Romance

FALLON
“Just don’t cancel her surgery; I’ll come up with something,” I say firmly, wiping away the tears that threaten to spill over. “I won’t let this opportunity slip away.” My voice is a broken whisper at the last part.
“Good to hear. You have until 7:30 AM when the heart arrives,” she tells me, and I hang up. My mind races, wondering if I win this if I can trade myself to Leone to have him cover the debt; it’s not like he can’t afford it, though I cringe at the thought of being pimped on the corner, but if I had to...
“Everything alright?” the dealer asks, and I nod, retaking my seat. Leone holds out his hand for my phone. I chew my lip, wanting to keep it.
“I won’t use it. Please, that was her surgeon; they found Emma a heart,” I plead with him.
“Did they now? What are the chances…” he states. He drops his hand and steps aside, letting me keep my phone. I leave it on the table where

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
His words hang heavy, and I swallow back the retort clawing up my throat when he reaches a hand up to cup the side of my face. I want to slap his hand away, but I can’t afford a misstep. Not when the price is so steep. So, I smile instead. I know better than to poke a bear when I am in his cave.
“When I win, I never want to see your face again.” I pivot. The two men who were arguing are now fighting, one man narrowly missing me as the drunk man swings at him, and he steps out of reach. I’m yanked against a hard chest, my breath lodging in my throat, when a loud bang rings out. I jump at the sound, and deathly silence falls over the room, everyone’s attention drawn our way.
That’s when I notice the gun in Leone’s hand. The drunk man crumples to the ground, a bullet having found his head.
My entire body trembles against him. And I step back, seeing the man’s blood pool on the floor, streaming toward my feet. Leone holds me tighter as he turns his attention to the two men who led me down here.
“Clean this up, and get Mr Porter a drink,” Leone orders. Men rush forward, grabbing the dead man’s body, and servers fix the table and mess that has been made as if this were a common occurrence.
“Always a sore loser. Mr. Porter, I’m sorry about that. I’ll be questioning my men as to why he was allowed to participate tonight,” Leone answers the balding man in an expensive-looking suit. The man nods once, moving to another table when I notice two other men now flank him, having rushed over a little late.
“Not so confident now,” Leone whispers next to my ear. “But remember, Fallon, arrogance is a sin easily punished, as you just saw.”
My pulse thrums at his warning, a visceral reminder of the man’s capacity for cruelty. But fear isn’t a luxury I can indulge in—not now, not with so much on the line. “Go find Milo while I have this mess cleaned up.” Leone lets me go, and I step over the puddle of blood.
Moving through the room, I spot Milo in the distance. He waves me over, and I go to him but don’t see my father anywhere.
“Where is my father?”
“Safe for now, but if you want to win, you need to buy in,” he tells me.
“No shit Sherlock, but with what?” I ask him, and he drops the bag of my winnings from Verdigris at my feet.
I snatch the bag up and move to the booths at the back. I drop the bag on the counter, and the woman behind it takes it, passing it off to someone to count when I once again feel someone brush up against me. Only this time, instead of Leone, it is Milo.
“It’s already been counted; max out her tab,” he tells the woman, who nods once before handing over a tray with stacked chips. I move to grab it when I feel someone grip my ankle, making me jump and glance down. Milo kneels next to me, undoing the clasp of my heel.
“What are you doing?” I demand when the woman behind the counter drops a pair of flats on the counter. Milo reaches up, grabbing them, his eyes meeting mine briefly.
“I can do that myself,” I snap at him.
“If you think for one second I am going to let you bend over in that skirt with all these men around, you’re mistaken,” he snaps back at me. He takes the heel off, forcing me to grip his shoulder as I sway slightly. He massages the bottom of my foot for a second, and a sigh slips past my lips before I can stop it.
His eyes dart up to meet mine, a devilish smile slipping onto his face before he focuses on what he is doing. He removes the other heel, his hand sliding down my calf to my ankle as he lifts my foot, doing the same before slipping the flats onto my feet. Surprisingly, they fit perfectly, making me wonder how he knows my shoe size. I let that thought slip away, deciding I probably didn’t want to know.
“Thank you,” I mutter when he rises, passing my heels to the woman who places them under the counter.
“Thanks Jacinta,” Milo tells the woman, who nods, pushing the tray of chips toward me.
Grabbing it, I turn around to see Milo smirking down at me.
“Good luck, you’ll need it,” he laughs, sauntering off.
I reach the table, slipping into the player’s role as if it were my second skin. The click of chips and murmur of wagers become my world, and I play each hand with precision, my fingers a blur of motion as I take down each table, yet something nags at me. Why is there no one at the far back table that is on a podium? I find it odd as I sit down at the last table.
I am so close that I can almost taste victory when I spot Leone, who comes and stands beside me. My heart races with nerves and anticipation, knowing victory is within my grasp and that freedom comes down to this last game. But a nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach tells me that it won’t be that simple.
I push the thought aside and focus on the game before me. The two men opposite me are good players, but I’m determined to come out on top. I calculate my odds with each hand and continue to make moves, raking in more chips with each round. It’s all in the bluff.
Leone looms over me, his dark eyes never leaving the table. I can feel his intense heat burning into my back, almost suffocating me with its weight. But I refuse to let him intimidate me.
As the night progresses, tension fills the air, thick and palpable. The remaining two players at the table shift uneasily, their eyes darting between their cards and the towering figure of Leone beside me. It’s as if they can sense the invisible force that surrounds him, a force that has propelled him to become one of the most feared figures in the city.
Just before the final hand is dealt, my phone rings. The ringtone tells me it’s the hospital, and I scramble from my seat, looking for it only to remember Leone has my phone still. He arches an eyebrow at me. I grit my teeth, but he makes no move to retrieve my phone from inside his jacket pocket. The ringtone teases me, and after its fourth blaring ring, I know it’s going to go to voicemail. Before I realize what I am doing, my hand moves to his jacket.
He watches me dig through his pockets and I freeze momentarily, waiting for him to hit me for what I am doing. Instead, he seems amused, raising an eyebrow at me. “Top left one,” he says, and I move to the other side of his jacket to grab it; I answer it, pressing it to my ear.
“Hello?” I answer, my voice trembling with a mix of hope and apprehension while my eyes dart to Leone’s watchful gaze. Someone moves out of my periphery, but he shakes his head at them, warding them off.
“Fallon, we’ve tried your father, but you’re listed as Emma’s next contact,” a soothing voice says on the other end. It’s Dr. Stevens, the surgeon in charge of her case.
“Correct,” I reply.
“We’ve received some incredible news. A heart has become available for Emma.” I take a deep breath. I can’t believe this is happening, especially after this evening. Finally, some good news for Emma.
My heart skips, and I can hardly believe what I am hearing. The weight of years spent waiting for a transplant suddenly lifts off my shoulders, replaced by an overwhelming sense of gratitude and relief. I clutch the phone tighter, trying to steady my voice.
“That’s... That’s wonderful,” I reply, tears welling in my eyes. “But how long until the surgery?” And where the fuck am I going to come up with the money for it?
Dr. Stevens pauses for a moment before responding, his voice filled with empathy and understanding. “You need to settle the bill first, Fallon. I’ve tried to go to the board of directors, but..... We understand that it’s a significant sum that you and your family have been struggling with. Once we receive confirmation that it’s been taken care of or financial assistance has been provided, we can proceed with the surgery immediately.”
I swallow hard, my mind racing as I consider the cost that hangs over my head like a dark cloud. But this is my sister’s chance at a new life. I’ll have to find a way somehow. I turn away from Leone, emotions threatening to overwhelm me.
“Fallon, are you there?” Dr. Stevens asks.
“I’m still here,” I breathe out.

FALLON
“Just don’t cancel her surgery; I’ll come up with something,” I say firmly, wiping away the tears that threaten to spill over. “I won’t let this opportunity slip away.” My voice is a broken whisper at the last part.
“Good to hear. You have until 7:30 AM when the heart arrives,” she tells me, and I hang up. My mind races, wondering if I win this if I can trade myself to Leone to have him cover the debt; it’s not like he can’t afford it, though I cringe at the thought of being pimped on the corner, but if I had to...
“Everything alright?” the dealer asks, and I nod, retaking my seat. Leone holds out his hand for my phone. I chew my lip, wanting to keep it.
“I won’t use it. Please, that was her surgeon; they found Emma a heart,” I plead with him.
“Did they now? What are the chances…” he states. He drops his hand and steps aside, letting me keep my phone. I leave it on the table where he can see it so he knows I intend to keep my word and not try to alert the police or Marcus.
Retur

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