Chapter 15
Fifteen
L eone
The quiet in the car is a living thing, suffocating and dense; it seems to breathe on its own, making each breath I take harsher. I’m coiled tight, and every muscle tenses as memories of the night play on an endless loop in my head. Fallon’s profile is etched against the windowpane, her eyes distant. The depth of green there is like looking into a forest at dusk—dark, mysterious, impenetrable.
My thoughts spiral back to earlier. Fallon had been gone too long, and I was about to go find her. But then my father’s hand landed on my shoulder, heavy and restraining.
“No need,” he told me, his voice a low rumble. “She’s in the hall by the kitchen,” he says, and I glance at Milo, who is watching me.
I turn to him, my suspicion a live wire snapping in the air between us. “How do you know that?”
“I’m aware of everything that happens under my roof. I got a notification that someone was in the kitchen with your mother, motion detection.”
My father’s fingers brush over his phone. The screen springs to life with the grainy image of the kitchen. I lean forward, heart hammering, until they landed on someone slightly off-screen—my mother, a glass clutched in her unsteady grip.
“Damn it,” my father hisses through clenched teeth, “Where the fuck did Lorenzo go!”
He shoves his chair out and gets to his feet when my mother looks up, her eyes moving to the door, and Fallon steps in.
My own hands tighten into fists at the sight of my mother. So much for being sober. It is a struggle we have seen too many times, a routine that never ends well. The vodka, the trembling hands…
“Wait,” the word leaves my lips in a hiss, halting my father mid-rise. My focus remains glued to the screen where Fallon’s silhouette moves toward my mother, and I grab his phone, fiddling with the volume. She reaches for the glass cradled in my mother’s shaking grasp. A sob broke from my mother, a sound which claws at my chest.
I watched, my heart pounding against my ribcage, as Fallon did the unthinkable. Wondering why she would stop her. She not only coaxed the glass away but also stood as a shield when Lorenzo sauntered in and caught my mother, his presence like an oil slick on clean water. With a lie that flowed from her lips as easily as the breath she took, she protected my mother—swallowing down liquor.
Even my father stopped in his tracks to see how Fallon was handling her, but I could tell he didn’t expect Fallon to fend for her against one of his men. He is just like me, caught between being angry my mother was drinking and Fallon lied for her, but also shocked how Fallon stood her ground and didn’t throw my mother under the bus. My father stares at the screen thoughtfully.
However, when Lorenzo tried to force her to drink another, I was out of my seat. Rage bubbled up, hot and acidic in my throat. The room beyond the screen became my reality in mere moments as I stalked into the kitchen, the stench of alcohol assaulting my senses immediately.
The glass hovered inches from Fallon’s lips, her green eyes widening in shock—or was it relief? I didn’t pause to consider. My hand closed around the glass, its contents sloshing over the rim, and I brought it to my own lips.
The burn of the alcohol was nothing compared to the fire that raged within me. As the last drop slid down my throat, I met Fallon’s gaze and she stepped away from me as if she thought she was in trouble. Yet I hold her tight against me for a second, letting her calm me enough not to kill Lorenzo.
I shake the memory away as the engine’s purr fades into the night as we reach our home. My gaze keeps darting to Fallon, who’s nestled in the corner of the backseat. The shadows play across her features, but they can’t hide her nervousness. It still has me wondering about what game she is playing. She hates me yet stopped the man sneaking up on me in the warehouse and now defended my mother. What is she playing at?
“You'll remain,” I command, my voice slicing through the heavy silence cocooning us. There’s a weight to my words, an unspoken gravity which seems to make her pause.
Milo throws me a questioning look as he steps out of the driver’s side, his dark eyes probing for an explanation. Rocco follows suit, both men’s movements stiff with confusion. They linger, their forms silhouetted against the mansion’s grand entrance, but I dismiss them with a sharp jerk of my head. This is not their concern; this moment belongs to Fallon and me alone.
I focus on her, her green eyes reflecting oddly in the darkness of the car. She doesn’t flinch under my scrutiny, nor does she cower. Instead, she holds my stare.
“You surprised me tonight.” I begin, my voice low, the word almost a caress.
Her lips part, perhaps to offer a retort or an explanation, but I plow forward, cutting off any response. “Standing up to Lorenzo, putting yourself between him and my mother… Why?”
She shifts, her hands clenching in her lap, betraying the nerves she tries to hide. “I’m… I’m not sure myself,” she admits, her voice shaking just slightly. “I like your mother…” she pauses as if choosing her words wisely before deciding she’ll answer. Yet her fear of her words upsetting me is evident. “There’s something about your mother’s vulnerability… It reminded me of my own, I guess. And I don’t know why, but in that moment, it felt like the right thing to do. She didn’t drink it; he was going to tell your father.”
I can’t help but look at her in a new light. Most people are deterred by Father’s men, let alone attempting to intervene their actions. But her? She had the guts to stand up against one of my father’s most fearsome - Lorenzo, no less.
“Lorenzo wouldn’t hurt her,” I tell her, and she glances away.
“Your father?” she asks, looking away and I swallow thickly. I don’t offer her a reply, I don’t need to. We both know the answer already.
Instead, I change the subject completely and swivel to face her fully, my body tensing as I ask her the question playing on my mind since the night the Russians attacked. “Why are you behaving?” The words come out low and intense, slicing through the quiet. “Why aren’t you fighting me anymore?”
Fallon’s eyes hold mine, unwavering. Her chest rises and falls with measured breaths.
“I don’t want to fight you anymore,” she says, and her voice, usually so full of fire, trembles like a leaf in the wind. I don’t believe her; she has to be playing some game, have some motive behind her actions.
“Why? What has changed?” I demand. My eyes bore into hers, searching for the truth she must be hiding. “Because you think I’ll get rid of you once you give me what I want?”
Her pulse flutters visibly at the base of her throat. She inhales sharply.
“No. I can’t keep living in constant battle with you—it’s exhausting, Leone.”
The vulnerability in her eyes is naked raw, and for a moment, I catch a glimpse of the woman behind the facade she mostly hides behind.
“I know you won’t hesitate to get rid of me once I give you what you want.”
“So suddenly you’re gonna be a good girl?” I scoff, the sound harsh in the quiet interior of the car. Leaning forward, I brace my arm on the back of her seat, the gesture caging her without touch. “So, what?” My voice drips with disbelief and a dark edge of humor. “Because you don’t want to die, I’m expected to just trust you are now going to behave?”
Her body is tense like a wire pulled taut, ready to snap. The air between us crackles with electricity, charged with the unspoken truths and lies we’ve woven around each other. The game has always been about power, about control. Yet here we are, teetering on the brink of something far more dangerous—something that could shatter all our pretenses.
“It’s not just that,” she finally breaks the quiet, voice trembling. Her gaze fixes on something distant, something beyond the leather and steel confines of the car. “I… I see things differently now. I see you differently.”
“What do you mean?” I ask her.
“It doesn’t matter; I just don’t want to fight; it is pointless. It’s cold. I wanna go inside,” she murmurs.
Her words hang between us, delicate and dangerous. I want to grasp them, to understand, but before I can sift through their meaning, she’s moving, reaching for the door handle with a desperation which snatches my attention from contemplation to action.
“Where do you think you’re going?” My voice is a low growl. My hand moves, snatching her arm and pulling her back into the car, and she tries to shake me off. “Leone?” she jerks her arm away and tries to climb out, but I rip her back, making her fall on me. She doesn’t just get to walk off when I am talking to her! Leather creaks under her weight as I pin her against the seat. At the same moment, Milo rips the door open. I don’t bother lifting my gaze, knowing it’s him, he is the only one stupid enough to challenge me over her.
“Close the door, Milo,” I snap, my voice a lethal calm belying the storm raging within me. The muscle in his jaw twitches, a subtle sign of inner conflict, as he takes in the scene before him—Fallon pinned beneath me, her chest heaving with shallow breaths, her eyes wide and wild yet locked onto mine.
Milo’s hesitation is tangible, a palpable pause where loyalty and his love for her wage war behind those calculating brown eyes, making me lift my gaze to him when he doesn’t do what I say immediately. His gaze darts from Fallon’s vulnerable form to my iron grip on her arm, and for a moment, I can see the calculations running through his mind, weighing his next move and if it will make her situation worse. But then, slowly, the fight leaves his frame, and with a resigned nod, he closes the door.
The click of the door closing reverberates through the silence, sealing us inside. Milo’s presence fades away as the soft thud of his footsteps retreats into the distance, leaving only the sound of our uneven breathing.
“Leone…” Her voice breaks the spell, a tremble threading through her name for me, stirring an unexpected warmth deep within my chest.
“You’re not to walk away from me when I’m talking to you,” I say, my voice a dangerous whisper filling the car like a chilling fog. Her gaze doesn’t waver, but I can see it—the quickening pulse at her throat, the fear tainting those deep green eyes.
For a moment, we just stare at each other, the air thick with tension. “I don’t like how Milo is willing to get between us. You’re causing a rift between us.”
Her eyes flash with anger. “I’m not stealing Milo from you!” she screams at me, her voice echoing in the confined space.
“No, but he’s stealing you from me,” I retort, the realization hitting me harder than I expected.
She looks taken aback, her mouth opening and closing as she searches for a response. “You belong to me,” I continue, my voice a growl. “And if you keep causing a rift, one of you will have to go. I won’t be a third wheel in my marriage or my friendship with Milo. So, what is it, Fallon? If I have to choose between you both, who am I choosing?”
Tears slip down her face as she looks at me, her eyes wide with fear and resignation. “I know it won’t be me,” she whispers, her voice breaking.
I lean closer, my breath hot against her skin. “So, tell me, Fallon, are you going to betray Milo and tell me to choose you over him?”
She doesn’t answer, her eyes fill with tears she is trying to keep at bay.
“Who am I killing?” I scream in her face, my voice raw with emotion.
“Neither!” she yells back, her voice shaking but firm.
“Neither?” I question, my eyes narrowing as I study her face.
She chews her lip nervously, her eyes never leaving mine. “Neither,” she repeats, her voice steady despite the tears streaming down her face.
I shove off her, and she quickly sits up, rubbing her arms like she is cold. I remove my jacket, giving it to her. She hesitantly takes it.
“You ran off with Marcus, another man, and now I’m expected to let you roam free,” I laugh, but there is no humor in it, just the stupidity of what Milo wants.
“You want me back in the basement?” she stutters, and my eyes dart to her.
“Milo and I will come to blows if I put you back down there but that doesn't mean I trust you.”
“I’m not going to run; I was scared. It would be pointless, anyway. You’d catch me and… I don’t want to,” her voice drops at the last part as if she is also trying to understand their meaning.
“What do you mean?” I ask.
“Fear,” she whispers, her gaze snapping back to meet mine. Her eyes are wide and vulnerable, the emerald depths shimmering with unshed tears. “When you first took me… all I could feel was fear. But now… I see more than just the monster everyone thinks you are. I see…” she trails off, her voice dropping to a whisper as she loses herself in her thoughts.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I finally manage to spit out, trying to keep my tone steady.
But Fallon simply shakes her head which gives me pause. “I think I do,” she counters softly.
A flash of something akin to alarm flares up in my chest because getting close means vulnerability and that’s not an option for me.
“I’ve seen you as nothing more than a monster—a heartless man who thrives on suffering and pain.” Her eyebrows furrow involuntarily as if the words cause her pain, too. “But after everything that’s happened… After seeing your father… After seeing your son’s Angelo’s room…”
A silence descends upon us—awkward but strangely comforting. It is thenI notice it: the tangible difference in our dynamic. There’s no hatred in her eyes now—no anger or defiance. Instead, there’s only honesty—an honesty which scares me more than any deceit ever could.
“I don’t forgive you,” Fallon continues after a moment, her voice steadier now. “For everything you’ve done to me and my family—for forcing yourself into my life… But I can see now there’s more to you than just the crime boss persona.”
“I see,” she begins slowly, “a man who’s been molded by his environment, shaped by circumstances he didn’t choose. A man forced to play a role that was designed for him; and despite everything… a man capable of caring for his men.”
“But caring for you? I suppose that’s beyond my capabilities, isn’t it?” I interrupt, throwing her words back, my tone dripping with ice-cold sarcasm.
Her gaze meets mine again, those mesmerizing green eyes unwavering. “I’m not sure,” she whispers in response. “That’s something you need to figure out for yourself.”
My lips press into a line at the honesty behind her words. She isn’t pleading, nor is she trying to twist me around her little finger - merely stating the truth as she sees it.
She licks her lips nervously before meeting my gaze again. “And I can’t deny the… attraction.”
I blink, taken aback by her admission. She sounds sincere—it sounds like she means every word. But I can’t help but wonder what her game is. Is this just another ploy to get under my skin—to gain my trust, just to stab me in the back when I least expect it?
Something in her eyes, in her voice, makes me pause. I lean in closer, and she doesn’t pull away. “Prove it,” I whisper, my voice a low growl.
She stares for a second. “Pardon?” she says, confused.
“Prove you won’t fight me. Prove you want me and not just Milo.”
“Milo?” she asks, glancing out the window.
“He’s in love with you,” I answer, looking away. Turning back to her she watches me.
“I’m not Milo,” I remind her. She won’t get any devoted affection from me. “But you are mine. My wife. Milo, I allow because he does love you.”
“You make no sense?” she whispers. “You claim I am yours, but you’d share me?” She shakes her head.
“He’s like my brother. More importantly, he’ll make up for the things I can’t be for you. He’ll love you while…” my brows furrow as I try to think of where I was going with that.
“While what?” she asks.
“While I keep you safe.” I finally finish, yet why do I want more? Maybe she is right. Perhaps I am jealous. Jealous at how at ease she is with him and knowing she would choose him over me.
She nods slowly, peering out at Milo. “You told my mother we were trying for a baby, well that I was. But you would give her grandchildren,” I tell her, and she glances at me.
“Did you mean what you said?” I ask. She chews her lip nervously. I know she doesn’t want kids with me, but it’s not an option. However, I also don’t want to kill her, she thinks she’ll be like her mother, but I’ve seen her with Emma.
“Will you keep using the turkey baster,” she asks.
“Do I need to?” I ask her. She stares ahead for a moment, then shakes her head.
“And you won’t sabotage me getting you pregnant?” I ask her, leaning closer. She turns her face to look at me.
“I won’t fight you. If it happens, it happens,” she answers.
I swallow hard, the sensation of victory tingling through my veins. “So, you’re saying you won’t fight me?” I ask, peering down at her, my eyes challenging hers.
“In this,” she pauses and then continues, “yes.”
Her confirmation takes me aback. Not because she’s agreed but rather because there’s an underlying tone of resignation in her voice irking me. She’s agreeing to this not out of desire or love but from necessity, and that isn’t what I want.
“What do you want in return?” I ask, wanting to hear her say it.
For a moment, she appears taken aback by my question but then regains her composure. “You won’t hurt my family,” she tells me, then adds. “Or me. I want you to promise,” she says.
“I don’t want to hurt them or you, Fallon.”
“But you will,” she states.
“Only if you force my hand.”
“I won’t.”
“Then I won’t. Besides, I would never hurt Emma. You don’t have to worry about her; that’s what I can promise.” I admit.
“My father?”
“He’s still alive, isn’t he? But he gets between us…” I don’t finish.
“He won’t.”
I nod. She looks at me for a moment then nods, seeming to accept my answer. We lapse into silence again, the tension between us easing slightly even though we both know what’s about to happen next.
Leaning closer, I see the slightest hint of fear swirling in her eyes, and I force myself to pull back slightly. We have struck a truce of sorts, and I don’t wish to scare her off.
My hand reaches out and gently traces along her jawline as my body moves closer to hers. She doesn’t pull away this time; simply watches me with those entrancing green eyes.
“I won’t hurt you,” I whisper into her ear as I lean down to kiss her.
She doesn’t resist as I kiss her hard. Instead of fighting me, she kisses me back, her lips softening under mine, her body yielding to my touch as I drag her onto my lap so she is straddling me. My hands grip her ass as I deepen the kiss, only for her to pull away. “I’m bleeding, and we’re outside?” she murmurs, casting a glance at the windows.
“No one’s watching except Milo.” I chuckle, and she turns her face to look at him, and he winks at her. Her cheeks flush.
“Come on, we’ll head inside. It’s getting cold out.” I tell her, tapping her thigh. She climbs off me, and this time, I allow her to climb out of the car.
“Where’s Rocco?” she asks, peering around for him. Milo isn’t given a chance to answer when we all jump, hearing a scream. The next second, Sienna comes running from the side of the house, only for Rocco’s arms to lock around her and drag her back. She screams and thrashes.
“I’m not going, please. Rocco, please, you can’t let him,” she thrashes harder when Fallon speaks.
“Sienna?” she asks. Sienna stops fighting Rocco, catching her voice, and they both gape at each other. A moment of distraction for Sienna is enough for Rocco to contain her as she staggers toward Fallon.
“Fallon!” Her words die out as Rocco stabs her in the neck with a sedative. Sienna clutches her neck and then stares at her fingers. Her fear is palpable even from this distance. Sienna wobbles on her feet, and Rocco catches her while Fallon loses it and lunges toward Rocco, attacking him.
“You asshole, what did you do? What did you do to her!” Fallon shrieks while Rocco tries to dodge her fists, smacking into him. Milo grabs her, but Fallon clutches Sienna’s pajama top, refusing to let her go.
“No, Milo. It’s Sienna, he’s…”
“I know. He is not hurting her.” Milo tells her. I wander closer while Fallon is glaring at Rocco, who is clutching Sienna.
“I would never hurt her!” Rocco exclaims.
“You just stabbed her and knocked her out!” Fallon snaps.
“She ran when she learned her father was marrying her off again, she panicked!” Rocco says, and Fallon reluctantly lets her go and turns her gaze to me.
But my gaze is on Rocco, who is watching Sienna like she is the most precious thing.
“Take her back. We’ll see you in the morning. Make sure she doesn’t escape again,” I warn Rocco while Fallon gapes at me in horror.
“You’re not going to help her?” Fallon pleads with me.
“She is not my issue. What her father does with her is not my business.” Yet my eyes go to Rocco, catching his reaction, and he doesn’t seem happy about it.
“Issue?” I ask.
“Of course not…” he says, I can tell he wants to say something but doesn’t, so until he does, I won’t be interfering, though it is making me wonder if he has grown attached to her since he is the one looking after her.
“Please tell me you haven’t fucked her. Her father will have your head,” I remind him.
“You should know me better than that, Leone; I haven’t touched the girl; no one has,” he says, staring down at her in his arms.
“Ensure you don’t. I don’t need added drama right now,” I tell him, and he nods, wandering off. Fallon, not happy, stalks off inside.
“Leone?” Milo urges, falling in step with me.
“Until he asks, I am not getting involved.”
“But you will if he asks?” Milo says, and I glance at him.
“He’s family,” I answer, and that is all the confirmation Milo needs.