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“Obviously,” Milo states, his tone flat yet infused with an undercurrent of warning. He keeps close, his presence a shield against any possible prying eyes.
My mind whirls with questions, the most pressing one fighting to the surface. “Why?” I whisper, daring to glance up at him through my lashes.
“None of your business,” he spits out, his eyes never leaving the path ahead. “Just stay away from him.” There’s a hard edge to his command that brooks no argument.
“It means we should expect his father to know soon,” he continues, his voice low and laced with warning. “But you need to stay away from Leone’s brother.”
We quietly move through the estate’s opulent halls until I can’t contain the questions swirling in my mind. “Why did he ask how much Leone paid me?” My voice sounds small in the expanse of the corridor.
Milo’s teeth grind together, and he quickly glances around before leaning in closer. “Leone’s trying to cement his place at the head of his father’s empire. The Mexicans want a family man for appearances; his brother was suggested since he’s willing to marry. They’re competing for control of the strip.”
“I thought Leone was the head.”
“He is, but Dante has a knack for getting his nose where it isn’t wanted. He went behind Leone’s back to the Mexican Cartel,” Milo says, shaking his head as though to clear it of distaste. “The Mexicans... they told Leone either he marries or his brother takes over that part of the business.”
“I don’t understand,” I admit, confused by this situation.
“It’s because they’re very family-oriented; Leone was going to buy the entire strip, but they sold all but one business but initially agreed to let Leone run it, so it would ultimately be Leone’s territory until Dante got involved,” Milo murmurs, giving me a chance to piece together the sick game of chess in which I’ve become an unwilling Queen. A controlled one, but still, I know the danger I will be in as his wife. I’d be foolish not to know.
“I need to get back to Leone and make sure he doesn’t kill his brother, but I’ll be up soon,” he tells me, stopping at the stairs. He waves someone over.
“You don’t leave the room; if his brother is here, that means we can expect a visit from his father sooner rather than later,” Milo adds before turning to my new guard.
The guard from the club, whom I’ve heard called Rocco, is a hulking figure with a stern face. “She doesn’t leave this room if she tries to handcuff her to the bed or knock her ass out,” Milo tells the man, who nods at me to follow him. Each step toward the bedroom feels like a march toward a prison cell. My heels click against the marble floors, echoing the rapid beating of my heart. I kick off the stilettos the moment we’re out of sight, relief flooding through my aching feet.
TWENTY-ONE
FALLON
Once the door closes and I am alone, I peel away the dress that clings to my body like a second skin. The fabric pools around my feet just as the door bursts open, and Leone storms in. His presence fills the space, dark and ominous. Milo isn’t with him, which sends a ripple of unease through me.
“Leone...” I start, clutching the dress to my chest, but he doesn’t glance at me. The words streaming from his mouth are sharp and vicious, I have no idea what he is saying since he isn’t speaking English, but I know a furious voice when I hear one, and his demeanor right now is menacing. His voice makes me shiver despite not understanding a word.
Without thinking, I dash to the bathroom, slamming the door behind me and twisting the lock. My heart hammers against my ribcage as if trying to escape the confines of my body. I strip off the rest of the dress and step into the shower, hoping the hot water will wash away my fear.
The steam rises, fogging the mirror. The water splatters against my skin, and its normally calming effect is lost on me as Leone’s fury reverberates through the door. My heart thuds erratically in my chest, a mix of terror and adrenaline surging through my veins, while I wonder where Milo is. I finally relax when his voice cut off, and I can no longer hear him yelling.
But it doesn’t last. The lock clicks, and the door swings open.
“Leone!” I squeak, turning my back to him as he steps into the bathroom and removes his shirt.
“Doors remain unlocked,” he says, his voice a low growl that seeps into the marrow of my bones when he strips off his pants and briefs. I scramble to get out of the shower, quickly rinsing the soap from my hair, but he steps in, forcing me to step back.
“Leone, please—” I begin, but he advances, trapping me between the cold tiles and his hot skin. His hands are on the tiles on either side of my head, his body a barrier from which there is no escape.
“Quiet,” he silences me, pressing his face beneath the water. His eyes never leave mine, brown orbs burning with an intensity that could set the room ablaze.
My breath catches as he moves closer still, the lines of his body aligning with mine, leaving no space between us. My heart hammers in my chest, a frantic rhythm, trying to keep up with the sudden intrusion of Leone’s presence.
“Where’s Milo?” I ask, my voice barely rising above the hiss of water. His jaw sets, an edge of irritation sharpening his features.
“Dealing with my brother,” he says tersely. “He’ll be back later.”
I nod, attempting to step past him, craving even an inch of space, but he blocks me. “Stay,” he commands, and there’s an undertone of uncertainty in his voice that doesn’t fit the man before me. “I can’t remember if I locked the door.”
Reluctantly, I comply, tension coiling tighter within me. My hand shakes as I reach for the soap. Leone hands me a loofah; I take it, and he tilts his head to the side, watching me. Yet, curiosity claws at me, desperate for answers about Leone’s brother.
Hesitantly, I lather the loofah, holding it up to him, and he raises an eyebrow at me and looks at the loofah in my hand. Gritting my teeth to bite back from telling him to wash himself, I touch it to his skin, tracing paths along the contours of his body. He’s a canvas of ink and scars; his tattoos cover his arms and chest. His eyes follow every motion, a silent observer of my boldness when I notice writing weaving through the picture tattooed into the skin on his chest. But again, it isn’t in English, so I can’t read it.
