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My mind races, scrambling for an exit, a crack in his armor I could exploit. But there is none.
“Don’t be foolish,” he growls, taking a calculated step forward. His hand reaches out, not to comfort but to conquer, to claim what he believes was rightfully his.
“Stay back!” I command, pressing the gun harder against my skin, feeling the bite of its chill. “One more step and I swear—”
“Swear what, Fallon?” he interrupts, his tone a lethal whisper. “That you’ll leave this world on your terms? That’s not you. You’re a fighter, a survivor. You cling to life because it’s all you have.”
“Maybe so,” I breathe, my resolve flickering like a candle in the wind. “But I’d rather embrace death than be killed by your hand or worse.”
“Worse?”
“There are worse things a man can do to a woman than just kill her,” I remind him.
“Then we are at an impasse, Bella Mia,” he taunts.
“Perhaps,” I concede, my thumb caressing the trigger, contemplating the nothingness that lay beyond if I pull it. “But even a cornered animal still bites.”
He nods and paces, yet doesn’t seem worried in the slightest.“Okay, then, prove it, pull the trigger. I dare you.” Leone is so arrogant he thinks I won’t, but I know I am not leaving this room in one piece. If by some miracle I do, I would be broken by the time he is done with me.
The silence is a living entity, thick and suffocating, as the metallic click of the trigger shatters my false calm like glass. My heart plummets into an abyss as the chamber’s hollow mockery reverberates off the walls. The gun is empty.
He laughs at my failure to kill myself. The glint in Leone’s eyes tells me he had expected the empty chamber, and his smirk is a silent taunt that chills my blood. My hands shake, not with fear, but with fury—each tremor a ripple of the storm brewing within.
Leone’s voice slithered through the stillness, a dark amusement and menace. “Did you really think it would be that easy?”
“Did you really think you could end it all? Your desperation is quite amusing,” he laughs. “You see, that gun.”
“A Smith & Wesson Model 686 holds six bullets. You’ve fired one at the door, two aimlessly around this room, you currently have another in your shoulder, and upstairs, I took care of another two poor souls. That’s six, dear.”
“You’re a monster.”
“Yes, I am. And you attempted to kill a monster with an empty gun. How silly.”
I move the other gun and point it at him, and he laughs.
“Not so fast, cara. Why would I toss a loaded gun on the table where you could reach it?” He reaches into his pocket and drops the bullets onto the floor with a cold, metallic sound.
“You knew?”
Leone steps closer, his gaze filled with dark desire. “Of course, I knew, you gave your father the wrong gun. Now hand them over, Fallon.”
His predatory gaze studies me, looking my pathetic state up and down. Adrenaline pumps through my veins, my thoughts scattering like leaves in a hurricane.
His hand shoots out, seizing my wrist with a vice-like grip, wrenching the useless weapon from my grasp. I could almost taste the heat radiating from his body, a storm threatening to consume everything in its path.
“Let go of me!” I scream, trying to wrestle free from his iron hold. It is futile—his strength dwarfs mine without even trying, yet I refuse to relent.
“Shh,” Leone hushes, his breath hot on my face, sending shivers down my spine despite the fire that is raging within me. “It’s time to surrender to the inevitable, cara mia.” He snatches the gun, pushing me back against the poker table, our bodies close. My shoulder protests as he grabs my hair, ripping my head back at an awkward angle as he drags the gun down the column of my throat, making me swallow thickly. He nods to Milo, who is quick to move to grip my shoulders and hold me down.
Leone wanders off, and I hear him go to the bar area; I struggle against Milo and break out in a cold sweat. “Stop struggling. You’re bleeding through your shirt,” Milo snarls, and I glare up at him, his tattooed chest inches from my face. I hear Leone pour himself a drink, the chink of glass on glass reaching my ears and ice cubes dropping. His footsteps return moments later.
“Have you ever played Russian Roulette?” he asks as he comes back into view. He sips his drink, by the smell, it’s whiskey. My heart races at his words as he places a gun I haven’t seen before next to me before tipping his glass back to his lips. He drinks the contents, or I think he does, until he leans over the table, pressing between my legs.
He grips my face, forcing my mouth open before kissing me. He groans lewdly while I choke on the whiskey he just forced into my mouth. I thrash then bite his mauling lips, only for him to pull back with a sinister smirk on his face. His lip is bleeding from my teeth, and he runs his tongue over the cut, which seems only to amuse him further.
“Hold her,” he tells Milo, picking up the gun. He opens the chamber, dropping a single bullet in and spinning it before popping the chamber closed with a click.
Leone leans forward, gripping my hair again. I cry out at the pain of my hair ripping from my scalp. Milo turns his face away, almost like he can’t bear to watch a woman being tortured at his boss’s hands. I nearly scoff at the thought.
