Chapter 11
Eleven
“ I
thought I was seeing things at first,” Devon Penso says—a lump forms in my throat. I remember the last time I saw him, the guards had to hold him back from killing me. Turning, I try to leave. “Running off so quickly?”
My mind races as he strides toward me, cutting off my path to the stairs leading me back to Leone’s office - or hell, as I’ve started to think of it. Shit, where is Rocco or Milo when I need them, I ask myself, only to remember they are in the VIP lounge.
“Hey bitch, I’m talking to you!” He calls out, moving with predatory purpose in my direction. I quicken my steps, trying to recognize someone to wave them down when he grabs my arm. However, I know, causing a scene, Leone will do more than hit me with a belt if I embarrass him again, especially now I know his father is here.
He drags me toward the corridor, and panic sets in. I thrash, only for him to whirl around and slap me. My ears ring, and my face burns.
“You owe me—” I don’t let him finish as he tosses me over his shoulder; I sink my teeth into him as hard as I can. He lets go in shock, crying out, and I don’t wait to see what he’ll do. Instead, I take off for the VIP section. He calls after me, but I keep running, drawing strange looks from those I push past. Seeing the velvet curtains, I shove through them with a gasp, thinking he won’t come in, but he does, and I shriek as he beelines straight for me.
Peering around, I spot Leone at the back in the corners where the smokers sit. I quickly walk toward him. He has his back to me, but Dante’s brows furrow when he spots me, and Milo stands. Leone is about to turn around to see what the commotion is when I grip the back of his chair and twist, falling into his lap. He startles, looking at me as I clutch his jacket.
My trembling hands grip his jacket, and I peer over his shoulder to see Devon’s hand reaching for me. “You little slut—” I flinch at his tone. Suddenly, Devon sputters, stuttering terribly, and I realize Leone has his wrist.
“Is there an issue, son?” Vittorio asks, and my eyes go to him across from Leone. Vittorio is eyeing Penso. He leans forward, taking his drink and sipping it when Leone answers.
“Appears so because this fool believes he can put his hands on my wife.”
“The world seems to have gone mad tonight, first the Russians, and now this man thinks he can touch a Pressutti woman?” Vittorio’s voice cuts through the air.
“Pressutti woman?” Devon stutters, his panicked eyes darting at me. “Wife?”
“Do I need to repeat myself? You dare come into my casino and try to grab my wife?” Penso shakes his head. Visibly shaken.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t realize, Mr. Pressutti.” Penso stutters.
“Is there a reason you believe you can put your hands on my wife?” Leone’s voice is ice cold, and my eyes dart to his. Leone lets him go, but he stumbles back and runs into Milo and Rocco.
“How do these two know each other?” Vittorio presses.
“Honest mistake, I thought she was someone else, forgive me,” Penso says, nodding, but his glare lingers on me for a second. Leone’s gaze zeros in on my face. At first, I think he wants an explanation. Instead, he tilts my face; his thumb brushes over my cheek where he slapped me.
“I wouldn’t call putting your hands on my wife an honest mistake.” Leone’s voice is deadly calm, but he dismisses him when Vittorio speaks again.
“Geez, anyone would think we’ve turned soft,” Vittorio comments. “Touching your woman, who does he think he is?”
“He is about to find out,” Leone comments, reaching for his drink. I look over my shoulder in time to see Rocco and Milo grab Penso, leading him out back. Leone’s hand trails lazily up my arm, and I shudder, knowing I just got the man killed.
I wriggle on Leone’s lap, feeling uncomfortable when Vittorio refocuses the discussion. “Leone, about this dinner with your mother. I understand your concern, but Fallon here seems perfectly obedient tonight,” Vittorio observes, his eyes flicking between us.
Leone’s hand rests warningly on my knee under the table. His voice is smooth, yet there’s an edge to it as he responds. “She can be.”
Dante leans in, a spark of mischief in his eyes. “Perhaps it’s not Fallon we should worry about. How Mamma will react to her, that’s the real question.”
Vittorio chuckles, swirling his wine. “Virginia is just eager for grandchildren; she has been excited for weeks now about meeting her.” Vittorio comments, looking at me. “Surely, Fallon, that’s something to look forward to?” His gaze pins me.
Feeling the weight of expectation, I force a small smile, though it feels more like a grimace. “Children are a blessing,” I say, the words tasting like ash.
Vittorio nods, apparently satisfied, then his curiosity piques again. “And when can we meet your mother? What’s her name?”
The question catches me off guard, a lump forming in my throat. “Rebecca,” I answer. “But you’d have to find her first.”
“Rebecca?” Vittorio’s interest sharpens, his tone lightly probing. “She’s not with us?”
Leone’s grip tightens. “Rebecca left after my sister was born. I haven’t seen her since.”
Vittorio leans back, his gaze thoughtful. “That’s quite mysterious. You think she might be… dead?”
The question hangs heavily and irritates me for some reason. “Why? Are you trying to find out about my family to use them against me, too, because I’m pretty sure they are all dead.” My words come off harsher than I expected. Vittorio seems taken aback by my reply, so he purses his lips.
“They aren’t, but if you take that tone again with my father, I might change that.” Leone threatens, and I look at him, wondering if he is joking or if my father is alive. I know he said he was but part of me refuses to believe that until I see for myself.
“Seems you were right about her behavior. Regardless, she will show respect when she meets your Mamma, or she will have me to deal with,” Vittorio adds, and I swallow the lump forming in my throat.
“She will be on her best behavior. You don’t need to worry,” Leone tells him.
Vittorio nods, but his eyes remain on me, not quite letting the topic go. “Good because it’s a tough world for a child without a mother,” he muses. “Don’t you think, Fallon?”
“Depends,” I answer, then swallow hard. Leone’s warning is clear in my mind. I press my lips in a line because my answer wouldn’t be one he would like. Leone goes to say something, but his father waves him off.
“You disagree? Now I am curious,” Vittorio says, and I regret answering at all. “What is your opinion of being a mother?” he asks, and Leone’s answer is to squeeze my thigh to the point of bruising as if warning me to be careful how I answer.
“Depends on the mother, I guess,” I answer, and he nods slowly. “Elaborate?” he asks.
“I don’t understand the point of your line of questioning?” I tell him. “My opinion on becoming a mother doesn’t have any weight, so why would my opinion of them mean anything?”
He shrugs, sipping his drink. “Clearly, you don’t like yours; I am just hoping you’ll get along with my wife because her opinion of you will hold weight,” he tells me.
“If she is anything like Leone, we’ll get on just fine because she won’t give me a choice,” I tell him.
“Too right. My wife can be a handful. But she is eager for grandkids, so I’m sure she will happily tolerate you, at least until you’ve served your purpose.”
The mention of Leone’s mother tightens my stomach. “I look forward to meeting her,” I manage to say, keeping my voice steady.
“Well, now that is settled, I think we better move on to the Russians and what we plan to do about them. They are becoming an issue,” he says, turning his attention back to Leone and Dante waves down a waitress. I sigh, leaning into Leone.
“Can I be excused?” I whisper.
“When Milo returns,” he tells me, not even looking at me. I move to the seat next to him only to notice the stripper steal the drinks from the waitress. “Something wrong?” Vittorio asks while looking over his shoulder at where I am staring.
“No, Mr. Pressutti,” I answer. The girl serves the drinks before moving toward Leone. He dismisses her, but her gaze goes to me.
“Shouldn’t you be on the other floor?” she snaps at me. I blink at her, caught off guard by her tone. She points to my uniform with a sneer.
Vittorio’s gaze shifts lazily to her, his eyes narrowing in disdain. “What floor? What are you talking about, girl?” he spits, his tone dripping with contempt.
She squares her shoulders, clearly trying to maintain her composure. “Yes, sir. She isn’t rostered on this floor. I would know since I am tonight’s floor manager.”
Mr. Pressutti snorts loudly, his disdain palpable. “She is fine here with us,” he tells her, waving her off dismissively as if she were nothing more than an irritating insect. His nonchalance is almost shocking, even to me, as he turns his attention back to his drink.
The floor manager’s face flushes with a mix of embarrassment and anger. She nods stiffly, pursing her bright red lips and steeling her gaze. “Can I get you anything else?” she asks, her voice strained.
Vittorio doesn’t even bother to look at her. “No,” he grunts, his attention already elsewhere. Dismissed, she turns on her heel and leaves, her posture rigid with suppressed fury.
Leone watches her retreat with a faint smirk before leaning back in his chair. “People need to learn their place,” Vittorio murmurs, his eyes flicking back to me briefly.
“As she will,” Leone states, he glances over his shoulder at her.
Leone’s voice slices through the air. “Yes, come here.” His words are like ice shards piercing through the thick air. I don’t dare to look at the girl; my gaze locks on the windows. Surely he wouldn’t be so cruel to parade her in front of me?
Suddenly, a sharp cry breaks me out of my thoughts. I flinch at the sound, instinctively turning around. My heart hammers in my chest as my eyes take in the sight in front of me.
Leone has the girl bent over the table, her wrist twisted behind her back at an unnatural angle. She cries again, her mascara-smeared eyes wide open in terror and cherry-red lipstick smeared across her face. Her blonde hair is disheveled and falling out of its meticulously styled updo.
Her skimpy cocktail dress rides up her thighs, sequins glinting under the lights as she squirms under Leone’s grip. The fear is palpable on her painted face, but there’s something else, too: embarrassment.
“You were warned last time. Disrespect my wife again…” Leone snarls into her ear, his voice dangerously low and full of menace. “I will slice up that face of yours, which is your only asset.” My heart thumps rapidly against my chest and I watch in horror as the girl’s eyes well up with tears, her body trembling under Leone’s relentless grip. An uncomfortable silence falls over the room, punctuated only by the girl’s soft whimpering.
“Then we’ll see how many tips you get then,” he adds with a cruel grin.
The girl whimpers, nodding her understanding, and Leone releases her with a disgusted push. She stumbles forward, catching herself on the edge of the table before rushing out of the room as fast as her high heels will allow. It’s then when Milo returns and glances around at the quietness of the table.
“Jesus, so much drama tonight. Anyone would think this place is a circus,” Vittorio comments, digging his handkerchief from his pocket and passing it to Milo. Milo takes it, looking at him questionably when Vittorio touches the collar of his own shirt.
“You’re not usually sloppy, Milo. Rule 1: try not to wear your victims in public,” Vittorio says, and my eyes go to Milo’s shirt only to glance away.
“Bastard tried to run,” Milo comments, cleaning his collar. He curses when he only makes it worse.
“Go, take Fallon with you; I’m sure she’s had enough excitement for one night. I will drop Leone home,” Vittorio tells him, but Milo looks at Leone, who nods.
I move to get up, excited to go home if it means getting away from Dante and Vittorio when Leone jerks me toward him. I nearly fall into his lap, but he holds me steady and then captures my chin.
“We’ll talk when I am home,” he tells me, and I nod once, wondering what punishment he’ll dish out next. He then leans closer, brushing his lips against mine softly.
“Go. I won’t be long.” Leone lets me go, and I move toward Milo.
When I reach him, he steps closer. “What happened?” I shake my head, and he says nothing, but when I steal a glance at him, I can see he is tense at Leone’s comment.
“I won’t let him put you back in the basement,” he whispers, and I sigh. I wish he wouldn’t make promises we both know he can’t keep. There is nothing he could do if Leone did lock me in the basement again. I know it, and he knows it. The basement is a constant threat hanging over me, a place of darkness and isolation which terrifies me to my core.
Milo’s words, though well-intentioned, are a flimsy shield against Leone’s actions. I can see the worry etched in Milo’s eyes, the fear of knowing he can’t protect me from the man who commands him. His loyalty to Leone is as strong as his affection for me, creating an impossible conflict. And one I doubt I would win in the end.
“I appreciate you saying that,” I whisper back, my voice trembling with the weight of our shared reality. “But we both know if Leone decides to send me back there, nothing will stop him.”
Milo’s grip on my hand tightens, his expression pained. “I’ll find a way,” he insists, but the desperation in his voice betrays his uncertainty. “I won’t let him do this to you again.”
We leave the room, and I feel Leone’s penetrating gaze on my back until we are out of his sight. Milo leads me toward the elevator; the silence between us is as deafening as the pounding in my chest. How long would it be before Leone’s cruel nature turns its attention to me?
As soon as the elevator doors close, I lean against the mirrored wall, trying to calm my racing heart. In the reflection, I see Milo watching me closely. His calculating eyes studying my every move.
My gaze shifts away from him and to my own reflection. My once vibrant blonde hair is now dull and lifeless, my skin pale under the harsh light. Underneath Leone’s tyranny, I had lost more than just my freedom; I had lost myself.
The ding of the elevator pulls me out of my self-pitying thoughts as we step out into the underground parking lot. Milo ushers me out, and we walk in silence toward his car parked at the back wall, where I notice a few different expensive-looking cars, making me wonder how many cars they own exactly. The night is cold and unforgiving, but not as much as what awaits me inside Leone’s house. At least for a few days, I won’t have to worry about Leone trying to impregnate me with his vile baster insemination tool for his devil spawn.
Milo opens the car door for me. I hesitate, but then I remember his promise. He won’t let Leone hurt me again. So I climb into the black leather seat and fasten my seatbelt, praying he meant what he said. I don’t think I can handle being back in the basement, back in the dark, and I curse myself now for talking back to his father.
The car ride is silent, but it isn’t awkward, unlike earlier. It seems like Milo understands the chaos swirling inside my head and gives me the silence I need to gather my thoughts.