FALLON
Leone’s arms are hard as they wrap around me, his muscled arms form both a cage and some twisted sense of security from his father as he carries me through the grand foyer of the mansion. The echo of Vittorio slamming the front door vibrates in the air, a stormy departure that leaves a tangible tension hanging as we pass Dante on the stairs.
“You can’t help yourself, just gotta piss off the old man,” Dante taunts.
“f**k off, Dante,” Leone sneers as he turns onto the stairs. Leone’s jaw tight, he offers his brother no more attention.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Leone murmurs, as we climb the stairs to our room.
The door closes with a soft click behind us, and before I can even take in a breath, Milo is there, dark eyes glinting with that familiar, dangerous smirk. It’s as if he
