Twisted Emotions (The Camorra Chronicles 2)

“Give me a glass of white wine,” I said. I couldn’t help but wonder with how many of these women Nino had slept, but I decided not to ask.

Jerry chuckled. “Don’t let their alcoholism rub off on you.” Despite his words, he poured me a generous glass and slid it toward me.

“Free alcohol is one of the few perks of working here,” another woman muttered.

I took a sip from my wine and regarded them, looking for signs of abuse. A few of them had small bruises on their arms or legs but nothing major.

“I’m C.J.,” said a younger woman with long brown hair and a kind smile.

“She’s a Falcone,” the woman beside her hissed.

I took another sip. “I am,” I confirmed. “I’m also a person and a woman. You don’t have to fear me.”

The tall woman shook her head. “You are not one of us, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not, you are right, but I understand more than you think. I’m not your enemy.”

C.J. walked around and leaned against the bar counter beside me. “We heard what happened in New York, what the Falcones did to your uncle.”

Jerry shoved her shoulder lightly. “Why don’t you shut up?”

I swallowed, but then I forced a smile and nodded. “Nino and Remo killed him.”

“Slaughtered him,” the tall woman butted in.

“Got what he deserved, if you ask me,” C.J. muttered.

“Many men deserve the same,” the tall woman said.

I put down my glass and blurted, “Are you sex slaves?”

C.J. shrugged. “Not the kidnapped-in-the-middle-of-the-night kind, no. Most of us started this because we didn’t have a choice. We needed the money, we felt obligated, and most of us stay because once you’re in this, it’s hard to work a normal job again. Once the debts to the Camorra are paid off, we earn good money.”

The tall woman narrowed her eyes at me. “There are very few women in this business who do this because they enjoy it. Maybe johns want to believe most of us are nymphomaniacs who became hoes to get more dick. Fucking assholes. As if any of us enjoy sucking the dick of an old, hairy, unwashed bastard.”

“Here comes the prick responsible for fresh meat,” C.J. whispered, and the look in her eyes made it clear; he was the reason why she worked at the Sugar Trap.

I turned around and a tall, brown-haired man, maybe a couple of years older than me, entered the club. He was very handsome, and I understood why he had become the Camorra’s Romancer. It was his job to make women fall for him until they were in so deep that they would do anything for him; even sell their bodies. He didn’t give off the scary vibe so many Made Men did. He knew how to hide it, which was probably crucial if you wanted to lure women into your trap. His eyes wandered over the women without a hint of guilt. Then they settled on me and his face was puzzled. I hadn’t met him yet, or at least, I hadn’t noticed him. Something in his behavior shifted ever so slightly, as if he wasn’t sure where to put me, but then he strode toward me and recognition flashed across his face.

He ignored the women beside me, shook hands with Jerry, then turned to me. “I’m Stefano,” he said in a silky voice. “It’s a pleasure meeting you.” His charming smile hit me full force.

Remo prowled through the backdoor, covered in blood, and tapped the counter. “Four scotches, Jerry.” Then his dark eyes moved on to Stefano. He shook his head and narrowed his eyes before walking around to meet us. I couldn’t take my eyes off his blood-spattered arms and throat. His shirt was black, but I was sure it was drenched in blood too.

He grabbed Stefano’s shoulder. “That is a conquest you wouldn’t survive, Stefano. I’d hate to lose my best Romancer, but I’d have to put you down, and you’d fucking thank me for it because Nino would fucking tear you into bite-sized pieces and feed them to you.”

Stefano watched Remo’s bloody hand on his white shirt, curling his lip. “I know who she is, Capo. I was only introducing myself.”

“We know how it goes. You charm them and then they fall head over heels and lose their few remaining brain cells.” Remo flashed a cruel smile at the gathered women.

I rolled my eyes. “First, I’m not going to fall for him. I’m Nino’s. And second, I have more than a few brain cells.” I didn’t mention that no matter what Stefano did, he couldn’t win my heart because my heart belonged to Nino.

Stefano’s eyes widened, and he looked at Remo as if he expected his Capo would strike me dead for the audacity.

“Indeed.” Remo smirked and released Stefano, leaving a bloody handprint on the man’s shirt. Jerry handed Remo a tray with four glasses of scotch. “We’re almost done,” he said to me, then to Stefano, “Hands off.” The women backed away as he passed them with the tray.