The Camorra Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3)

by Reilly, Cora

  Adamo was lucky his oldest brother was Capo or he would have ended up dead in a dark alley by now. Remo and I went back into the entry area. Adamo was leaning against the bar counter, typing something on his phone. When he spotted us, he quickly slipped it into his back pocket.

  Remo held out his hand. “Mobile.”

  Adamo jutted out his chin. “I have a right to some privacy.”

  Few people dared to disobey Remo. Even fewer survived when they did.

  “One of these days, I’ll lose my fucking patience with you.” He grabbed Adamo’s arm and turned him around, motioning for me to grab the mobile and I did.

  “Hey,” Adamo protested, trying to reach for it. I blocked him, and Remo pushed him against the wall.

  “What’s the fucking matter with you? I’ll tell you again, don’t test my fucking patience,” Remo muttered.

  “I’m sick of you telling me to go to school and be home by ten when you, Fabiano, Nino, and Savio spend the night doing all kind of fun stuff.”

  Fun stuff. He’d see how fun most of the things were once he was inducted next year.

  “So you want to play with the big boys?”

  Adamo nodded.

  “Then why don’t you stay here? A few girls are coming over in a bit. I’m sure we’ll find one who will make you a fucking man.”

  Adamo flushed red then shook his head.

  “Yeah, that’s what I thought,” Remo said grimly. “Now wait here while I call Don to pick you up and take you home.”

  “What about my phone?”

  “That’s mine for now.”

  Adamo glowered but didn’t say anything. Ten minutes later, Don, one of the oldest soldiers in Remo’s service, picked up the youngest Falcone.

  Remo sighed. “When I was his age, I didn’t say no to a free piece of ass.”

  “Your father set you up with your first hooker when you were twelve. Adamo probably hasn’t even gotten to second base yet.”

  “Perhaps I should push him more.”

  “He’ll be like us soon enough.” This life wouldn’t leave him with a choice.

  Soon, the first girls from one of Remo’s strip clubs arrived. They were eager to please, as always. Not that I minded, I’d had a long day and could use a good blowjob to get rid of some of the tension. I watched through half-closed eyes as one of the girls got down on her knees in front of me. I leaned back in the chair. This was why the Camorra would overrun the Outfit first and then the Famiglia. We didn’t let women meddle in our business. We only used them for our needs. And that was something that would never change. Remo would never allow it. And I didn’t give a fuck. I jerked my hips toward the willing mouth. Feelings had no place in my life.

  CHAPTER 4

  LEONA

  Dad lived in a small, run-down apartment in a desolate corner of the city. The Strip seemed far away—and so did the beautiful hotels with their generous customers. He showed me to a small room. It smelled of cat piss, like the rest of the apartment, even though I hadn’t seen one. The only furniture was a mattress on the ground. One wall was packed almost to the ceiling with old moving boxes stuffed with God knew what. He hadn’t even put sheets on the mattress, nor did I see any kind of bedding.

  “It’s not much, I know,” he said, rubbing the back of his head. “I don’t have a second set of bed linen. Perhaps you can go out and buy some today?”

  My mouth almost fell to the floor. I had to pause to compose myself. I’d spent almost all of my money on the bus ticket. What I had left was supposed to buy me a nice dress for potential job interviews in decent restaurants and cocktail bars near the Strip, but I could hardly sleep on an old mattress that had sweat stains on it ... or worse.

  “Do you at least have a pillow and a spare blanket?”

  He placed my backpack beside the mattress, grimacing. “I think I have an old wool blanket somewhere. Let me check.” He hurried off to who knew where.

  Slowly, I sank down on the mattress. It was saggy and a plume of dust rose into the stale air. My eyes traveled over to the mountain of boxes threatening to crush me beneath them. The window hadn’t been cleaned in a while, if ever, and only let dim light in. There wasn’t even a dresser where I could put my clothes. I dragged my backpack over to me. Good thing I hardly owned anything. I didn’t need much. Everything I ever held dear, my mother had sold at some point for her next hit of crystal meth. That taught me not to cling to physical things.

  Dad returned with a heap of black rags. Could that be the source of the cat smell? He handed the pile over to me, and I realized that it was the wool blanket he’d mentioned. It was moth eaten and smelled of smoke and something else I couldn’t place—but definitely not cat. I set it down on the mattress. I had no choice but to buy bed linen. I stared down at my flip-flops. Right now they were my only shoes. The soles of my favorite pair of Converse sneakers had fallen off two days ago. I thought I’d be able to get new shoes as soon as I arrived in Vegas.

  I pulled thirty dollars from my backpack. Dad eyed the money in a strange way. Desperate and hungry.

  “I don’t suppose you have some spare change for me? Business is slow right now, and I need to buy some food for us.”

  I hadn’t asked what exactly his business was; I learned that asking too many questions often led to unpleasant answers.

  I handed him ten dollars. “I need the rest for bedding.”

  He looked disappointed but then nodded. “Sure. I’ll go get us something to eat for tonight. Why don’t you go to Target and see if you can get a comforter and some sheets?”

  It almost seemed as if he wanted to get me out of the apartment. I nodded. I really wanted to get out of my sweaty pair of jeans and T-shirt, but I grabbed my backpack and got ready to leave.

  “You can leave that here.”

  I smiled. “Oh ... no. I’ll need it to carry whatever I buy,” I lied. I learned to never leave my stuff lying around with my mother or she would pawn it. Not that I had anything of worth, but I hated people rummaging through my underwear. And I knew that look Dad had when he’d seen my money. I was fairly certain he’d been lying when he said his addiction was a thing of the past. There was nothing I could do about that. I couldn’t fight that battle for him.

  I trudged out of the apartment, Las Vegas’ dry air hitting me once again. Despite the cold, a few guys were swimming in the community pool, doing dives and shouting. The pool area looked like it could use a good cleaning as well. One of the guys spotted me and let out a whistle. I picked up my pace to avoid a confrontation.

  Sheets, a comforter, and a pillow cost me $19.99, leaving me with exactly one cent. No pretty dress or shoes for me. I doubted a restaurant would hire me in my secondhand clothes.

  When I returned home, Dad wasn’t there ... and neither was any food. I searched the fridge but found only a few cans of beer and a jar of mayonnaise. I sank down on the chair, resigning myself to wait for my father.

  When he came home, it was dark outside. I’d fallen asleep at the table, my forehead pressed up against my forearms. I scanned his empty arms and miserable expression.

  “No food?” I asked.

  He froze, his eyes flitting around nervously, searching for a good lie.

  I didn’t give him the chance to lie to me and rose to my feet. “It’s okay. I’m not hungry. I’m going to bed.”

  I was starving. I hadn’t had a morsel to eat since the donut I’d treated myself to in the morning. I kissed Dad’s cheek, smelling alcohol and smoke on his breath. He avoided my eyes. As I headed out of the kitchen with my backpack, I saw him taking a beer out of the fridge—his dinner, I assumed.

  I put the new sheets on the mattress then dropped the comforter and pillow on top. I didn’t even have nightclothes. Instead, I took out a t-shirt and a fresh pair of panties before lying down on the mattress. The new linen, with its chemical scent, masked the stale stench of the mattress. I hadn’t seen a washing machine in the apartment, so I’d have to earn some money before I could
have my stuff washed in a laundromat.

  I closed my eyes, hoping I could fall asleep despite the rumbling of my stomach.

  When I got up the next morning, I showered, trying not to look at anything too closely. I would have to give the bathroom and the rest of the apartment a good clean once I found a job. That had to be my top priority for now. I changed into the nicest things I owned, a flowery summer dress that reached my knees. Then I slipped on my flip-flops. It wasn’t an outfit that would get me any bonus points at a job interview, but I didn’t have a choice. Dad was sleeping on the sofa, in yesterday’s clothes. When I tried sneaking past him, he sat up.

  “Where are you going?”

  “To look for a job.”

  He shook his head, not looking very hungover. Alcohol was the least of his problems. “There aren’t any respectable places around here.”

  I didn’t bother telling him no respectable places would ever hire me looking the way I did.

  “If you get the chance, maybe you can buy some food?” Dad said after a moment.

  I nodded without saying a word. Swinging my backpack over my shoulder, I left the apartment. Unfortunately, Las Vegas’ winter decided to rear its ugly head today. In my summer clothes, it was bitterly cold, and the promise of rain lay in the air. Dark clouds hung heavy in the sky.

  I strode through the neighborhood for a while, taking in the shabby exteriors and homeless people. I walked for ten minutes, heading toward downtown Las Vegas, when the first bar came into view. I quickly realized that for a girl to work there, she had to be willing to get rid of her clothes. The next two bars hadn’t even opened yet and looked so run down that I doubted there was any money to be made working there. A wave of resentment washed over me. If Dad hadn’t made me spend all my money on bedding, I could have bought nice clothes and gone looking for a job closer to the Strip and not around here, where the worth of a woman was linked to the way she could dance on a pole.

  I knew strippers earned good money. My mom had been friends with dancers, before she’d started selling her body to truck drivers and worse for a quick buck.

  Losing hope, my head started to swim from lack of food. The cold air wasn’t helping either. It was already one in the afternoon and things didn’t look good. Then the sky opened up and it began raining. One fat drop after another plopped down on me. Of course, the one day in December it rained in Nevada I was wearing sandals. I closed my eyes for a moment. I didn’t really believe in a higher power, but if someone or something was up there, it didn’t think too fondly of me.

  The cold became more prominent as my dress stuck to my body. I shivered and rubbed my arms. I wasn’t sure how far from home I was, but I had a feeling that I’d be down for the count with a cold tomorrow, if I didn’t find shelter soon. The low hum of an engine drew my attention back to the street and to the car coming my way. It was an expensive German car, a Mercedes of some sort, with tinted windows and matte black varnish. It was sleek and almost daunting.

  My mother hadn’t been the kind of mother that warned me of getting into strangers’ cars. She was the kind of mother who brought creepy strangers home because they paid her for sex. I was cold and hungry and just over this city already. I wanted to get back into the warmth. I hesitated then held out my arm and raised my thumb. The car slowed and came to a stop beside me. The way I looked, I assumed he would have driven right past me.

  Surprise rushed through me when I saw who sat behind the wheel. A guy, early twenties maybe, dressed in a black suit and black shirt. No tie. His blue eyes settled on me and heat crawled up my neck from the intensity of his gaze. Strong jaw, dark blond hair, shaved on the sides but longer on top. He was immaculate, except for a small scar on his chin—and I looked like I’d crawled out of the gutter. Wonderful.

  FABIANO

  The girl, dressed for anything but this weather, caught my attention from afar. Her wet dress was plastered to her thin body and her hair to her face. She had her arms wrapped around her stomach and an ugly backpack hanging off her right shoulder. I slowed considerably as I approached her, curious. She didn’t look like one of our girls, nor did she strike me as someone who knew the first thing about selling her body. Maybe she’d only just arrived in Vegas and didn’t know that these streets belonged to us and she would have to ask if she wanted to hit them.

  I expected her to scuttle off when I came closer. My car was easily recognizable. She surprised me when she held out her hand for me to pick her up. I pulled up beside her. If she tried to offer me her body, she was in for a nasty surprise. And if this was some insane robbery scheme, with her accomplices waiting to catch me by surprise, they’d be in for an even nastier surprise. I put my hand down on my gun before I slid my window down. She bent over to look inside my car.

  She smiled in embarrassment. “I got lost. Can you take me home perhaps?”

  Not a hooker.

  I leaned over and pushed the door open. She slipped in then closed the door. She put her backpack on her lap and rubbed her arms. My eyes fell to her feet. She was wearing only sandals and dripping water on my seats and the floor.

  She noticed my gaze and blushed. “I didn’t expect rain.”

  I nodded, still curious. She definitely didn’t know me. She was pale and trembled ... but not from fear. “Where do you need to go?”

  She hesitated before letting out an embarrassed laugh. “I don’t know the address.”

  I raised my eyebrows.

  “I only arrived yesterday. I live with my father.”

  “How old are you?”

  She blinked. “Nineteen?”

  “Is that the answer or a question?”

  “Sorry. I’m out of it today. It’s the answer.” Again with the embarrassed, shy smile.

  I nodded. “But you know the direction to your father’s place?”

  “There was a sort of campground nearby. It isn’t very nice there.”

  I pulled away from the curb then sped up. She clutched her backpack.

  “Are there any markers you remember?”

  “There was strip club nearby,” she said, a deep blush tingeing her wet cheeks. Definitely not a hooker.

  I humored her and drove in the general direction she’d described. It wasn’t like I needed to be anywhere else. Her ignorance of my position was almost amusing. She looked like a drowned cat with her dark hair plastered to her head and her dress clinging to her shivering body. I could hear her stomach rumble.

  “I wish I knew the name of the club, but I was only paying attention to bars I could work in ... and that definitely wasn’t one of them,” she said quickly.

  “Work?” I echoed, cautious again. “What kind of work?”

  “As a waitress. I need to earn money for college,” she said then fell silent, biting her lip.

  I considered her again. “About a mile from here is a bar called Roger’s Arena. I know the owner. He’s looking for a new waitress. The tips are good ... from what I hear.”

  “Roger’s Arena,” she echoed. “Strange name for a bar.”

  “It’s a strange place,” I told her. It was an understatement, of course. “But they don’t have high standards when it comes to their personnel.”

  Her eyes widened then she flushed with embarrassment. “Do I look that bad?”

  My gaze traveled from her slender calves over her narrow waist up to her fine-boned face. She didn’t look bad, quite the opposite. But her clothes and wet hair and those worn sandals ... they didn’t really help matters. “No.”

  She didn’t seem to believe me and tightened her grip on her backpack. Why was she clinging to it so tightly? Did she have a weapon inside? That would explain why she’d risked getting into a stranger’s car. Maybe she thought she’d be able to defend herself. Her stomach growled again.

  “You’re hungry.”

  She tensed, which was more than the simple question called for. “I’m okay.” Determined and stubborn, her eyes remained glued to the windshield.

  “When was
the last time you’ve eaten?”

  A quick glance my way then her eyes fell down to her backpack.

  “When?” I pressed.

  She looked out the passenger window. “Yesterday.”

  I narrowed my eyes at her. “You should consider eating every day.”

  “We had no food in the fridge.”

  Didn’t she say she lived with her father? What kind of parent was he? From the way she looked, probably as caring as my own father had been.

  I steered the car toward a KFC drive-in.

  She shook her head. “No, don’t. I forgot to take money with me.”

  I could tell she was lying.

  I ordered a box of wings and fries and then handed them to her.

  “I can’t accept this,” she said quietly.

  “It’s chicken and fries, not a Rolex.”

  Her eyes darted to the watch on my wrist. Not a Rolex, but not any less expensive. She didn’t put up much of a fight, her resolve quickly dissipating. Soon, she tore into the food as if her last decent meal had been a lot longer than just yesterday. I watched her from the corner of my eye as my car glided through traffic. Her nails were cut short, not the long red fake nails I was used to.

  “What do you do? You look young for a businessman or lawyer,” she said when she was done eating.

  “Businessman? Lawyer?”

  She shrugged. “Because of the suit and the car.”

  “Nothing like that ... no.”

  Her eyes lingered on the scars covering my knuckles, and she didn’t say anything anymore. She sat up suddenly. “I recognize the street. Turn left here.”

  I did and slowed when she pointed at an apartment complex. The place seemed distantly familiar. She opened the door then turned to me. “Thank you for the ride. I doubt anyone else would have picked me up with the way I look. They probably would have thought I wanted to rob them. Good thing you aren’t scared of girls in flip-flops.”