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“She isn’t handcuffed?” Leone’s voice is closer now, his presence looming even without sight. He peels back the blanket, and I feel the last shred of warmth flee as cold dread seeps into me. I’m not alone, I remind myself while praying he doesn’t put the cuff on me.
“They’re on the coffee table.” Milo’s voice is steady, but there’s an undercurrent there, something I can’t quite read in his tone.
Leone’s chuckle is dark chocolate mixed with venom. “She already has you wrapped around her finger.” The bed dips with his weight, and my body tenses, anticipating his touch.
“I can put them on her,” Milo offers, and I brace myself for the cold metal around my wrists while silently praying he doesn’t handcuff me.
“No, she won’t get past both of us,” Leone says.
Time stretches, every second heavy with the possibility of violence, of unwanted touch. But nothing comes except the deepening rhythm of Leone’s breathing, a whispery peace that feels anything but peaceful. Thinking they’re asleep, I risk a glance over my shoulder, finding Leone’s back turned to me. I can make out the landscape of inked skin in the dim light. Relief floods me; he’s asleep.
Turning back, I freeze when Milo’s gaze traps mine, a silent watcher in the dark. My body tenses, anticipating a threat, a demand. He leans closer, and I’m certain he’s going to touch me as he leans in, invading my space. But instead, his mouth finds my forehead, and the unexpected gesture roots me to the spot.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmurs, the words a feather-light caress against my hairline. He draws me in tighter, his chin resting atop my head like some strange protector I never asked for. Despite myself, despite everything, the steady beat of his heart beneath my ear eventually lulls me to sleep.
The next morning, I am awoken by bright light, the first slivers of sunlight sneaking through the curtains, and that silent light invading the backs of my eyelids, forcing my awakening. My bladder screams for relief, trapped as I am between two human boulders. Carefully lifting Milo’s heavy arm, which lies across me like a steel beam, I slide out from the warmth of the sheets, careful not to stir either of them too much. The two of them remain lost in the depths of their sleep, blissfully oblivious that I have managed to escape the bed. Heavy sleepers, I think. This could be an opportunity.
The cool tiles of the bathroom welcome me, and I close the door with a soft click. Relief washes over me in more ways than one. Finally, alone with my thoughts, I can momentarily pretend that my life isn’t a disaster right now, at least for these few precious minutes.
Once finished, I cringe at the thought of flushing the toilet but do so anyway before washing my hands and hesitating at the door. Pressing my ear against the wood, I strain to listen for any signs of movement. Silence greets me. I quickly peek back into the bedroom, my prison, and my eyes are drawn to the door leading to potential freedom. But deep down, I know that Leone will have his men stationed nearby. There are always guards around the casino, following him everywhere. I can’t imagine it would be much different here.
Yet, I’ll have to be patient and wait for city crowds or a more public setting for an escape. Somewhere I can easily slip away and get lost. I can’t be too reckless; I don’t want to ruin my chances of escape, and rushing out of here blindly is doing exactly that.
Opening the door, I find that Milo hasn’t moved an inch, but Leone shifts as I climb back into bed—like a predator aware even in his dreams. I freeze, holding my breath, feeling his presence pull at me with an invisible force. Reluctantly, I settle back down, the mattress dipping under the weight of movement.
“Good choice,” Leone murmurs, his voice gravel mixed with velvet, not bothering to open his eyes. “Milo hates mornings. He would have been furious if I made him chase you down.”
A shiver that has nothing to do with cold runs down my spine. Around Leone, every word feels like a thinly veiled threat, each moment a dance with the devil. And yet, here he is, disarmed by sleep, his guard lowered just enough for me to see the man behind the monster.
I allow my gaze to wander across the expanse of inked skin laid bare before me. The intricate patterns draw me in, raising questions and curiosities. This man saved my sister and spared me and my father. Some part of me wants to know who Leone Pressutti truly is and what exactly lies beneath the hard surface of his exterior. But another part of me is too scared to find out, knowing that chances of discovering anything good are slim.
With a heart that beats an abrupt rhythm of fear and fascination, I hesitantly lay my head back on the pillow, sandwiched again between the devil and his minion. Reluctantly, I close my eyes, pretending and waiting for the time they declare I’m allowed to be awake.
It must only be mere hours later when I wake again. Eyelids heavy, I blink back into consciousness, the soft rustle of fabric and the clinking of leather indicating movement in the room. Leone is dressing, his muscles shifting beneath his skin as he pulls on a crisp button-up shirt. The sound of water streaming in the bathroom tells me Milo is showering.
“Today Milo is taking you to get a wedding dress,” Leone announces without looking at me, his voice cold and sharp. “If you behave, I will allow you to see your sister and father afterward. Misbehave on him, and you’ll find yourself tied back to the bed, and that is where you’ll remain.”
My heart hammers in my chest, but I steady my voice. “You know, I can just say no at the altar,” I challenge, despite knowing it’s futile.
Leone turns, a laugh slipping from his lips. “And the priest will still marry you to me. Instead, you should be focusing on the fact that I’m allowing you to pick out a dress and play the part instead of simply having you sign a piece of paper. Call me a romantic, I guess. Stop believing you have a choice and accept what is because my word is law, Fallon. Choice is a luxury, not a necessity when it comes from me. Make the right ones; maybe you won’t hate your life with me.”
Swallowing thickly, I feel the weight of his gaze, oppressive and demanding.
“And if I make the wrong ones?” I ask, defiance laced with a tremor of fear.
His glare slices through the air between us, and for a moment, I wish I could swallow my words back down my throat. “I don’t give second chances, yet I’ve given you multiple. They’ll run dry, so I suggest you don’t test how many you have left.” His warning is a growl, the promise of death if I push him too far.
A cushion flies from my grip as the door slams behind him, thudding against the wood with a pathetic softness. I hadn’t realized the shower had cut off until I heard Milo’s laughter from the doorway.
“Lucky that you didn’t hit him; you probably would have found yourself over his knee,” he teases, but the humor doesn’t reach his eyes.
“Get dressed,” he demands, pointing to a pile of clothes on the armchair, and I force myself out of bed.
Once dressed in clothes someone sent up here, my nerves are a tangled mess, but Milo’s presence offers a strange comfort as we descend the grand staircase. He introduces me to the head maid—a woman with kind eyes and a warm smile that seems out of place in this horrible, intense world. She makes breakfast, her movements efficient and quick, and I can’t help but notice the easy banter between her and Milo. The normalcy of their interactions and how happy the staff seem here is disconcerting. Aren’t they afraid? Do they know who they are working for?
But then again, maybe they have nothing to fear from Leone.
With a stomach half filled with food and half dread, I follow Milo out to his car. He drives us into the city while I try to piece together the puzzle of this man and the world he navigates with such ease. Doesn’t he think it is strange that his boss wants to marry a stranger? Does he think for himself or is he just a yes man to Leone? Eventually, we stop outside an upscale bridal shop, its windows adorned with mannequins draped in white silk and lace—every young woman’s dream. The store is glamorous, couture. No matter how many shifts I worked, I would probably never be able to afford to even step foot in here.
