Romance

FALLON
Milo shifts his weight from one foot to the other, eyes darting between me and Leone. I can almost see the calculations running behind his gaze, looking for an angle, a weakness, calculating his chances of getting to me before I shoot him or Leone.
Seeing the money my father stole, I kick the bag toward my father. “Dad, get up,” I order.
“You think he’ll get away with stealing twice?” Leone scoffs.
“Shut it, or I’ll put a bullet in you just to enjoy the silence,” I spit back, my finger itching against the cold metal trigger.
My mind races, cataloging exits, calculating the odds of getting out of this alive, and I’m not liking my chances.
“Smart girl, planning your escape? It won’t work,” Leone says, reading the flicker of thoughts across my face.
“Maybe not,” I acknowledge, allowing myself a brief moment to consider the possibility. “But I don’t have to outrun you, just out shoot 

FALLON
I’m barely conscious when my father calls me about an hour later. I jolt at the sound of the phone, my head had been resting on the wall where I sit, struggling to keep my eyes open.
“Fallon,” my father says.
“What?” I groan in agony as the adrenaline wears off.
“They said her surgery was already paid for,” I sputter at his words.
“Payment was processed an hour after Dr. Stevens called you last night, here I’m waiting for them to finish up.”
My brows furrow. No, that isn’t right, I haven’t left. My eyes flick to Leone, and he folds his arms across his chest. My grip on the gun tightens as I awkwardly try to hold the phone, and keep my aim directed on them.
“What do you mean it was already paid for?” I ask. Leone clears his throat and my eyes dart to him; he is the only person who knew I had taken a call earlier and the only person I know with that kind of money. Something tells me it was him, but why?
“Have someone call me when she is out.”
“Fallon!” my dad murmurs. “What are you going to do?” I swallow thickly. I know I’m not leaving here alive.
“I love you, Dad. Tell Emma I love her,” I remind him.
“Wait, Fallen!” I hang up before he can say anything else.
I set the phone on the table and retake my position.
“You paid for the surgery,” I tell him, and he says nothing.
“Why?”
He offers no answers. My arm trembles, the gun wavering in my grasp as I fight to keep it trained on Leone’s impassive face.
Milo shifts, his eyes darting between the gun and my pale face. “You’re losing a lot of blood. I don’t think this is going to end well for you.”
“Shut up,” I hiss, though the edges of my vision are blurring, dark spots dancing before my eyes. I blink rapidly, trying to clear them. Moving to the chair, I drag it closer to the wall and sit down, using the wall and chair to help prop my arm up, which is pointing the gun at Leone.
“Get me a first aid kit!” I snap at Milo. Milo looks at Leone, who nods and then rushes off. When he returns, I sit up straighter, only now realizing I slump slightly.
Milo fumbles with the first aid kit when I realize I must put down one of the guns. “Wrap my arm and shoulder,” I order him, and he again looks at Leone, who nods. Milo steps closer and then kneels while I point the gun directly at his head. “Try anything, and authorities will be scooping your brains from the floor, understood?” I ask. He glares at me but starts wrapping my shoulder.
“And I want your shirt,” I tell him.
“Anything else? Want my boxer shorts, too?” he asks.
“You wear boxer shorts? Are you five years old,” I taunt, and he glares at me but reaches back with one hand, tugging his shirt off. He leaves it in my lap. “Now, get over there with him,” I motion for him to go sit with Leone. He does, and I awkwardly pull the shirt on.
Blood seeps through the bandages wrapped crudely around me—staining the shirt a deep crimson that seems to pulse with each throb of pain coursing through me. My breaths come in shallow gasps, the metallic tang of blood heavy on my tongue.
“Let us help you, Fallon. You’re going to drop dead of blood loss before he calls,” Leone coaxes, standing and taking a slow step forward.
“Stay back!” The shout is weak, but it stops him. Then, the shrill ring of my phone slices through the tension. My heart skips a beat, hammering against my chest. That ringtone—I’d know it anywhere. It is the one I had set for any call from the hospital about Emma.
“Are you going to get that?” Milo asks, nodding toward the vibrating device on the nearby table.
“Answer it, Milo,” I order, my voice barely above a whisper as I struggle to maintain consciousness. “Put it on speaker.”
He hesitates, then moves slowly to the phone. The moment he answers it, it fills the room with a familiar voice relaying news I am both desperate and terrified to hear.
“Ms. McAllister?” A voice cracks through the speaker. “This is Dr. Stevens. I have an update on Emma’s condition.”
“Go on,” I urge, adjusting my grip on the gun.
“Your sister…” The doctor pauses, and everything within me is still.
“Her surgery… it was extensive,” Dr. Stevens’s voice filters through the speaker, clinical yet not devoid of empathy. “But she’s out now. She’s stable.”
“Stable? What does that mean? Is she going to be okay?”
“She will be okay,” Dr. Stevens tells me, and I let out a breath as Milo hangs up.
I can feel the warmth seeping from the wound at my shoulder, more a slow trickle now.
With each passing minute, my thoughts swirl, a maelstrom of memories and fear. Every sacrifice, bruise, and tear shed has always been for them, for Emma. The idea of failing her now makes me tighten my grip on the gun, the metal biting into my palm.
“Time won’t change anything,” Milo says calmly, his eyes never leaving mine. “You’re stalling and bleeding out, Fallon. Let us help you. Stop being so damn stubborn.”
“No!” The word is a bullet itself, shot from a place of raw terror. “You think I’m going to trust you? After everything?” I spit.
“Listen to yourself,” Leone chides, his tone almost bored. “You’re delirious. You need help.”
“From you?” I laugh, a sound edged with hysteria. “I’d sooner die.”
“I can get you some help,” Leone offers.
“So what, I can be your prisoner?” I rasp.
He shrugs. “You prefer to die?” he asks, and I blink, knowing I am not far from passing out. But if I kill them, his men will hunt down my family, yet I won’t become some tortured slave owned by Leone Pressutti either.
“How much longer do you think until you pass out from blood loss?”
The muzzle of the gun quivers in my grasp as I lock eyes with Leone, the man who has turned my life into a living hell. My arms are tense, every muscle coiled tight. I could feel the sweat beading at my temple and hear my pulse thumping rapidly in my ears.
“You think you can take us both?” His dark eyes gleam with amusement, and a slow, sinister smile spreads across his full lips.
“Shut up!” I snap.
He takes a casual step forward, and I tighten my grip on the gun. “So fiery, so full of life. It would be a shame to snuff out such passion.”
“Stay back, Leone,” I warn, trying to keep the tremor from my voice. Every cell in my body screams for me to run, but this is about more than just me; it is about my family, their safety dangling on a precipice.
“Or what, Fallon?” he mocks, his tone dripping with venomous charm. “We both know you won’t shoot me. Have you ever fired a gun before?”
I adjust the gun and aim it at the wall behind him. I pull the trigger. The bang is loud and far off from where I was aiming. Hitting the door behind him instead. Leone doesn’t even flinch. He glances at the door behind him.
“I have now, so try me,” I say through gritted teeth.
Leone laughs, a deep, throaty sound that vibrates with malice. “Wow, she knows how to pull a trigger, not rocket science, but can you kill someone?” he asks.
“Because that’s the only way you’re walking out of this room,” he warns me.
“Not that you’d get far. I doubt you would make it out of the building before my men hunted you down.”
“And then your family. Shoot me, and they’ll suffer unimaginable horrors. Put the gun down, and I may think of letting them live. Or pull the trigger, kill me. But either way, your family suffers. And it’s all because you couldn’t play nice.”
“You think this is a game?” I demand, my heart pounding against my rib cage as I glare at him. The man only smirks, making me want to smack the smug look off his face.
“Leone,” Milo interjects. “Maybe we should—”

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
Milo shifts his weight from one foot to the other, eyes darting between me and Leone. I can almost see the calculations running behind his gaze, looking for an angle, a weakness, calculating his chances of getting to me before I shoot him or Leone.
Seeing the money my father stole, I kick the bag toward my father. “Dad, get up,” I order.
“You think he’ll get away with stealing twice?” Leone scoffs.
“Shut it, or I’ll put a bullet in you just to enjoy the silence,” I spit back, my finger itching against the cold metal trigger.
My mind races, cataloging exits, calculating the odds of getting out of this alive, and I’m not liking my chances.
“Smart girl, planning your escape? It won’t work,” Leone says, reading the flicker of thoughts across my face.
“Maybe not,” I acknowledge, allowing myself a brief moment to consider the possibility. “But I don’t have to outrun you, just out shoot you.” I turn my gaze to my father, who hasn’t moved like he is paralyzed by fear. “Dad, get up.”
“Fa

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