Romance

FALLON
As I step away from the table, my father brushes past me, his cart squeaking softly. Our eyes lock briefly, and I read the unspoken message: Are you okay?
“I’m fine,” I murmur under my breath, though he is already out of earshot, and I head out the back for a smoke, only to be stopped by Marcus.
“What was that about?” he asks, his hand gripping my forearm. I swallow, staring in the direction Mr. Pressutti and Milo walked off.
“I’m not sure,” I murmur, my eyes lifting to the kind brown eyes of Marcus. He glances warily in their direction as they slip out the back somewhere. He nods slowly.
“Are we still on for tonight?” he asks. I chew my lip; we are supposed to be going on a date after work. I promised him last week, but I’ve stood him up twice. Not that Marcus has complained; he knows how busy I am and understands more than most with his sister, who is also sick at the same hospi

FALLON
Instinctively, I step back, and he steps forward, stalking me like prey. His lips tug up into a smirk as he notices the fear that I know is evident on my face before I quickly mask it. That same fear makes goosebumps rise on my arms. Everything about this man screams at me to run.
“Lighter?” he asks, causing me to stop like a deer in the headlights for a second. His eyes watch my face as I try to remember what he asked. Suddenly, a hand from behind snakes past me, passing him a lighter, and Milo’s voice comes from behind me, making me flinch.
“So quiet out here,” Milo muses, leaning into me, his breath ghosting across my neck as he passes his boss a lighter. Leone takes it, lights his smoke, and takes a puff. He blows the smoke into the air, but his eyes watch me. Mr. Pressutti tilts his head to the side, observing me, then steps forward. I take another back only to bump into Milo, which makes Mr. Pressutti smile sadistically like he enjoys seeing my fear.
“You seem spooked?” he comments, and I notice the evil glint in his eye. This man is the sort of monster that likes to play with his food or, in my case, his victim. It’s like he wants them to know that their death is imminent and controlled by him.
“No, it’s just a little cold,” I lie easily, shocking myself at how calm I sound despite feeling like I am about to have a heart attack.
“And how about now?” Mr. Pressutti asks, stepping closer. His chest presses against mine, forcing me back against Milo, who is a solid wall behind me. Milo grips my hip to steady me, and I gasp when his huge hand squeezes gently.
“She looks so small between us,” Mr. Pressutti chuckles, drawing back on his smoke. The next second, he moves quicker than my eyes catch. Suddenly, his hand is wrapped around my throat, making me gasp. Yet, he doesn’t squeeze; he just drags me closer. His hand moves to grip my chin, tilting my face up while I remain frozen with fear.
Dipping his head, his lips graze mine with the barest of touches. He forces my lips to part with his thumb, increasing pressure on my jaw. Smoke suddenly fills my mouth, and I gasp before choking on it, gagging for air.
He smiles, moving quickly to grip the back of my neck before dragging me so close I can smell his cologne as he smothers my face against his hard chest, his fingers tangling in my hair.
My hands instinctively press against his jacket, wanting to shove him off. Instead, my hands only tremble, knowing that doing such a thing will get me killed.
His fingers fist my hair, forcing my head back, and I bite back the urge to cry out at the pain of my hair tearing from my scalp at his harsh grip. His eyes search mine for a second.
“You shouldn’t be out in the dark by yourself. You never know who’s lurking in the shadows,” he warns, and I swallow the lump forming in my throat.
“Well, good thing you found me then; you wouldn’t want the boogie man to get your best card dealer,” my voice stutters slightly, and he smiles wickedly.
“No need to fear the boogie man around me. Not even the depths of hell dare whisper my name, for the devil himself quakes at the thought of crossing me.”
My heart beats frantically at his words as I try to figure out what’s going on. When the door suddenly opens, Leone doesn’t move straight away. Instead, he holds my gaze when Marcus’s voice reaches me.
“Fallon?” he calls out. Leone’s eyes seem to darken briefly, and I swallow thickly.
“Is everything alright?” Marcus asks, stepping outside.
Please don’t hurt him, I think to myself.
Leone steps aside, and my eyes meet Marcus’s worried ones. He holds a hand out to me, and I swiftly move to take it when Milo tugs me back against him, his hand pressing against my stomach.
Marcus steps forward, and I can tell he wants to rip me away from Milo, but my eyes hold him, warning him not to. “Everything is fine,” Milo states, his hand moving to my throat as he cranes my head back to look at him. “Right, Fallon?” Milo says, and a shiver runs up my spine at the angry look in his eyes. Milo’s grip tightens subtly, his hand pressing against my stomach to keep me close. His breath is a warm whisper against my ear, chilling in its intensity. “Tell Marcus everything is fine,” he instructs, ensuring only I can hear the menacing undertone of his voice.
As I nod slightly, forcing a calm I don’t feel, Milo continues, his lips barely moving. “And just so we’re clear,” he adds, his voice dropping even lower, “next time your little friend interrupts us, I will kill him. And you, my dear, will watch.”
The threat sends a shiver of terror down my spine, and I hastily nod again, my eyes meeting Marcus’s concerned gaze. “Everything is fine, Marcus,” I say, my voice steady despite the fear Milo’s words have instilled. “Really, there’s no need to worry.”
Marcus hesitates, searching my face for any sign of the lie. He doesn’t look satisfied, but he nods slowly and steps forward, his hand outstretched, unaware of the chilling promise Milo has just made.
“You should come inside. It’s chilly out here,” Marcus says, his eyes not leaving Milo behind me.
Milo lets me go, and I rush to accept Marcus’s hand. He tugs me close, draping an arm across my shoulders.
Marcus doesn’t waste time steering me to the door when I hear Milo’s deep, rumbling laugh as I push through the doors and inside.
“What was that about?” Marcus asks, pushing me up against the wall.
“Nothing, a misunderstanding,” I answer, glancing at the door nervously.
Marcus grits his teeth, the muscle in his jaw bulging. “If you’re in trouble, tell me. I can help you,” Marcus says, and I chew my lip. Am I in trouble, or are they just trying to frighten me? I know the answer, but I don’t want Marcus mixed up in my mess. And I highly doubt Marcus can help me; they’d kill him without thinking twice about it.
“Everything is fine. I’ll handle it,” I tell him. He goes to say something, but I cut him off. “If you’re here, who’s holding my table?”
“Ben is, I heard security say they went out back and knew you were out there… I don’t like how they’ve been watching you all night,” he adds. I swallow his words confirming I wasn’t imagining it.
“Thanks, but you shouldn’t have come out; they could have…” I don’t finish. Marcus isn’t blind; he knows who they are and what they are. The entire city knows; it’s no secret, just one no one dares to speak of.
We return to the floor, slipping back into the roles of the happy dealers. The night presses on, an endless cycle of shuffles and deals, but my leg bounces restlessly beneath the table.
I have plans to make, and more jobs that I need to schedule. The idea of moonlighting at another joint crosses my mind—somewhere discreet, the stakes higher, and where Leone Pressutti’s watchful eyes can’t reach. Had I known Verdigris was his new establishment, I never would have stepped foot into the place. Yet, it is the best place to earn money fast if you win and the only place I have had enough to buy in.
As I cash out the last winner for the night, my fingers itch to grab the chips and run, to throw caution to the wind for that one big score that could save my sister. Instead, I smile, watching the person leave before turning to Marcus.
“Do you know if my father waited?” I ask him, and he glances over at me, packing up his table.
“No, I saw him leave earlier. He seemed in a rush. He didn’t even say hello back when I called out to him,” he grumbles.
“Is Emma okay? Maybe he rushed off to see her before the hospital closed for visitors,” Marcus states. I try not to let his words bother me, but something nags at me.
He isn’t with Emma. The visiting hours already ended unless…. No, my father would have notified me if something happened to her. So, instead, I shrug. “I guess I’ll find out once I get home,” I tell Marcus.
“Message me once home, so I know you got home alright,” he tells me as his eyes dart to the floor above. I nod once and turn to leave.
Exiting through the staff door, I feel the chill of the night air strike my flushed cheeks. I pause, letting the reality of the outside world wash over me. Emma’s laughter and dreams of a future untainted by illness are the fuel that fires my every step, the very heartbeat of my determination not to fail her.
The drive home from work is long and tedious, the monotonous hum of the engine blending with the dull ache in my head. I yawn and rub my eyes, knowing that I will be back at work in only a few short hours, my body and mind trapped in an endless cycle of labor and fatigue.

FALLON
The hairs on my neck rise, and I know it is my boss. He’s been watching me all night. I could feel his gaze, but now I know the source behind it; I want to hide. Moreover, I am one of the casino’s longest-standing dealers. He has never paid this much attention to me, so it has me on edge.
My eyes scan my surroundings subtly as I smile at the newcomer across from me, another person whose attention gives me the creeps. Where is my father? By this time, he is usually on his second round of the floor. He’s a cleaner here. He got me this job five years ago, but I haven’t seen him all night.
Milo is my boss’s right-hand man. “Hit me,” Milo, the burly man in the seat across from me, grunts, his gold rings glinting in the dim light as they drum on the table. He sends me a wink, and my breath lodges in my throat. Fuck! I’m not imagining it. I’m on their radar, but what for? However, I am good at reading people. I am equally skilled at wearing a mask.
“Are you sure?” I ask, one eyebrow arching, my voice a honey blend between challenge and daring. My fingers itch to reveal the card, my mind rapidly calculating the odds.
“Positive,” Milo smirks.
I lay down an ace, and his triumphant roar matches the smug lift of my lips. “Blackjack,” I announce, my hands moving to pay out his winnings, the motions fluid and practiced.
“Damn, Fallon, you’re good luck, but you knew the card before it went down, didn’t you?” he chuckles, tossing me a chip as a tip before leaning back and steepling his fingers under his chin as he watches me.
“Lucky guess,” I correct him. He arches his brow.
“Or maybe it’s all skill.”
“One hell of a skill you have, don’t you think?” he asks, and my eyes flick to him briefly, then away. There appears to be some hidden meaning to his words, one I don’t wish to find out about. His gaze makes me nervous, makes my skin itch as fear wraps around me like a snake threatening to constrict me before it devours me whole. He’s daring me to deny that I count cards, but why? How long have they been watching me to notice? I say nothing, knowing silence is sometimes better than talking myself out of a situation. Words can be reversed or played against you, and I am not willing to risk a fumble with my nervousness right now. Instead, I giggle, playing along like his words mean nothing.
Laughter fills the table as patrons momentarily forget their losses and find joy in Milo’s words.
But then I notice my father, Nathan McAllister, in the reflection of a slot machine, maneuvering through the chaos with his janitor’s cart. His graying hair looks white under the lights and the glow of the slot machines.
As he bends to clean up a spilled drink, his kind blue eyes meet mine, a silent conversation at a glance. Desperation lurks there, well hidden beneath layers of his love and concern for my sister; knowing who stands close watching me has him also on edge. Stay away, Dad, is all I can think. It’s bad enough I’ve drawn their attention. We won’t leave unscathed if he gets too close to question why.
“Is everything okay, Fallon?” Seat two—a middle-aged woman named Sondra, who loves blackjack—eyes me curiously.
“Perfect,” I assure her, flashing a grin that doesn’t quite reach my eyes. I can’t afford distractions, not when every second here means another dollar towards Emma’s treatment. Yet, the way my father looked at me has my stomach twisting, a feeling that intensifies when I notice Milo studying my father.
“Let’s keep this party rolling, shall we?” I beckon to the cocktail waitress, ordering my players a round on the house. It is a calculated move, but a happy, drunk player is a spending player. Yet, the heat of Leone behind me gets hotter; I can almost feel him breathing down my neck.
“Your old man’s working hard tonight,” Milo observes, nodding toward where my father has moved on to wiping down machines. I swallow the lump forming in my throat. One part of me wonders how he knows my name. The only names I’ve heard Mr. Pressutti or Milo speak are those being scolded, and I have never been one of them. But he says my name as if we are familiar.
“Always does,” I reply, keeping my tone light. Dad’s presence here is a double-edged sword—comfort in proximity laced with the constant fear of him being hurt by the rowdier patrons or losing ones, his health deteriorating right alongside my sister’s.
“Guess hard work runs in the family,” Milo says, giving me a look that suggests something else. And for once, I am at a loss; this man, just like my boss, is hard to read.
“Dealing cards is hardly rocket science,” I deflect, busying myself with the deck.
“Maybe not, but you’ve got a head for numbers like no one else and card suits.” He taps his temple, a knowing smile on his lips.
“It comes with the territory,” I say, dealing another round as my heart pounds a warning against my ribs. It is essential to maintain the facade of the cool, composed dealer. But I don’t like how he’s reading me like I’m an open book. It’s almost as if he taunts me with the fact that he knows something I don’t. Fingertips graze the back of my neck as someone swipes my hair over one shoulder.
Then hands meet the table on either side of my hips, and heat presses against my back.
“Explains why she is our best dealer,” comes a deep, menacing voice behind me. His breath sweeps my neck, and Sondra’s gaze darts to mine before she quickly leaves the table, knocking her stool over as she does. My eyes go to Milo, who watches, almost amused at my discomfort, which worsens when Leone dips his face closer, his nose skimming the column of my neck as he inhales deeply. Milo smiles wickedly, and I gulp when I feel Leone’s hand brush one finger down my arm before it rests back on the table at my side. However, Milo’s following words send my blood cold while a chill ripples up my spine.
“I heard you’ve been playing yourself recently at Club Verdigris?” Milo asks, and my heartbeat thumps harder against my ribs.
It’s not a question, but a statement.
Since his statement clearly didn’t warrant an answer, I deal the cards. He stands up.
“Mr. Pressutti was interested in learning that his newest establishment was familiar with you, that you took out every table and walked out with quite the sum last night?”
Mr. Pressutti’s hand moves to grip my hip. He squeezes it, his fingertips digging in before his touch turns gentle. That same hand then moves, slipping beneath my blouse and caressing my ribs before he steps back. The heat of his chest leaves my back.
I swallow. It’s true, but not nearly enough to cover Emma’s heart surgery. Milo taps the table. “I’ll be seeing you later, Fallon,” Milo tells me with a nod. I watch him wander off, only to spot the floor supervisor watching me.
“Last hand, Fallon. Time for a break,” my supervisor calls out from across the room, sensing the tension. Crap! This is the last thing I need to be under the scrutinizing eyes of management.
“Sure thing,” I reply, waving Marcus over to take over my table while he’s empty. I stand up and stretch my legs, feeling the weight of the countless gazes upon me. I turn around, only to come face to face with the devil himself. Leone Pressutti.
My heart beats quicker when he raises his hand, cupping my neck while his thumb caresses my cheek.
“So innocent looking when she’s as guilty as sin,” he purrs, the pad of his thumb moving along my jaw, his hand on the side of my neck holding me in place. I hold his gaze unflinchingly despite his threatening demeanor and the urge to run from him.
Most people, after a few seconds, always look away. One way to make them look away is to stare at their forehead, especially in a place like this. Anyone rarely holds your gaze long, but he holds mine hostage, almost daring me to buckle under the weight of his.
“If you’ll excuse me, sir?” I murmur, but he doesn’t move. He tilts his head to the side, unblinking. His thumb trails slowly over my pulse point.
“Do I scare you?” he asks curiously. “Your pulse is beating rapidly beneath my hand.”
“No, sir. I am eager to go on my break,” I tell him. He chuckles, leaning in.
“Now that’s a lie, but I bet even lies taste sweet rolling off your tongue,” he whispers before letting me go and walking off.

FALLON
As I step away from the table, my father brushes past me, his cart squeaking softly. Our eyes lock briefly, and I read the unspoken message: Are you okay?
“I’m fine,” I murmur under my breath, though he is already out of earshot, and I head out the back for a smoke, only to be stopped by Marcus.
“What was that about?” he asks, his hand gripping my forearm. I swallow, staring in the direction Mr. Pressutti and Milo walked off.
“I’m not sure,” I murmur, my eyes lifting to the kind brown eyes of Marcus. He glances warily in their direction as they slip out the back somewhere. He nods slowly.
“Are we still on for tonight?” he asks. I chew my lip; we are supposed to be going on a date after work. I promised him last week, but I’ve stood him up twice. Not that Marcus has complained; he knows how busy I am and understands more than most with his sister, who is also sick at the same hospital as Emma. It’s actually how we met. I ran into him in the halls and he offered me a lift to work 

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