Romance

FALLON
“Alright,” I whisper, surrendering to his monstrous demand. My hands work mechanically, unbuttoning my blouse with shaking fingers. The silk slides from my shoulders, and I drop it at my feet.
“Good girl,” Leone murmurs, his eyes tracking every movement with ravenous attention.
My skirt is next, the zipper parting with a hiss. It pools around my ankles, and I step out of it, feeling the cool kiss of the basement air against my skin, goosebumps marching across my flesh like an army of revulsion. I toe off my flats, push them aside, and look at Leone; his gaze takes in every inch of me. “Everything,” he says when his eyes move to my bra and underwear.
“Please, how can I cheat in a bra and underwear?” I beg, wishing my willpower alone could halt this perverse performance. But the show continues—Leone’s show—and my body is the unwilling star.
“Keep going,” he instructs, motioning with

FALLON
“Are you satisfied?” I spit, the taste of defeat bitter on my tongue as I will myself not to cry.
“Immensely.” Leone leans back, the ghost of a smirk playing on his lips as the dealer clears the table and exits quickly without so much as a backward glance.
His callous fingers slide along the barrel of the gun sitting next to him on the table, a caress that promises nothing but death. The weapon is an extension of his arrogant will, cold and ready to deliver its final verdict. A chill skitters down my spine as I watch him pick it up and take aim at my father’s blindfolded form.
“Please,” I whisper, my voice a jagged edge of desperation. “You have me now; let him go.”
“Unfortunately for you, my dear, mercy isn’t a luxury in my world.”
My heart thunders against my rib cage, each beat a drum roll to the inevitable. But as he pulls the hammer back with a click that echoes like a tomb being sealed, something primal surges within me. I can’t—won’t—let my father pay for trying to save Emma; that seems cruel.
Time seems to slow, and my senses are heightened. Every breath feels like inhaling shards of glass, every heartbeat a sledgehammer to my chest. In one swift, desperate movement, I launch myself across the dimly lit space, tackling Leone with all the force my body can muster.
Our bodies collide and bang rings out loudly, the impact jarring bones and spilling chips. The gun is trapped between us.
“Get off me!” Leone grunts, struggling beneath me as we wrestle.
Our bodies tussle, limbs entangled. My shoulder burns with the friction of the struggle, my muscles screaming in protest as adrenaline fuels me and gives me strength I didn’t know I possessed. But it’s nothing compared to the pain that rips through me as the gun goes off for a second time, the sound deafening.
“Ah!” I cry out, the impact jolting me. Warmth spreads rapidly across my shoulder, the scent of blood mingling with sweat and fear. My vision blurs, a crimson stain blossoming on my flesh like a fatal flower.
“Fallon!” Leone spits, shoving me off him with a surprising strength that makes me hit the wall.
I hit the floor hard, my head spinning from the collision. Pain radiates from my wound as panic claws at my throat with each pained breath I suck in.
“Look at what you’ve done,” Leone hisses, rising to his feet and standing over me with the gun now trained on my face. “You could’ve walked away with just a broken heart, but you chose to play the hero. How fucking noble.”
“Go to hell,” I manage through gritted teeth, defiant even as my body burns violently and I bleed all over the ground.
“Maybe I will… but not tonight.” His dark eyes bore into mine, full of malice.
Blood oozes between my fingers where they press against my shoulder, the metallic tang of it heavy in the air. Adrenaline surges through my veins, cutting through the fog of pain and fear that threatens to consume me. My gaze darts around the room, searching for an opportunity—any chance for leverage.
“Such a pretty little thing, bleeding out on my floor,” Leone croons, checking the clip in his gun, his voice a venomous caress as he watches me squirm. “A bit too spirited, though. Oh well, you’ll learn soon enough.” Leone looks for his jacket, tossing the gun on the table.
“Go fuck yourself,” I spit, my words laced with venom despite the agony that claws at my senses as I force myself to my feet, using the wall to hold myself up. Leone snatches his jacket up off the floor, his brows pinching together, rifling inside the pockets.
I stagger a step forward. The moment I do, Milo moves closer, his face a mask of indifference when I spot another gun on the floor, the gun Leone must be looking for and has dropped from his jacket in our struggle. As I spot it, so does Milo as he moves to pick it up. Leone tosses his jacket aside and picks up his fallen chair.
Milo doesn’t see it coming—I launch myself forward. Ignoring the screaming protest from my wounded shoulder, I collide with him. He catches me effortlessly when I smash my forehead into Milo’s nose with a sickening crunch that makes me see black for a split second.
“Dammit!” he curses, stumbling back, his hands flying up to his face as he lets me go.
In one motion, I rip the gun from his slackened grip as he picks it up. My fingers are slick with my blood, but I hold on tight, the weight of the weapon both foreign and familiar in my hand. I swing the barrel towards Leone, who freezes, his calculating eyes widening in surprise.
“Don’t touch it,” I snarl, picking up the second gun Leone is about to reach for that rests on the table. Finding my other target with unnerving calmness as I train it on Milo, who has since recovered enough to realize the severity of his mistake.
“Fallon, this is madness,” Leone says, his voice smooth as silk yet edged with caution. He slowly raises his hands in surrender.
“Madness?” I echo, a cold, bitter laugh escaping my lips. “No, this is desperation.” I point at Milo’s gun, wanting him to slide it over. He does, and I pick it up.
“Think about what you’re doing,” Milo warns. His voice is strained as he pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to stem the flow of blood.
“I’ve thought about nothing else,” I spit at them, and my eyes flicker between the two men. “You threatened my family, my life. Now don’t fucking move, or you’ve played your last hand, Leone,” I yell at him, just as he takes a step towards me.
“Brave words for someone who just lost the game,” Leone taunts, attempting to regain control of the situation.
“Looks like I’m holding all the cards now,” I counter, my voice steady even as my arm trembles under the strain of holding the gun on him.
The basement, once filled with shuffling cards and chips clinking, now echoes with my heart pounding. The dim light casts shadows across the two men’s faces, turning them into grotesque representations of the threats they posed. Every muscle in my body is coiled tight, ready to react to whatever move they make next.
“Let him go, and maybe I’ll consider letting you walk out of here alive,” I tell Leone, although I know I am as good as dead now. I won’t be walking out of here even if I kill them. His guards out there will kill me, but perhaps I can save my sister and father. Or at least give them a fighting chance.
“Oh, Fallon. Quite the situation you’ve found yourself in.”
“Shut up,” I snap, my finger twitching on the trigger. My legs shake, the third gun tucked under my arm falling to the floor when I move. But I dare not move to pick it, knowing if I do, they’ll pounce on me.
Leone’s eyes dart to the gun at my feet; a sly smile crawls onto his face. “Fine,” Leone finally concedes, his voice a low rumble of defeat. “Let him go, Milo.”
Milo hesitates, his calculating eyes never leaving me. But eventually, he steps aside, unlocking the handcuffs my father wears and allowing my blindfolded father to shuffle away from the line of fire.
Keeping the guns aimed squarely at the two men, I wait. This isn’t over, not by a long shot. But for now, I’ve regained some semblance of control, and I’d be damned if I let it slip through my fingers again. Sweat beads on my forehead, mingling with the blood and grime, and my arm wavers for a moment under the weight of the gun. But I fight through the pain, shooting up from my wounded shoulder, steadying my aim at Leone and Milo.
“Consider your next move carefully,” I grind out through clenched teeth, my voice low as my body moves hesitantly for a chair. I motion for Milo to move next to Leone and he does. Using my good arm, I grab the chair dragging it by the wall.
Leone’s sardonic chuckle fills the air, a sound that scrapes along my nerves like sandpaper. “You’re in no position to be making threats, cara mia. How long do you think you can hold that gun pointed at me? I bet it feels heavy with your shoulder injured like that.”
“You’d be surprised,” I retort.

FALLON
I glare at him, and he motions to the seat across from him. “You understand the stakes, Fallon?” His voice slithers through the haze, as acrid and potent as the smoke curling from his lips as he draws back on his cigar.
My eyes narrow, “You’ve been watching me all night,” I accuse, my voice a blade. He nods, leaning back in his chair.
“Watching, admiring, studying… You’re quite the sight, Fallon. A beautiful mystery wrapped in feisty audacity.” His tone is mockingly reverent, but I can hear the steel underneath, the threat that coils in his words.
The room is a vacuum, absorbing everything. Every breath and heartbeat is suspended in time.
“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice, Fallon?” Leone’s voice is a velvet caress, yet it stings like a whip against my consciousness. “A dealer by day, a card counting thief by night.”
His words uncoil in the air, each syllable laced with the poison of betrayal. I can feel the weight of his gaze, heavy with knowledge and dark intent. I offer no answer to his words.
“Observation is key in any game,” he says, a smile curling his lips like smoke from the devil’s cigar. “You know this. Especially when the stakes are as delightful as they are now.”
His eyes scour over me, ravenous and calculating. It is a look that strips away any façade, leaving my secrets bare and trembling in the dim light.
“But your little card counting, cheating secret,” Leone continues, leaning closer as if to share secrets meant only for the damned. “Will make this all the more… fun when I win.”
I square my shoulders, thrusting my fear into the pit of my stomach, where it churns like a storm.
“Let’s just get this over with. I want to go home.”
Leone laughs. “You’re so sure of yourself,” he laughs, motioning for the girl to deal out the first hand.
As the rounds progress, the clatter of chips becomes an eerie warfare as we play hand after hand. Leone plays his hand close to his chest, his face an impenetrable mask of concentration. Yet beneath the surface, I sense his enjoyment, the predator relishing the hunt.
“Check,” I murmur, my eyes darting from the pot to his inscrutable face. The world shrinks to a singular moment. The suffocating haze of cigarette smoke, the distant clanking of chips—all of it dissolves into nothingness until there is only Leone and me.
Leone’s lip curls upward, a predator’s smile, as he lays his cards down with deliberate slowness. “But is it good enough?”
Leone’s presence is a flame, and my skin prickles with an awareness that goes beyond fear and borders on something far more dangerous.
“Hope is a cruel mistress,” he taunts, his eyes flickering over me like the touch of a shadow, but I smile in return.
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not relying on hope.” My retort is steady, even if my pulse is a frantic drum in my veins as I lay my cards down, beating his.
“Indeed?” Leone leans forward, removing his jacket and rolling the sleeves of his shirt. His tattooed arms resting on the table.
The woman deals the next hand, and I slide my cards closer, peeking at them.
“Tell me,” Leone muses as he picks up his hand, the corners of the cards bending to his touch. “Does your heart always race this fiercely? Or is it my presence that quickens your pulse?” he asks, staring at my neck.
I swallow nervously. I can hear my heart beating in my ears, so it’s no wonder he can see it pumping blood through my veins.
“Focus on your hand, Leone,” I reply, though heat creeps up my neck at the probing edge of his question. “My heart is none of your concern.”
“Everything about you is my concern,” he counters. “Especially when you’re under my roof, playing at my table.” He tosses some chips onto the table, and I follow, doing the same.
I reveal my hand—a straight flush.
“Ah, got me this one!” His voice cracks, but his composure remains unshaken, making me wonder if losing is another game. He is unshakeable.
“Easily,” I counter, my heart thrumming with the rush of victory yet knowing the game is far from over. “Especially when you’ve been underestimating your opponent.”
“Underestimating?” He stands up slowly, every inch the king of his dark domain as the next hand is dealt. “Or perhaps I’ve been setting the stage for the grand finale.”
“Your theatrics don’t scare me.” I rise to meet him, and the space between us is charged with electric currents of animosity and an unnerving attraction that I dare not dwell upon. The dealer clears the table and reshuffles the deck.
“Scared? Not yet.” Leone circles the table, a slow predator stalking its prey. “But hopeful, slightly intrigued—captivated, even—that’s the look I see in your green eyes.”
“Is your analysis necessary? Or maybe you like hearing yourself speak.” My words are ice, belying the fire that courses through me at his proximity. “Maybe you should focus on your hand, and the prize, you might win the next one.”
“Ah, but you are the prize, Fallon,” he murmurs, standing so close now that I can feel the heat rolling off him in waves. “And I always keep my eyes on what’s mine.”
“Nothing is yours until the game is over,” I breathe out, fighting the urge to step back. Instead, I hold my ground, using my defiance as a shield against his unsettling allure.
“Quite right you are,” he murmurs and nods to someone. I realize it’s Milo. I also notice we are alone in here now—the dealer gone and a fresh deck left on the table–no staff, gamblers, and none of his guard. I am about to question him when Leone speaks.
“Strip,” he commands, his words dripping with a venomous desire that churns my stomach as I turn back to face him.
“Excuse me?” I snap back, the disgust and disbelief surging through me.
“Your clothes,” he clarifies, stepping closer, the threat in his voice as palpable. “Or your father’s life.” His ultimatum hangs in the air between us, heavy and menacing, when he pulls his gun from the waistband of his pants.
The click of a gun’s hammer cocking back shatters the silence, and my resolve splinters along with it.
“No,” I say, the word cutting through the thick air. The defiance in my voice is flimsy against the terror clawing at my insides.
“Ah, such spirit,” Leone coos, mocking my futile attempt to stand up to him. “But we both know you’re not in a position to negotiate.”
The heavy tread of boots on concrete approaches, and a door opens. Milo moves off to my side, only to reappear dragging a blindfolded figure stumbling behind him. My father’s face is obscured by the dark fabric, but the stoop of his shoulders is as familiar as my own reflection.
“Dad?” I murmur, horrified.
“Fallon?” my father blurts, hearing my voice, his head turning in my direction, hoping to see me through the blindfold. “No… No, she is innocent,” my father begs, and I move to go to him when he is shoved to the ground, and Leone steps in my way.
“This will be the last round, so I figured you should remember what’s at stake, but I want to ensure you don’t cheat,” Leone tells me. I glance at my father on his knees and see Milo whispering something to him.
He drops my bag from earlier on the floor, along with another bag that is filled with cash and my handbag, which I left at the house. My father sits at Milo’s feet, whimpering and sobbing. The head wound he received earlier though has thankfully stopped, and someone has wrapped his head.
“Let him go,” I demand, my voice echoing in the cavernous space, mingling with the desperation that threatens to swallow me whole.
“Strip,” Leone repeats, unmoved, leveling the gun at my father’s temple. “Or he dies.”
Time slows, each second stretching into an eternity. My heart hammers against my rib cage. I can’t let my father die just because I don’t want to get naked. Not him. Leone’s finger moves to the trigger, and panic makes me step forward.

FALLON
“Alright,” I whisper, surrendering to his monstrous demand. My hands work mechanically, unbuttoning my blouse with shaking fingers. The silk slides from my shoulders, and I drop it at my feet.
“Good girl,” Leone murmurs, his eyes tracking every movement with ravenous attention.
My skirt is next, the zipper parting with a hiss. It pools around my ankles, and I step out of it, feeling the cool kiss of the basement air against my skin, goosebumps marching across my flesh like an army of revulsion. I toe off my flats, push them aside, and look at Leone; his gaze takes in every inch of me. “Everything,” he says when his eyes move to my bra and underwear.
“Please, how can I cheat in a bra and underwear?” I beg, wishing my willpower alone could halt this perverse performance. But the show continues—Leone’s show—and my body is the unwilling star.
“Keep going,” he instructs, motioning with the gun—a weapon that holds more power than just the promise of death; it holds me hostage, and he 

15