53

FALLON Leone’s arms are like steel wrapped in velvet as they wrap around me, his muscled arms form both a cage and some twisted sense of security from his father as he carries me through the grand foyer of the mansion. The echo of Vittorio slamming the front door vibrates in the air, a stormy departure that leaves a tangible tension hanging as we pass Dante on the stairs. “You can’t help yourself, just gotta piss off the old man,” Dante taunts. “Fuck off, Dante,” Leone sneers as he turns onto the stairs. I see Leone’s jaw set, his silent fury, an undercurrent in the otherwise silent hall that only echoes Dante’s soft laughter. “Let’s get you cleaned up,” Leone murmurs, his voice a low rumble against my ear as we climb the stairs to our room. The door closes with a soft click behind us, and before I can even take in a breath, Milo is there, dark eyes glinting with that familiar, dangerous smirk. It’s as if he senses my vulnerability, the remnants of our interrupted encounter in the pool