, his voice tight as he keeps me pinned.
I can barely breathe, terror crashing over me. My thoughts race—Leone, Milo—are they still alive?
Headlights approach, and Rocco’s eyes widen. “Shit, we’ve got company!” He grabs my arm, yanking me from the car just as a truck rams it, sending it flipping through the air. I gasp, searching for Leone and Milo, but Rocco drags me toward the warehouse.
Inside, I find myself surrounded by massive wooden crates. Rocco shoves me behind one, his voice low and urgent.
“If anyone comes back who isn’t me, Milo, or Leone, shoot them,” he orders, handing me a gun and disappearing into the warehouse.
I clutch the weapon tightly, my heart racing as I crouch behind the crates. But footsteps approach from the back of the warehouse, and I know I can’t stay hidden for long. I crawl silently, searching for a better place to hide, spotting a loft office above the floor. Desperate, I start making my way there when a shadow shifts in the darkness.
I freeze, finger on the trigger.
It’s not an enemy—it’s Sloan, clutching his side, blood seeping through his fingers. He notices me and presses a finger to his lips, signaling for silence.
I crawl toward him, my heart pounding as I reach the stack of crates where he’s slumped, pale and barely breathing.
“Chi sei?” he rasps, eyes filled with pain and fear.
“Are you Sloan?” I ask, realizing this must be the man they’re looking for. He nods weakly.
Setting the gun aside, I press my jacket to his wounds, trying to staunch the bleeding. Sloan whispers rapidly in Italian, but I can’t understand a word.
Gunfire draws closer, and I peer over the crates, searching for Rocco. When I don’t see him, I realize I’ll have to move Sloan myself. We see a door, and he points to it just as a grunt echoes through the warehouse.
“Rocco!” I gasp, watching him get hit but still managing to take out the man who shot him.
Leone bursts through the roller doors, guns blazing. His fierce gaze scans the room just as a Russian thug enters, aiming at me. Sloan yanks me to the ground, firing off a shot and dropping the man as bullets tear through the air.
“Get down!” Sloan orders, taking out two more enemies. I obey, heart hammering in my chest.
“Fallon! Rocco!” Leone calls between shots, his voice strained. I notice the blood oozing from his shoulder as he moves with precision.
“Here!” Rocco shouts, emerging with his gun raised.
Leone eliminates the remaining threats and rushes to Sloan and me. His eyes widen at the sight of the wounded man, but he doesn’t hesitate. He opens a crate, pulling out more weapons.
“Che diavolo è successo?” he mutters to Sloan, and I hear the concern in his voice.
“Where’s Milo?” I ask, fear gripping me as I realize I haven’t seen him.
Sloan chuckles weakly, his face pale. “Don’t worry about Milo,” he says in thick accented English. “The man is a weapon.”
No sooner does he finish than more gunfire erupts outside. Leone’s backup arrives, but the fight isn’t over yet.
Leone grunts in pain, still clutching his bleeding shoulder. Despite the injury, he throws Sloan over his good shoulder. “Fallon, stay close,” he orders.
Rocco meets us at the tunnel entrance beneath the stairs.
“I’m going back for Milo,” Leone growls, loyalty clear in his voice.
“We’ll get Sloan out,” Rocco says, taking some of the weight off Leone. Together, we drag Sloan into the dark tunnel.
The tunnel leads us to another warehouse, this one filled with rows of luxury cars. I barely have time to register the sight when Rocco shoves me forward.
“Keep moving,” he urges.
We get Sloan into a sleek black car, and Rocco starts the engine just as more gunmen burst through the warehouse doors. Bullets ping off the vehicle as Rocco rams the car into the attackers.
I take advantage of the chaos, sprinting for cover. My muscles burn, but I force myself to keep going.
Crawling behind another car, I spot a door and pray it leads somewhere safe. My hands hit a pair of boots, and I peer up, meeting the gaze of a man with a wicked smile.
“Now, who are you?” he sneers, dragging me to my feet, his thick Russian accent makes me shiver. He brushes my hair back, his touch revolting. “My boss will enjoy breaking you…”
I freeze, petrified. But before he can finish, something whizzes past my ear. Blood sprays across my face as he drops dead. Stumbling backward, I see Milo, his gun still raised.
“Are you okay?” he asks urgently, rushing to my side.
Before I can answer, Leone storms into the warehouse, eyes wild.
“Let’s get out of here!” he commands, his voice tight with pain.
Milo leads me toward Leone, who’s drenched in blood. The sight is both horrifying and mesmerizing. He curses when he sees Sloan slumped in the back of the car.
“Damn it,” he growls, regret flickering briefly.
“Rocco, you good?” Milo asks as Rocco staggers over, clearly injured.
“Been through worse,” Rocco grunts, brushing it off.
Leone grabs my arm roughly, shoving me into another car. “Get in.”
He’s about to climb in beside me when a bloodied man sneaks up behind him, knife raised. I scream, and Leone whirls, lightning fast, catching the man’s wrist. In one swift move, he drives the knife into the attacker’s neck, then slices clean through, severing his head.
I gasp, covering my mouth as Leone tosses the head aside and slides into the car, eyes burning with fury.
“Drive,” Leone barks at Milo, who tears out of the warehouse, smashing through another vehicle blocking the exit.
“Head to the casino,” Leone orders, and I glance around, realizing we left Sloan behind.
“Sloan?” I ask, looking at Rocco, who shakes his head sadly.
As we speed toward the city, tension thickens in the car. My mind races, replaying the night’s events, trying to process how my life spiraled so violently out of control.
“Thanks for the warning,” Leone mutters, removing his shirt to inspect the bullet wound.
“I didn’t want him to hurt you,” I whisper, voice trembling. Despite everything, a twisted part of me cares for him, and that terrifies me.
My ears ring with the echo of gunfire. My body aches with new bruises, but my mind reels from the sheer intensity of it all.
Leone remains silent, his jaw set, eyes dark pools of anger. Rocco keeps watch, hand on his gun, ready for more trouble.
I close my eyes, leaning back against the seat, trying to block out the chaos. When I open them, I find Leone watching me.
“Bet you wish you chose the basement,” he chuckles darkly.