Chapter 12
Twelve
O nce we reach Leone’s grand mansion, Milo turns off the engine but remains sitting still in his seat. He turns to me, and there is something different about him tonight—a softness replaces his usual stoic demeanor.
“Fallon,” he begins, turning his gaze to meet mine. “I know you’re scared. Terrified even.” He pauses, staring down at his lap. For a moment, I think he won’t continue. But then he inhales deeply. “I know you didn’t ask for this life, but please try. I’m not saying you need to forgive him, but don’t make this harder on yourself. The more you fight him, the worse he’ll get.”
“Is my father still alive?” I ask him. “Or did Leone only say that because he needed me to behave in front of his father?”
Milo sighs and scrubs a hand down his face. “Your father is perfectly fine.” He pauses for a second and stares vacantly out the window. “Leone knows you’d do anything for your family. He also knows killing them will make you disobedient; he’d have no leverage to make you compliant. Leone may be cold and an asshole right now—” he stops short as he knows full well he shouldn’t say more.
“But what?” I ask. My anxiety is already high, knowing he wants me awake when he gets home. I doubt it’s for a friendly chat.
“Leone is only being an asshole because you hurt him when you ran off with Marcus.” I scoff, and Milo grits his teeth. “You don’t understand. Once he killed Lydia, he hadn’t been in another relationship since. Women were nothing but tools to him, a means to an end. But with you, he was different; he was softer. He was trying, Fallon.”
I scoff. “Ordering me around and trying to force a baby on me with a fucking turkey baster as an insemination tool? That is trying?” I ask incredulously.
Milo’s jaw clenches as he turns to face me directly, the moonlight casting shadows across his earnest expression. “Yes, he’s harsh, controlling. His methods are unbelievable, and I won’t excuse his behavior. But you have to understand, Fallon. Before you, Leone hadn’t let anyone in—not since Lydia. He was broken, guarded. You changed him, even if it was just a little bit.”
I shake my head, frustration, anger, and confusion swirling within me. “By locking me up? By threatening me and raping me with a turkey baster? That’s his way of showing… whatever you think he’s showing?”
“Leone says he fears nothing,” Milo says quietly, almost to himself, as if admitting something painful. “But he fears letting another woman in. His methods are wrong—hell, they’re atrocious—but in his twisted mind, it’s how he keeps you close. When you ran with Marcus, it confirmed his worst fears that you’d betray him like Lydia did.”
“But I didn’t choose any of this,” I whisper, my voice breaking under the weight of my stifled tears. “I was taken, forced into this life. How does he not see the terror he puts me through?”
Milo reaches out tentatively, his hand hovering before gently resting on my arm. “Because he’s viewing everything through his own scars and fears. But that doesn’t mean he’s right. I’m not defending him, Fallon. I’m just trying to help you understand the man I’ve known all my life.”
I let Milo’s words sink in, the pieces of Leone’s twisted psyche assembling into a clearer yet still disturbing picture.
“Tonight,” Milo continues, his voice a soft murmur, “just try to stay calm. Show him you can fit into this life. It might ease his need for control.”
“And what about what I need? Does nobody care about what I want?” The question slips out, laden with years of pent-up frustration and pain.
Milo’s eyes meet mine, filled with sympathy making my heart ache. “I know it’s not fair, Fallon. I wish things could be different. But survival here doesn’t always mean fighting back—not directly. It means playing the long game.”
“What exactly are you hoping to achieve by telling me this? It changes nothing!” I snap at him.
“I’m hoping you’ll listen if not for your father and Emma but to save your own damn life. Leone won’t hesitate to kill you once he has got a baby out of you. He has no means for you then, so you need to give him one.”
“Give the man who has everything something?” I almost laugh.
“He doesn’t have a wife. On paper, yes, but you aren’t at a total disadvantage here.” Milo’s eyes are hard and unyielding as he leans closer, his voice lowering to a near whisper. “The man would tear the world apart brick by brick for those he loves, Fallon. Make sure you’re one of them.”
I stare at him, incredulous. “He doesn’t seem like the type to care about love or trust. He rules through fear and power.”
Milo’s gaze darkens. “You’re missing the point. Leone has power, wealth, and control. But what he lacks is a legacy—someone to carry his name and solidify his empire. He needs a family to secure his position. He needs someone he can trust implicitly, someone who can be his partner in this ruthless world. And that someone could be you.”
A chill runs down the entire length of my body as I realize the gravity of his words. “Why would he ever trust me? I’m just a pawn to him.”
“He doesn’t have someone to love, someone he can trust, someone to build a family with, to claim his empire. This is crucial for a man in his position. He needs a strong ally by his side, someone who can bear the weight of his world with him. If you become indispensable to him, you gain leverage. Make yourself irreplaceable.”
I swallow hard, the implications finally sinking in. “You think I can be that person for him?”
Milo’s eyes soften slightly. “Leone is a man raised in violence. But even he needs someone to keep him grounded amidst the chaos. He might not show it, but he’s capable of loyalty, of a twisted form of love. You need to become that for him. It’s not about love in the way you think.”
I glance away, the weight of Milo’s words pressing down on me. “And if I fail?”
Milo’s voice drops lower, a harsh whisper. “Then you’ll end up like all the others who crossed him—discarded and forgotten. You don’t have the luxury of failure, Fallon. You have to play this game better than anyone else.”
“So you want me to make him love me? Exactly how am I supposed to do that?” I ask him.
“By giving him the one thing he wants most. Control,” Milo tells me. But it also means trusting a man who certainly hasn’t earned it.
Milo’s expression softens, his hand briefly squeezing mine in a gesture of support. “Good. Just remember, be smart. Be patient. And above all, be indispensable. Make sure when he thinks of his future, you’re the only one he sees standing by his side.”
I swallow hard, trying to wrap my mind around the enormity of what he’s asking of me. “And what about you, Milo? Where do you fit into Leone’s future?”
Milo’s eyes meet mine, a flicker of something raw and unguarded in their depths. “I’m already irreplaceable to Leone. He needs me, and he knows it. I’m not going anywhere. I belong with him.”
Milo’s gaze softens further, and he reaches out to gently brush a strand of hair from my face. “But I want to belong to you, too, Fallon.”
The admission catches me off guard, and for a moment, I can’t find the words to respond. The weight of his confession hangs between us, adding another layer of complexity to an already tangled web. “Milo…”
“I know it’s complicated,” he interrupts, his voice steady but filled with an intensity which leaves no room for doubt. “But I need you to understand I’m not just doing this for Leone. I’m doing it for you, too. I need you to be safe, to be with us, to be with me.”
A lump forms in my throat as I grapple with my thoughts. “I don’t know if I can be that person, Milo.”
“You’re asking the impossible of me. Leone is incapable of love. He’s capable of control, possession, death, and God knows what other atrocities—but not love.”
Milo shakes his head, a frown creasing his brow. “That’s not true. Leone loves me. He loves Rocco. You don’t know him like I do. The things I’ve seen him do when he feels his loved ones and those he holds dear are threatened… He’d turn on his own blood without a second thought. Family isn’t about blood to Leone; it’s about loyalty, appreciation, and being there when it counts. The only reason Dante is still breathing is he serves a purpose—keeping Vittorio distracted.”
It makes me think of when he put a gun to Dante’s head for Rocco. Also, how Rocco isn’t afraid to speak back to Leone like most people. Just like Milo.
“How did Rocco earn Leone’s loyalty?” I ask now, suddenly curious. Milo’s eyes hold a serious glint as he explains, his voice low.
“When Rocco, Leone, and I were in our twenties, things were… different. Leone wasn’t as controlled as he is now. One night, things got out of hand.”
I listen, my breath catching as he turns his attention to the windows of the mansion. “Leone had been trying to help Lydia get clean. He felt responsible for her addiction—she was hooked on his gear. He found her high at a dealer’s place, one of his own men. He lost it completely and killed the dealer in a rage.”
Milo pauses the weight of the memory pressing down on him. “The problem was, the dealer was the son of a local politician, and someone called the police over a supposed domestic disturbance. When the cops showed up, it was a mess.”
He sighs heavily, the shadows in the car seeming to deepen around us. “Rocco stepped up. He took the blame for everything. Said it was him who killed the dealer. Leone tried to pull every string and used every contact he had to lessen the sentence, but Rocco still got six years in prison. The judge couldn’t ignore the pressure completely, not with the victim being who he was, even if his father disowned his son.”
My heart pounds as I absorb the gravity of Rocco’s sacrifice. “And the politician?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Milo’s expression darkens. “He retaliated. While Rocco was in prison, his sister and mother were killed.” He hesitates for a second then continues. “Leone didn’t just kill the politician quickly in return. Over those six years, he dismantled the man’s life completely. Stripped him of his cartel connections, isolated him. He took his wife, and his kids, and turned his allies against him. By the time Leone was done, the man was nothing.”
I shudder, picturing the cold, calculated destruction Leone is capable of. “And Rocco?” I manage to ask.
“The day Rocco was released, Leone was there, and he’s never left his side since. He made Rocco family and gave him a new purpose. That’s why Rocco would die for Leone. And why Leone would kill for him.”
Milo’s voice softens as he continues, his gaze holding mine in the rearview mirror. “Leone might come off as unfeeling, but he’s capable of caring—deeply and completely. He’s harsh because he wants to forge you into someone who can stand beside him. You’re his wife, which gives you more power and influence than you realize.”
I scoff lightly, still skeptical. “And you think he can learn to love me?”
Milo nods confidently. “I think he already does. If he didn’t, you wouldn’t be alive. Leone doesn’t keep things—or people—he doesn’t value. He’s a complex man. He feels things deeply, even if he buries them.”
I ponder what he said, the notion I could wield some influence over Leone is both empowering and terrifying. “And what about you, Milo?” I ask, curiosity piqued. “Where do you stand in all of this?”
Milo’s gaze is intense as he turns to face me fully, the car’s interior casting shadows across his features, giving him an even more foreboding look. “I’ve watched you for years, obsessed because I couldn’t look away. I feared it, feared what it would do to you.”
His voice drops to a whisper, filled with a dark intensity. “Bringing someone into this life—it can destroy them. Ruin them in ways they can’t ever come back from. I didn’t want that for you.”
I swallow hard, feeling a chill despite the car’s warmth. “Why not take me, then? If you wanted me, why not just take me away from all this?” I ask, the words heavy with accusation and curiosity.
Milo’s laugh is hollow, devoid of any real amusement. “I would have locked you away out of fear of people knowing you could be used against me. You would have been my caged bird.”
The stark admission makes my stomach squeeze at the thought. “How is it different from how Leone keeps me? And why now? Now that I’m Leone’s wife?” The question feels like a plea for some kind of twisted understanding.
Milo leans closer, his eyes locking onto mine with a predatory intensity. “Because now, Leone stands as a barrier between you and them, between you and me. He won’t let me go too far, won’t let me do the irreversible. With him, you’re protected from the darkest parts of me. But more importantly, no one touches a Pressutti woman without paying the consequences. His name alone paints a target on your back in some ways, but it also makes you untouchable. Only those stupid enough would dare try to steal Leone’s woman.” Milo tells me when I see car lights pulling up behind us.
“And if I can’t grow to love him?” The question hangs between us, laden with fear and uncertainty.
Milo’s expression hardens, his gaze becoming steely. “Then you play the part so well no one, not even Leone, can see the difference. Because if you don’t, the consequences…”
Leone steps out of the car with Rocco. Rocco heads inside, but Leone wanders over and opens my door. “I said wait up for me; I didn’t mean wait in the car?” he says, peering in at us both.
“We were talking, got distracted,” Milo answers. Leone steps back, and I step out, but Leone shuts the door while walking inside. I follow him inside with Milo, but Milo wanders toward the kitchen, and Leone heads upstairs. I stop, not sure whom to follow.
“Are you putting me back in the basement?” I ask, not knowing what I am meant to do. Leone said to wait up for him but never said why, or if that is so he could shove me back in my cell. Leone pauses on the stairs.
“Is that where you want to go?” he asks, and I shake my head. He knows the answer to his question already, so I don’t understand why he asked.
“Where do you want to sleep then?” he asks, and I swallow, trying to figure out what he means when I see Milo out of my peripheral, leaning against the wall in the hall.
“What do you mean?” I ask him, worried about answering wrong. Leone watches me for a second.
“Where do you want to sleep if not in the basement? There are plenty of rooms, Fallon,” he states. I want to tell him I’d rather sleep outside than be in the house with him, but remembering Milo’s words, I also know that would be a mistake.
“In our room,” I answer. He nods once and continues walking up the steps. I let out a breath and glance at Milo, who has a silly smirk on his face. I want to tell him to shut up, but I don’t. Instead, I jog up the steps to catch up to Leone.
He leads me through the corridors, the plush carpeting muffling our footfalls. I glance back long enough to see Milo disappear down another hallway.
Finally, Leone halts at a massive pair of double doors. He pushes them open and ushers me inside with a sweep of his uninjured arm. Suddenly, I am too aware of Leone’s presence behind me, I turn around just as he unbuttons his shirt, revealing a sculpted torso beneath. He shrugs off his shirt and tosses it on a nearby chair. I watch him walk bare-chested toward the adjoining bathroom.
Still apprehensive about being in this room alone with him, I make my way over to see what he’s doing. The sight that greets me makes my stomach churn. Leone is hunched over the sink while trying to dig a bullet out of his shoulder with a pair of tweezers.
Horror strikes me mute as I watch him work mercilessly on his wound. “How are you not in pain?” I force myself to ask, unable to tear my gaze away from the wound.
He smirks at my question, obviously finding amusement in my horrified expression. He reaches for a box of opioids - Hydromorphone - and tosses it toward me without breaking from his gruesome task. “You think I’m not?” He grunts out.
Casting a glance toward the bedroom, hearing the door open. Milo steps in, closes the door, and swiftly locks it. Returning my attention to Leone.
“Maybe you should go to a hospital?” I offer, and he stares at me, and I feel like an idiot at my suggestion. Moving closer, I pluck the tweezers from his fingers, slipping between him and the sink basin. I sit on the edge, and Leone raises an eyebrow at me.
“Milo will do it if I can’t get it out,” Leone tells me. Leaning forward, I look at the wound.
“And miss my chance to make you squirm?” I quip.
“Funny,” he murmurs, his voice strained as he grips the edge of the sink. His knuckles turn white under the pressure, but I notice him trying to control his breathing, a hint of vulnerability he hardly ever shows.
Leone grits his teeth, a bead of sweat rolling down the side of his face as he battles the discomfort. From the corner of my eye, I see Milo leaning against the door, watching us, his eyes filled with an unreadable expression. Working carefully, I try not to let my hands tremble as I grip the tweezers. Focusing on his wound, I press down, and Leone sucks in a breath.
I glance up at him only to find him gritting his teeth, but he doesn’t utter a word of complaint. After a few agonizing moments, I managed to dislodge the metal piece. My sigh of relief mingles with Leone’s groan of pain, as I hold up the bullet. My hands tremble slightly, and I fight down the bile rising in my throat. It’s one thing to see Leone get shot; it’s another thing entirely to have the evidence of his mortality so starkly preserved.
“See? Not so bad,” I say, trying to sound braver than I feel.
“Good, let’s see how good you are with a needle and thread,” he tells me.
Leone’s words make me gulp, my bravado fading. I glance at Milo, secretly hoping for his aid, but he just watches silently from the doorway. His eyes are unreadable in the dim light, but there’s an unmistakable tension in the way he holds himself.
Swallowing hard, I nod at Leone and look around for a sewing kit while Milo steals Leone’s shower. After rummaging through a drawer on the vanity table, I locate a compact first aid kit with everything I need. Taking a deep breath to steady my trembling hands, I set to work cleaning the wound with some alcohol wipes.
Leone tenses under my touch as I dab at his shoulder but remains uncharacteristically silent. Maybe it’s the stoic acceptance of pain that makes me brave enough to continue. Or perhaps it’s his overwhelming presence that makes it impossible to think of anything but the task at hand.
Suddenly aware of his naked chest and the intimacy of our proximity, my face warms furiously. However, Leone doesn’t seem to notice or care about my embarrassment. The muscles of his bare chest ripple as he braces himself against the sink basin, his expression focused entirely on tolerating the pain.
“I…I need you to keep still,” I say, partly to remind myself to breathe and partly to break the intense silence that has settled around us.
Without waiting for a response from him, I draw out an almost comically large needle from the first aid kit and thread it with clinical precision. Leone watches me quietly through half-lidded eyes, but his gaze feels heavy like lead.
My hands tremble as I position myself again between him and the sink basin. The needle glimmers under the harsh bathroom light as I bite down on my lower lip apprehensively.
“Just focus on anything else,” I tell him.
“I am,” is all he replies, his voice barely a whisper. I feel his hand move to my thigh, offering a small squeeze. His touch is warm and gentle, a stark contrast to the cold brutality he shows the world.
The silence thickens as I press the needlepoint against his skin, pushing it in. Leone’s grip on my thigh tightens, but he doesn’t make a sound. An odd sense of relief washes over me, squashed by the realization my hands are far from steady.
Despite the discomfort and tension etched across his face, Leone stays remarkably still for me. I can’t help but admire his resilience, even in these raw moments of vulnerability. His dark eyes never leave mine, so full of hidden depth and emotion it takes my breath away.
Moments pass in slow motion as I finish stitching up his wound. Satisfied with my handy work, I step back, letting out a shaky breath. “Done,” I breathe out, staring at him with a triumphant smile.
Leone’s gaze lingers on me for a moment longer then moves down to inspect my handiwork. His hand drops from my thigh slowly as he nods in approval. He steps away just as Milo hops out of the shower, and Leone drops his pants.
Milo reaches for a towel and wraps it around his waist before surprising me and pecking my lips. “I’ll get you some pajamas,” he tells me, wandering out, and I look at the shower only to find Leone watching me. He nudges the shower screen door open, and I remove my top but then hesitate when I am about to remove my pants, remembering I have my period. Leone, noticing my hesitation, gives me his back, allowing me to remove my pants and dispose of everything. Yet the moment I step into the shower, I find myself pinned against the shower wall by my throat.
“What are you playing at?”
“Nothing,” I stutter, wondering what I did.
“What did you and Milo talk about in the car?”
“Nothing important,” I manage to spit out, my heart pounding against my ribcage. His menacing stare bores into me. Not even the hot spray of the shower can wash away the cold dread… and something else. Something darker and harder to define that makes my stomach flip.
“Don’t lie to me,” he growls. His grip on my throat tightens for a brief moment before relaxing again, a silent warning chills me to the bone.
“I swear,” I say, trying to sound as sincere as I possibly can. “We were just talking about… about Rocco. He said Rocco went to prison for you.”
His brow furrows at the mention of his name, and for a moment, he seems almost human. But then the hardness returns to his eyes, and I can see him struggling against some inner turmoil.
“Why?” he demands.
“Because I wanted to know why you were so close with him and Milo.” I blurt in panic.
“And why would you want to know?” he asks, his grip tightening like he believes I am spying or prying. I don’t know what to think of his reaction.
“I don’t know, I just asked. I’m not doing anything, Leone. I’ve done nothing wrong!”
“Hours ago you couldn’t stand being near me, and now I am expected to believe you want to play my wife?” he snarls.
“No, I don’t want… I didn’t mean…” My voice trails off, gesturing wildly as I stumble over my words. The heat in his gaze makes me feel exposed, vulnerable, like prey cornered by a predator far too powerful to fight.
“Just what do you think you’re doing?” His fingers dig into my skin, and I wince. “You hate me. You’ve made it abundantly clear.”
“I don’t,” I say. It’s automatic, a knee-jerk defense, but it only seems to fuel his anger.
“You don’t?” He barks a laugh, and it echoes around the bathroom. “What changed? Is it Milo? Because if you think?—”
“No!” This time, my voice is firm, cutting him off mid-sentence. “It’s not about him! Or you! Or any of this!” Annoyance flares up inside me. “I just… wanted to understand.”
His grip eases slightly, but the suspicion doesn’t leave his eyes. Leone steps back, water splashing against his muscular frame.
“Why?”
“Why is it so hard for you to believe someone might care about your past?” A cold expression settles on his face, so different from the heat of just moments ago.
“Leone, I’m sorry I won’t ask again—” I stutter, trying to form a coherent thought through the panic and confusion. But before I can get the words out, he’s pulled away abruptly, the cold tiles of the shower stark against my skin once more.
It is a lose-lose situation. If I refute his claims, he will see it as deception. If I agree with his accusations, the consequences would be no better, yet I don’t want to end up back in the basement, and I fear this is where it is leading.
“I could have run tonight, and I didn’t,” I murmur.
He stares at me for a moment longer, his brown eyes a maelstrom of emotion. “I could have run right out those doors at the casino. Instead, I ran to you,” I admit.
“Because you needed me to stop Penso from killing you. Don’t pretend it wasn’t anything else.”
“Yes, but I also knew I was safer with you than out there after tonight. I could have let the man finish you off, too, at the warehouse, and I didn’t.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
My brows crease, but I have no answer, none which makes sense to me.
Then, without another word, he turns away and pulls open the shower door.
“I find out you’re up to something,” he doesn’t finish. He doesn’t need to.
Just then, Milo returns with my pajamas, and Leone shoves past him and Milo looks at me questionably. I shake my head and finish showering, only to step out into the room to find Milo on his side of the bed and Leone steps in from the balcony, having finished a smoke.
He glances at me from the corner of his eyes and moves toward the bed. “Smokes are on the table if you want one,” he tells me. He’s trusting me on the balcony by myself. Milo rolls as I move into the room and around the other side of the bed. Reaching the balcony, I step outside, and the sun is coming up. I groan, but step outside. Snatching his packet up and lighting one, only to cough my lungs up at the harshness. Instantly, I regret smoking after not having one in weeks. Yet after a few more drags on it, I let out a breath only to hear the sliding door open. Looking over at it, I find it’s Leone.
I move to put it out, thinking he wants me back inside when he speaks.
“You can finish it.”
I sit back on the chair.
“Milo said you don’t want to go back to the basement,” he continues. “That you’ll try?”
I nod.
“But you don’t want a baby,” he says. I say nothing, knowing lying won’t work when he knows the answer already.
“We are having dinner with my mother tomorrow night. You mess it up, you go back to the basement.”
I nod. “I won’t,” I tell him, putting the smoke out and moving toward the door. He blocks it. Looking down at me, he clenches his jaw but eventually steps back inside, and I follow, closing the door. He climbs into bed, and I climb over him to the middle, where Milo opens his arms. I don’t hesitate to accept his warmth as I lay down, only to stare at Leone’s back.