Twisted Emotions (The Camorra Chronicles 2)

Remo seemed surprised.

“I assumed you’d want to eat with us. Even if you threaten me, I won’t let you go hungry.”

His dark eyes assessed my face, and I returned his gaze. Didn’t he always insist I needed to learn to be a Falcone? Not cowering to him was a good step toward that goal. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw a flicker of respect in his eyes.

“I like you better now that you aren’t scared of your own fucking shadow anymore.”

I shrugged. “And I like you better when you’re not being scary and bossy.”

“Then you don’t like me very often,” Remo said, digging into his pancakes. I sat down beside Nino, and he surprised me by putting his hand down on my thigh and squeezing. When I chanced a glance at him, he was focused on eating.

“When do we need to leave?” Nino asked his brother.

“The assholes are in the basement of the Sugar Trap. Savio and Fabiano are already there. I wanted to wait for you before we started.”

Nino nodded and finished his pancakes. “I’ll get dressed and then we can leave.” He turned to me and hesitated. “Is Adamo here?”

“He should be here, but the asshole snuck out this morning and took my Bugatti. If he gets back, I’ll kick his fucking ass. Until then, your girl will be alone here.”

Nino shook his head. “No. She can’t defend herself yet.”

I frowned. “The mansion is safe, and I’m good with a gun. Well … decent, but that should be enough.”

“Decent is not good enough against most of our enemies. Cavallaro will soon realize we have his soldiers. I won’t leave you unguarded.”

“She can come with us,” Remo said with a shrug.

I knew the Sugar Trap was a strip club and whorehouse. But if the Camorra’s enemies were taken there, that probably wasn’t all it was used for.

Nino regarded me. “That is a difficult place for Kiara.”

“I can deal,” I said firmly.

The second we stepped into the Sugar Trap, everyone’s eyes swiveled toward us. A few scantily clad women were gathered around the bar, talking to a tall, black guy sorting bottles. He nodded at Remo and Nino but regarded me curiously. The women, however, only mumbled a few words of greeting before they returned to what they had been doing. Poles were spread around the room on small stages, and there were several doors branching off the main bar. I assumed they were for private sessions.

Remo’s hard eyes only brushed over the women as if their mere presence annoyed him. Nino turned to me. “You can wait in our office while Remo and I are in the basement.”

I shook my head. “No, I’ll stay here and talk to the women.”

Remo snorted. “They are whores. Talking isn’t what they’re good at.”

I bit back a comeback and turned to Nino, trying to hide my worry. It must have showed because he brought my hand up to his lips and kissed my wrist. Several women gaped at us from their spot at the bar, and even Remo looked caught off guard. Public displays of affection weren’t usually Nino’s style.

Nino leaned forward, whispering in my ear. “I’ve survived every horror you can imagine, Kiara. Don’t waste your worry on me. Torturing Outfit bastards won’t do anything to me. I don’t feel their fear. I don’t care about their begging.” He pulled back, and I released a breath. Without another word, Nino and Remo walked through the backdoor.

The moment they were gone, the five women dared to stare at me again, and the guy behind the bar watched me too. I walked toward them. “Hi,” I said, trying to hide my embarrassment. “I’m Kiara Falcone.”

The guy laughed. “Everyone knows who you are, Mrs. Falcone. I’m Jerry. What can I do for you?” His white teeth contrasted with his dark face, and I liked him at once.

The women whispered among themselves but didn’t say anything directly to me. A few months ago this would have driven me away, but I’d learned to brave unsettling situations.

“What do you have?” I asked Jerry.

“Everything you want. Wine, beer, shots, cocktails. And even if we don’t have it, I’d get it for you, Mrs. Falcone.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “No need for that, please. Just give me a Coke. It’s too early for wine.”

“If you ask me, every hour of the day is wine o’clock,” the woman closest to me said as she raised a glass with red wine. She was very tall and had long blond hair, and was heavily made up like the other women. I supposed it was required in their field of work. I’d never before dealt with a sex worker. As my eyes took in the five women, I wondered how many of them had started working here of their own free will and how many had been dragged into this by a Romancer or to pay of their own debts. The other women, too, had wineglasses in front of them. I supposed alcohol made it easier to live a life like that.