by Cora Reilly
“We are not your enemy, Fabi,” Aria said. And I knew she meant it. She was the Capo’s vice, and yet she knew nothing. Her husband saw me as I saw him: an opponent to watch. A predator intruding on his territory.
“I’m a member of the Camorra. You are my enemies.” If this journey had been good for anything, then to prove to myself that there was truly nothing left of that stupid, weak boy I’d been. It had been beaten out of me, first by my father, and later in the street and in the fighting cages as I fought for a place in this world.
Aria shook her head, not able to understand. She hadn’t abandoned me on purpose, hadn’t sealed my fate with my sisters by helping them running away on purpose, but sometimes the things we caused by accident were the worst.
“I have a message from Remo for you,” I told Luca, ignoring my sister. I’d deal with her later. She wasn’t the only reason why I had come to New York. “You have nothing to offer to Remo or the Camorra, unless perhaps you send him your wife for a joy ride.” The words left a bitter taste in my mouth, if only because she was my sister.
Luca was halfway through the room before Aria stepped in his way. I had my gun out and one of my knives. “Calm down, Luca,” Aria begged. He glared at me. Oh, he wanted to rip me to shreds, and I wanted to see him try. He’d be a challenging opponent. Instead he let my sister talk him down, but his eyes held a promise: You are dead.
Remo would have never listened to a woman, would have never shown that kind of weakness in front of anyone. Neither would I. The Outfit and the Famiglia both had grown weak over the years. They weren’t a threat to us. If we handled the situation with cleverness, soon their territories would be ours.
I performed a mock bow. “I assume that’s all.”
“Don’t you want to know how Lilly and Gianna are doing?” Aria asked hopefully, still looking for a sign of the boy she used to know. I wondered when she’d realize that he was gone for good. Perhaps when the Camorra took over power some day and I’d ram my knife into her husband’s heart.
“They mean nothing to me. The day you left for your pampered life in New York, you ceased existing for me.”
I turned. Presenting my back to the enemy wasn’t something I’d usually do. But I knew Aria would stop Luca from killing me with her puppy dog eyes, and I wanted to show him and his brother Matteo that I didn’t fear them. I hadn’t feared anyone in a long time.
It was almost two o’clock in the night. It had begun snowing a while ago and a fine layer of white covered my jacket and the ground to my feet. I’d been waiting for more than one hour. Perhaps Aria had more sense than I gave her credit for.
Soft steps crunched to my right. I pushed off the wall, drawing my gun but lowered it when Aria came into view, wrapped in a thick wool coat and scarf. She stopped across from me. “Hello Fabi.” She held out the paper that I’d shoved into her pocket. “You said you wanted to talk to me alone because you needed my help?”
Her need to help others, first Gianna, then Lily and now me, was her greatest weakness. I really wished she’d stayed home. I moved closer.
She regarded me with sad eyes. “But you were lying, weren’t you?” she whispered. If we hadn’t stood so close, I wouldn’t have understood her. “You were trying to get me alone.”
If she knew, why had she come?
Did she hope for mercy? Then I realized why she’d whispered. I tightened my hold on my gun. My eyes searched the darkness until I found Luca leaning against a wall to the far left, his gun pointed at my head.
I smiled then because I’d underestimated her, and a small, weak part was relieved. “Finally being sensible, Aria.”
“I know a thing or two about mob life.”
Only the things Luca allowed her to see, no doubt.
“Aren’t you worried for your life?” she asked curiously.
“Why would I be?”
She sighed. “Did the Camorra want to kidnap me?” Again that whisper, not meant for Luca’s ears. Was she trying to save me from his wrath? She shouldn’t have.
I didn’t say anything. Unlike Luca I didn’t divulge information only because she batted her eyes at me. The time when she’d held power over me as my older sister had long passed. But my silence seemed all the answer she needed.
She lifted one arm and I followed the movement cautiously. With her other hand she removed a piece of jewelry from her wrist and held it out to me.
“It was Mother’s. She gave it to me shortly before her death. I want you to have it.”
“Why?” I asked as I peered down at the gold bracelet with sapphires. I didn’t remember our mother wearing it, but I’d been only twelve when she’d died and on the brink of starting the induction process to the Outfit. I’d had other things on my mind than expensive jewelry.
“Because I want you to remember.”
“The family that abandoned me?”
“No, the boy you used to be and the man you can still be.”
“Who says I want to remember?” I said in a low voice, leaning down to her, so she could look into my eyes despite the dark. I heard the soft click of Luca releasing the safety catch. I smirked. “You want me to be a better man. Why don’t you start with the man who’s pointing a gun at my head?”
She pushed the bracelet against my chest and I took it at last.
“Perhaps one day you’ll find someone who will love you despite what you’ve become, and she will make you want to be better.” She stepped away. “Goodbye, Fabiano. Luca wants you to know that next time you come to New York, you will pay with your life.”
My fingers tightened around the bracelet. I had no intention of returning to this God-forsaken city for any other reason than to rip it from Luca’s bleeding hands.
Chapter Three
Returning to Vegas, always felt like returning home. I’d been in Nevada for almost five years. When I’d first arrived, I didn’t think I’d last that long. Five years. So much had changed since Father had wanted me dead. The past was the past, but sometimes the memories came back up, and they were a good reminder why I owed Remo my loyalty and my life. Without him, I’d be long dead.
Perhaps I should have seen it coming after I’d messed up my first job as an initiate of the Chicago Outfit. I’d been honored with the task of patrolling the corridors on the wedding day of my youngest sister Liliana. I’d been excited until I’d come across my sisters Aria and Gianna with their husbands Matteo and Luca, as well as Liliana and someone who definitely wasn’t the man she’d married.
I knew immediately that they were taking Liliana to New York with them, and I also knew that as a member of the Outfit, I was supposed to stop them. I didn’t have my tattoo yet, since my initiation wasn’t completed, but I’d already been sworn into the Outfit. I’d been only thirteen. I’d been weak and stupid back then, and had allowed Aria to talk me into letting them go. I’d even let them shoot my arm, so it would look convincing to everyone. To make it look as if I’d tried to stop them. Dante Cavallaro hadn’t punished me. He had believed my story, but Father had written me off that day like he’d written off the daughters he couldn’t control. And that’s when it all started. When things had been set in motion that would lead to the first member of the Outfit becoming part of the Camorra.
After my messed up first job, I only got to watch from the sidelines, deemed too young to be a real part of the Outfit. I was fourteen, eager to please Dante and my Father, but failing.
After Alfonso had left me in Bratva territory, I should have died. The Russians would have beaten me to death, and if not them, someone else would have.
I had no clue how to survive on the street, or on my own. But Remo knew. He had been born a fighter. It was in his blood, and he showed me how to fight, how to survive, how to kill.
He let me live in the shabby apartment he shared with his three brothers. He put food on our table with money he won in the fighting cages and I paid him back with loyalty and the fierce determination to become the soldier he needed at his side to he
lp him kill the fuckers who were laying claim on the territory that was rightfully his.
When we arrived in Reno, part of the Camorra territory, almost four months later, I wasn’t the pampered Outfit boy anymore. Remo and Nino had beaten it out of me in training fights, had taught me how to fight dirty. But most of all Remo had showed me my worth. I didn’t need the Outfit, didn’t need a position handed to me on a silver platter. Remo and I, we had to fight for what we wanted. There it was: a purpose and someone who saw my worth when no one else could.
When we first set foot on Camorra ground, they were still in turmoil since their Capo had been killed by a man called Growl. There wasn’t a new Capo yet but many fighting over the position.
Remo, Nino and I spent the next months fighting in Reno, earning money, and eventually winning every fight until even the newest Capo in Las Vegas started to pay attention. Together we went there, and killed everyone who was against Remo. And when he finally took over as Capo, I became his Enforcer, a rank I hadn’t inherited; a rank I’d paid in blood and scars for. A rank I was proud of, and would defend till my death, just like I would defend Remo.
The tattoo on my forearm marking me as a Made Man of the Las Vegas Camorra went deeper than skin-deep. Nothing and nobody would ever make me break the oath I’d given to my Capo.
I drew in a deep breath. The smell of tar and burnt rubber hung in the air. Familiar. Exhilarating. The flashy lights of Las Vegas burnt in the distance. A sight I’d grown used to. Home.
In these parts of town, just off Sierra Vista Drive, the glamour of the Strip was far away. Violence was the common tongue around here. My favorite language.
A long row of racing cars lined the parking lot of the closed Boulevard Mall. It was the starting point of the illegal street race going down tonight. Some of the drivers nodded a greeting in my direction, others pretended not to notice me. Most of them still had debts to pay, but tonight I hadn’t come for them. They didn’t have to worry.
I headed toward Cane, one of the organizers of the race. He hadn’t yet paid what he owed and it was a sum that couldn’t be ignored, even though he was a profitable asset.
Most of the money we made with illegal street races came from bets. We had a camera team that filmed the races and put them in a locked forum on the Darknet; everyone with a code word could watch. This part of the business was pretty new. Remo had established the races when he seized power. Remo didn’t hang onto the old fashioned rules that bound the Outfit and the Famiglia; rules that made them slow to adapt. He was always on the lookout for new ways to make the Camorra more money, and he was successful.
A few engines roared up, saturating the air with gasoline vapors. The start was only a couple of minutes away. But I hadn’t come to watch the race. I was here on business.
I spotted my target next to our bookie Griffin – a short guy, almost wider than he was tall. Cane’s pockmarked face twisted when he saw me coming his way. He looked like he considered running. “Cane,” I said pleasantly as I stopped before him. “Remo is missing some money.”
He took a step back and raised his hands. “I will pay him soon. I promise.”
I promise. I swear. Tomorrow. Please. Words I’d heard too often.
“Hm,” I murmured. “Soon wasn’t your due date.”
Griffin shut off his iPad and excused himself. He was only interested in the financial aspects of our business. The dirty work drove him off.
I took Cane by the cuff of his shirt and dragged him off to the side, farther away from the starting line. Not that I cared if anyone watched what I was doing, but I wasn’t keen on eating smoke and dirt once the cars raced off.
I pushed Cane away from me. He lost his balance and fell on his backside. His eyes darted left and right as if he was searching for something to defend himself with. I grabbed his hand, twisted it all the way back and broke his wrist. He howled, cradling his injured hand against his chest. Nobody came to help him. They knew how things were. People who didn’t pay their debts got a visit from me, and a broken wrist was one of the kinder outcomes.
“Tomorrow, I’ll be back,” I told him. I pointed at his knee. He knew what that meant.
Over to the left side, near the starting line, I noticed a familiar face with black curls. Adamo, Remo’s youngest brother. This was definitely not a place he was supposed to be at this time of the night. He was only thirteen and had been caught in a racing car before. Apparently, Remo losing his shit on him hadn’t made him see reason. I jogged over to him, and the two older guys beside him who looked like they were up to no good. The moment they spotted me, they dashed off, but Adamo knew better than to try that. “What are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be in bed? You’ve got school in the morning.”
He gave a bored shrug. Too cool for a proper reply.
I grabbed his collar. And his eyes finally met mine. “It’s not like I need an education. I’ll become a Made Man and earn money with illegal shit.”
I released him. “Can’t hurt to use your brain so the illegal shit won’t get you into jail.” I nodded toward my car. “I’ll take you to Remo.”
“You didn’t finish school. And Remo and Nino didn’t either. Why do I have to do this shit?”
I slapped the back of his head lightly. “Because we were busy taking Las Vegas back. You are only busy getting yourself in trouble. Now move.”
He grimaced, rubbing the back of his head. “I can go home by myself. I don’t need a ride.”
“So you can try to sneak in without him noticing?” I nodded toward my car again. “Not going to happen. Now move. I have better things to do than to babysit you.”
“Like what? Beating up other debtors?”
“Among other things, yes.”
He trudged toward the car and practically flung himself into the passenger seat, then closed the door with so much force I feared he’d damaged the soft close mechanism. Since he’d hit puberty he was completely intolerable, and he had been difficult even before that.
I heard the pained gasps the moment I set foot into the gaming room of the abandoned casino that functioned as our gym. I stopped Adamo with a palm against his chest. I should have known Remo wasn’t alone. Bad news always drove him into the gym for his kind of workout.
“You will wait here.”
Adamo crossed his arms. “It’s not the first time I’ll see Remo beating someone up.”
He was right. Over the years he had witnessed violence. It was impossible to keep him from the cruel realities of it all, but Remo didn’t want him to start the induction process before his fourteenth birthday and until then he wouldn’t have to see the worst of our business. “You will wait.”
I said firmly before I walked on. He slunk over to the broken Champagne bar and began smashing a few glasses.
Remo was kicking the living daylights out of some poor fucker I didn’t know when I stepped into the second gaming room that we used for our kickboxing training, probably still furious because I hadn’t been successful bringing Aria back to him, or furious because of my earlier call telling him about his brother being out in the middle of the night. Again.
He stopped when he spotted me, wiping some sweat and blood from his forehead with the back of his hand. He hadn’t even bothered wrapping his hands with tape. He must have been eager to let off some steam.
“I took that one off your hands. Sometimes I need to get down to business myself,” he said. He looked back down on the bloody heap of a man, who was curled into himself, moaning. His grey hair was matted with blood.
I chuckled as I jumped up on the platform of the kickboxing ring. “I don’t mind.”
“Where is he?”
“I made him wait in the entry.”
He nodded. “And?” he asked, coming toward me and letting his victim lie in his own blood. The scar over his eye was slightly redder than usual as it always was when he exerted himself. “How did it go in New York? Your message wasn’t very enlightening.”
“I failed as you
can see. Luca didn’t let Aria out of his sight.”
“I figured as much. How did he react to my message?”
“He wanted to tear my throat out.”
An excited gleam filled his eyes. “I wish I could have seen Vitiello’s face.” Remo’s wet dreams probably included a cage fight against Luca. Tearing the Capo of the Famiglia apart would be his ultimate triumph. Remo was a cruel, ruthless, deadly fighter. He could beat almost anyone. But Luca Vitiello was a giant with hands built to crush a man’s throat. That was a fight that would make history, no doubt.
“He was pissed. He wanted to kill me,” I told him.
Remo gave me a once over. “And yet there isn’t a scratch on you.”
“My sister held him back. She’s got him in her hands.”
Remo’s lips curled in disgust. “To think that people on the East Coast still fear him like the devil.”
“He’s a huge, brutal fucker, when my sister isn’t around to keep him in check.”
“I’d really love to meet her. Vitiello would lose his fucking mind.”
Luca would tear down Las Vegas for Aria. Or at least he’d try. But I was uneasy with Aria as a topic. Despite my indifference toward her, I didn’t like the idea of seeing her in Remo’s hands.
Remo looked down at my hand. I followed his gaze and realized I was twirling the bracelet around my fingers.
“When I told you to bring me Luca’s treasure, I meant something else,” he said darkly. I shoved the bracelet back into my pocket. “Aria thought she could soften my heart with it because it belonged to our mother.”
“And could she?” Remo asked, something dangerous lurking in his dark eyes.
I laughed. “I’ve been your Enforcer for years now. Do you really think I still have a heart?”
Remo chuckled. “Black as tar.”
“What about that guy?” I nodded toward the whimpering man, wanting to distract Remo. “Are you done with him?”
Remo seemed to consider the man for a moment, and the man quieted immediately. Finally he nodded. “It’s no fun if they’re already broken and weak. It’s only fun to break the strong.”