Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles 1)

Luca touched Aria’s shoulder. “Aria, your brother is the new Enforcer of the Camorra.”

It took a few seconds for the information to sink in. Aria’s eyes darted to Growl. He still scared her with his tattoos and scars, with the darkness lingering in his eyes. And she wasn’t easily scared anymore, not being married to Luca.

Growl had been the Enforcer of the Camorra when Benettone Falcone had been Capo. And now that Falcone’s son had seized power, Fabi had taken over the role. She swallowed. Enforcer. They did the dirty work. The bloody work. They made sure people obeyed, and if they didn’t obey, Enforcers made sure their fate was a warning to anyone considering the same.

“No,” she said softly. “Not Fabi. He’s not capable of that kind of thing.” He had been a caring and gentle boy, had always tried to protect his sisters.

Matteo gave her a look that told her she was being naïve. She didn’t care. She wanted to be naïve if it meant keeping the memory of her kind, funny little brother. She didn’t want to imagine him as anything else.

“The brother you knew, won’t be the brother you’ll see today. He’ll be someone else. That boy you knew, he’s dead. He has to be. Enforcement isn’t a job for the kind hearted. It’s cruel and dirty work. And the Camorra doesn’t show mercy toward women like it’s habit in New York or Chicago. I doubt that’s changed. Remo Falcone is a twisted fucker like his father,” Growl said in his raspy voice.

Aria looked at Luca, hoping he’d contradict what his soldier had said. He didn’t. Something in Aria cracked. “I can’t believe it. I don’t want to,” she said. “How can he have changed so much?”

“He’s here,” one of Luca’s men informed them. “But he refuses to hand over his weapons.”

Luca nodded. “It doesn’t matter. We outnumber him. Let him through.” Then he turned to Aria. “Perhaps we’ll find out today.”

Aria tensed when steps approached. The door was opened and a tall man stepped in. He was almost as tall as Luca. Not quite as broad, but muscled. A Tattoo peeked out under his rolled up shirtsleeves. His dark blonde hair was cut short on the sides and slightly longer on top, and his ice-blue eyes…

Cold, calculating, cautious.

Aria wasn’t sure she would have recognized him in the street. He was no longer a boy; he was a man. Not just by age. His eyes settled on her. The smile of the past didn’t come, even though recognition flashed in his eyes. God, there was nothing left of the light-hearted boy she remembered. But he was her brother. He would always be. It was foolish but she rushed toward him, ignoring Luca’s growled warning.

Her brother grew tense as she threw her arms around him. She could feel the knives strapped to his back, the guns in the holster around his chest. She knew there would be more weapons on his body. He didn’t hug her back, but one of his hands cupped her neck. Aria looked up at him then. She hadn’t expected to see anger in his eyes before he returned his focus to Luca and the other men in the room. “No need for drawn weapons,” he said with a hint of cold amusement. “I haven’t traveled all the way to hurt my sister.”

His touch on her neck seemed less like a gesture of familiarity than a threat.

Luca’s fingers closed around her upper arm and he pulled her back. Fabiano followed the scene with dark humor in his eyes. He didn’t move an inch.

“My God,” Aria whispered in a tear-thick voice. “What happened to you?”

A predator grin curled his lips.

Not Fabi anymore. That man in front of her, he was someone to be afraid of.

Fabiano Scuderi.

Enforcer of the Camorra.

Chapter One

The past:

I curled into myself. I didn’t fight back. I never did.

Father grunted from the effort of beating me. Punch after punch. My back. My head. My stomach. Creating new bruises, awakening old bruises. I gasped when the toe of his shoe shoved into my stomach and had to swallow down bile. If I threw up, he’d only beat me worse. Or take the knife. I shuddered.

Then the hits stopped and I dared to look up. I blinked to clear my vision. Sweat and blood dripped down my face.

Father glowered at me, breathing hard. He wiped his hands on a towel that his soldier Alfonso had handed him. Perhaps this was the last test to prove my worth. Perhaps I’d finally become an official part of the Outfit. A Made Man.

“Do I get my tattoo?” I rasped.

Father’s lip curled. “Your tattoo? You won’t be part of the Outfit.”

“But—” He kicked me again and I fell back to my side. I pressed on, not caring about the consequences. “But I will be Consigliere when you retire.” When you die.