31

FALLON I allow my gaze to wander across the expanse of inked skin laid bare before me. The intricate patterns draw me in, raising questions and curiosities. This man saved my sister and spared me and my father. Some part of me wants to know who Leone Pressutti truly is and what exactly lies beneath the hard surface of his exterior. But another part of me is too scared to find out, knowing that chances of discovering anything good are slim. With a heart that beats an abrupt rhythm of fear and fascination, I hesitantly lay my head back on the pillow, sandwiched again between the devil and his minion. Reluctantly, I close my eyes, pretending and waiting for the time they declare I’m allowed to be awake. It must only be mere hours later when I wake again. Eyelids heavy, I blink back into consciousness, the soft rustle of fabric and the clinking of leather indicating movement in the room. Leone is dressing, his muscles shifting beneath his skin as he pulls on a crisp button-up shirt. The so