Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles 1)

His reddened face as he stalked into the bar confirmed my worry. He stopped in his tracks when he saw me standing beside Fabiano.

Fabiona stroked my skin lightly with his thumb. I had to resist leaning into his touch. Instead I gave him a quick smile, then rushed off toward the bar. Roger didn’t spare me a glance but I could tell that he was seething. He walked toward Fabiano and listened to him. Eventually he nodded, but he didn’t look happy about it.

Cheryl slid up to my side. “New dress?” She asked suggestively.

I flushed, though I had nothing to be embarrassed about. I removed a few of the empty bottles lined up next to the sink and stashed them in the crates below the bar.

“Chick, I know you’re new here. But don’t think he’s buying you stuff because he feels sorry for you. That man isn’t capable of feeling sorry.”

Annoyance flooded me. She pretended like she knew all about him. How could she say that he had no feelings? Only because he didn’t show them, didn’t mean he didn’t have them. “Cheryl, I know what I’m doing. There’s nothing to worry about, trust me.”

She pointed at my bruised wrist. “That’s only the beginning.”

“He didn’t do that,” I said at once but I could tell that she didn’t believe me. I went over to a table with men trying to catch our attention. The conversation with Cheryl was leading nowhere.

Fabiano came over to me. The men at the table fell silent as he stopped beside me. He touched my naked back again and I saw the look he gave the other men. Was he being possessive? He leaned down. “Wednesday, I’ll pick you up at six in your street.” He straightened and stalked off, leaving me with the imprint of his touch on my back.

“So, two Lager and three Pale Ales?” I repeated their order.

They nodded but didn’t say anymore.

When I returned home that night, the apartment was dark and quiet. The door to Dad’s bedroom was ajar. He wasn’t there. I really hoped he wasn’t gone gambling again.

I slipped out of the dress and carefully laid it out over one of the moving boxes. Tomorrow I’d wash it so I could wear it again for my date with Fabiano on Wednesday. My stomach tightened with nerves and excitement. When I lay down and closed my eyes, I could feel his hand on my back again, could smell his musky scent. My hand found its way between my legs as I remembered the way he’d looked half naked, the lithe way he’d moved during his fight, the strength he oozed so easily. I’d never felt so drawn to someone before. I moved my fingers quicker, imagining it was Fabiano.

Afterwards, I felt even more nervous about our date. I’d never had trouble refusing guys. They had never been even remotely interesting enough for me to risk my reputation. But with Fabiano, I knew it would be more difficult.

Remo was lounging on the sofa, watching the latest race on his enormous TV. The races were getting more and more popular by the day. If we could operate the races in all of the States and Canada, we’d be swimming in money. But with the Outfit and the Famiglia in the US and the fucking Corsican Union in Canada in our way, that wasn’t going to happen soon. Not to mention the Bratva and the Cartel. Everyone wanted to have a fat piece of the cake.

“What is going on between you and that new girl at Roger’s?” Remo asked, sending my body into danger mode.

My face remained blank. I took a sip from my drink, then leaned back again.

Remo seemed focused on the race, but that could as easily have been a way to make me lower my guards.

“Nothing’s going on,” I told him off-handedly.

His eyes met mine. “You are buying her things and you are taking her out. That’s nothing?”

I let out a dark laugh. “Are you spying on me, Remo? Since when do you care about the girls I’m fucking?”

“I don’t. She seems a strange target. Not your usual style. And I don’t need to spy on you. You know how it is.”

Oh, I knew. People were always eager to talk shit about me behind my back, hoping they could rat me out to Remo and earn a reward. They didn’t know shit about him if they thought he was impressed by them acting like a stinking rat. Remo would remember their names but definitely not in a way they’d appreciate. “She’s a welcome distraction. The other girls, they are all the same. They’re starting to bore me.”

They laughed because they had to. They smiled their fake smiles. They regarded me like an opportunity. And I had never cared. They were good for fucking and sucking.