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The chill of the tile floor sends a shiver up my spine as Milo’s hands move expertly, shutting off the water, and I know I have to get out. He wraps me in a towel then secures another towel around his waist and strides into the bedroom, the pad of his bare feet against the hardwood, barely making a sound.
I follow, still dripping, a trail of water marking the floor. Milo doesn’t hesitate; he moves to Leone’s walk-in wardrobe with ease. He returns clad only in gray sweatpants, the fabric hanging low on his hips, his chest bare and toned. I can’t help but feel exposed under his gaze, wrapped in nothing but the thick towel.
“Come here,” he says, patting the edge of the bed next to him. His voice is calm, but it’s a command all the same.
With each step towards him, my pulse quickens, reminding me of my vulnerability. Standing between his knees, I feel small—almost childlike. But there’s nothing innocent about this.
He reaches for the towel, and I clutch it tighter against me, a feeble barrier but one I don’t want to lose. When he tugs gently again, I relent, letting the towel fall away. His hands are on me again, patting me dry with a care that belies the brutality I have seen. Then he pulls a shirt over my head.
“We’ll get you some more clothes tomorrow,” Milo says, his voice a low hum in the quiet room.
The absence of underwear makes me hyper-aware of every movement as I cross the room to where Milo points at the coffee table. I glance at the door, but no, it would be pointless, and I want to try to avoid the handcuffs for as long as possible. Leone sits in a chair at the coffee table, his phone in hand. Milo follows quickly and opens the lid on the tray before unrolling the cutlery. I stare at the knife as Milo sets it down, my mind conjuring up different scenarios to use it.
“Careful, Fallon,” Leone’s warning slices through the air, cold and sharp. “I wouldn’t advise doing anything foolish.”
Milo opens the lid of the other tray, revealing a meal that should have made my mouth water if I had not been so focused on the silver glint of the knife nestled beside the plate.
“Are you alright with her?” Leone asks suddenly, his voice breaking the static tension as he stands. “I need to go check something out.”
“Need me to come with you?” Milo’s question hangs between them.
Leone shakes his head, dismissive. “No, I’d rather you watch her; I don’t want anyone else in my room. I will take Rocco.” With those final words, he heads for the door and opens it but stops, turning back to look at Milo.
“I’ve ordered a new bed. You’ll sleep in here from now on,” he tells Milo. I glance at him, and Milo’s brows furrow, confused, but he says nothing. Leone then leaves, the click of the door behind him echoing.
And then we’re alone. I peer at Milo next to me. “Are you and Leone….” My words trail off, and I am suddenly confused about what I am asking. However, they both seem more comfortable around each other than boss and worker. Milo even stole some of Leone’s pants.
“Are we what?” Milo asks.
“Involved?” I ask, blushing. He blinks at me, almost confused.
“What do you mean?”
“Romantically, sexually?” I cringe, saying it worried that I overstepped and shouldn’t have said anything.
Milo scoffs. “That’s the vibe we give off. Fuck no, we’re just…” he sighs. “We’ve known each other since we were kids. We are both straight,” he tells me.
“But he just said…” I try to work out what is going on.
“Wouldn’t be the first time we’ve shared a woman, but…” his brows crease like not even he understands Leone’s intentions with his final words. “It’s because you won’t just be his,” he finally says, making me remember the woman mentioned in the underground games. I want to ask, but instead, Milo speaks before I can.
“Eat,” he instructs, and I stare down at the plate before me—a dish that seems far too luxurious for a prisoner like myself.
“If you do so without trying to stab me, I may just allow you to call your father,” he adds.
My gaze snaps up to meet his, shock wavering through me. “You’ll let me call him?” The very idea sends a desperate flutter through my chest.
“Yes, but only if you behave,” Milo replies, his tone brooking no argument.
“And Leone will allow that?” My voice is barely above a whisper, disbelief mingling with a flicker of hope.
Milo cuts into his steak, the knife sliding through the meat easily. “I wouldn’t be allowing it if he didn’t,” he answers coolly, not bothering to look up from his meal.
“Right.” My reply is automatic, but my hands shake slightly as I reach for the fork.
“All of it,” Milo states, his eyes finally lifting to pin me in place with their intensity.
The room feels like a pressure cooker, and every breath I take is laced with the awareness of Milo’s proximity. I take a bite; the food is rich and flavorful, but it might as well be ash for all the pleasure it brings me.
