Chapter 10
Ten
“ N
ot particularly,” I retort, attempting to mask the fear layering my voice with indifference. Leone’s dark eyes narrow on me for a moment, he lets out another low chuckle, the sound more menacing than humorous.
“Brave,” he muses almost to himself, reaching out with one hand and trailing a finger down my cheek, smearing the blood still wet from his earlier fight. I shiver at his touch but remain still, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing my discomfort.
Rocco grunts something from the front seat, pulling Leone’s attention away from me. I quietly release the breath I’ve been holding, sagging back against the seat and closing my eyes again.
As the car races through dark city streets, the adrenaline coursing through me dissipates, replaced by a gnawing dread. My hands are shaking, and I don’t know whether it’s from fear or residual shock. I glance at Leone. He’s entirely in control now. But the memory of his violent decapitation of his would-be attacker is chilling.
I shake my head, trying to erase the image from my mind, wrapping my arms tightly around myself as if I can lock away the trembles wracking through my body. Leone tosses his jacket on my lap, and I look at him. “You’re cold,” he answers, and I nod, slipping my arms inside his blood-soaked jacket, yet the inside is primarily dry except where he was shot.
Leone turns toward me, his gaze penetrating mine, his features cold and hard. Does nothing shake this man, or is he desensitized to everything? Leone doesn’t need to say anything; his silence says it all. He wants to know if I am okay, but he is waiting for me to freak out or break down. Which would be a normal reaction; maybe something is wrong with me, yet I feel unusually numb. A sudden chill ghosts over me, and I let out a breath I don’t realize I have been holding.
Nervously, I gaze away from him and glance out the window. The city is a blur of lights and shadows rushing by. Every few seconds, we pass another car or zipping lights of some club, a fragment of an ordinary world feels surreal and distant in the face of tonight’s horror.
Fear mingles with fascination as I steal another look at Leone, taking in his rugged profile highlighted by the passing streetlights. Somewhere along the line, those lines blurred into something far more complicated than I could ever have imagined. I should have let the man kill him, but I didn’t. Somehow, the thought of him being hurt or killed scared me more than anything he would do to me.
Suddenly, he shifts, leaning back against the seat with a grimace of pain as he lifts his hand off his shoulder wound. Blood seeps through his fingers, staining his shirt crimson. The sight hits me like a punch to the gut. I know Milo was shot, too. They all were, yet they are somehow functioning as if it were normal—a scratch.
I reach into Leone’s jacket pockets, knowing he usually has a handkerchief somewhere. “Going to rob me already?” he asks, and I glare at him. “I’m not dead yet, love. It will take more than a shoulder wound. Lydia would have at least waited for my body to be cold first,” he tells me, but I ignore him. Suddenly, his wallet smacks my lap. “Want the password for my safe, too?” he asks. I huff out a breath and look to the front to see Rocco watching me with a silly smirk.
Rummaging more, I find his pockets empty. Looking at Milo, who still has his jacket on, I try reach for his only to remember my seatbelt. Taking off my seat belt, I lean forward and peer over his shoulder, spotting one poking out of the top pocket. “Seat belt!” Milo snaps at me when I fish my hand in his pocket.
“She is robbing us all now,” Leone laughs behind me when I feel a sharp tug on my hair. Leone rips me back on his lap and then grunts at the impact. “What are you doing?” he snaps as I try to climb off his lap. I hold up the handkerchief, only for him to snatch my wrist. I turn toward him hesitantly, and his gaze goes to my hand. Did he really think I would be stupid enough to rob him, or maybe he thought I was trying to finish off the Russians’ job for them?
“I wasn’t robbing you. Besides, what do I need money for if I am dead, which I would be if I tried.” I tell him. He lets my wrist go, and I try to slide off his lap, but he holds me in place.
“Seatbelt!” Milo snaps at him from the driver’s seat. Leone rolls his eyes, unclips his, and wraps it around both of us. Now, I raise an eyebrow at him, but he says nothing; he just stares at me.
My heart is pounding as I reach for his shoulder. Leone tenses but doesn’t stop me. His piercing brown eyes meet mine as I press the cloth against the wound, trying to ignore how his muscles flex under my touch.
As we draw closer to the casino, there’s a sudden change in the air. The streets are clearing, open spaces are replacing buildings, and the looming neon lights of the casino come into view.
The car pulls around the back of the casino, away from prying eyes. As we climb out, Milo barks orders to someone on his phone. He ends the call and gestures at Leone. “Your office. We need to get cleaned up before anyone sees us.”
We take the back stairs two at a time, Leone’s firm grip on my waist guiding me. The door to his office swings open. He pours a drink from a crystal decanter on his desk and chugs it down like water.
“Drink?” he offers, gesturing toward the bottle. Milo shakes his head, but Rocco takes up the offer with a gruff, “Thank You.”
Milo calls down to the foyer and demands three fresh sets of clothes be brought up. His sharp eyes glance at me. Then he adds another request for a uniform in my size.
As we wait for the clothes, Milo and Rocco start to undress, their injured bodies marred with fresh cuts and older scars. Rocco has a puncture in his side which went all the way through, but his ribs are badly bruised. Milo has been shot, but luckily, it was more of a graze.
“Fallon!” Leone snarls, making me jump, and I glance at him. “Eyes to yourself. I don’t need you ogling my men.”
“Man, she can ogle me all she wants,” Milo tells him, and Rocco seems to remember I am in the room. Leone waves him off.
“Those pants stay on unless you want to lose what’s underneath them,” Leone warns him.
Leone remains seated but loosens his bloodied shirt, revealing more of those sculpted muscles which seem chiseled from stone. A knock on the door sounds, and I move to answer it, only for the girl to barge in, smacking me with the door.
“Oh, sorry. I didn’t see you,” she sneers, and I realize it’s the girl from the stripper club.
The girl stands in the doorway, her face contorted in a sneer, her lips curled with disgust. Her clothes are tight and revealing, her boobs almost spilling out of her dress. As she barges into the room, the door slams into my side with a sharp sting, causing me to flinch. The girl’s eyes sweep over me, her gaze cold and dismissive, as if I am nothing but an inconvenience.
“Where’s Sydney?” Milo snaps at her.
“I was on my way up to the VIP section, so I told her I could bring them up,” she tells him, and Milo presses his lips in a line.
The room falls quiet, and I grit my teeth, not wanting to meet the end of Leone’s belt again. Swallowing down my anger, I hold the door as she enters with the clothes. Milo snatches his clothes off her, and I help him, opening the small first aid kit she also brought.
Turning my back on her, she moves to Rocco and sets Leone’s clothes on his desk. “Do you need anything else, sir?” I pretend not to hear the double meaning in her voice.
“No, that is all,” he tells her, and she leaves, but not before shooting me a smug look. The door closes behind her with a soft click.
I feel my heart pound against my rib cage, adrenaline rushing through my veins as the door closes. The room is tense, and the silence feels more deafening than ever. I turn around to face Leone, his piercing brown eyes boring into mine.
For a moment, all is quiet except for the soft rustle of fabric as Milo changes into his clean clothes. I keep my eyes trained on the first aid kit, my hands deftly gathering supplies to help Rocco. Leone’s eyes are on me; I can feel their heat burning into my back.
“Come here, Fallon,” he orders, pointing toward the desk with a flick of his fingers. I gulp and obey, heading over to him.
My steps are hesitant, each leaving behind a trembling echo on the floor. As I reach him, I take a moment to study his face. Beneath the coldness and cruelty which usually fill his eyes, I can see something else, or maybe it’s just my wishful thinking.
Rocco comes over, plucking a bandage, and I search for a larger one, realizing the one he has isn’t big enough. My hands tremble as I open the first aid kit further, flinching when Leone’s rough hand grabs my wrist. His touch is cold, and makes me jump.
“Let me,” he insists gruffly, taking over the task of cleaning Rocco’s wounds.
The air grows thick with unspoken tension as he works on Rocco’s wounds, focusing intently on his task, while Rocco doesn’t argue, just perches his ass on the end of Leone’s desk. In moments like these, he shows a different side of himself - a man capable of care and concern but only for those within his circle.
I observe him, noticing the way his brow furrows in concentration and how his fingers delicately handle the gauze and alcohol swabs. Suddenly feeling out of place, I step back, only to have his gaze snap to mine immediately.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Leone growls lowly, halting me in my tracks.
“I… I thought…”
“Stay,” he commands curtly. I nod, taking a step back toward them.
As I resume my position by their side, Leone’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer before returning to the task at hand. The room falls into a comfortable silence, broken only by the soft rustle of fabric and the occasional grimace from Rocco.
When he is done, Leone tosses me the first aid kit and sits at his desk. He motions toward the clothes on the desk; it’s a work uniform. I pick it up when Rocco speaks.
“I’ll go keep an eye on the floor,” he grunts, standing abruptly and heading for the door.
Leone nods his response, never breaking his gaze from me.
I take a deep breath as Rocco leaves the room, trying to squelch the tendrils of fear snaking up my spine. With the door closed, we’re alone - just Milo, Leone, and me. I slip off my ruined clothes and pull the slacks on, only for them to fall to my feet. I curse, picking them up, noticing it’s a man’s 4xL sizing. Bitch. Leone grabs the shirt, pulls it from the plastic sleeve, and sighs.
“It’s men’s also. Bloody stupid girl didn’t even check,” he mutters.
“More like she did it deliberately,” I mutter, but instantly regret the words. The room falls so silent you can hear a pin drop. Leone watches me for a second when Milo’s phone rings. He answers it, and I look at Leone, reaching for the shirt, but he shakes his head.
“I’ll send Milo,” he says, but I shake my head.
“I could go and…” my words trail off, knowing he would never allow it.
“It was Rocco. Your father and Dante are here. They’re in the lounge,” Milo tells him.
“You go down and straight back here,” Leone says, making me jump when I realize he is talking to me. He is talking to me, right? Leone stands, stepping toward me. He grabs the back of my neck and drags me closer. “I’ll know if you run, and I will find you,” Leone tells me, stroking the back of my neck. He then pinches the spot, and a sharp pain lances up my neck, making me hiss. Leone leans closer, his lips grazing my ear.
“I’ll always know,” he whispers, tapping the spot. “This little device ensures it,” he shoves me away and pulls on his shirt. I rub my neck, only to stop when I feel a small bump. I lift my other hand, feeling it; it’s like a small oblong bead under my skin.
“You run, I’ll find you. Try tampering with it. I will also know,” he tells me as he pulls his blazer on.
“Straight down and back here until we return,” he tells me as he leaves his office.
I watch the door close behind him, the finality of it echoing my trapped state. My hand moves again to my neck, probing the raised skin where he’s tagged me like some wild animal. A shudder ripples through me at the thought. I can almost feel his smug satisfaction. Pulling myself together, I leave his office and shuffle down the dimly lit corridor toward the staff room. The polished marble floors reflect faintly the soft, ambient glow of recessed lights set into the ceiling.
I find myself racing down the hallways to the staff rooms. I grab a new uniform that fits from the endless stacks before sprinting toward the bathrooms. I change quickly, knowing he will send someone looking for me if I take too long. Moving to the sink basins, I gasp at my appearance.
In the bathroom mirror, I barely recognize myself. My hair hangs loose around my shoulders, tangled and matted from dried blood and sweat. My eyes are swollen, and the whites are stained with red, and heavy bags weigh them down. I clean myself up as best as I can. My thoughts wander to the chilling reality of my situation. Despite being surrounded by people, I have never felt more alone and vulnerable. There is no escape from Leone—he made that abundantly clear.
The cold water from the sink stings against my skin as I wash away the evidence of tonight’s events. The coppery scent of blood is replaced by the sterile smell of soap.
Reinforcing the old adage; appearances can be deceptive, I fix my hair and wash my face, striving for normalcy in an environment that is anything but. Finally presentable, I step out of the bathroom and notice the floor isn’t busy tonight. I peer over at the tables, expecting to see my father with his cart. Disappointment fills me when I don’t. Sighing, I shut the door, turning for the stairs when I stop in my tracks. My heart drops into my stomach when I see him leaning against the wall, a smug smirk plastered on his face.