by Reilly, Cora
She searched the back of the room, never once looking over her shoulder to see what I was doing. Too trusting. Too innocent.
“Ah, here they are,” she said, pointing at a couple of beer cases. She looked over at me then frowned. “Is something wrong?”
She sounded concerned. For fuck’s sake, she sounded concerned for me. Every other girl in Vegas, and every man as well, would have shit themselves if they were in a soundproof basement ... alone with me. I wanted to shake some sense into her.
I strode toward her and picked up three cases. As I straightened, I caught a whiff of her sweet scent. Fuck.
She smiled up at me. She wore close to no makeup, only enough to highlight her natural beauty. Touching the soft dusting of freckles on her cheek, she sheepishly asked, “Do I have something on my face?” finishing with an embarrassed laugh. I could tell she was self-conscious about her freckles, but fuck me, I liked them.
“No,” I said.
“Oh, okay.” She searched my eyes, her brows drawing together. Don’t try to look behind that mask, girl. You won’t like it. “We should probably go back upstairs. I’m not supposed to leave the bar unattended for too long.”
Had she seen something in my gaze that finally gave her a healthy dose of fear? The way she held the door open for me with that same unsuspecting expression, I guessed not.
I nodded toward the stairs. “Go ahead.”
She hesitated then walked in front of me. Maybe she thought I wanted to get a good look at her ass, but her dress made that impossible. The truth was I hated having people behind me.
We strode through the narrow corridor, when the door to the main area opened revealing Roger and Stefano.
Both of them looked dismayed, seeing me with the girl. Her face shifted into one of unease at the sight of Stefano, which made me curious. He looked like any mother-in-law’s dream, and his charm was the Camorra’s best weapon when it came to luring women into our whorehouses.
“Fabiano, can I have a word with you?” Roger asked, his eyes scanning the girl, probably looking for a sign that I’d assaulted her in the storage room. Stefano, too, gave me a contemplating look. “Go back to work, Leona.”
Leona. So that was her name. She hadn’t struck me as a lioness as her namesake insinuated. Perhaps there was more to her.
She hadn’t moved, despite Roger’s order. Her eyes were on me. I nodded. “Go ahead,” I told her. “I’ll be there in a minute.”
She left and to my utter annoyance, Stefano decided to go after her. Back off, fucker.
He’d definitely set his sights on her. Why was he even considering her for one of our whorehouses? She really didn’t look the type.
“I know you handle things however you want, but recently I’ve lost too many waitresses to the Camorra’s whorehouses ... or unfortunate accidents.”
Those accidents were mostly related to Remo’s soldiers acting out of turn.
“I’m glad to have that new girl. The customers seem to like her, and she actually knows how to behave herself. I’d appreciate it if she could stay in my service for more than a couple of weeks.”
“We handle things however we want. You just said it, Roger,” I said in warning. “If we decide to put her to use in one of our other establishments, we don’t ask you.”
He nodded, but a vein in his forehead swelled with suppressed anger. He didn’t like it. That made two of us.
I walked past him and pushed the door open with my elbow then stepped behind the bar.
Leona was busy chatting to two ancient customers, laughing at something they had said. Stefano sat at the other end of the bar, watching her like a hawk. His brown hair was immaculately slicked back. I bet the asshole spent hours in front of the mirror. As Leona continued to chat with the older men, it seemed she was determined to ignore Stefano. I set down the cases, and Leona shot me a grateful look with those baby blues. When the men at the bar saw me, they quickly focused on their beer.
I walked around the bar and picked up my gym bag where I’d left it, stopping beside Stefano. He glanced up at me from his sitting position. He was below me in ranks, so the challenging glint in his eyes made me consider sticking my knife into them. “You think about making a move on her?”
“I’m considering it,” he said. “She looks like she would respond well to the slightest sign of kindness. Makes her easy to manipulate.” Would that sick as fuck leer still be on his face if I cut his throat?
“She doesn’t seem interested in your advances.”
“That’ll change,” he said smugly.
“Has Remo seen her?” That was the only thing that mattered.
“No. I only just found her, but I’m sure he’ll approve.”
I had a feeling Stefano was right. “Don’t waste your time. She’s already taken.”
“By whom?”
“Me,” I growled.
He frowned at me but then shrugged, emptied his beer, and left. I watched his back as he disappeared through the door. Stefano was someone to watch. He and I had never gotten along, and I had a feeling that wouldn’t change anytime soon. Stefano knew better than to make a move on someone I wanted.
My eyes found Leona again. She’d been watching my exchange with Stefano with a confused expression. With the background noise of the bar, there was no way she could have heard anything. She was so different from the women that usually frequented the places I spent time in. There were women who were unable to hide their fear and then ones that hoped to gain something from being close to me. She didn’t know who I was. It was strange being treated like someone ... normal. I’d fought hard to receive the respect and fear everyone showed me, but it hadn’t bothered me that she was unaware of my status. I wondered how long it would be before someone told her and how she’d look at me then.
“I know that look,” Remo said, sneaking up beside me. I should have realized he’d entered the scene. People were even more uneasy than they were when it was only me in the room. He nodded toward Leona. “Take her if you want. She’s yours. She’s nobody. It’s not like we need her anyway. She doesn’t look like much entertainment, though.”
I glanced over to Leona. She was wiping the counter, unaware of the lewd looks she was drawing from some of the men around her.
“I don’t want to take her,” I said then amended when I saw Remo’s bewildered expression. “I won’t.”
“Why not?” Remo asked curiously.
Danger. “You said it yourself, she doesn’t look like much entertainment.”
“Perhaps she’s more exciting when she’s trying to fight you off. Might be worth a try. Some women turn into feral cats when they’re cornered.” He clapped my shoulder.
I didn’t say anything.
Remo shrugged. “But if you don’t want her ...”
“I do,” I said quickly. “I’d appreciate if word got around that I have my eyes set on her. Just in case. I don’t want Stefano messing with her.”
Remo chuckled. “Sure. Put your claim on her, Fabiano.”
That was the advantage of being on his good side. Remo allowed me things his other soldiers couldn’t even dream of. With that, he left and went to a table with some of the high rollers from one of our premium casinos. I returned to the bar. There would be time to change into my fighting trunks later.
The other men excused themselves, and Leona came over to me, her brows drawn together. “Am I missing something?”
I shrugged. “I’m the reason why some of them lost money.” And limbs.
She opened her mouth to say something, but the sound of a body smashing against the cage silenced her, followed by a round of ecstatic applause. She clapped a hand over her lips, eyes widened with shock. I glanced over my shoulder. One of the fighters was lying on the ground, unconscious. The other was standing over him, arms raised, doing some sort of weak-ass victory dance. Perhaps he’d be my next opponent in a couple of weeks ... if he won a few more times. I’d have to break his knees to prevent future dancing.
“It’s horrible,” Leona whispered, her voice clogged with compassion, as if she could feel their pain.
I turned to her.
“Why does anyone want to watch something that brutal?”
Brutal? She hadn’t seen brutal yet. If she was lucky, she never would. “It’s in our nature,” I said. “Survival of the fittest. Power struggles. Blood thirst. That’s all still ingrained in our DNA.”
“I don’t think that’s true,” she argued. “I think we’ve moved on, but sometimes we fall back into old habits.”
“Then why do people still look up to the strong? Why do women prefer the alpha males?”
She snorted. “That’s a myth.”
I cocked one eyebrow and leaned closer, catching a glimpse down her dress. White cotton. Of course. “Is it?” I asked.
She scanned my face, red creeping up her throat and settling on cheeks.
I stifled a laugh and got up before she could say anything. It was time to change. “I’ll be back in a moment,” I told her.
When I entered the changing room, the other fighters fell silent. A couple of them returned my stare; one openly challenged me with his eyes. I assumed he’d be my opponent tonight. He was around six-four, one inch taller than me. Good. Maybe this would be a longer fight.
I got undressed then pulled up my shorts. Hopefully they saw all my scars. They knew nothing of pain. I smirked at my opponent. Maybe he’d live to see tomorrow.
I left the changing room and walked back to the bar. Leona was frozen as her eyes trailed from my bare feet up to my shorts and my naked chest. The glass she was cleaning fell from her hands and landed with a plop into the dishwater. A myriad of emotions flashed across her face. Shock. Confusion. Fascination. Appreciation. That last one I could feel in my dick. I’d worked hard for my body.
I grabbed my glass sitting on the bar and downed the rest of my water. Then I took the tape out of my bag and began wrapping my hands, feeling her curious gaze on me the entire time.
“You’re one of them?”
I tilted my head, not sure what she was referring to. A fighter? A member of the Camorra? A killer? Yes, yes, and yes.
There was no fear in her eyes, so I said, “A cage fighter? Yes.”
She licked her lips. Those damn pink lips gave my cock ideas I didn’t need before a fight.
“I hope I didn’t offend you earlier.”
“Because you think it’s too brutal? No. It’s what it is.”
Her eyes kept tracing my tattoo and the scars—and occasionally my six pack. I leaned over the bar, bringing our faces closer. I knew everyone was watching us, even if they tried to be discreet.
“Are you still certain women aren’t into alpha males?” I murmured.
She swallowed but didn’t say anything. I took a step back. Everyone in the room should have got the message. My balls tightened with the look she gave me. Something about that girl drew me in. I couldn’t say what it was, but I’d figure it out.
“It’s my turn,” I told her when I was done taping my hands.
“Don’t get hurt,” she said simply.
The men near the bar exchanged looks, snickering, but Leona was unaware of their reaction.
“I won’t,” I said then turned and made my way past the tables, toward the fighting cage.
I stepped into the cage under the yowling and thunderous applause of the crowd. How many had bet against me? If I lost, they’d be rich. Unfortunately for them, I never lose.
I caught Leona watching me from behind the bar counter, eyes still wide in surprise. Yes, I was a fighter, and that was the least dangerous part of me. She stopped what she was doing and came around the counter. She climbed on a barstool, shook off her flip-flops, and brought her legs up until she sat cross-legged, the skirt of her dress carefully draped over her thighs. This girl. She didn’t belong here.
My opponent entered the cage. He called himself Snake. He even had snakes tattooed to his throat; they rose up over his ears and bared their fangs on both sides of his head. Snake. What a fucking stupid name to give yourself. I didn’t know why people thought a scary name would make them seem scary. I’d never had to call myself anything but Fabiano. It was enough.
The ref closed the door and explained the rules to us. There were none—except that this wasn’t a fight to the death, so Snake would likely live.
Snake hit his chest with his flat hands, letting out a battle cry. Whatever got his courage up.
I lifted a hand and beckoned him forward. I wanted to get this fight going. With a roar, he charged at me like a bull. I dodged him, grabbed his shoulder, and rammed my knee into his left side three times in quick succession. The air left his lungs, but he didn’t fall. He swung a fist at me and got my chin. I jumped back, aimed a hard kick at his head, and despite his quick reaction, my heel caught his ear. He staggered into the cage, shook his head, and attacked again. This would be fun.
He lasted longer than the last, but eventually my kicks to his head got him. His eyes went out of focus more and more. I grabbed him by the back of his head, brought up my knee at the same time I thrust it into his face. I could feel the crunch of his nose and cheekbone as they broke against my knee. He yowled hoarsely and toppled backwards. I went after him. I jump-kicked him into the cage, and when he hit the ground with a resounding thud, I crouched over him and rammed my elbow into his stomach. Once. Twice. He weakly patted the floor, face swollen, breathing labored. Giving up.
“Surrender!” cried the ref.
I never understood men like him. I’d die before I surrendered. There was honor in death but not in begging for mercy. I rose to my feet. The crowd cheered.
Remo gave me the thumbs-up from his spot at the table with the high rollers. I could tell from the excited gleam in his eyes that he wanted to get into the cage again and soon. Schmoozing the high rollers was high up on his hate list, but someone had to do it. Nino was eloquent and sophisticated, but after a while, he forgot to plaster emotions on his face; once people realized he didn’t have any, they ran as fast they could. Savio was a teen and capricious, and Adamo ... Adamo was a kid.
I turned around. Leona was still sitting on the stool in front of the bar, watching me, horrified. That was a look that was closer to the ones I was used to getting from people. Seeing me like this, covered in blood and sweat, maybe she finally understood why she should be terrified of me.
She untangled her legs from her dress, hopped down from the stool, and disappeared through the swinging door.
I climbed out of the cage, dripping blood and sweat on the floor. I’d need to stitch myself up.
I occasionally heard, “Good fight,” from someone as I walked by. I shook a few congratulating hands then retreated into the changing room. Seeing that my fight had been the last of the night, and my opponent was on his way to the hospital, the room was empty. I opened my locker when a knock sounded. I grabbed one of my guns and held it behind my back as I turned. “Come in.”
The door opened a crack before Leona poked her head in, her eyes closed. “Are you decent?”
I put my gun back into my gym bag. “I’m the least decent guy in this city.” Except for Remo and his brothers, perhaps.
She opened her eyes cautiously, searching the room until they settled on me. Relief flooded her face, and she slipped into the room before closing the door behind her.
My eyebrows shot up. “Are you here to give me a victory present?” I asked, leaning against the lockers. My cock thought of all kind of presents she could give. And all of them involved her perfect mouth and her undoubtedly perfect pussy.
“Oh ... I only have a bottle of water and clean towels.” She showed me what she held in her hands, smiling apologetically.
I shook my head, chuckling. God, this girl.
Realization flooded her face. “Oh, you meant ...” She gestured in the general direction of her body. “Oh, no. No. Sorry.”
I closed my eyes, fighting the urge to laugh. It had been a while
since a woman had made me laugh. Most of the time, they just made me fuck them senseless.
“I hope you can live with a bottle of cold water,” she said in a teasing voice.
When I opened my eyes, she was in front of me, holding out the bottle. She was more than a head shorter than me and less than an arm’s length away. Stupid girl. She needed to learn self-preservation. I took the bottle and emptied it in a few gulps.
She scanned my body. “There’s so much blood.”
I chanced a look. There was a small cut over my ribs where the sharp edge of the cage had grazed me. Bruises were forming over my left kidney and on my right thigh. The majority of blood wasn’t mine. “It’s nothing. I’ve had worse.”
Her eyes lingered on my forehead. “You’ve got a cut that needs to be treated. Is there a doctor around I should get?”
“No. I don’t need a doctor.”
She opened her mouth to argue but then seemed to think better of it. She paused.
“You looked so ...” She shook her head, her nose puckering in the most fucking adorable way possible. Fuck, those damn freckles. “I don’t know how to describe it. Fierce.”
I straightened, surprised. She sounded almost fascinated. “You weren’t disgusted? I thought it’s too ‘brutal.’”
She shrugged, one delicate motion. “I was disgusted. It’s such a savage sport. I don’t even know if you can call it that. It’s all about beating each other up.”
“It’s also about reading your opponent, about seeing his weaknesses and using them against him. It’s about speed and control.” I scanned her again, reading her like I did all my opponents. It wasn’t difficult to guess why Stefano would have chosen her if allowed. It was obvious that she’d had a difficult life, that that there was nobody to take care of her. It was obvious that she wanted more, that she wanted someone to take care of her, someone who was kind to her, someone to love. Stefano was good at pretending he was someone like that. Soon she’d learn that it was best to rely only on yourself. Love and kindness were rare, not only in the mob world.