Gamble

Chapter 7

FALLON

Mr. Pressutti saunters around the room. He swipes his fingers over the mantle above the fireplace. He looks at his fingers, which have gathered the dust.

“I’m afraid your father has been rather careless,” Leone says casually, as if discussing the weather. He pulls a handkerchief from his pocket, cleaning his fingers, looking appalled at the mantle. He then circles me, his steps deliberate, each echoing.

“A failed theft is still a theft, Fallon. And in my world, we don’t take kindly to thieves. Now the question I want to know is if I am only killing one person tonight or two?”

I furrow my brows.

He crouches beside me. “Your father crossed the wrong man, which leaves me questioning if you knew and helped him?” he asks. I choke down the bile rising in my throat, and glance at my father behind me, my hands finding his body as I use my own as a shield to protect him. Tears spring in my eyes at the thought of him killing my father.

“Please,” I whisper, hating myself for the plea in my voice, “There must be some mistake. My father isn’t a thief.” But his name tag is in the bag, and they wouldn’t be here unless they knew for sure.

“Did you know what your father had done?”

I shake my head, and he looks at Milo over his shoulder before rising to his feet. He nods to Milo.

“Kill him, take the girl,” Leone orders, and my scream is loud when I see Milo step out from behind his boss.

“Wait, wait, don’t hurt him. I’ll do anything, please,” I beg, jumping to my feet and grabbing Mr. Presutti by his shirt, my hands fisting the thick white fabric. And the room falls deathly silent as he peers down at my hands gripping him. I follow his gaze, realizing my mistake and quickly let him go, staggering back only for him to snatch my wrists in a vice-like grip.

His grip tightens around my wrists, his eyes narrowing with amusement and annoyance. “You dare put your thieving hands on me?” he sneers, and I whimper, tears spilling over and running down my cheeks.

“Please!” I beg, trying to get him to let go. Instead, he backs me up until the back of my knees hits the armchair, and I fall into it. He let me go, his legs trapping mine between them.

“Anything, you say?” he taunts, the skepticism clear in his voice.

“Yes,” I reply, my words barely audible.

“Prove it.”

I furrow my brows as I stare up at him. He raises an eyebrow at me as I try to understand his meaning.

“Please, just spare my father’s life.”

“And I said prove it,” Mr. Pressutti taunts. Milo pushes off the wall and steps closer.

“Leone?” Milo asks, but Mr. Pressutti’s gaze doesn’t stray from mine as he answers.

“She said she’d do anything. I want to see how far she would go to save her father,” he states.

“How?” I stutter out.

“I want proof you’ll do as I say; use your imagination, Fallon; you’re a clever girl.” He smiles cruelly, and my eyes widen when he snatches my hand, placing it on his crotch.

I feel the hard bulge beneath my hand. Scanning the room, I take in all the faces watching me, waiting to see what I will do. My lip quivers when he lets go of my hand, and I gaze up at Leone pleadingly.

“Well, what will it be?” he asks, and my hands shake as I reach for his belt, my fingers struggling to undo the buckle. The mere thought of having to blow him in front of people makes my face burn with humiliation.

“Anyone would think you don’t know what you’re doing, cara mia. Hurry up,” he taunts. Little does he know, I have no idea what I’m doing. I’ve never seen a c**k in the flesh before, let alone put one in my mouth. A whimper escapes my lips as I finally get his belt buckle undone. I reach for the zip and tug it down.

“Please, I’ll do what you ask, but do they have to watch?”

A smile curls on Leone’s lips, and he gestures toward Milo. “Did you hear that, Milo? The little girl is ready to do anything but doesn’t want an audience.” He laughs as if it is the most foolish thing I could have said.

Milo’s stony stare remains fixed on me, devoid of any sympathy. Leone leans down, his face mere inches away from mine. His breath brushes against my cheek as he whispers, “You don’t seem to understand, Fallon,” he murmurs coldly, pulling away.

Leone’s smile fades slightly as his eyes narrow into dangerous slits as he grips my chin, forcing me to meet his gaze. “In my world, there are no second chances. You either play by my rules or suffer the consequences.”

Tears well in my eyes as I glance over at my father lying unconscious on the floor.

“Sometimes sticking by the rules makes people desperate,” I whisper, turning my gaze back to Leone’s. He tilts his head to the side, observing me.

“My father is a good man; he’s worked for you for a decade. But everyone does stupid things when they are scared, Mr. Pressutti.”

“And who could your father possibly fear more than the man he worked a decade for, Ms. McCallister?”

My lip quivers. This man is known for being heartless. We are mere ants to him, so I know nothing I say will make him have mercy, still, I try. “How much did he steal?” I ask, and Mr. Pressutti glances at the woman.

“One million, four hundred and sixty-two thousand dollars,” she answers.

“Does that answer your question?” Leone asks.

“It tells me why,” I answer. Mr. Pressutti’s brows pinch confused, but of course, they would. This isn’t the sort of man who gets to know those who betray him; he’s the sort of man who kills without remorse.

“Now, why would he need that kind of money, especially after you took out the tables at Verdigris last night?”

I hold his gaze.

“Nice little trick by the way. It took me four times watching the footage to realize you were counting the cards at the blackjack tables but the last table when you played Penso?” His thumb brushes over my bottom lip gently.

“You had a losing hand, and you swapped cards,” he smiles cruelly. “I must admit, you have nice technique; I wouldn’t have known until I watched the footage of you leaving and caught you tossing the card in the bins.”

I try to pull away, but his grip tightens.

“You never answered my question, Fallon,” he adds, and my breath comes in tiny rasps.