Romance

FALLON
“A game?” I ask. He nods once, glancing at the paperwork and handing it back to Milo.
“What do you want from me if I lose?” I demand, and my hands clench at my sides.
“Everything.” His answer is simple, yet it contains multitudes of possibilities. “If you lose, your father’s debts become your own—a lifetime of servitude within my establishment and home. And your father,” he pauses, letting the words hang heavy between us, “And your father dies.”
The blood in my veins turns to ice. “And if I win?”
Leone’s smile is a wolf before the pounce. “You’ll have completely cleared your family’s debt and saved your sister and father. A clean slate for the McCallisters. No strings attached.”
“And I’m expected to believe you’ll let us go?”
“Ah, but what other choice is there, cara mia? Rather than simply taking his life and ending it, I am granting you the chance to save him. I suggest you take

FALLON
Mr. Presutti sighs heavily but answers; opening the door, I see his men walk through. I find red carpet and black painted walls, which I recognize immediately to match Verdigris—underground casino.
“Leone, no more of this, Mr. Pressutti; it will drive me crazy when you lose and become mine. As for your father, he will be fine. Now.” Leone motions for me to enter. Immediately, guards step out from the corners, and one seizes my arm.
“I’ll be down soon; I just have a few things to take care of and a few phone calls,” he tells me, then looks at the security guard inside the door. “Keep an eye on her until Milo or I return. No one is to go near her,” Leone tells his goons, and I look at him, only for him to smirk.
“Prepare yourself, Fallon. This isn’t your average Friday night poker at the Casino. The men down there,” he gestures behind me into the dark corridor. “Play for keeps. And 

FALLON
Mr. Pressutti walks around the room. He swipes his fingers over the mantle above the fireplace. He looks at his fingers, which have gathered the dust.
“I’m afraid your father has been rather careless,” Leone says, almost casually, as if discussing the weather. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaning his fingers, looking appalled at the mantle. He then circles me, his steps deliberate, each echoing.
“A failed theft is still a theft, Fallon. And in my world, we don’t take kindly to thieves. Now the question I want to know is if I am only killing one person tonight or two?” he asks, and my brows furrow. He crouches beside me.
“Your father crossed the wrong man, which leaves me questioning if you knew and helped him?” he asks. I swallow down the bile that rises in my throat, and I glance at my father behind me, my hands finding his body as I use my own as a shield to protect him. Tears spring in my eyes at the thought of him killing my father.
“Please,” I whisper, hating myself for the plea in my voice, “There must be some mistake. My father isn’t a thief.” But his name tag is in that bag, and they wouldn’t be here unless they knew for sure.
“Did you know what your father had done?”
I shake my head, and he looks at Milo over his shoulder before rising to his feet. He nods to Milo.
“Kill him, take the girl,” Leone orders, and my scream is loud when I see Milo step out from behind his boss.
“Wait, wait, don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything, please,” I beg, jumping to my feet and grabbing Mr. Presutti by his shirt, my hands fisting the thick white fabric. And the room falls deathly silent as he peers down at my hands gripping him. I follow his gaze, realizing my mistake and quickly let him go, staggering back only for him to snatch my wrists in a vice-like grip.
Mr. Pressutti’s grip tightens around my wrists, his eyes narrowing with amusement and annoyance. “You dare put your thieving hands on me?” he sneers, and I whimper, tears spilling over and running down my cheeks.
“Please!” I beg, trying to get him to let go. Instead, he backs me up until the back of my knees hits the armchair, and I fall into it. He let me go, his legs trapping mine between them.
“Anything you say?” he taunts, the skepticism clear in his voice.
I swallow hard, trying to steady my trembling voice. “Yes,” I reply, my words barely audible.
“Prove it.”
My brows furrow as I look up at him. He raises an eyebrow at me as I try to understand his meaning.
“Please, just spare my father’s life.”
“And I said prove it,” Mr. Pressutti taunts. Milo pushes off the wall and steps closer.
“Leone?” Milo asks, but Mr. Pressutti’s gaze doesn’t stray from mine as he answers.
“She said she’d do anything. I want to see how far she would go to save her father,” he states.
“How?” I stutter out.
“I want proof you’ll do as I say; use your imagination, Fallon; you’re a clever girl.” He smiles wickedly, and my eyes widen when he snatches my hand, placing it on his crotch.
I feel the hard bulge beneath my hand, and I swallow nervously. Scanning the room, I take in all the faces watching me, waiting to see what I will do. My lip quivers when he lets go of my hand, and I gaze up at Leone pleadingly.
“Well, what will it be?” he asks, and my hands shake as I reach for his belt, my fingers struggling to undo his buckle. The mere thought of having to blow him in front of people makes my face burn with humiliation.
“Anyone would think you don’t know what you’re doing, cara mia. Hurry up,” he taunts. Little does he know, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never seen a cock in the flesh before, let alone put one in my mouth. A whimper escapes my lips as I finally get his belt buckle undone. I reach for the zip and tug it down.
“Please, I’ll do what you ask, but do they have to watch?”
A wicked smile curls on Leone’s lips, and he gestures towards Milo. “Did you hear that, Milo? The little girl is ready to do anything but doesn’t want an audience.” He laughs as if that is the most foolish thing I could have said.
Milo’s stony stare remains fixed on me, devoid of any sympathy. Leone leans down, his face mere inches away from mine. His breath brushes against my cheek as he whispers, “You don’t seem to understand, Fallon,” he murmurs coldly, pulling away.
Leone’s smile fades slightly as his eyes narrow into dangerous slits as he grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “In my world, there are no second chances. You either play by my rules or suffer the consequences.”
My heart beats faster and skips at his words, and tears well in my eyes as I glance over at my father lying unconscious on the floor.
“Sometimes playing by the rules makes people desperate,” I whisper, turning my gaze back to Leone’s. He tilts his head to the side, observing me.
“My father is a good man; he’s worked for you for a decade. But everyone does stupid things when they are scared, Mr. Pressutti.”
“And who could your father possibly fear more than the man he worked a decade for, Ms. McCallister?”
My lip quivers. This man is known for being heartless. We are mere ants to him, so I know nothing I say will make him have mercy, yet still, I try. “How much did he steal?” I ask, and Mr. Pressutti glances at the woman.
“One million, four hundred and sixty-two thousand dollars,” she answers, and I swallow.
“Does that answer your question?” Leone asks.
“It tells me why,” I answer. Mr. Pressutti’s brows pinch confused, but of course, they would. This isn’t the sort of man who gets to know those who betray him; he’s the sort of man who kills without remorse.
“Now, why would he need that kind of money, especially after you took out the tables at Verdigris last night?”
I swallow, holding his gaze.
“Nice little trick by the way. It took me four times watching that footage to realize you were counting the cards at the blackjack tables but the last table when you played Penso?” His thumb brushes over my bottom lip gently.
“You had a losing hand, and you swapped cards,” he smiles cruelly, “I must admit, you have nice technique; I wouldn’t have known until I watched the footage of you leaving and caught you tossing the card in the bins.”
I try to pull away, but his grip tightens.
“You never answered my question, Fallon,” he adds, and my breath comes in tiny rasps.
“Next to the computer, the mail there,” I tell him, my eyes burning with tears I refuse to let fall. Milo wanders to the small desk in the corner and picks up the open letter next to the printer. He pulls it out and hands it to Mr. Pressutti, who does up his pants and then takes it. I let out a breath of relief, knowing he isn’t going to stuff his cock down my throat. At least not yet, anyway. He reads it while I rub my arms, not daring to move, knowing it’s pointless.
“She’s your sister?” Mr. Presutti asks, glancing at me.
“Yes, her name is Emma. She’s waiting for a heart transplant; that money he stole is the cost of it. Please, you have your money. I have the money from Verdigris. You can have it back. Just let my father live,” I plead. He nods toward one of his men, who moves toward the stairs and stops.
“Where is it?” the man asks, but my gaze remains on Leone as I answer.
“Duffle bag in the linen closet,” I say, feeling defeated.
The man leaves and returns moments later with the bag, dropping it at Mr. Pressutti’s feet. He glances at the letter in his hand, shocking me with his following words.
“He did this for his daughter?” I nod my head, knowing now she’ll die alone once he kills us.
“You said you’d do anything?” he tells me, and my gaze snaps to him.
“Let’s test that then?” he says. I suck in a breath, knowing what I have to do, and I reach for his belt, but he steps back. I look up at him questionably. “Let’s play a game.”
“Boss?” Milo asks, stepping forward, but Leone raises his hand.

FALLON
“A game?” I ask. He nods once, glancing at the paperwork and handing it back to Milo.
“What do you want from me if I lose?” I demand, and my hands clench at my sides.
“Everything.” His answer is simple, yet it contains multitudes of possibilities. “If you lose, your father’s debts become your own—a lifetime of servitude within my establishment and home. And your father,” he pauses, letting the words hang heavy between us, “And your father dies.”
The blood in my veins turns to ice. “And if I win?”
Leone’s smile is a wolf before the pounce. “You’ll have completely cleared your family’s debt and saved your sister and father. A clean slate for the McCallisters. No strings attached.”
“And I’m expected to believe you’ll let us go?”
“Ah, but what other choice is there, cara mia? Rather than simply taking his life and ending it, I am granting you the chance to save him. I suggest you take it. I’ll only offer it once.” His finger traces an invisible line down my arm, leaving a trail of g

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