Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles 1)

When Boulder went down, and eventually surrendered, I could have died from relief. I waited for the uproar to settle down and most of the guests to leave before I approached Griffin in a moment of quiet. He handed me five thousand dollars, and the feel of the crisp bills soothed my nerves. “This is your lucky day, I suppose,” he said.

I nodded, suddenly terrified that he might get suspicious. I turned and left before someone else saw me with Griffin.

I grabbed my backpack, stuffed the money inside and headed for the backdoor. What if this had been a huge mistake? If someone found out, I’d be doomed.

Fabiano would be waiting for me in the parking lot and I didn’t want to face him now, not until I was sure I could convincingly lie about today.

I stepped through the backdoor and breathed in the cold night air, trying to stifle my panic. I shouldn’t have done it.

“Funny coincidence,” said someone behind me.

I whirled around to find Soto a few steps behind me.

“You won quite a bit of money today.”

My hand on the backpack tightened. I still had Fabiano knife buried inside somewhere, but I remembered how little it had helped me against Fabiano. Soto wasn’t Fabiano. I had never seen him fight, but I suspected he had more practice handling knives than I did.

He moved closer. “Makes me wonder how you got so lucky. I’m sure Remo will wonder about it too if I tell him.”

I reached inside my backpack, then drew the knife.

He laughed. “Ever since the basement, I couldn’t stop imagining how it would be to bury my cock in your pussy. It’s a pity that Fabiano got the honor of handling you.”

“Don’t come closer, or I’m going to—”

“Kill me?” He leered.

“Soto.” Fabiano’s voice sliced through the dim light of the back street. I turned slowly. Fabiano was stalking toward us. His tall form blended in with the darkness, dressed in a black shirt and black slacks.

Soto had his hand on the gun in the holster around his waist, his narrowed eyes on Fabiano. “I saw her bring Boulder water before the fight, and he loses.”

“She’s a waitress, Soto. She serves everyone drinks. She served me water before my fights too,” Fabiano said condescendingly as he positioned himself between Soto and me.

“She served you more than that from what I hear. She bet money against him and he lost. Remo won’t believe it a coincidence. Remo will love that. Apparently you didn’t do a good job in the basement fucking some sense into her. This time I’ll make sure Remo let’s me handle it. And he will after your fuck up.”

“You are probably right,” Fabiano said slowly, eyes on me. I couldn’t look away. His eyes were burning with emotion. “He will let you handle her.” He held his gun in his hand, but Soto couldn’t see it.

I didn’t say anything.

He put a silencer on the barrel with practiced ease.

Heaven help me. I’d let him kill a man for me. Again. But this time I could have stopped him.

Fabiano held my gaze as if he waited for me to protest. I didn’t.

Then he whirled around and pulled the trigger. Soto’s head was shoved backwards by the force, and then he tumbled to the ground. I stared at his unmoving form. I didn’t feel anything. No regret. No relief. No triumph either. Nothing.

Fabiano dismantled the silencer from the gun and returned both to the holster around his chest, then he walked up to me, took the knife from my shaking hands before he touched a palm to my cheek. I looked up at him. “You killed him.”

He killed one of Remo’s men. Another Camorrista. For me.

“I promised I’d protect you and I will honor my promise no matter the price.”

The words hung between us.

“Leave. Go to my apartment and wait there for me. Take a taxi.”

He held out his keys. I took them without a word of protest. He released me and I moved back slowly. “What are you going to do?”

“I’ll handle this,” he said, frowning down at the dead body.

I swallowed, then turned on my heel and hurried toward the main road to catch a cab. I had to trust in Fabiano to handle this, to get us out of the mess I’d caused.

It felt strange entering his apartment without him. My body was shaking with adrenaline as I walked up the stairs to the bedroom. Fabiano had killed for me. And I had let him. I could have warned Soto. A word of warning, that’s all it would have taken. I had remained silent. But there was no guilt.

Why wasn’t there any guilt?

You’re finally playing by their rules, Leona. That’s why.

I took a long hot shower to calm my frayed nerves. When I returned into the bedroom dressed in one of Fabiano’s crisp white shirts, almost one hour had passed. I’d hoped Fabiano would be here by now.