Chapter 18
Eighteen
F allon
The casino’s opulence glitters around me, a stark contrast to the tension coiled tight in my chest after the drive here; something is going on because Rocco, Milo, and Leone spoke not one word on the way here, Rocco seems to be in a particularly bad mood.
The air is thick with the scent of expensive cigars, perfume, and the subtle undercurrent of danger that always seems to accompany Leone wherever he goes. I walk beside him, my arm looped through his, feeling the weight of every gaze that lands on us. There’s a possessive edge to the way he keeps me close tonight, a clear signal to anyone watching that I belong to him or maybe something is going on that he hasn't mentioned.
Milo is right behind us, as always, his sharp eyes scanning the room for any threats while Rocco walks ahead of us. The tension in the air is palpable, a tangible thing that seems to cling to my skin.
Leone’s hand tightens around mine as we make our way through the casino, his dark eyes flicking around the room with the practiced ease of a man who is always in control. But I can sense the unease beneath his calm exterior, the way his muscles are coiled tight like a predator ready to strike. There’s something different about tonight—something that sets my nerves on edge.
We stop near one of the high-stakes poker tables, and I feel Leone’s hand slide to the small of my back, pulling me closer to him. He leans down, his lips brushing against my ear as he speaks in a low, warning tone.
“Stay close,” he murmurs. “And please behave.”
I nod, unable to speak past the lump in my throat. Whatever has Leone on edge has me on edge, too. I can’t afford to slip up tonight, not when I’m so close to earning even a sliver of his trust.
“Why, what is happening?” I whisper.
“Nothing. I have a meeting with my father and Sienna's. He is coming to collect her, but my father wanted to speak to him and make sure there will be no repercussions of me killing Marcel.”
“Why would there be repercussions?” I ask.
Leone’s lips brush my ear as he murmurs, “Because Marcel’s death wasn’t sanctioned. It was impulsive, and there are... implications.”
“Implications?” I echo, trying to grasp the gravity of his words.
He pauses for a moment, his hand tightening on mine. “Marcel was a player in a delicate balance of power, Fallon. Killing him without permission disrupts that balance. His death leaves a void, and there are many who would be eager to fill it—many who won’t be happy that I’ve interfered.”
I swallow hard, the weight of what he is telling me sinking in.
As we enter the private poker room off the main one, I notice the atmosphere change immediately. The room is dimly lit, with a long table in the center with plush chairs surrounding it. Sitting at the head of the table is Vittorio, Leone’s father, his imposing presence filling the space. But it’s the man seated opposite him who catches my attention.
“Dominic,” Leone greets with a cold nod. “It’s been a while.”
Dominic must be Sienna’s father. His salt-and-pepper hair is neatly combed back, and his eyes are sharp and calculating. He’s dressed impeccably, the kind of man who exudes power without needing to raise his voice.
Leone’s grip on my arm tightens as we approach, and I’m acutely aware of the fact this is the man who holds Sienna’s fate in his hands.
Dominic’s eyes land on me briefly before he looks back at Leone with a small, tight-lipped smile. “Leone,” he acknowledges, his voice smooth and dangerous. “I see you’ve brought a companion.”
Leone’s gaze hardens slightly as he introduces me. “This is Fallon, my wife.”
Dominic’s eyes flick to me again, assessing me with a quick, appraising glance and nodding curtly. “A pleasure, Fallon,” he says, though there’s a coldness to his tone.
Leone pulls out a chair for me beside him, and I sit, feeling the weight of Dominic’s gaze on me as he studies me like I’m a piece of meat.
“Your father said he wanted to meet me to make sure there is no bad blood about you holding Sienna,” Dominic says, turning his attention back to Leone as he shuffles a deck of cards with practiced ease. “Marcel’s death has caused quite a stir, Leone.”
Leone’s expression remains stoic, though I can feel the tension radiating from him. “Marcel was a problem that needed to be dealt with anyway; it would have only been a matter of time for him. He was becoming reckless, especially after that cargo ship went down,” he says coldly. “Your daughter overstepped, and he paid the price. Or would you rather I ended her?” Leone states.
Dominic nods thoughtfully, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the table. “Marcel may not have had a family, but he was well-connected. His death has left ripples in the underworld—ones that could come back to haunt all of us.”
Leone’s eyes narrow slightly, his voice taking on a more dangerous edge. “I’m not concerned with repercussions; I’m not part of that trade. Marcel’s influence was built on the backs of others’ suffering. His absence will be a blessing to more than just me.”
A tense silence settles over the room as Vittorio and Dominic exchange a glance, a silent conversation passing between them. I sit quietly, trying to absorb the weight of the conversation, understanding that in their world, even a dead man can still cast a long shadow.
“I assure you, I covered our tracks, nothing will come back on you or me,” Vittorio tells Dominic.
Dominic leans back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the cards in his hands. “And what of Sienna?” he asks, his voice casual, though I can sense the underlying tension.
Leone’s posture stiffens slightly, his jaw ticking as he replies. “She’s being returned to you, as agreed. But I want to know—who is this new man you’ve arranged for her?”
Dominic’s smile is tight, and a predatory gleam is in his eyes. “Anton Volkov.”
The name sends a tremor of tension through the room, and I feel Leone’s grip on my knee tighten reflexively. At the same time, Rocco, who had been standing silently by the door, suddenly tenses, his hands balling into fists as he moves closer.
“Volkov?” Leone repeats, his voice low, and I can hear the anger he is trying to hold back. “You’re giving her to that piece of shit?”
Dominic’s expression doesn’t change, though there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, perhaps. “Volkov is powerful and influential. Sienna will be well cared for.”
“Cared for?” Rocco snarls, stepping forward before Leone shoots him a warning glance, his hand raised in a silent command for Rocco to back off. Rocco’s jaw clenches, but he obeys, though his anger is palpable.
Leone’s eyes bore into Dominic’s, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he tries to maintain his composure. “Volkov is known for his… brutality,” Leone says coldly. “You’d let her marry a man like that? Sienna would be his, what, his fifth wife?”
Dominic’s smile widens, though there’s no warmth in it. “Anton Volkov has his… preferences, but he’s also a man of his word. The contract is binding, Leone. Sienna will be his wife, and that’s the end of it.”
Leone leans forward slightly, his voice low and menacing. “What if I want to keep her? She’s been with my men, under my protection. She’s become… attached.”
Dominic’s eyes narrow, his tone growing colder. “Attached or not, she’s not yours to keep. The contract has already been signed, and I have no intention of breaking it. Sienna will marry Volkov, and you will not interfere.”
A heavy silence falls over the room, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife. I can feel the anger radiating off Leone, the frustration at being unable to protect Sienna from the fate that has been sealed for her.
Finally, Leone nods, though I can see the barely restrained fury in his eyes. “Very well,” he says, his voice devoid of emotion.
Dominic meets Leone’s gaze evenly, the tension between them crackling in the air. “Volkov knows the consequences of crossing me. She’ll be perfectly safe,” Dominic replies, his voice equally cold. “And he’ll do what’s necessary to keep Sienna in line.”
The conversation ends there, the weight of the decision settling over the room like a dark cloud. Leone’s hand grabs mine as he rises from his seat, his expression hard as stone.
“I’ll be by to pick her up tomorrow,” Dominic states, and Leone’s eyes dart to Rocco, who looks away but nods once.
“Enjoy your game, Dominic,” Leone tells him before turning his back on them.
As we approach the main gaming floor, I notice a shift in the atmosphere. The usual murmur of conversation is quieter, the tension in the air tightening like a noose. My pulse quickens, and I glance around, trying to pinpoint the source of the unease.
And then I see them.
A group of men has just entered the casino, their presence causing unease as everyone looks in their direction. They’re dressed in sharp, tailored suits, but there’s an unmistakable edge to them—a cold, calculating menace that sets them apart from the other patrons.
Leone pauses for a second, taking them in. “What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Russians,” Leone all but spits.
Milo notices them too, his body tensing as his hand hovers near his concealed weapon. Leone’s grip on my waist tightens, his eyes narrowing as he watches the group make their way toward us.
“What the hell are they doing here?” Milo whispers, his voice barely audible.
“They’re on the wrong side of the city,” Leone replies, his tone icy. “So I know they’re not here for the slots.”
The leader of the group steps forward, his presence commanding the room’s attention. He’s tall and broad-shouldered, with silver hair and cold blue eyes that scan the casino with a calculated air. There’s something predatory about him, a sense of danger that makes my skin crawl.
Leone steps forward, subtly shielding me with his body as the Russian approaches. Milo is right beside him, his gaze locked onto the newcomers, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice.
“Mr. Pressutti,” the Russian greets, his voice smooth with a heavy accent. “A pleasure to see you again.”
Leone’s response is cool; his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “You’re on the wrong side of the city, Mikhail,” he says, his tone carrying an edge of warning. “What brings you here?”
Mikhail smiles, a thin, predatory curve of his lips. “A simple matter of business,” he replies. “We’ve come to discuss a certain… mutual acquaintance.”
Leone’s eyes flicker with a hint of confusion. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
The Russian’s smile widens, but there’s no warmth in it. “Devon Penso,” he says, the name dripping with a sinister undertone, and I instinctively press closer to Leone, the sight not missed by Mikhail as his eyes dart to me before moving back to Leone.
My blood runs cold at the mention of Penso. I can feel Leone tense beside me, his nails digging into my hip.
“What about him?” Leone asks, his voice low and dangerous.
The Russian chuckles a dark sound that paralyzes me. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what?” Milo demands.
The man smiles wickedly. “Penso is my brother,” he says, his tone casual as if discussing the weather. “Illegitimate, of course, but blood nonetheless.”
Leone’s eyes narrow, the realization settling in. “I didn’t know that,” he says, his voice measured. “What does that have to do with me?”
The Russian’s gaze hardens, the smile fading from his lips. “Penso has gone missing,” he says coldly. “And a little birdie told us he was last seen at your casino.”
Leone’s expression doesn’t waver, but I can feel the tension radiating off him in waves. “I haven’t seen him,” he lies smoothly. “And if he was here, I wouldn’t know why. Penso wasn’t exactly welcome in my establishment; he was even kicked out of Verdigris.”
The Russian’s eyes bore into Leone’s, searching for any sign of deceit. “He’s my brother,” he repeats, his tone sharper. “And I want to know what happened to him.”
Leone meets his gaze head-on, unflinching. “If I knew, I’d tell you,” he says evenly. “But I don’t.”
The Russian studies him for a long moment and his lips curve into a thin smile. “Perhaps,” he says. “But that’s not the only reason we’re here.”
Leone’s eyes narrow further. “What else?”
The Russian’s smile widens slightly, a glint of amusement in his cold blue eyes. “We’ve come to propose a deal,” he says. “A truce of sorts.”
“A truce?” Leone repeats, his tone skeptical.
“Yes,” the Russian replies. “We’ll stop interfering with your shipments, your business… everything. In exchange, we want you to back out of your deal with the Mexicans.”
Leone’s expression doesn’t change, but I can see the wheels turning in his mind. The deal with the Mexicans is crucial—it gives him a significant foothold in the city’s underworld, a position of power the Russians clearly want to undermine.
“Why should I do that?” Leone asks, his voice is deceptively calm.
The Russian’s smile fades, replaced by a cold, calculating expression. “Because if you don’t, things will get unpleasant,” he says, the threat hanging in the air like a guillotine blade.
The tension between them crackles like electricity, the air thick with unspoken threats and promises. I can feel Leone’s anger simmering beneath the surface, a barely restrained beast that’s ready to lash out at any moment.
“You have to give me more reason than that; you’ve been a pain in the ass, but nothing we can’t handle,” Leone tells him.
“Think of it as building a connection. I have other business with the Mexicans that?—”
“You want on the strip,” Leone answers, cutting him off. The man doesn’t answer, but it’s clear Leone figured it out.
“We can speak more about it later; I just came to present the offer and also to look for my brother.”
“He’s not here,” Leone answers flatly.
“Then you won’t mind me looking around,” Mikhail says, and Leone watches him carefully. Leone casts a glance around at all the full tables, and I know he is calculating whether to cause a scene or potentially cause a fight to break out in his casino.
“Knock yourself out,” Leone tells him.
With that, Mikhail turns on his heel and stalks away, his men following close behind. The tension in the room eases slightly as they leave, but the unease in my chest only deepens.
Leone exhales sharply, his eyes still locked on the spot where the Russians stood. Milo steps closer, his expression tense as he watches the retreating figures.
“They’re up to something,” Milo mutters, his voice low.
“Of course they are,” Leone replies, his tone cold. “They always are.”
“You don't think he found out?” Milo asks and I look at them wondering what they're talking about. Leone shakes his head.
“Only the family knows, there is no way.” Leone says.
“Know what?” I ask and Leone looks at me.
“Nothing, Mikhail and I have history. But that is in the past.” He says not offering anything else.
“What are you going to do?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Leone doesn’t answer right away, his gaze still distant as he considers the situation. Finally, he turns to me, his expression hard.
“Stay close,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I don’t want you out of my sight.”
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest. The Russians have made their move, and now the game has truly begun. Whatever happens next, I know we’re all in more danger than ever.
I’m not given the luxury of time to dwell on it further, when I feel a familiar, cold sensation creeping up my spine—the unmistakable feeling of being watched. I glance around, my eyes scanning the room, but there’s nothing out of the ordinary.
“I need to use the restroom,” I say, pulling away slightly.
Leone gives me a sharp look, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Make it quick,” he says, his tone clipped when I hear a commotion in the direction of where the Russians went. Glancing over there, I see Mikhail manhandling some woman.
“Where have you been?” I hear him snap at the blonde woman in a red dress; her back is to me, so I can’t see who he has grabbed, but Leone nudges me.
“Go while I check out what is happening.”
I nod and make my way through the casino, my nerves on edge as I navigate through the crowd. I have to resist the urge to break into a run as I move toward the restrooms.
The casino bathroom is lavishly decorated, with ornate gold fixtures and mirrors that stretch from the basins to the ceilings. Soft, ambient lighting casts a warm glow over the polished surfaces and the faint sound of distant music filters in from the bustling gaming floor. I lean against the cool marble counter, trying to steady my breathing, but my nerves are shot. I quickly use the toilet, fix my dress, and step out of the cubicle.
As I wash my hands, the sound of the door opening behind me makes me freeze. I look up into the mirror, and my heart stops. I stare at a face I haven’t seen in over a decade. The woman in the mirror has striking blonde hair cascading down her shoulders, eyes eerily similar to mine, and plump lips that seem poised to speak. She looks younger somehow, with an elegance that wasn't there before. Gone is the gaunt, worn visage of a former drug addict; now, she exudes the polished aura of a Russian mafia bride. Her transformation is both shocking and unnerving.
“I thought it was you,” she murmurs, and my gaze runs down the length of her dress, something that looks like it would have cost six months’ worth groceries. All these years we struggled making ends meet. While she has been living it up in a life of luxury, me and dad had been working out how many meals we could skip in a week without fainting at work just to pay for Emma’s medications.
“Rebecca,” I breathe, my voice barely a whisper. My mother.
I don’t know what is more startling, seeing her after all these years or seeing that she is sober. The one thing she could never do for us was remain sober, not even when her belly was full of the arms and legs, and a heartbeat to life she created. She looks… looks good, better than I ever remember, she looks sober and that makes it sting even more.
She looks healthier than I remember yet still gorgeous. I suppose drugs didn’t take her beauty altogether, but there’s no mistaking her. The woman who left us, who abandoned me and Emma, is standing right in front of me.
“Fallon,” she whispers back, her voice trembling with emotion. “It’s really you.”
I spin around, my emotions a tangled mess of anger, confusion, and a faint, buried longing. “What the hell are you doing here?” I demand, my voice shaking as I try to remain calm. I want to hurt her, break her like she almost broke Dad. So many times, I dreamt of running into this woman, had it all planned out in my head what I would say and do. Now with her standing in front of me all that has gone, and I just want to know why. Why she left, why she abandoned me.
My mother steps closer, her eyes wide and pleading, but I step back, fighting the urge to slap the woman.
“Does Dad know you’ve returned?” I demand. I have so many questions. So many, yet I can’t seem to voice the important ones. All I see is the mother who didn’t love us enough to stick around. Who ran out on us the first chance she got.
“I tried to find him, but that isn’t why I came in here. I need to know what the fuck you’re doing with Leone Pressutti,”
I scoff at her words. “Like you have any right to demand answers from me. Do you even care? What about Emma, your daughter, the one who nearly died because of you?” she flinches at my words and I see what I can only perceive as a flicker of regret perhaps or maybe guilt.
“How is Emma?” she asks, her lip quivering.
“Good, no thanks to you!”
She lets out a breath, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder. “I understand you are upset…”
“Upset? You think I am upset?” I scoff. “I’m not upset, I am angry! You abandoned us, walked out on Dad and left me with…” I groan in frustration, tears burning my eyes and threatening to spill over. Don’t you dare cry over this bitch. “Every day I wished for you to come home, every fucking day! But you didn’t. You just walked out and said you were getting milk! Fucking milk.” I clutch my hair, unable to believe she is standing right in front of me. All these years and she doesn’t even look remorseful for what she did! “Did you even go to get milk or was that a lie just so you could leave and get high?” I ask, finally calming down enough to speak without wanting to break something. It’s a stupid question, I should ask a million others, yet it’s the only one that comes to mind.
“I didn’t want this,” she says, her voice cracking. “I never wanted to leave you all; I wanted to help her. I was trying to find a way to help,” she runs her fingers through her hair.
“I certainly never wanted you to be involved in this life. I stayed away to protect you from it.” My brows pinch in confusion as she grips my arms; I recoil, not wanting her touch but she holds on tighter.
“What does Leone have over you? I can help you!” she asks, and I shove her back.
“You left us!” I spit out, the anger surging to the surface. “You abandoned us! How dare you show up now and pretend to care!”
She flinches at my words, her face crumpling. “I did it to protect you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper. “I had to leave, Fallon. If I stayed, they would have killed us all.”
I glare at her, not willing to let her off so easily. “Protect me? You left us to fend for ourselves with a sick newborn!”
Rebecca’s eyes fill with tears, and she shakes her head desperately. “I know I made mistakes, but it was the only way,” she whispers, her voice raw. “I did what I thought was right. I thought it was the only way to save her! I…” she sighs heavily.
Rebecca’s face crumples further, and she takes a step back, her shoulders slumping. “I didn’t have a choice,” she says quietly. “But you need to tell me what Leone fucking Presutti is holding over you.”
Before I can respond, the door swings open, and a Russian mobster steps inside, his eyes narrowing as he spots us. I see Rocco directly behind him.
“Is everything alright in here?” Rocco asks, his tone sharp as he shoves the man back, who glares at him.
Rebecca quickly washes her hands, her expression turning cold and controlled. “Yes,” she replies smoothly. “Just finishing up.”
The man gives us one last suspicious look, nods and steps back out, and so does Rocco, closing the door behind him.
Once he’s gone, Rebecca turns back to me, her eyes desperate. “Please, Fallon,” she whispers. “You can’t tell anyone who I am. If they find out, they’ll kill me… and they’ll kill you.”
“What are you involved in? He is…”
“We have no time for that; they cannot find out you’re my daughter,”
I stare at her, my emotions in turmoil. The woman who abandoned me, who left us to fend for ourselves, is now needing me to remain quiet. The irony is almost too much to bear.
“I will find a way to contact you, but you need to do this.”
“I’m not keeping this from Leone,” I tell her. She stares at me for a second before her eyes widen slightly. Her gaze goes to my hand and the wedding band on it.
“You married him,” she murmurs, her face turning paler. She goes to say something when a knock sounds on the door.
“Rebecca!” one word, and she casts her gaze to the door.
“I won’t tell them,” I finally say, my voice flat. “But don’t think for a second I’m doing this for you.”
Rebecca looks relieved when her gaze goes back to mine, but there’s a deep sadness in her eyes. “Thank you,” she says softly. “That’s all I can ask.”
Before I can say anything else, the door opens again, and another Russian appears. “Boss wants you at the table,” he says curtly.
Rebecca nods, giving me one last lingering look and following the man out of the restroom. I watch her go, a storm of emotions swirling inside me. I’ve spent so many years hating her, and now, seeing her again, I don’t know what to feel.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, and follow them back out into the casino, and Rocco swiftly snatches up my arm. The noise and chaos of the crowd hit me like a wave, but I force myself to stay focused as we follow behind my mother.
“What happened in there?” Rocco leans down to whisper, but I shake my head.
“Do you two know each other?” I glance at Rocco but don’t answer.
As I approach the main gaming floor, I see a crowd gathered around a blackjack table, the tension in the air thick. Leone and Milo are standing near the table, their eyes locked on the Russians with thinly veiled hostility.
The Russian boss spots me, and a slow, predatory smile spreads across his face. “Ah, Mrs. Pressutti,” he says smoothly. “We were just about to start a little game. Care to join us?”
I glance at Leone, who gives me a small nod, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. I know he’s watching me closely, trying to gauge my reaction to the Russians.
I force a smile and step up to the table. “I’m always up for a game,” I reply, my voice steady despite the turmoil inside me.
The Russian boss gestures for me to take a seat when I see my mother dragged toward Mikhail; he turns and glares at her.
“I was using the restroom,” she huffs, and my heart rate picks up as I watch their exchange when he forces her into a chair not far from me while I try to figure out the change of events and why we are suddenly playing blackjack.
“Oh, I forgot to introduce my wife. This is Rebecca,” Mikhail says.
“I actually just met Fallon; she was in the bathroom. You need to get cleaners in. They were out of paper; I would still be stuck in there if she wasn’t in the stall next to me,” my mother lies smoothly. I offer a smile. But I feel Leone’s gaze burning into me and Mikhail’s on my mother. What the fuck is going on right now.
“I hear you used to be a dealer here, that you played my brother and won?” Mikhail says, and it takes me a second to realize he is talking to me. I nod once.
“It’s how I met my husband,” I answer.
“See, and you thought we had nothing in common, Leone,” Mikhail laughs. “I met Rebecca here the same way, though she cheated me, then tried to rob me,” he laughs wickedly. His hand drops on her shoulder then squeezes. I swallow thickly.
“Luckily for her, she rubbed off on me,” he tells her, and she forces a smile as she glances up at him.
The cards are dealt, and the game begins. Rebecca’s eyes flicker to mine. She’s trying to tell me something, but I can’t afford to let my guard down. Not now.
The game is intense, each card bringing us closer to a conclusion that could have far-reaching consequences. I can feel Leone’s gaze on me, his silent support a steadying force. But it’s Rebecca’s presence that haunts me, her every movement a reminder of the betrayal I can’t forget.
As the final cards are dealt, I glance at Rebecca, our eyes locking for a brief moment. There’s something in her gaze—an apology, a plea for forgiveness—but I push it aside, focusing on the game.
With a slow exhalation, I reveal my hand.
Blackjack.
The crowd murmurs in surprise, and the Russian boss’s smile falters ever so slightly. He nods, a glint of respect in his eyes as he acknowledges my victory.
“Well played, Mrs. Pressutti,” he says, his tone polite but laced with a hint of menace. “It seems the game is yours.”
The crowd begins to disperse, the tension in the air slowly easing as the game concludes. But I know better than to let my guard down. This temporary truce is just that—temporary. The Russians are playing a long game, and this was merely one move on the board.
As I rise from the table, I feel Rebecca’s hand brush against mine, a fleeting touch and I have to fight the urge to jerk my hand away. I glance at her, and she gives me a small, sad smile then quickly turns to leave with the Russians.
I watch her go, a mixture of anger and confusion swirling inside me. She’s back in my life, but she’s still as much a stranger as she was before.
Leone steps up beside me, his hand resting on the small of my back as he guides me away from the table. “What was that about?” I ask, wanting to know how we went from trying to get rid of the Russians to playing blackjack with them.
Leone doesn’t answer but leans in slightly.
“You know her?” he asks, and I nod. Milo casts a glance at me as he opens the door to the elevator. We step inside, and Rocco pushes the button.
“Fallon? Rocco said something happened, and I want to know how you know that woman,” Leone demands, and I swallow thickly, noticing Rocco and Milo watching me too. I glance at Leone. Just as the doors open, I answer.
“She’s my mother.”