Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles 1)

“Because I can and because I want to.”

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy her but I focused on the street and she didn’t ask more questions, which was a fucking good thing, because I really didn’t want to analyze the details of my fascination with her. She reminded me of my sisters. Not in a kinky way. More like she reminded me of a longing I’d buried deep in my chest. Fuck me.

“So your father stole the money I gave you?” I asked eventually, my fingers bearing down on the wheel, and wishing it were his fucking throat.

She nodded. “He seems to be in trouble.”

If he were in real trouble, I’d know it. The money he owed us, it couldn’t be much yet. If Soto still handled him, he was a lucky man.

“Men like him are always in trouble,” I told her. “You should get away from him.”

“He’s my father.”

“Sometimes we have to let go of our family if we want to amount to anything in life.”

Surprise and curiosity registered on her face. I gritted my teeth, annoyed at myself for my words.

I parked at the curb in front of one of the high-class boutiques I knew the society chicks frequented I occasionally fucked when they felt like adding a thrill to their fucking pampered lives.

Leona looked toward the storefront then back at me, her lips parting in disbelief. A small crease formed between her brows. “Don’t tell me you want me to go in there. They won’t even let me inside looking the way I do. They’ll just think that I’ve come to steal their clothes.”

Would they? We’d see about that. I got out of the car, walked around the hood and opened the door for her. She stepped out, then reached for her backpack. I stopped her. “You can leave it in my car.”

She hesitated, then stepped back so I could shut the door. She looked around herself nervously. She felt fucking uncomfortable. I held out my hand for her. “Come,” I said firmly.

She put her palm in mine, and I closed my fingers around her hand. That Leona trusted me despite what she knew about me, made me want to be good to her, which was surprising. I rarely wanted to be good to anyone. But I had enough money, so one dress wasn’t going to kill me. And new shoes were really more for my own sanity than anything else. These flip-flops had to go.

I led her toward the store. The shop-window was decorated with silver and golden Christmas bubbles. The security guard, a tall, dark-skinned fucker, gave her a once over but let us enter as he registered my face. The vendor couldn’t hide her disdain at Leona’s appearance. Her red painted lips twisted and Leona’s hand in mine tensed. My eyes slanted to her. Her free hand fidgeted with her wrinkly white shirt; shame washed over her face and her freckles disappeared among her blush.

She shifted closer to me, seeking shelter. She sought fucking shelter with a man like me. I doubted she noticed. But I had. And I raised my eyes to the vendor’s face, letting her glimpse behind the mask I wore when I wasn’t handling business, let her see why I was the Enforcer of the Camorra. Why some people begged before I’d even put my knife against their skin. She stiffened, and recoiled.

I smiled coldly. “I assume you can help us.”

She nodded quickly. “What is it you’re looking for?” she asked me.

“You should ask her,” I said in a low voice, nodding toward Leona.

“A dress,” Leona said quickly, then added, “And shoes.”

The vendor took in Leona’s flip-flops. But this time her expression didn’t betray her disdain. Good for her.

“What kind of dress?”

Leona sought my gaze, helpless. I gestured for the vendor to give us a moment. She scurried off to the back of the store where another vendor was standing behind the cashier desk.

“I never got to choose. I don’t know anything about dresses or shoes. I got whatever fit me from Goodwill.”

“You never had a new piece of clothing?” I asked.

She looked away. “Clothing wasn’t my priority. I had to put food on the table.” Her eyes were drawn to the line of dresses to our right.

“Try on whatever catches your eye.”

It became obvious pretty quickly that she wasn’t going to touch any of the dresses, and so I pulled a dark green dress with long sleeves out and held it out to her. She took it and followed the vendor toward the changing rooms in the back. I leaned against the wall, keeping my eyes on the curtain that hid Leona from view. It took longer than getting changed should. “You okay in there?”

She came out, grimacing. I straightened. The dress hugged her body in all the right places and flared out until it reached her knees. And the back, it dipped low, revealing her delicate shoulder blades and spine. She looked completely different. She regarded herself in the mirror and shook her head, her lips setting tight. “This feels like a costume,” she said quietly. “As if I’m pretending I’m someone I’m not.”