Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles 1)

Not that I had any interest in flirting with that guy, but his change in demeanor was a slight blow to my confidence. I didn’t kid myself into thinking that I was a stunner like some other girls, definitely not wearing the same flowery dress as yesterday.

At least I didn’t smell. Yet.

I faltered in my steps when I saw a familiar face enter the bar. Fabiano was dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up. The white contrasted nicely with his tan. He was a sight to behold. Tall and handsome, aloof and cool. He exuded power and control. He held himself with natural grace that mesmerized me. It was like watching a lion on the prowl. There was almost too much of him to take in. His words about alpha males flashed through my mind, followed by the fact that he was a member of the Camorra. People warned me to stay away from him.

My mother had always said I was a fixer. I needed something broken so I could see if I was capable of mending it. Injured animals, sick people, broken-down cars, her. She’d said it would get me in trouble one day. Because people couldn’t be fixed, and some day I’d find someone so broken, he’d break me before I could mend him.

Was that what had drawn me to him from the very first second? Had I sensed that something about him was off and did I want to fix it?

* * *

Something in her expression was different. She was a bit more hesitant than before. I watched her carry the bucket and mop behind the bar, then busy herself with taking stock of the fridge, her back turned to me.

I had a feeling she didn’t want me to see her face. Perhaps she thought she could disguise her emotions from me like that. Like that was going to work. A look at her body told me everything I needed to know. She was tense and her breathing was too controlled, as if she was trying to appear unaffected but failing.

I leaned my elbows on the counter, watching her silently. She wore the same dress again and the same sandals. It was starting to drive me crazy. Couldn’t her father stop gambling for one fucking day so she could buy herself some decent clothes? Rage rose up in me at the obvious neglect she’d probably been suffering all her life. Neglect was something I knew only too well. It came in different shapes and forms.

I waited patiently until she could no longer pretend that there was anything remotely interesting in the fridge. She squared her shoulders and turned to me.

Her smile was all wrong. Tense and unsure. On the verge of being fake. And there was the flicker of caution but still no fear. “Water?” she guessed, already reaching for a glass.

I shook my head. “No fight tonight. Give me a Scotch.”

“Right,” she said. “Are you going out? You look nice.”

“Nice, hm?” I repeated. She didn’t need to know that Remo and I would check out one of our strip clubs tonight. There had been some inconsistencies with the books, which we needed to investigate. And after that we’d have a long talk with the sluts working there.

A blush spread over her cheeks, making me want to reach over the bar and brush my fingers over it, to feel her heated skin and those damn freckles. The innocent act usually wasn’t something that got to me, because it usually was just that, an act. But with Leona I could tell that no acting was required. “All business, no fun,” I told her.

Her smile faltered again. She reached for the cheapest bottle of Scotch. I shook my head. “Not that one. Give me the Johnnie Walker Blue Label over there.” It was the most expensive Scotch Roger’s Arena offered. It wasn’t really an establishment for fine tastes. The guys around here liked their drinks how they liked their women: cheap.

“That’s thirty dollars a glass,” she said.

“I know,” I said when she slid the glass over to me. I downed a long sip of the amber liquid, enjoying the burn. I didn’t drink often, had only been drunk twice in my life. There were other ways to get a high – fucking and fighting, my favorites.

I pushed a fifty-dollar note over to her. “Keep the rest.”

Her eyes grew wide, and she gave a small shake of her head. “That’s too much.”

She fumbled in the cash register and pushed the twenty dollars of change over to me, then she bent down for a moment, to retrieve another fifty dollar note and put that down in front of me as well.

“I told you I don’t want that money back, and the twenty dollars are your tip.”