The Camorra Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3)

by Reilly, Cora

  He coughed, glaring daggers at me. “What the fuck? I didn’t do anything.”

  Remo strode in, glancing between me and Soto, still pressed up against the wall. I released Soto and took a step back. He rubbed his throat. “Next time I won’t tell you shit about that girl of yours.” He reached into his pocket and tossed a heap of bills to the ground. “There. That’s what she gave me.” With a nod toward Remo, he staggered off.

  Remo perched on the edge of the boxing ring, elbows on his thighs, dark eyes watchful. “What was that about?”

  “Nothing important.”

  Remo tilted his head to the side, studying me. I hated when he did that. “I don’t suppose it had something to do with that girl of yours.”

  How long had he been listening to the conversation? Damn it.

  “I don’t like to share my spoils,” I said angrily.

  “Who does?” Remo said. “If she’s gets your blood pumping like that, perhaps I should have given her a try before I allowed you to claim her for yourself.”

  My blood boiled, but I kept my mask of indifference in place. Remo was baiting me. He would never take a woman from me nor I from him. That would be the ultimate betrayal.

  “You missed a spectacular fight. Savio destroyed his opponent.”

  “Good for him. People will stop thinking you favor him because he’s your brother. They’ll see he can handle himself.”

  Remo nodded. “You worked a lot with him.”

  I was glad he didn’t press the matter with Leona.

  We kept discussing the upcoming fights as well as Remo’s plans for an expansion of the illegal races, but my mind kept returning to what Soto had said. I needed to have a word with Leona’s father.

  He reminded me of my own bastard of a father, who would have sold me off too if it had meant gaining an advantage. After all, he basically sold off my sisters to their husbands. Long buried anger resurfaced. It caught me off guard.

  After I left the abandoned casino, I went to Leona’s apartment, but nobody was home. I hadn’t ever dealt with her father. After questioning a few of my contacts, I found out where he usually spent his day, losing money and drinking himself into a stupor.

  It was one of the smaller and definitely dingier casinos we owned. The navy blue carpet had faded to a worn slate blue in many places, and the cigarette burns and unidentifiable stains just added to the overall filth of the joint. I let my gaze stray through the long room with a low ceiling that was filled with slot machines as well as machines for black jack, poker and roulette. This place wasn’t profitable enough to invest in actual roulette or poker tables. The guys frequenting this casino didn’t have high standards anyway. Savio’s fight, as well as the latest street race, was shown on the television screens in the back. I had to admit that Savio had shaped up nicely. At only sixteen, he had taken out a much older and more experienced opponent. Arrogant as he was, he didn’t shy away from hard work.

  Dick, the casino manager, rushed toward me the moment he noticed me. I hadn’t been here before. This was usually a casino one of the low soldiers handled if there was a problem.

  “Mr. Scuderi,” he said with a small tilt of his dead. “What can I do for you?”

  That name always reminded me of my father. Being compared to him was the last thing I wanted. My mood faltered, but I kept my anger in check. Dick wasn’t the target of my anger.

  “You can tell me where Greg Hall is,” I said.

  He didn’t ask why, just pointed to the far right.

  Leona’s father was sitting at a black jack machine. He just forced his daughter to pay his debts and he was already gambling away money he probably borrowed from one of our loan sharks. If I killed him now, I’d be doing Leona a favor, but she probably wouldn’t see it that way.

  I tilted my head in acknowledgement, leaving him standing there as I made my way toward the despicable coward.

  I was still a few steps away when Leona’s father spotted me. He dropped the plastic cup holding chips and leaped off the stool, making a beeline for the exit. I gave a sign to the security guard at the door, who body-checked Hall. I wasn’t going to run after that fucker. He wasn’t even worth that much effort. Hall tried to get back to his feet but the guard shoved him back down and kept him in place until I arrived at their side.

  “I’ll take it from here,” I told him then grabbed Hall by the collar of his shirt and dragged him outside toward the parking lot, around the corner to where the dumpsters were. He was making choked sounds, which I enjoyed very fucking much.

  I let go of him and he scrambled back. “I paid!”

  “Do you think I’m making my way over to this shithole because of a few fucking hundred dollars?”

  That silenced him. His dull blue eyes were nothing like Leona’s. That someone like him could have ever fathered someone like her, it didn’t seem possible.

  “And your debt isn’t settled. Soto may have accepted your daughter’s money, but I won’t. That money, you owe it to me now, and I won’t be very patient with you.”

  “But ...” he sputtered.

  “But?” I snarled and punched him hard in the stomach. “And how dare you try to sell off something that’s mine?”

  Hall’s eyes were wide like saucers.

  “Your daughter. She belongs to me. So you think you can offer her to other men?”

  He shook his head. “It was a misunderstanding. I didn’t know she was yours.”

  My lip curled in disgust at his fucking cowardice. I grabbed him and rolled him over so he was sprawled out on his stomach. Then I lifted his sweaty shirt and pulled my knife from the sheath at my leg. He began fighting against my hold, but I didn’t ease up. I dug the tip of the knife into his skin. Blood welled to the surface. A fucking marvelous sight. He screamed like a little girl as I cut a C into his skin. “C stands for coward. Next time I’ll finish the word. Got it?”

  He nodded weakly against the asphalt, panting.

  I pushed to my feet. He peed his fucking pants. Fucking waste of air and space. With one last glance at the pathetic man on the ground, I got into my car. I needed to see Leona.

  CHAPTER 11

  LEONA

  Despite my lack of sleep after my father’s rude awakening, I was full of energy all day. My pulse still thumped with anger and disappointment over what had happened. I wasn’t sure why it still threw me off balance when one of my parents messed up. They had a habit of doing so ... but offering me to his debtor like a whore ...? That was low, even for my father. Desperation wasn’t an excuse for everything.

  “You’ve been cleaning the same glass for fifteen minutes. I think it’s as clean as it’s gonna get,” Fabiano drawled.

  I jumped, my eyes zeroing in on him. He leaned against the bar, elbows propped up on the smooth wood, a piercing look on his face. It was only eight o’clock. I still had almost six hours of work ahead of me. What was he doing here now?

  I put the glass aside and Fabiano snatched my forearm to pull me closer. He scanned the new fingerprint-shaped bruises on my wrist. I had forgotten about them.

  His eyes narrowed, his mouth setting in a hard line. He stroked his thumb lightly over the bruise before he let go. “Tomorrow I’ll pick you up at home around ten o’clock. I’ll teach you how to defend yourself.”

  It surprised me that he didn’t ask who had hurt me. Unless of course he somehow found out what had happened. He confirmed my suspicions when he slid two hundred dollars over to me. I quickly glanced around to make sure no one was watching. I didn’t need people to speculate the reason for the money exchange. “Here’s your money back.”

  “My father ...” I swallowed. “Is he okay?” I couldn’t believe I even had to ask.

  “He’s fine.”

  I nodded and glanced at the money. “But I paid his debt. If you give me the money back, he’ll be in trouble.”

  “That’s not your fight, Leona,” Fabiano muttered. “Your father will keep losing money, and eventually he’ll die because o
f it. Don’t let him drag you down with him. I won’t allow it.”

  I knew he was right. Dad was probably already losing money he didn’t have right as we spoke. He couldn’t act any other way. He let his addiction rule his life. I doubted he even considered going to rehab. Rehab wouldn’t save you if you didn’t have the willpower to go through with it.

  “Take your money...” Fabiano pushed the notes farther in my direction “...and use it for yourself, for fuck’s sake.”

  I picked up the money and stashed it in my backpack. “Do you want something to drink while you’re here?” I grabbed the Johnie Walker Blue Label from the shelf.

  “You remember,” he said with a smirk.

  “Of course,” I said simply. I remembered every moment of our encounters. They were the bright light of my time in Las Vegas so far, as ridiculous as it may sound. I poured him a generous amount. It wasn’t as if Roger would care. The Camorra owned everything anyway.

  Fabiano took a large gulp then held the glass in my direction. “Want a taste?”

  It sounded dirty the way he said it. “No. I don’t drink. Ever.”

  He nodded as if he understood. Then he downed the rest of his scotch and pushed back from the bar. “I still need to do some business. See you in a few hours.”

  So he really intended to drive me home every night. I watched his broad back as he made his way through the hall, his gait elegant and lithe like that of a predator.

  Sometimes I wondered if I was his prey, if this was an amusing chase for him that he’d soon get bored with. I wasn’t sure if that was something I should be hoping for.

  He didn’t try to kiss me again when he drove me home that night and hadn’t since our first kiss. Maybe he sensed that I would have pushed him away.

  “Tomorrow morning, I’ll pick you up. Dress in something you can work out with.”

  I got out of the car. Fabiano waited until I was inside before he drove off.

  The lights were out in the apartment when I entered. I turned one on and was heading to my room when I noticed movement on the couch in the living room. Dad was sitting with his head bowed, moaning. I approached him slowly.

  First I noticed the empty beer bottles on the table. If he stopped throwing away money on alcohol, he’d be better off. Then my eyes focused on his naked back and a glaring red mark.

  I turned on the lights in the living room. Someone had cut a C into his back. Blood had dried around the wound. It didn’t look as if Dad had treated it in any way, except for numbing the pain with alcohol, of course.

  Dad didn’t acknowledge my presence. He kept his face buried in his palms and let out a low moan.

  “Dad?”

  He grunted.

  “Who did this?” I knew the answer of course.

  Dad didn’t reply. He was probably too drunk, considering the number of empty bottles that littered the ground. I turned and headed for the bathroom to grab a washcloth. I soaked it with cold water then searched the cabinets for something to put on the wound. Except for expired Tylenol and a few dirty Band-Aids, the shelves were empty.

  I returned to the living room and touched Dad’s shoulder to alert him of my presence. “I’m going to clean up your wound,” I warned him. When he didn’t react, I gently pressed the cold washcloth to the cut.

  He hissed and lashed out at me. I avoided being hit by his elbow. “Shhh. I’m trying to help you, Dad.”

  “You’ve done enough. Leave me alone!”

  His bloodshot eyes flashed with anger when he looked up at me.

  “You should go to a doctor,” I said quietly then put the wet washcloth down on the table in front of him in case he decided to clean his wound on his own.

  He returned to his bowed position, ignoring me.

  I went to my bedroom and closed the door, bone tired from a long day at work and what I’d seen. Fabiano had cut my father as punishment for what he’d done. I didn’t kid myself into thinking that this small wound was the full extent of what Fabiano would do to my father if he messed up again.

  I wasn’t sure if I could stop Fabiano, and I wasn’t sure I had the energy to try. I was sick of solving other people’s problems, when I had enough of my own.

  I was dressed in my jeans shorts and a loose T-shirt when Fabiano picked me up at ten o’clock.

  His eyebrows climbed high along his forehead when he saw my clothes. “That’s not what I meant when I told you to wear comfortable clothes.”

  “I don’t own any workout clothes. And to be honest, this is one of three outfits I own in total, including the dress you bought for me,” I said snidely.

  Fabiano looked at me for a long time before he set the car in motion.

  “I saw what you did to my father,” I told him.

  No sign of guilt on his face. “He got what he deserved. If he wasn’t your father, he would have gotten worse.”

  “This is you being lenient?” I asked incredulously.

  “If that’s what you want to call it.”

  It wasn’t the first time my father got into trouble like that. When I was around ten and lived with my parents in Dallas, he owed money to some biker group. The guys had almost beaten him and my mother to death over it. It didn’t stop my father from borrowing money again.

  I leaned back against the seat, my head tilted toward Fabiano. He was steering the car with one hand, the other resting on the center console. I wondered if his cool demeanor reflected his insides. Could he really be that at ease with his life?

  My eyes lingered on the dark blond five-o’clock shadow. It was the first time I saw him with anything but a perfectly shaved face, and it made me want to rake my fingers over the short stubble.

  Sin. That was what he was.

  He glanced at me, his lips curling up, and I tore my gaze away. Playing with fire had never been part of my plan. Then why couldn’t I stop thinking about the man beside me?

  He pulled up in front of an opulent white concrete building, at least ten stories high with a curved driveway, shielded by a long roof with thousands of light bulbs in multiple colors, most of them broken. An abandoned Casino building, I realized as we stepped through the glass revolving door into the game room. Silence had replaced the sound of the roulette wheels and slot machines. The red and gold chandelier was covered in dust. An air of forlornness lay over the empty poker tables and Champagne bar. Broken Champagne flutes littered the black countertop. This was where we would train?

  “Come on,” Fabiano said and continued past the deserted cashier booth.

  The red and blue carpet was worn out from thousands of feet. I followed him, breathing in the old, musty smell. Fabiano wasn’t impressed by our surroundings. He was in his zone. I could already see a change in his demeanor, as if he was eager for the fight. Perhaps the thrill of it was his addiction. Perhaps everyone had an addiction.

  We left the first game room and stepped into the next, this one even more splendid than the first. Crystal chandeliers hung from high-arched ceilings above our heads, and the fluffy carpet softened our steps as my eyes took in the black marble columns and gold ornamental wallpaper. Most of the roulette tables had been removed, but a few remained. They were no longer the main attraction.

  A fighting cage and a boxing ring dominated the center of the room, their stark brutality a shocking contrast to the luxury from the past. Randomly positioned among the remaining roulette tables were bench presses, punching bags, and other weightlifting equipment. Heavy burgundy drapes covered the shell-shaped windows. The sun shone bright, through the gap between them. Fabiano flipped a switch, and the chandeliers cast us in their splintered golden glow. This wasn’t what I’d expected.

  “So this is where you come to fight?”

  Fabiano smirked. “This is where I come to train and occasionally fight ... yes.”

  “Is it always this empty?”

  “Depends. It’s mainly for my boss, his brothers, and me. Few other people ever come here.”

  “And I’m allowed here?
” I asked.

  He didn’t say anything, only led me to a dark mahogany door, then along a hallway with peeling paint and torn carpet, around a corner and through another door. Suddenly, we were in a pool area. This room had been renovated recently. I didn’t get the chance to register more than the large swimming pool made from stainless steel and the Jacuzzi sitting on an elevated platform to the right.

  “We need to find you some decent training shorts,” Fabiano said as he pulled me into the adjoining locker room.

  It was functional like the pool area, nothing fancy or splendid.

  “Why this place?”

  Fabiano shrugged as he rummaged in a basket with clothes. “Remo wanted it, so he got it.”

  “But isn’t it expensive to keep the place from falling apart? It’s a huge building.”

  “Parts of it are falling apart, yes, but it costs us more money than a standard gym would. Still ... what’s life without the occasional irrational decision?”

  His blue eyes held mine, and the nerves I’d managed to calm returned full force. Fabiano yanked red shorts out of the basket. “The youngest brother of my Capo uses these. Maybe they will fit you.”

  I took them from him. “Capo?” I asked curiously. I had heard the term, of course, but Fabiano had said it with so much respect it surprised me.

  “Remo Falcone, he is my Capo. My boss if you will.”

  “You think highly of him.”

  He nodded once. “Of course.”

  I had a feeling he wasn’t just saying it because he had to. Cheryl had sounded terrified when she’d uttered Falcone’s name, but there was no fear in Fabiano’s voice.

  “We didn’t come here to chitchat, remember?” he said with a grin. “Now let’s get changed.”

  Without a warning, he unbuckled his belt.

  I turned around with a surprised gasp. “You could have warned me.”

  “I could have, but I didn’t want to. I intend for you to see much more of me.”