Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles 1)

Someone banged at my door. I looked around blearily. The sun was low in the sky. The door swung open and Dad stumbled in.

I sat up sleepily. “What’s wrong? What time is it?”

“You need to give me some money. I know you must have gotten money for work this week.”

I had gotten money, but apart from getting us food, I’d set it aside to finally buy another (less expensive) dress. I rubbed my eyes, trying to get rid of the brain fog. “I thought you were working too.”

He didn’t say anything for a while. “They fired me.”

“Before I came here?”

He sighed, then nodded. So he’d lied to me. “Leona, I really need that money.”

“Who is it you’re owing money? The Camorra?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does. I could talk to Fabiano—”

“Are you stupid? Only because he’s fucking you, doesn’t mean he’s going to listen to anything you say.”

I snapped my lips shut, suddenly wide awake. Had he really said that?

“Don’t give me that look. People are talking. You’ve been seen riding around in his car. They call you his whore.”

My stomach tightened at the insult. I’d fought so hard to have never put that label on me, and now, away from my mother, in Las Vegas, people actually did call me whore.

“That’s none of your business,” I gritted out, becoming angry. I didn’t want to lash out at him, even if he deserved it for lying to me constantly. “I don’t have money for you.”

“I let you live here, and that’s what I get for it?”

He was drunk. It became more and more obvious. “I pay for our food. I clean the apartment, and you already took money from me.”

Even though he’d hurt me with his insults, I still felt guilty for refusing him.

Without a word, he barged in and grabbed my backpack. He rifled through it, but I’d learned from last time. He made me jump when he grabbed my wrist, dragging me to my feet. “Tell me where it is.”

I smelled tequila on his breath. It had always been his favorite, and my mother’s.

His grip was even harder than last time. Tears burned in my eyes as I ground out, “Let me go. You’re hurting me.”

“Tell. Me. Where. It. Is.” He shook me with every word he said.

Anger, hot and blinding, burned through me. “That’s why mom left you. Because you always lost it and beat her. You haven’t changed a bit. You disgust me.”

He shoved me away, so I fell back on the mattress, before he whirled around. Then I heard another male voice. I stiffened as steps came closer. I quickly got to my feet and pulled my jeans short over my panties. Dad came in, saying, “She’s nice to look at. Have a go at her. That should pay my debt.”

I sucked in a breath. Addiction turned even the kindest people into ruthless criminals, and my father wasn’t even all that kind. Still I’d have never thought he’d do something like that to me. That he was the reason why my mother had sold her body was something I’d suspected all along.

Dad pointed in my direction. A dark haired man with grey streaks came in. He seemed distantly familiar, and one glance at his forearm showed me that he was part of the Camorra. My chest constricted with terror. I squared my shoulders, my eyes darting to my backpack on the ground between them and me. I wished Fabiano was here, and that realization, too, scared me shitless.

The dark eyes of the man scanned my face, then he shook his head. “No can do, Greg. She belongs to Scuderi.”

What? I stopped myself from contradicting him. If being Fabiano’s meant, I was safe from my father selling me off like cattle, then I was gladly his – for the time being.

Dad spluttered, and opened his mouth to argue, but the mobster turned on him and smashed his fist into Dad’s face. Blood shot out of his nose and he dropped to his knees. “Soto,” Dad gasped. But Soto hit him again and again. I jumped over the mattress and grabbed the man’s arm, trying to pull him off my father. Perhaps Dad deserved it, but I couldn’t bear seeing it. I couldn’t stand back and watch him being beaten to death.

Soto pushed me aside, so I stumbled backwards and landed with my butt on the mattress, but he finally let up from Dad. “Two hours,” he told him. “Then I’ll be back.”

“No wait,” I called when he was halfway out the door. Dad was sitting with his head between his knees, blood dripping on the floor from his nose and lip. I went over to the moving boxes stacked up against the wall and reached behind the one on the ground, pulling out my entire money. Two hundred dollars. I handed them to Soto. He counted the money without a word. He gave a nod and just disappeared.