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“Enemies?” I frown.
“Let’s just say I trust my rivals to be ruthless. My family, though, they’ve betrayed me worse than any enemy could. They hide their knives behind smiles and ‘blood is thicker than water’ bullshit.” There’s a bitter edge to his voice, a silent fury that makes the surrounding air heavier. “What about your family?”
“My family?” I murmur. “I barely remember my mother. It was always just me, my dad, and Emma.”
The silence stretches between us, and I continue when he raises an eyebrow at me, wanting me to continue. “My mother left because she thought kids were a burden.” The memory stings fresh like it always does when I think about my mother. “Emma was born sick... Dad thinks Mom couldn’t face the fact that her addiction might have caused it.”
“Emma’s heart?” Leone asks.
“Heart defects, mom was a drug addict. Emma was born a preemie, her heart already failing, she is a miracle. They said she shouldn’t have survived past two years old. Mom just didn’t want to give up drugs to raise a sick baby,” I confirm. I can feel his eyes on me. There’s a softness there that doesn’t belong to the man who thrives on hurting me.
“You believe that’s why she left?”
I nod, bitterness coating my tongue. “I think she just didn’t care. Drugs, sleeping around... those were her priorities, not us.”
“Any other family?” His question is simple, but it feels like he’s asking for so much more.
“It was mostly just us.” My words trail off, thinking of the years of struggle, about my father working himself to the bone for the sake of medical insurance, for the life of his daughter he refused to give up on.
Leone nods slowly and contemplatively, but before he can respond, the door bursts open. Milo stands there, his figure imposing, shirt soaked in crimson. I sit up, heart hammering against my ribs, alarm flaring through every nerve. “Milo?” I shriek in panic, moving to climb off Leone when he grabs my thighs.
“Relax, Fallon. It’s not his blood,” Leone’s voice cuts through the fear, steady and sure.
Milo’s smirk is irritating and reassuring as he strides toward me. “Worried about me, bambina?” His Italian rolls off his tongue, smooth and mocking.
“Yes.” I roll my eyes even as my pulse begins to settle. “Because I would miss one of the men holding me captive,” I say sarcastically.
He winks – an infuriating gesture that draws an unwilling smile from me as he comes over to us.
“Stranger things have happened.”
His lips press against mine, a soft kiss that I answer immediately only for Milo to groan, his hand gripping my throat as he deepens it, his tongue invading every inch of my mouth and my nails dig into Leone’s chest making him hiss as arousal floods me. But it is over too soon. He pulls away with a chuckle, heading for the shower. “Yeah, you missed me,” he taunts over his shoulder while I try to catch my breath.
I huff, looking down at Leone beneath me, finding his expression unexpectedly amused. The corners of his mouth are turned up in a rare, genuine smile. Of course, I missed him. I miss many things: sound, touch, freedom, all things deprived of me for the past week.
“He seems to be in a good mood,” I observe, watching Milo disappear into the bathroom. Leone laughs, his hands gripping my thighs and he squeezes.
“Milo always is after torturing someone, it makes him aroused,” Leone laughs darkly. I gasp, feeling disturbed and looking back at Milo.
THIRTY-FOUR
FALLON
The door to the bathroom creaks open, and Milo’s head pops out, a grimace on his face as he tosses his bloodied shirt into the basket by the door. “Fallon, can you please grab me some boxers and a towel?” His voice is husky, carrying an urgency that has nothing to do with his request.
I glance at Leone, whose nod directs me toward the walk-in closet. “Maria always leaves a few spares in there, top shelf,” he says, his eyes gleaming with an unreadable intent.
The closet air is cool against my skin as I step inside. The towels are just within sight but beyond reach, stacked neatly above. “Leone, a little help here?” I call out, frustration lacing my tone while I yank open drawers, searching for Milo’s boxers.
But what I find isn’t cotton or silk designed to cradle anything mundane. My hand freezes on a sleek, metallic vibrator, its smooth surface alien and enticing under my touch. Heart racing, I barely register the pink object beside it as I pick it up before I’m enveloped in Leone’s heat, his body pressing flush against mine.
“It’s a butt plug,” he murmurs, breathing hot on my ear. I drop it like it’s burning, a shudder racing down my spine.
“Jeez, Leone...” I start, but he’s already plucked the vibrator from my grasp, flipping it on. The soft hum vibrates through the air, and then it’s against my skin, tracing fire over my collarbone.
“Ah,” I gasp, the sensation slicing through me as he runs the device between my breasts. The coldness of the metal contrasts sharply with the warmth pooling inside me.
His erection is insistent against my backside, a demanding presence that stirs an ache deep within me. He toys with the vibrator, letting it dance across my sensitized skin, each buzz echoing in places that crave much more than teasing touches.
