Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles 1)

There were several open shower stalls, a wall of lockers, and a few benches inside. The white-tiled ground was covered with bloodstains and a few dirty towels. Great. They’d probably been lying here for days. The smell of beer and sweat hung in the air. Good thing that I’d learned to deal with stuff like that thanks to my mother. I began mopping and was still at it when the door opened again, and two men – thirty-five, perhaps forty – stepped in, tattooed from head to toe. I paused.

Their eyes wandered over me, resting on my flip-flops and dress. I smiled anyway. I’d quickly learned that it was easier to disarm people with a smile than with anger or fear, especially if you were a small woman. They nodded at me, disinterested. When the first began to tug at his shirt, I quickly excused myself and headed out. I didn’t want to watch them undressing. They might get the wrong idea.

A few guests were already mingling around the now red lit bar, obviously impatient for drinks. Cheryl was nowhere in sight. I set down the bucket and the mop, and hurried toward the counter. Once behind it, I faced the group of thirsty men, smiling. “So what can I get you?”

Beer was the way to go obviously. Relief flooded me. That request was one I could handle. If they’d asked for cocktails or long drinks, I’d have been lost. Half of them took what was on tap and I handed the full glasses over to them, the other half chose bottles. I quickly scanned the fridge. There were only three bottles of beer left. I doubted they would last long. These guys looked like they considered a crate of beer a good appetizer.

Where was Cheryl?

When I was starting to get nervous, she finally walked through the door, looking slightly disheveled. Her skirt was askew, her top put on the wrong way and her lipstick was gone. I didn’t say anything. Had she already earned some extra money with a customer? I glanced around toward the few men gathered at the tables and the bar. Some of them were throwing me curious glances but none of them appeared like they were about to offer me money for having sex. I relaxed slightly. I knew I was particularly touchy about the subject but I’d be out of this bar, desperate for money or not, the moment one of them put down money in front of me for sex. There was a strange atmosphere in the bar anyway. People were exchanging money, and talking in hushed voices. There was someone in the corner who got approached by every customer and noted something on his iPad once they’d handed him money. He was a very round, very small man with a mousy face. I assumed he was taking their bets. I didn’t know anything about the laws in Nevada, but this couldn’t possibly be legal.

None of my business.

“Doll? Give me a beer, would you?” a man in his sixties said.

I flushed, then quickly reached for a glass. I was beginning to feel like this place might be prone to trouble.

Chapter Five

I pulled up into the parking lot of Roger’s Arena, killing the engine. My muscles were already taut with eagerness. The thrill of fighting still got me after all these years. In the cage it didn’t matter if your Father was Consigliere or construction worker. It didn’t matter what people thought of you. All that mattered was the moment, your fighting skills, your skill to read the enemy. It was one against one. Life was seldom as fair as that.

I stepped into Roger’s Arena. It was already crowded. The stench of old sweat and smoke hung in the air. It wasn’t an inviting place. People didn’t come here for the atmosphere or good food. They came for money and blood.

The first fight was about to start. The two opponents were already facing each other in the cage in the center. They weren’t the main attraction. Eyes turned to me, then quickly away, as I strode past the rows of tables with spectators. My fight was last. I’d fight the poor sucker who had proven to be the best over the last few weeks. Remo thought it was good to have me beat the strongest fighters to a bloody pulp in a cage to show everyone what kind of Enforcer the Camorra had. And I didn’t mind. It helped me remember the beginning, helped me stay grounded and vicious. Once you allowed yourself to grow pampered, you set yourself up for attack and for failure.

My eyes were drawn to the bar. It took me a moment to recognize her, not shivering and dripping wet like yesterday. She had long amber curls, sharp and yet elegant features. She was serving drinks to the men gathered at the bar; men with eyes like hungry wolves. She was focused on the task, oblivious to their staring. It was obvious that she didn’t have much experience working in a bar. She took too long drawing a simple beer. To be honest, I hadn’t expected her to start working here. That she had taken the job after seeing the cage told me two things: she was desperate and she’d seen worse in her life.