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“Same reason you did. She never deserved this,” I whisper the last part knowing my mother was the reason her heart is the way it is.
“Promise me you’ll take care of Emma no matter what happens,” I tell him. The weight of my words settles like a boulder in my stomach. “Promise me,” I repeat, desperation lacing my tone.
“You know I will; we’ll figure this out.”
“I love you, Dad,” I blurt out, the words catching in my throat.
“It never should have been this way, and I should have protected you both, I…”
I swallow at his words, he did the best he could. No one predicted Mom would leave him on his own to raise two girls so that she could live her life of drugs and sex.
“I need to go, Dad, but I will try to call you again soon,” I tell him.
“Please try, am I allowed to call this number?” he asks in return. I glance at Milo, who nods, hearing his question.
“Yes, this is Milo’s number,” I tell him.
“I don’t mind Milo. He was always nice until he kidnapped my daughter, though Leone is another matter; just keep your head down, and we’ll figure this out. I love you, firefly,” he tells me, using a nickname he rarely uses anymore. I blink back tears.
“Tell Em I love her, we’ll talk soon.” I hang up the phone and stare at the screen until it goes blank.
SIXTEEN
FALLON
My heart is still thundering from the relief that washes over me as I hand the phone back to Milo, his penetrating gaze still studying my face. I slide off his lap, the warmth of his body lingering on my skin, which starts to shiver from the chill in the room.
“Thank you,” I tell him, and he nods once. I move toward the couch, and Milo offers me the remote, but I don’t take it. He sighs, sitting back down and flicking through the channels before settling on the news.
Eventually, the tension seeps out of my muscles, exhaustion claiming me, and I let myself drift into a shallow sleep. However, the transition from consciousness is so subtle that I only realize I’ve fallen asleep when I’m jolted awake by the sensation of being lifted.
My eyes snap open in alarm, but I quickly feign sleep, my body going limp as I’m placed gently onto the bed. The fear of what Milo might do sends a tremble through me, but he doesn’t linger; he tugs the blanket over me. He moves away, and through my barely parted eyelids, I watch him retreat to the couch, the glow from the TV casting flickering shadows across his stoic face.
Anger bubbles within me at my own vulnerability, letting my guard down around these men. But before I can chastise myself further, the door creaks open, and Leone’s voice, dark and smooth like aged whiskey, fills the room.
“Why are you on the couch?” His tone carries a dangerous edge that makes me shiver involuntarily beneath the blanket as I fight the urge to peek out at him.
Milo remains silent, and the sound of Leone moving about the room pricks at my senses. There’s a metallic click, possibly a safe being opened, and my curiosity battles with the need to appear asleep.
“Did you sort whatever it was out?” Milo’s voice breaks the silence, a hint of concern threading through his words.
“Yes, for now. The Russians killed two of our drivers,” Leone replies, his words heavy. Footsteps approach, coming closer, and I tighten every muscle to keep my breathing even, to remain the perfect image of sleep.
“How was she? Did she give you any trouble?” Leone’s inquiry is casual as if he’s asking about the state of the weather rather than my compliance.
“Besides her attitude, she was fine,” Milo answers, and I can almost feel the weight of his stare on me, assessing, calculating.
“Good!” That single word from Leone carries a finality that sets my nerves on edge. “I’m going to shower and climb in bed; you’re not sleeping on my couch.” His declaration rings with authority, brooking no argument.
“You’re not worried about what people will think?” Milo asks with a hint of challenge in his voice.
“I don’t give a fuck what people think; they aren’t paid for their opinions. They’re paid to keep their mouths shut.” Leone’s voice slices through the air, laced with a clear authority.
A rushing sound of water cascades in the background, and I imagine Leone shedding his clothes and sins along with the blood on his hands beneath the water. The shower’s hum does nothing to relieve the tension coiling within me.
From the corner of my eye, I see Milo’s silhouette against the dim light, his chest rising and falling slowly. A sigh slips from him, the sound almost drowned out by the shower. My heart stutters as the blanket beside me lifts, a draft of air whispering across my skin as he lies beside me. Milo’s arm, warm and solid, slides under my head, gently pulling me closer against the hard planes of his bare chest. Panic flares within me, but I dare not move, not even when my lungs scream for a deeper breath. Minutes tick by, and I remain frozen, too terrified to move.
The shower cuts off like a curtain falling at the end of a play, leaving us in a sudden quiet filled with the unknown. I can’t tear my eyes away from Milo’s chest, the way his muscles shift beneath the skin with every shallow breath.
