Chapter 19
Nineteen
L eone
After Fallon’s confession about Rebecca, no one said anything. We seemed to be in just as much shock as her. Fallon is quiet in the car on the way home, her brows furrowed as she thinks staring vacantly out the window. I offer her a smoke and she looks at me for a moment then accepts one.
“Are you okay?” I ask her, and she nods while I light her smoke.
She draws back on the smoke, and Milo winds down her window a bit. “Yeah,it was just a shock.”
“Are you going to tell your father?” I ask. She turns her gaze to the window again.
“I’m not sure if I should,” she murmurs. We spend the rest of the drive in silence, I have so many questions, but I doubt more than Fallon.
The cold night air follows us into the mansion, wrapping itself around us like a shroud as we step inside. The tension from the casino still lingers, clinging to my skin like the faint scent of smoke that trails behind me from Fallon’s smoke. Every muscle in my body is wound tight, my instincts screaming that the night isn’t over yet, that there’s still more to unravel.
I flick my gaze around the room as we enter, my senses on high alert when no one greets us at the door. My mind is a swirling storm of possibilities, scenarios of how her mother got involved with the Russians.
But the immediate danger is already here, waiting for us in the form of my father and Dante, who both stand near the fireplace in my sitting room, their expressions a mix of impatience and concern. My mother sits quietly on one of the plush armchairs, her hands folded in her lap, but her eyes—sharp and clear despite everything—betray her worry.
“Why are you all here?” I ask. Milo’s expression tense as he guides Fallon to sit, placing himself protectively beside her.
Rocco hangs back near the door, his ever-watchful eyes scanning the room for any sign of trouble. We all know the night isn’t over yet—not until we’ve figured out what the Russians were really after.
My father steps forward, his gaze narrowing as he stares at me, waiting for an explanation. “What the hell happened tonight?” he demands, his voice a low growl.
I meet his gaze head-on, my mind racing through the events at the casino. There’s too much I don’t know—too many pieces of the puzzle missing. I can’t risk revealing too much, not until I have all the facts, but the fact the Russian knew Penso was last seen at my club tells me we have a rat, and I have a strange feeling it is my brother. My father certainly wouldn’t have told them.
“They were fishing,” I reply, keeping my tone even. “Looking for information.”
My father’s eyes flash with anger. “Information on what?”
“Penso,” I say, watching for his reaction. “The Russians were tipped off to me killing him.” my eyes dart to my brother, but he gives nothing away.
A flicker of surprise crosses my father’s face, quickly masked by his usual stern demeanor. “Penso, the man from the club?” his eyes dart to Fallon.
“Yes,” I say smoothly, though my thoughts are churning. The Russians were too insistent, too certain. Someone must have told them about Penso’s last known location, and it sure as hell wasn’t me.
“Why would the Russians care about Penso?” Dante’s voice cuts through the room, sharp and suspicious.
I glance at my brother, my eyes narrowing slightly. He’s standing too close to the shadows, half-hidden in the flickering firelight. His posture is relaxed, but there’s a tension in his stance that I don’t like.
“Because he’s their brother,” I reply, my voice hard. “Mikhail’s half-brother.”
“How many siblings does the bastardo have? Didn't his parents have a damn TV?” My father mutters.
Dante raises an eyebrow, his lips curling into a smirk that sets my teeth on edge. “You didn’t know that; sloppy of you.”
“Did you know,” I ask, watching him carefully. I don't recall seeing Penso at the wedding, nor was he mentioned over the years as a relation to them. Clearly his fathers dirty little secret. Dante smirks. He's been a thorn in my side for years, and his ambitions are always running counter to mine. And now, with the Russians making their move, I can’t help but wonder if he’s involved. The timing is too convenient.
“Why would he know that? Not like we are keeping a running tab on their family tree,” Vittorio presses, his gaze boring into me.
“Maybe we should be,” Dante chuckles. I shrug, keeping my expression neutral, while my father turns to look at him.
“And where have you been? You were supposed to meet us at the casino tonight to meet Dominic?”
Dante’s smirk doesn’t falter. “Handling business.”
“What kind of business?” I ask, my tone sharp. I don’t trust him, not with everything that’s been happening.
“The kind you don’t need to worry about,” Dante replies smoothly, his gaze flicking to Fallon and Milo, who are sitting so close together she is practically leaning on Milo. His eyes narrow slightly, and I feel a surge of possessiveness rise within me.
“You look cozy,” Dante tells Fallon. She sits up straighter, and Milo takes half a step from her.
“Watch yourself,” I warn, my voice low.
Dante’s smirk widens, a taunting edge to his expression. “Relax, Leone. Just keeping an eye on things.”
But I know better than to trust his words. Dante’s always had his own agenda, and I’d be a fool to think that’s changed. “Sorry, I am just tired,” Fallon says with a yawn. Dante raises an eyebrow at her, and I don’t miss the way his gaze cuts to Milo.
“Enough,” Vittorio says, cutting through the tension. “We’ll discuss this later. For now, I need a drink.”
“I thought we were heading to the play?” my mother asks him.
“Next one, love, I am tired after tonight’s drama. We can stay here for the night.” My father glances at me, and I nod. “I don’t like all this mess with the Russians at the moment. We should stay in,” he tells her, and she sighs.
“Can I at least get some clothes from home?”
“I’ll get Lorenzo to bring some over,” he answers swiftly.
I nod, though my mind is far from settled. There’s too much at stake, too many unanswered questions. But for now, I’ll play along. I need to figure out what Dante’s up to, and if he’s the one feeding information to the Russians, I’ll deal with him myself.
We move to the dining room, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. The table is set, the food laid out with care, but there’s a heaviness in the air that no amount of luxury can disguise as my father grabs a bottle of whiskey and pours a glass for himself but takes the bottle to the table.
Fallon takes a seat beside Milo; her movements are careful, as if she’s trying not to draw too much attention. But I see the way Dante’s eyes linger on her, the way his gaze shifts between her and Milo with a calculating glint.
The thought of Dante even thinking about Fallon in any way sends a surge of anger through me. She’s mine, and I won’t tolerate anyone—even my own brother—trying to come between us.
As we begin to eat, the conversation is stilted, each of us too aware of the tension simmering just beneath the surface. My mother tries to keep the conversation light, talking about business and the latest news, but it’s clear everyone’s mind is elsewhere.
Fallon barely touches her food, her gaze flicking between me and Milo as if she’s trying to gauge the mood in the room. I can sense her unease, the way her fingers tremble slightly as she reaches for her glass of water.
Dante, of course, doesn’t miss it, either. His eyes narrow, and I catch the subtle shift in his expression—an almost predatory interest that makes my skin crawl.
“So, Fallon,” Dante says suddenly, his tone too casual to be genuine. “How are you finding married life?”
The question is innocent enough on the surface, but there’s an underlying edge to it that sets me on edge.
Fallon hesitates, clearly uncomfortable under Dante’s scrutiny. “It’s… fine,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dante’s smile widens, but there’s no warmth in it. “I’m sure it is,” he says, his tone laced with mockery.
I place my hand on Fallon’s, squeezing it slightly in a silent warning. She needs to be careful around Dante—he’s dangerous, and I don’t want her getting caught up in whatever game he’s playing.
The rest of the meal passes in a strained silence, the tension in the room thickening with every passing minute. Even Vittorio seems on edge, his gaze flicking between me and Dante with a mixture of concern and frustration.
Finally, the meal comes to an end, and I push my chair back, unable to stand the tension any longer. “I need some air,” I mutter, rising from the table.
Milo stands as well, clearly not willing to leave me alone. I glance at Fallon, who looks relieved at the prospect of leaving the table, but I know I can’t take her with me. Not with Dante watching.
“Stay here,” I tell her, my tone firm. “I’ll be back soon.”
Fallon nods, her eyes wide with worry, but she doesn’t argue. She knows better than to defy me in front of everyone.
As I step out onto the balcony, the cool night air hits me like a slap in the face, clearing my mind. Milo follows me, his expression grim.
“What do you think?” I ask, my voice low.
Milo glances back at the dining room, his brow furrowed. “Dante’s up to something,” he says, his tone filled with certainty.
“I know,” I reply, my voice tight. “And I don’t like it.”
Milo nods in agreement, his expression hardening. “We need to keep an eye on him.”
“I will,” I say, my tone filled with determination. “And if I find out he’s behind any of this shit with the Russians…”
Milo doesn’t need me to finish the sentence. He knows what will happen if Dante betrays me, as well as I do.
We stand in silence for a moment, the weight of the situation pressing down on us. The Russians, the tension with Dante, the potential betrayal—it’s all too much, and I can feel the stress gnawing at me, threatening to unravel everything I’ve built.
“I need to find out what the Russians are really after. And I need to know if Dante’s involved.”
Milo sighs, his expression grim. “I’ll start digging. I’ll also keep an eye on Fallon.”
“Good,” I reply, my mind already racing with plans and contingencies. “We have to figure out how her mother got involved and keep that quiet. I don’t want Dante to find out they are related.” He nods, and he stares past me to the window of the dining room. My father steps out, lighting a smoke, Rocco is watching Fallon, who is speaking with my mother.