Gamble

Chapter 6

FALLON

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 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.

But for now, I’m grateful for the solitude of the car. The only sounds are the gentle purr of the engine and my racing thoughts.

My house comes into view. It’s a small brick house, but it’s always been big enough for the three of us. We made happy memories there, and I long for Emma to be home so we can make more.

As I pull into my driveway and step out of the car, the cool air of the late hour envelops me, pulling me back into the present moment. I sigh, knowing tomorrow will be like today, the day after, and the day after that. For now, I am home, which is enough; it has to be.

I notice my father’s car parked in front of mine, and as I walk toward the house, I text Marcus, letting him know I’m home. His response seconds later makes me smile softly.

Marcus: Good, call me if you need me.

I pocket my phone. The moonlight casts long shadows across my childhood home as I approach, the key already in hand. But as I climb the three steps, I notice something isn’t right. The front door, usually solid and always shut at this hour, is ajar and hanging oddly—the warm glow from inside spilling out into the darkness.

Stepping closer, the sound of muffled voices raises goosebumps on my skin. Their tones are too harsh to belong to my father.

“Hello?” my voice falters against the thickening silence that answers me back. My pulse thrums in my ears. I hear a grunt and thud.

With cautious steps, I nudge the door wider. “Dad?” I try again, hoping for the familiar gruffness of my father’s voice. Instead, the house seems to devour my words, leaving me with nothing but unease.

Every instinct screams at me to flee, turn on my heel, and run. But this is my home, and where is my father?

I slide my hand along the wall, fingertips grazing the familiar wallpaper, seeking the switch. Light floods the hallway, casting away the hall's shadows but doing little to dispel the knot of fear coiling tighter in my stomach. As I near the light glowing from the end of the hall, I hear another noise, a low whine.

“Who’s there?” My voice cracks, showing my unease as I fight the urge to run back out of the house.

“Fallon McAllister, as brazen as ever, walking into the lion’s den.” A man’s voice, edged with mockery, slices through the tension, making me spin around to find him now blocking the exit. I take in the man with gloved hands, wearing a leather jacket and jeans.

“Who are you? What do you want?” I demand, though my voice trembles slightly, giving away my fear. “Where’s my father?” I try to hide my panic. But the question hangs in the air unanswered, amplifying my dread. The man points to the living room, and my gaze darts to it nervously.

Panic claws at my throat as I turn and move to run for the stairs, but the man’s strong arms wrap around my waist. I thrash and kick, trying to escape, but he tosses me quickly into the living room, the muffled voices falling silent as my body hits the ground with a thud. My gaze frantically sweeps the room until it lands on a sight which roots me to the spot—a crumpled form lying motionless on the floor.

“Dad!” The word tears from my lips, raw and laced with fear. I scramble to my feet and rush to his side. My hands tremble as they find his wrist, searching for the steady rhythm of life. His pulse throbs faintly beneath my fingertips, but he’s bleeding from his head, his gray hair matted where some has congealed. The sight of him sends a jolt of terror through my veins.

I lean close, my ear hovering over his mouth, needing the assurance of his breath against my skin. It comes shallow and strained, but it is there.

“He’s alive,” comes a deeper voice, making me remember the man from the hall. I turn and find four others in the room with me.

The room seems to shrink as the group of strangers materializes from the dim corners, where shadows cling like cobwebs. Four of them, each with a grim set to their mouth and eyes cold enough to freeze blood.

The tallest man leans against the wall, his arms folded across a broad chest. Another toys with a silver lighter, the flame flickering like a serpent’s tongue. The third had his fingers drumming a steady, ominous rhythm on the back of a chair. His gaze fixates on me with unnerving intensity. And the fourth is a woman; she stands with predatory grace, her eyes sharp and calculating.

“What have you done to him?” I snap, the words laced with venom. Fear grips me, but anger lends me a vicious edge.

“Oh, she’s feisty,” another man taunts.

“So demanding,” the man with the lighter drawls, snapping it shut with a click. “You should be more worried about what we want from you.” He smiles sinisterly.

“Stay away from my father,” I warn.

“Or what, Fallon?” the tall one asks, clearly relishing this game.

“Or I swear I’ll—” My threat dissolves into silence; they are not the kind to be intimidated by empty promises.

“Look at her, all fire and fight,” the woman chuckles, stepping closer. She crouches before me, her hand moving to squeeze my face. The scent of her perfume is cloying, a sickly sweet mask for the danger she poses, and her plump red lip pulls up into a sadistic smile, her long, sharp nails digging painfully into my cheeks.

“But fire can be snuffed out,” she whispers, then shoves my face away. She rises to her feet, my gaze tracking her as she glares at my father behind me.

The room falls into a suffocating silence at her words.

“Your father,” the woman begins, her voice smooth as honey while laced with a nasty undertone, “made an unfortunate decision.”

I wait for her to continue.

“He thought he could lift a little something from Mr. Pressutti’s safes.” Her lips curl into a cruel smile when I notice the glint of her name badge under her open jacket. I realize she works at the casino, but I’ve never seen her before, making me wonder if she works at one of his other establishments.

“Let’s just say your dear father tried to play a game he couldn’t win,” a man with cold eyes interjects, his tone mocking. “He gambled with his life this time.”

One man in the room tosses a duffle bag on the floor beside me, cash spilling out, and my eyes widen when I see my father’s janitor’s badge lying on top. He wouldn’t, no, I refuse to believe them until I remember the strange look he gave me at the casino.

“Now, such actions come with consequences,” the man from earlier says. “Lucky for you, Mr. Pressutti is feeling lenient and may look past your mistake at Verdigris the other night, but your father, not so much,” he adds.

Then, he emerges from the hall, stepping forward with the poise and confidence of a king approaching his throne. Leone Pressutti—his name is a curse upon many lips, a prayer on others. His dark hair falls perfectly in place, framing a face that could have been chiseled from stone, except for his twisted smirk.

“Fallon,” he purrs, sending shivers down my spine. “Lovely home you have.”

I doubt he means it, the place is barely furnished since we sold nearly everything of value trying to come up with Emma’s surgery money.

“Mr. Presutti,” I say, my body tense as if ready to spring into flight. But where would I go? The predatory amusement in his eyes tells me I am trapped and there will be no running. This is underscored by Milo’s appearance, who enters and leans casually on the door frame.