Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles 1)

I got out of the car, my legs shaky. I could feel Fabiano’s gaze on me all the way until I disappeared in the apartment. I leaned back against the door and released a breath. It felt as if he’d laid me bare without touching me, as if he knew my deepest desires, my darkest fears.

That day I functioned on automode. Cheryl didn’t say anything but I could tell that she wanted to.

Fabiano was waiting for me when I got off at two thirty. He didn’t start the car at once as usual. His eyes darted down to the modest black heels I was wearing, then over the blue dress. Both weren’t anything special and had been on sale, but they were new. I’d bought them this afternoon before work to cheer myself up.

“I want to show you where I live,” Fabiano said simply.

The tiredness fell off me. “Okay.”

I wasn’t sure what else to say. This seemed like a very personal thing, like another level in our…what? Relationship? It was difficult to put a label on it. But I had a feeling that Fabiano didn’t take many people to his apartment. He seemed like someone who kept his private space well protected. Like he’d said, he didn’t like to share, and that he wanted to share his apartment with me, if only for a few hours made me happy. At the same time, however, I knew that being alone in his apartment, with a bedroom at our disposal, opened up new possibilities in our physical relationship I wasn’t sure I was ready for mentally. My body was a different matter anyhow.

His blue eyes regarded me for a few heartbeats, perhaps reconsidering his decision.

As we drove, we passed familiar sites like the Venitian and the Bellagio, and I wondered if I’d ever manage to get a job in a place that was even half as good. Maybe Fabiano could have helped me. He knew more than enough people in Las Vegas, and I didn’t even want to know how many good hotels and restaurants were owned or controlled by the Camorra. But I didn’t want to ask him for that kind of favor. I could only imagine how many people tried to gain something from knowing him. I didn’t want to be like that.

Silence filled the space between us. The soft hum of the engine beckoned me to fall asleep and I wondered if agreeing to go to his apartment that late at night would be a mistake. Perhaps Fabiano expected me to spend the night with him.

My thoughts were cut short when we pulled up in front of a sleek skyscraper and drove down into an underground parking garage.

“No villa in the suburbs with a park-like garden for you?” I asked, hoping my voice didn’t give away my nerves.

He grimaced. “I prefer to live in the center of life. The suburbs are for families.”

We got out of his car. The clean, new smell of the parking garage with dozens of luxury cars already made me feel out of place. Even new clothes couldn’t change that. My heels clicked on the white marble of the elevator as we got in. Fabiano’s hand on my lower back was already oddly familiar. He pressed the button for the top floor and the elevator began its silent ascend. Fabiano didn’t say anything. Perhaps he was having second thoughts about bringing me to his home.

The elevator came to a stop and the doors glided open soundlessly. A long corridor with a plush beige carpet and cream-colored walls with golden ornaments stretched before us. Fabiano led me toward a dark wooden door at the end of it, which seemed to be the only door on this floor except for an emergency exit.

My stomach fluttered with nerves when he opened the door wide for me. I stepped past him into his apartment and the moment the light came on, I froze.

I’d never seen luxury like that before. We stood in the entrance area, which was on a higher level than the living area, the high ceilings were supported by marble columns. I stepped down the three steps, my heels loud on the smooth marble. I wished I’d worn the shoes Fabiano had bought for me, and not the one’s I’d gotten for half-price at Target today.

The marbled floor was held in black and white, and laid out in geometrical design. Four white couches surrounded an enormous low black marble table. And above the seating area, a huge lamp that looked like a ginormous silver ball of wool hung down from the two story high ceiling. To the left there was a dining table that could seat at least sixteen people. Like the floor it was made from black marble. Further to the left there was the open kitchen with its white fronts. But my eyes were drawn back to the living area and the floor to ceiling windows. A huge terrace with white columns was outside, and overlooked the Strip with its illuminated skyscrapers and flashing lights.