FALLON
Panic fuels my decision, and I change direction, sprinting toward the stairs. My bare feet slap against the cold marble with each step, my breath coming in ragged gasps. Behind me, the sounds of a scuffle break out—Rocco’s deep voice yelling, the grunt and thud of bodies colliding.
“Fallon!” one of Leone’s guards calls out. I don’t look back. I can’t.
I bound up the stairs two at a time, my heart pounding so fiercely I fear it might burst from my chest. The footsteps behind me are gaining ground with every second. I can almost feel Leone’s breath on the back of my neck, his cologne mixed with the stench of sweat and rage.
I can’t stop now. I won’t. I have to keep moving—keep running from the nightmare threatening to swallow me whole. I have to survive. For myself. For the small
