FALLON
The air at the casino is thick with cigarette smoke and the clink of chips, a sound and smell that once felt like home. Now under the weight of watchful eyes, it feels foreign, dangerous. My former colleagues regard me with a mix of curiosity and disdain when they see me enter with Leone, their whispers cutting through the air like a knife, making me wonder why I wanted to come here. “There she is,” they murmur, “it seems the boss has a new plaything.”
Heat crawls up my cheeks as I find myself the center of unwanted attention. Marcus, my friend, my… I don’t know what we were—our eyes lock over the green baize of the blackjack table he deals. The look on his face, a blend of concern and something else, judgment maybe, twists my insides. I don’t want him, or anyone, thinking less of
