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“Your life is now mine to do with as I please. In exchange, your father gets to keep the money, and your family is debt free.”
“Even the money for her surgery?” I ask, still unsure why he did that in the first place. Maybe it was part of his twisted game. He nods, opening his jacket to me, I stare at it before feeling Milo’s hand on my lower back nudge me toward him. Pressing my lips in a line I step closer, slipping my arm inside it, yet the one with the bullet in it doesn’t move so much as an inch, though the bleeding has mostly stopped thankfully.
“Why did you pay for her surgery?” I find myself asking suddenly, ignoring the fear and pain and focusing on this one burning question.
Leone’s eyes snap to mine, studying me intently as he turns me, pulling the jacket closed. “My casinos fund one of their charities,” he answers simply. “A charity for children with heart defects.”
My mind reels at this information. It confuses me that this man would give to charity and have such compassion for sick children, but then also participate in something like this—something so cruel and twisted. Then again, I know rich people use charities to hide their money, boost their public image, and reduce their tax burden.
Leone raises an eyebrow at my expression before leaning down closer to me. “Don’t look so surprised,” he says softly. “Everyone has layers, amore.” His hot breath fans across my neck as he speaks. “And I plan on peeling back all of yours.”
After our unsettling exchange, Leone’s hand presses against my lower back, guiding me out of the dimly lit underground club. Each step I take feels heavier, the pain in my shoulder throbbing to its own beat. The narrow staircase leading out seems endless, a daunting ascent that drains the little energy I have left after the adrenaline wears off as I follow Leone. My vision blurs, the edges of my consciousness fraying with each step. Staggering with one hand on the wall, vertigo washes over me, the narrow path narrowing further. The walls look like they are vibrating when Milo, who is behind me, grips my hips to steady me.
“Fallon?” he murmurs softly next to me.
“Don’t touch me,” I try to say firmly, but the words are barely audible to my own ears. I feel clammy, the stagnant air down here feels icy despite the sweat that has broken out on my skin. Milo steps closer as my vision tunnels and I rest my head against the cool concrete surface. Leone, a few steps ahead, stops, glancing back at us, just as I feel the heat Milo at my back, his body becoming a solid wall behind me and the only thing preventing me from toppling backward.
“I can carry you,” Milo offers but I shake my head pushing off the wall. His hands find my hips helping keep me steady. I don’t fight him, needing his grip as my vision warps and twists. Finally reaching the top, I stumble into the cool night air, gasping for breath.
The world spins around me, and I can feel the blood, now dried and sticky, clinging to my skin under Leone’s jacket. The lights blur into one continuous length of color as I try to get my bearings when I lose feeling all together. I blink, trying to correct my vision, yet the sensation of falling isn’t missed. I don’t feel the impact, I don’t feel anything, just the sickening spin of my surroundings. Everything becomes muffled, the sounds like listening to garbled nonsense underwater.
“I got you,” I think I hear but can’t be sure, yet I’m certain of the darkness coming for me, stealing my vision. Finally, a reprieve from the nightmare that has become my life. I welcome the darkness, happy to plunge in as long as everything stops spinning.
TWELVE
LEONE
“Leone?” Milo’s voice breaks through the chaos, tinged with an urgency that sends a ripple of satisfaction through me, knowing I made the right decision by letting her live, hearing the panic in his voice. I turn to see Fallon crumpled in his arms, her blonde locks now darkened with blood that seeps from the wound in her shoulder. We probably need to do something about that.
“Get a doctor to my mansion, now!” I bark at Rocco, one of my men standing next to my car. He nods sharply and retrieves his phone while Milo crushes her limp body against his chest, and I approach the car.
“Put her in the car, Milo,” I command. Milo moves swiftly, his arms cradling Fallon with a surprising tenderness that belies his hardened exterior. He slides into the back of the black sedan.
I follow suit, slipping into the leather seat next to him, my mind racing as I take in the scene before me. Fallon’s face is ghostly pale, her chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. She’s vulnerable, a vast contrast to the fiery spirit she’s shown at the casino tables. I yank off my shirt, pressing it against the bleeding wound, applying pressure in an attempt to stem the flow.
Blood, a deep crimson, seeps between my fingers as I press my shirt against the gunshot wound in her shoulder. Milo watches me, his brown eyes reflecting the streetlights outside, his expression a mixture of concern and confusion. “Is she going to make it?” he asks, voice low.
I don’t even look up from Fallon’s still form. “She’ll be fine,” I state with a conviction I’m not sure that I feel. It’s a strange experience, caring whether this woman lives or dies. She was meant to be a closed chapter—another person who failed to best me.
Yet here I am, holding her life together with nothing but my shirt and sheer willpower. My decision to save her life wasn’t just about her debt or her family; there’s something about her defiance that intrigues me. She is strong, even if she doesn’t believe it.
The car speeds towards my mansion, cutting through the night like a bullet—a fitting metaphor, given the situation. I glance at Milo, noting how he adjusts his hold on Fallon, ensuring her head rests comfortably against his chest.
Between what her father stole and her sister’s surgery, Fallon owes millions, and her debt is now my leverage. But it’s more than that—I see potential in her, a strength that could be used to benefit my empire. The game has changed, and Fallon is now an unexpected player on my board. My father said I needed to marry to take over completely, provide an heir. Fallon will provide one, she has no choice. Whether she lives is up to her, she can play along and we’ll look after her, or I will put a bullet in her head the moment my baby is born. The thought alone stirs a dangerous excitement within me.
Yet, the risk of having a woman at my side also terrifies me. She’ll be a target, be under pressure constantly, and constantly battling temptation, something my ex-wife was too weak for.
“Hold this,” I tell Milo, pulling my phone out and quickly texting Rocco. He replies instantly, and I pocket my phone before returning to holding the shirt against her wound.
“Drive faster,” I order the driver, my impatience growing. Time is precious, and every second counts when death lingers so closely. Fuck, I am now regretting my decision to torment her instead of getting her help first.
Pulling my shirt back, I check her wound; it’s barely bleeding now. “Was the game with your gun necessary if you intended to let her live? It was a little risky, don’t you think?” Milo asks.
“Fallon isn’t the only one good with her hands. It wasn’t loaded, Milo, I was testing her.”
“Testing her?” he asks, unable to hide the shock and disgust from his words. I brush her hair from her blood-smeared face.
“Yes, I need to see if she can focus and keep her head even when faced with death.”
