Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles 1)

I rolled my eyes.

“Tonight I’m going to fuck you in that cage.”

He dipped a finger between my folds and I had to stifle a groan. Remo’s eyes slid over to me and I quickly closed my legs, forcing Fabiano to pull his hand away. He smirked, then commented on a move Nino did with his leg as if nothing had happened.

With an audible crack, Nino broke his opponent’s arm. Adamo jerked back his chair and stood, eyes wild, then he turned and hurried off toward the exit. I wasn’t sure why but I pushed my own chair back and followed him. He was a Falcone. Remo’s brother, but he was also only thirteen. And he was obviously dealing badly with what happened the last couple of weeks. I caught up with him in the parking lot, his hand on the door of a sleek red Ford Mustang.

“Your car?” I asked jokingly.

“Remo’s,” Adamo said, twisting car keys between his fingers.

“He lets you drive it?” I doubted anyone would let a thirteen-year-old drive a car around Vegas, but Remo didn’t exactly play by the rules.

Adamo turned angry eyes toward me. “No, he’ll probably kick my ass. I stole the key.”

“Oh.” He was still watching me, still twisting the key as if he needed the smallest reason to stay. I took a step closer. “I don’t enjoy the cage fighting. Too brutal.”

“Not as brutal as real life.”

Mob life. His life, and now mine as well. “I dream about the attack.” And about the hours before it, the fear of the death match.

He looked down at the key in his hand. “I shot someone.”

“I know,” I said quietly and took another step forward. I put my hand on his forearm lightly. His eyes rose. Only thirteen and they looked already jaded. “It was self-defense.”

“It won’t always be. I’m a Falcone. Soon I’ll be a Camorrista.”

“True. But who says you’ll have to hurt people. You could do street races. It’s a big part of the business, right? So it would be good to have a Falcone showing off what he can do. I hear you are quite good already.”

His lips twitched. “Yeah. But Remo thinks I’m too young.”

“Once you’ll be inducted, I’m sure he’ll change his mind. If you can handle a gun, you can race a car, don’t you think?”

He shook his head slowly. “Remo will attack the Outfit in retribution. He will need a fighter, not a race driver.”

I’d figured as much from Fabiano’s cryptic comments in the last few days. Things would get rough pretty soon. “Why don’t you come back inside? Stealing your brother’s car won’t get you any favors.”

His eyes shifted between the car and the bar, then he closed the door. We turned and headed back toward the entrance – where Fabiano was waiting with his arms crossed over his chest.

Adamo winced.

“Have you been spying on us?” I asked.

He pushed off the wall. “You both have a penchant for getting into trouble.”

I huffed.

Fabiano caught Adamo’s gaze and put a hand on his shoulder. “Running won’t help.” He tipped his index finger against Adamo’s forehead. “Can’t run from what’s in there. Regret and guilt, they follow.” Fabiano touched Adamo’s wrist and the boy gave a small nod as if he understood.

Fabiano tousled his hair. Adamo pulled back in protest, then Fabiano feigned an attack and a grappling match ensued. After a moment, Fabiano pushed a smiling Adamo toward the door. “Inside.”

Adamo entered the bar and we followed. Remo’s eyes zoomed in on us at once. His brother put the key down in front of him, then slumped back in his chair.

Fabiano and I took our seats, and he took my hand under the table, linking our fingers.

Remo leaned over to me and I tensed. Fabiano squeezed my hand in support but his eyes were on the fight. “What did you do to stop him from driving off?”

It took effort to hold Remo’s fierce dark eyes. “Tried to make him see light in the dark.”

“Like you did for him,” he said with a tilt of his head. It wasn’t a question.

I glanced at Fabiano but his eyes followed Nino’s movements in the cage – at least it appeared that way. Before Remo turned away, a flicker of acknowledgement passed over his expression.

I didn’t think he’d been serious but Fabiano and I were the last guests in the bar. Cheryl cleaned the counter, eying us wearily. “We should leave too.”

“I told you I’d have you against that cage tonight.” He turned to Cheryl and raised his voice. “You can leave. I have the keys. I will lock up later.”

Cheryl put down the cloth, picked up her purse and walked past us. She’d been distant since I was officially at Fabiano’s side.

He took my hand and pulled me to my feet, then led me toward the cage in the center. My core tightened in anticipation as he leaped onto the platform and pulled me along. I climbed into the cage, then heard the familiar click of the door closing. A pleasant shiver raced down my spine. Fabiano pressed up against my body from behind, his erection digging into my lower back. I arched my butt against him, needing his hands on me. After his short teasing during the fight, it had been difficult to grasp a straight thought. He pulled my dress over my head and dropped it to the ground, then pulled down my panties.