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FORTY
LEONE
I storm through the bedroom door, my blood a scalding river of rage. Milo is on my heels, equally furious and focused. Fallon lies limp and unresponsive, the sedative still cradling her consciousness in its chemical embrace. We waste no time cuffing her to the bed—steel biting into her wrists, a precaution that feels both necessary and satisfying.
“Rocco’s on his way with her father,” Milo informs me.
“Good,” I grunt, scanning the room. The place is immaculate, save for Maria, who’s picking up shards of glass from a broken mirror in the bathroom. Her hands shake, the pieces chiming a discordant melody.
“Maria?” I ask worriedly.
“I’m sorry, Leone. I was cleaning it and—” She doesn’t finish, eyes wide, seeking forgiveness in mine.
“Accidents happen,” I say curtly. “Milo, help her.”
As he moves to assist, my gaze lands on something out of place—a cluster of foil packages bound with a hair tie. Curiosity piqued, I snatch them up, flipping them over with a flick of my wrist. Birth control pills. A dangerous kind of anger coils within me, tighter and more venomous than before. I crush the packets in my fist.
“What’s that?” Milo asks, returning to my side with a dustpan. I stare at the compressed foil in my hand, pieces of Fallon’s deception crumbling between my fingers. Anger simmers beneath my skin, a barely contained fury that seeks an outlet, a target, someone to blame.
“Birth control,” I spit out, tossing the crumpled foil at him. His eyes widen, and I can see the betrayal etching lines into his face.
“None of the staff would’ve given these to her,” he says, certainty lacing his words like a noose.
“Definitely not,” Maria adds, her voice barely above a whimper, her stance defensive.
“And Rocco knows better than to cross me.”
Milo’s brow furrows, his gaze shifting between the bed where Fallon lies oblivious and the crushed pills in his grip. His mind is racing, I can tell; he’s always been quick to piece together the puzzles of betrayal that litter our world.
“Then it was either her father or...” My voice trails into the thick silence, a heavy realization dawning on me.
“Sienna,” Milo finishes for me, his tone sharp as a dagger’s edge.
Before I can process the implication, a sharp rap at the door slices through the room’s tension. Milo and I exchange a quick glance—Rocco has arrived. No more time for speculation; it’s time for action.
I stride to the door and wrench it open, my presence an unspoken command for Rocco to speak. His face is drawn tight with tension.
“Marcus is downstairs,” Rocco informs us, standing straight and alert. “And so is her father.”
“Good.” The word is a growl from deep within me. Marcus, the traitor who dared to touch what is mine, will soon regret his every choice.
“Good, I need you to retrieve Sienna for me,” I command, my voice slicing through the tension in the room as Rocco nods in understanding and disappears. I turn to Milo, fixing him with a steely gaze. “Watch her,” I say, nodding toward Fallon. “I’ll handle Marcus.”
I descend the stairs to the basement, the air growing colder with each step. The sterile scent of antiseptic hangs heavy, a mocking reminder of the grim work that awaits. Marcus lies strapped to the table, his face contorted with fear.
“Comfortable?” I sneer, selecting a scalpel with deliberate slowness.
“Leone, please...” His voice trembles, but it’s music to my ears—the sweet symphony of impending retribution.
“Shhh,” I hush him, placing the cold steel against his warm flesh. “Let’s talk about something more… pleasurable.”
His body stiffens as I begin to cut, his screams painting the walls with their desperate crescendo. Above his head, the TV flickers to life, revealing an intimate scene from last night. I have cameras in every room in this house save for the bathrooms. His eyes dart to the screen. Each moan from the screen is a calculated strike against Marcus’s psyche, the very essence of his manhood.
“I figured you’d enjoy a home movie before we get to the best part.”
“See how she writhes? How she begs for more?” I taunt, leaning close to his ear as the blade dances across his skin. “She’s a masterpiece of pleasure and pain—our masterpiece.”
Marcus’s eyes fixate on the screen, horror and arousal warring within them. It’s a disgusting, twisted sight, but it’s just what I aimed for—an abomination only a man like me can relish.
