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However, as time goes on, Leone becomes more and more agitated. No, that is the wrong word. Leone is livid, pacing like a caged animal as they discuss the Russian mobster’s woes—raided warehouses and intercepted shipments. His fury is a living thing, and I shrink back in my chair, trying to become invisible as he smashes a glass against the wall. I never see him lose his temper like this, but whatever his father said to him in Italian has him murderous.
Dante’s gaze latches onto mine, unsettling in its intensity, and I feel cornered, prey under his scrutiny. I need out. But how.
“I need to use the restroom,” I murmur to Milo. I see the momentary hesitation before he gives a curt nod.
“Leone,” Milo calls out, and all eyes snap to me.
“Che cosa vuoi?” Leone demands I’m assuming, asking Milo what he wants, his attention momentarily diverted from arguing with his father. The two men talking to Dante stop glancing in my direction.
“She needs to use the restroom,” Milo says, pointing to me, Leone’s eyes darting to me momentarily.
He waves a dismissive hand, and I seize the opportunity, darting out of the room and down the stairs. My heart races, pounding in time with my hurried steps towards freedom. Passing Rocco, he motions that he is watching me, and I nod when he points to the restrooms off in the corner, I nod once.
“Fallon!” Marcus’s voice stops me in my tracks. “Are you dealing tonight?” he asks, and I glance at Rocco, who’s watching our interaction. Marcus leans casually against a blackjack table, a facade of ease that doesn’t fool me.
“No, I’m here with my husband. Is Dad working tonight?” I ask.
Marcus shakes his head. “Last time I spoke to him, your father said he was visiting your grandmother soon?” Marcus shrugs. Relief floods me at his words. I may not have heard from him, but clearly, he has been speaking with my father.
“Yeah, he’s excited to go, I saw him earlier, but I didn’t think he was leaving so soon,” I reply.
He nods once, a silent signal understood only by those who look for it, then turns away, distracting other players as I hurry towards the staff toilets. “Hopefully, I’ll catch you later,” Marcus calls, and I give him a small wave and head for the restrooms.
Inside, I press myself against the cool tiles, willing Marcus to come. Each second feels like an eternity, and the nervousness claws up my throat. He’s not coming. They’ll find me. A million scenarios run through my head, and I start to feel overwhelmed. A few minutes pass, and that nervousness turns into full-blown panic, knowing I must leave. If I am not out soon, Milo and Leone will send Rocco looking for me.
But as I push the door open to leave, Marcus appears like a dark angel of salvation. “Sorry, Rocco was watching. I couldn’t just follow straight out here.”
His grip on my arm is urgent, his touch igniting a spark of hope. “Fucking two months pulling double shifts—I was beginning to worry you weren’t coming back here,” he murmurs, using his staff swipe card to go through the rear doors.
“Let’s go,” I hiss, and we break into a run, darting through the service corridors, heading for the alleyway that promises a shot at freedom. The backdoor slams shut behind us, and we sprint toward the parking lot.
“Hurry, we need to get through the gates before they realize,” Marcus pants, his determination mirroring my own desperation.
We’re so close now, the risk of being caught heightening every sense. I can almost taste the sweet, intoxicating flavor of liberty in the air, mingling with the adrenaline that floods my veins.
“Keep moving,” Marcus urges, hand gripping my elbow, tugging me in the direction of his car. When we reach it, I stop for a few seconds. I know we earn well here, but for him to own a Lamborghini? I hesitate for a second, looking at his car. I want to question how he can afford one when he speaks.
“Stay close and hurry.”
The sharp bite of cold air outside the casino reminds me of the risks I’m taking. I can’t help but reflect on the past two months. Yes, things had settled into a semblance of normalcy—if one could call it that—with Leone and Milo. There were days when I could almost forget the nature of our arrangement, the tension easing enough that I could laugh, speak freely, and almost feel like part of their world.
But the fear never leaves me. It simmers beneath the surface, a constant reminder of the precariousness of my situation. I am free from the room, but only within the boundaries they set, as long as I play by their rules. Every smile and benign command carried an undercurrent of what would happen if I stepped out of line. I have seen the flare of Leone’s anger and the tightness in Milo’s jaw when orders were given and not followed. I am not one of them; I am still a prisoner, dressed in nicer clothes and given a longer leash, but still caged.
Leone’s brutality is not something I can forget. It wasn’t until a month ago that an incident occurred that irreversibly solidified the terror that Leone instilled in me and magnified the precariousness of any form of rebellion within his domain. Sienna, who had become a fleeting symbol of friendship in an otherwise isolating environment, was the catalyst.
Sienna was allowed to visit once a week, but the last time I saw her, she seemed particularly agitated and distressed. She had wandered off, and I found her in the garage, sitting in her car with a look of utter desperation. Her eyes were wild, filled with panic and fear that immediately alarmed me. Climbing into the passenger seat to comfort her, I listened as she poured out her heart. Sienna confessed that Marcel, her husband, was not only unfaithful but had given her a horrifying ultimatum: she had three months to fall pregnant, or he would kill her. Initially, I thought she was exaggerating, but her following words chilled me to the bone. She revealed she was his third wife, implying a sinister fate for her predecessors.
In her panic and desperation, Sienna started the car. The engine roared to life just as I tried to calm her down, and she slammed the accelerator frantically. The car lurched forward just as Leone and Milo returned. To them, it appeared as an attempt to escape.
Leone saw this as an unequivocal betrayal—a planned escape I was part of. The consequences were swift and severe. Marcel was called, and he was furious. I could only imagine the horrific repercussions she would face at his hands. As for me, Leone’s punishment was calculatedly brutal in a different manner. He confined me to the room and revoked all my previously granted small freedoms. It took me days to convince him I wasn’t running, but his actions reinforced how quickly things can change depending on his temper. I then overheard Maria and another maid saying how they witnessed Marcel beating Sienna into a bloody pulp outside before he took her home. Leone let him.
Then there is my father and Emma. Leone has a way of weaving threats around those I love in a manner that feels casual, almost offhand, but the intent behind them is evident. Every mention of my family was a noose around my neck, a way to keep me bound to his side, obedient and compliant. The thought of living at the whim of someone who holds the safety of my loved ones like a sword over my head is unbearable.
Despite the superficial calm of the last few weeks, the truth is that I am always waiting for the other shoe to drop. The anxiety of anticipating Leone’s mood swings or the dread of his quiet, seething anger leaves me constantly on edge. Compliance is my armor, but it is also my cage.
Leaving with Marcus is a gamble—one that might cost me dearly. But the alternative is a life of calculated smiles and measured words, a life where any semblance of freedom is contingent on the whims of a man who viewed people as assets to be controlled and discarded at will.
The fear of staying, of enduring more silent threats and witnessing further acts of violence, is ultimately greater than the fear of trying to escape. With Marcus, however slim, there is a chance of a different life. A life where fear isn’t an ever-present shadow, where I can make choices not tainted by coercion.
