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I gulp and swiftly nod. This is nothing like Verdigris; these men look as menacing as Leone, making Verdigris look like child’s play.
I take a deep breath, letting the familiar scent of tobacco and tension coat my lungs. My eyes adjust to the dim lighting, and I catalog every detail—the worn expressions of hope and despair, the subtle ticks and tells that betray nerves. But there is something far more sinister here: the calculating gazes that fall on me with interest as I walk through the room. The women on their arms wear a range of expressions – from bored to terrified – as they watch their owners play. Fear coils in my stomach, I could soon become one of them, but I stamp the emotion down and keep my gaze ahead. I approach the other side of the room where the booths are, deciding to observe a few games and wait.
Alone now, I lean against the locked double doors, allowing myself a moment to absorb the reality of what I have agreed to. Suddenly, a shout draws my attention. Out of the corner of my eyes, a table is suddenly upturned, and two men face off. One clearly does not like that he lost as he screams at the other man, insisting that he cheated.
Inhaling deeply, I avert my gaze and allow the smoke to fill me as if it could mask my crumbling resolve with its potent, heady mix. With each step I take into the heart of the gambling pit, I shed a layer of doubt, cloaking myself in the armor of the persona I need to embody: one usually reserved for work.
“Quite the spectacle, isn’t it?” The voice slithers through the haze, and I turn toward its source, already knowing who I’d find emerging from the gloom.
Leone detaches himself from the shadows like a panther uncoiling from its lair. His presence fills the room, an aura that demands attention and oozes danger. He prowls closer, his swagger slow and deliberate, the smirk on his lips sharp enough to cut you and bleed you out.
“You didn’t try to run. I’m impressed.”
“Leone,” I return, my voice steady despite the maelstrom within. I fix him with an unwavering stare, “Must I have you as an audience? I’m surprised you are not watching from afar, hidden somewhere surrounded by cameras?” I admit.
“Ah, but I’m not just part of the audience,” he retorts, closing the distance until I can see the darker flecks in his brown eyes.
“Then what?” I ask, bracing myself against the magnetic pull of his nearness. “You come to watch the ruin of those that waste their lives betting in these tunnels?”
“Something like that.” The amusement in his tone sours the air between us, and his gaze rakes over me with an intimacy that sets my skin aflame. Each glance is a calculated stroke, assessing, appraising. “I admire… potential. I’m hoping you lose. I could find a use for someone like you, with your talents.”
SIX
FALLON
His words hang heavy, and I swallow back the retort clawing up my throat when he reaches a hand up to cup the side of my face. I want to slap his hand away, but I can’t afford a misstep. Not when the price is so steep. So, I smile instead. I know better than to poke a bear when I am in his cave.
“When I win, I never want to see your face again.” I pivot. The two men who were arguing are now fighting, one man narrowly missing me as the drunk man swings at him, and he steps out of reach. I’m yanked against a hard chest, my breath lodging in my throat, when a loud bang rings out. I jump at the sound, and deathly silence falls over the room, everyone’s attention drawn our way.
That’s when I notice the gun in Leone’s hand. The drunk man crumples to the ground, a bullet having found his head.
My entire body trembles against him. And I step back, seeing the man’s blood pool on the floor, streaming toward my feet. Leone holds me tighter as he turns his attention to the two men who led me down here.
“Clean this up, and get Mr Porter a drink,” Leone orders. Men rush forward, grabbing the dead man’s body, and servers fix the table and mess that has been made as if this were a common occurrence.
“Always a sore loser. Mr. Porter, I’m sorry about that. I’ll be questioning my men as to why he was allowed to participate tonight,” Leone answers the balding man in an expensive-looking suit. The man nods once, moving to another table when I notice two other men now flank him, having rushed over a little late.
“Not so confident now,” Leone whispers next to my ear. “But remember, Fallon, arrogance is a sin easily punished, as you just saw.”
My pulse thrums at his warning, a visceral reminder of the man’s capacity for cruelty. But fear isn’t a luxury I can indulge in—not now, not with so much on the line. “Go find Milo while I have this mess cleaned up.” Leone lets me go, and I step over the puddle of blood.
Moving through the room, I spot Milo in the distance. He waves me over, and I go to him but don’t see my father anywhere.
“Where is my father?”
“Safe for now, but if you want to win, you need to buy in,” he tells me.
“No shit Sherlock, but with what?” I ask him, and he drops the bag of my winnings from Verdigris at my feet.
I snatch the bag up and move to the booths at the back. I drop the bag on the counter, and the woman behind it takes it, passing it off to someone to count when I once again feel someone brush up against me. Only this time, instead of Leone, it is Milo.
“It’s already been counted; max out her tab,” he tells the woman, who nods once before handing over a tray with stacked chips. I move to grab it when I feel someone grip my ankle, making me jump and glance down. Milo kneels next to me, undoing the clasp of my heel.
“What are you doing?” I demand when the woman behind the counter drops a pair of flats on the counter. Milo reaches up, grabbing them, his eyes meeting mine briefly.
“I can do that myself,” I snap at him.
“If you think for one second I am going to let you bend over in that skirt with all these men around, you’re mistaken,” he snaps back at me. He takes the heel off, forcing me to grip his shoulder as I sway slightly. He massages the bottom of my foot for a second, and a sigh slips past my lips before I can stop it.
