Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles Book 1)
Twisted Loyalties: Chapter 7

I slept late the next day. I wouldn’t have to work until three in the afternoon and needed to get some rest. When I walked into the kitchen, a box of donuts sat on the table and Dad was clutching a coffee cup.

“Morning,” I said even though it was almost twelve o’clock. I poured some coffee for myself before I sank down on the chair across from him.

“You got us breakfast,” I said in surprise and helped myself to a donut. I knew better than to expect pleasant surprises like that to occur on a daily basis.

“I asked a neighbor for some money until I get paid tomorrow.” He was some sort of courier from what I’d gathered, and I wondered how he could keep the job considering that his breath always stunk of alcohol.

“I could give you fifty dollars,” I said, pulling out the money from the waistband of my shorts. I’d learned to hide money close to my body. “Then you could pay him back and get us food for the next few days.”

He eyed the dollar note as if it was something dirty. “Where did you get it?”

“I found a job,” I said with a smile.

He didn’t look happy. “And they paid you fifty dollars on your first day?”

He made it sound like I had been doing something forbidden, something dirty.

“No, not yet. I will get paid today.” That’s what I hoped at least. I wasn’t sure how Roger handled things but since he didn’t ask for my social security number or any other relevant information, I assumed that he wouldn’t exactly follow a regular payment plan.

“Then where did you get that money?”

He looked angry. What was the matter with him? He and Mom had definitely never asked many questions when it came to money. “Fabiano gave it to me.”

He jumped up. His chair toppled to the ground with a bang. I flinched in my seat. Distant memories rose up, of him fighting with my mother, of him raising his fist and she clawing at him in turn.

“You leant money from…him?”

“What’s going on here?” I asked.

“You can’t go around lending money from people like him. We don’t need more attention from people like him.”

“People like him,” I repeated. “What kind of people exactly?”

He looked torn. I wasn’t sure who or what he was trying to protect, but it certainly wasn’t me. He had never been the protective dad.

“I know he’s a cage fighter, Dad. I saw him fight, okay? So please mind your own business.” Like you’ve done in the last five years.

“You did? Why?” Then something seemed to click in his mind and he closed his eyes. “Don’t tell me you’re working in Roger’s Arena.”

“I do.”

He picked up the chair and straightened it before he sank down as if his legs were too weak to carry him. “You should have never come here. I shouldn’t have let you. You’re going to get us both in trouble. I really can’t use that kind of baggage right now.”

I frowned down at my coffee. “I’m a grown up. I can handle myself. I can’t be picky with the jobs I do. It’s not like I have much of a choice.”

“Give him that money back today. Don’t use it for anything. And—”

“Stay away from him?” I interrupted. It was too late for a protective Dad talk.

“No,” he said quietly. “Be careful. I don’t need you to mess things up. It’s too late for me to tell you to stay away.”

I got the feeling that he meant it in a different way than I had. “I could stay away. It’s not like I’m bound to him.”

Dad shook his head. “No, you can’t stay away. Because that’s no longer up to you. He’ll decide from now on, and he won’t let you stay away until he gets whatever it is that he wants from you.” His lips curled, like he knew exactly what that was.

I hated how he could make me feel dirty with that one expression. As if he had a right to judge me when he’d gladly let my mom sell her body so he could pay his gambling bills.

“We’re not living in the middle ages, Dad. It’s not like he holds any power over me.” I wasn’t even sure why we were discussing this. Fabiano and I had done nothing but talk and he’d been the perfect gentleman so far. Perhaps Dad had a worse drinking problem after all, or did harder drugs. Mom had been paranoid too.

He pulled a cigarette – his last one –from a battered packet before lighting the stub and taking a deep pull. “The Camorra owns the city, and its people. And now he owns you.” He released the smoke, cloaking us in it. I coughed.

“Camorra?” I had heard the term in a report about Italy on TV a while back. They were a branch of the mob, but this was Las Vegas and not Naples. “You mean the mob?”

Dad got up. “I said too much already,” he said regretfully, taking another pull. His fingers holding the cigarette were shaking. “I can’t help you. You’re in too deep already.”

In too deep? I’d been in Las Vegas for three days and worked in Roger’s bar for only one day. How could I be in too deep? And what exactly did that mean?

Dad didn’t give me the chance to ask more questions, he rushed out of the kitchen and a few seconds later I heard the entrance door slam shut.

If he insisted on beating around the bush, I’d have to pepper Cheryl with questions. She seemed to know more if her cryptic warnings from yesterday were any indication. I wasn’t going to ask Fabiano directly about it unless I had no other option. He’d probably laugh in my face if I asked him about the mafia.

When I walked into the bar, Cheryl was already there, putting glasses into the shelves attached to the wall behind the bar. The red neon lamps were still off, and without their glow the area looked dull. There was also another woman wiping the leather of the booths. She nodded in my direction when she caught me staring. Her hair was a nice shade of light brown but her face looked drawn, used up. Hard drugs. It made her age difficult to guess. She could have been forty or thirty. There was no telling.

I headed straight toward Cheryl and put my backpack down behind the bar. When our eyes met my cheeks grew hot at the memory of what I’d overheard her do with Roger last night. Luckily she didn’t seem to notice. “You are late,” she said, a bit on edge.

I glanced at the clock on the wall across the room. I was actually right on time but I decided not to say anything. After all, I wanted to get some information from Cheryl.

“Sorry,” I said as I grabbed two glasses and helped her fill the shelves.

“You could clean up the changing room or Roger’s office. I’ve got this.”

Roger’s office was the last place I wanted to clean. “I’ll clean the changing rooms,” I said, then turned to her.

She returned my gaze questioningly. “What’s up?”

“You know I’m new in town, so I’m not in on what’s going on around here,” I began and could see her defenses come up. Perhaps getting answers from her wouldn’t be as easy as I’d hoped.

“But people are acting strangely around Fabiano, you know the guy who fought the last battle?”

She laughed bitterly. “Oh, I know him.”

I was taken aback. “Oh, okay. So what’s the matter with him? My father freaked out when Fabiano gave a ride home last night.”

“He gave you a ride home?”

Okay. This was really starting to grate on my nerves. Why couldn’t she just spill it?

“He did. It was late and he didn’t want me to walk by myself. He seemed worried.” I decided not to mention that he’d picked me up the night before too.

Cheryl gave me a look like I’d completely lost my mind. “Trust me, he wasn’t. I don’t know why he took you home, but it sure as hell wasn’t out of the kindness of his heart. You are lucky nothing happened.”

I moved closer to her until we were almost touching. “Cheryl, just tell me what’s going on. This bar, Fabiano, everything is off.”

“This is Camorra territory, Chick. Everything belongs to them to some degree. And your Fabiano.”

He wasn’t my Fabiano but I didn’t want to interrupt her from fear she could change her mind about giving me an honest answer.

“He’s Falcone’s right hand.”

“Falcone?”

The name didn’t ring a bell, but it sounded Italian. She cursed under her breath. “It’s not my business. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“So is Falcone some kind of mobster?” I’d seen movies about the mafia, and I knew they were the bad guys, but was that even the reality of things? This was the twenty-first century. The mafia seemed like something out of the nineteen-twenties, old men smoking cigars in black and white movies. Fabiano was someone who instilled respect in others, I could see that, but did that stem from him being a mobster or the fact that he was simply impressive to look at? Anyone who’d seen him in the fighting cages would think twice about a confrontation with him.

“Some kind of mobster,” she murmured like I had committed blasphemy. “You say it like it’s a normal job, Chick. It’s not, trust me. The things the Camorra does, the things your Fabiano does, they…” Her eyes went to something behind me and she fell silent.

“Now go clean the changing rooms,” she muttered. I turned, spotting Roger a few feet from us, with a disapproving expression. He wasn’t looking at me, only at Cheryl, and a silent conversation I wasn’t privy on seemed to pass between them.

I took the mop and bucket, and hastened past him. I was used to being the new girl in town. I’d moved about a dozen times in the last ten years, and had always felt on the sidelines of life because of it. I never got the insider jokes.

I knew being a mobster wasn’t a normal job. These people were bad news. But Fabiano hadn’t seemed bad. Something about him made me curious, made me want to catch a glimpse behind that cautious mask he wore. Who knew why he’d become a mobster? Sometimes life just left you with little to no choice.

I was glad that cleaning the changing room required no concentration at all, because my mind was occupied processing the news. I wasn’t sure what to think because I didn’t know enough. The Camorra, Falcone, mobsters – the words held no meaning for me. But for my father and Cheryl, they did. For them, they instilled fear.

My train of thoughts was interrupted when the first fighters entered the changing room. Apparently, there were fights scheduled every evening. I wondered where Roger found all these guys eager to beat each other up. I supposed many of them had as little choice when it came to jobs as I had.

One of them, the youngest of the lot, around my age, sauntered closer. I lifted the bucket from the white-tiled ground, ready to leave them alone. He gave me a flirtatious smile, which died when one of the other guys whispered something in his ear. After that I might as well have been invisible. Confused, I left the room. Was I some kind of pariah? The untouchable cleaning lady?

Not that I had any interest in flirting with that guy, but his change in demeanor was a slight blow to my confidence. I didn’t kid myself into thinking that I was a stunner like some other girls, definitely not wearing the same flowery dress as yesterday.

At least I didn’t smell. Yet.

I faltered in my steps when I saw a familiar face enter the bar. Fabiano was dressed in black slacks and a white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up. The white contrasted nicely with his tan. He was a sight to behold. Tall and handsome, aloof and cool. He exuded power and control. He held himself with natural grace that mesmerized me. It was like watching a lion on the prowl. There was almost too much of him to take in. His words about alpha males flashed through my mind, followed by the fact that he was a member of the Camorra. People warned me to stay away from him.

My mother had always said I was a fixer. I needed something broken so I could see if I was capable of mending it. Injured animals, sick people, broken-down cars, her. She’d said it would get me in trouble one day. Because people couldn’t be fixed, and some day I’d replace someone so broken, he’d break me before I could mend him.

Was that what had drawn me to him from the very first second? Had I sensed that something about him was off and did I want to fix it?

Fabiano

Something in her expression was different. She was a bit more hesitant than before. I watched her carry the bucket and mop behind the bar, then busy herself with taking stock of the fridge, her back turned to me.

I had a feeling she didn’t want me to see her face. Perhaps she thought she could disguise her emotions from me like that. Like that was going to work. A look at her body told me everything I needed to know. She was tense and her breathing was too controlled, as if she was trying to appear unaffected but failing.

I leaned my elbows on the counter, watching her silently. She wore the same dress again and the same sandals. It was starting to drive me crazy. Couldn’t her father stop gambling for one fucking day so she could buy herself some decent clothes? Rage rose up in me at the obvious neglect she’d probably been suffering all her life. Neglect was something I knew only too well. It came in different shapes and forms.

I waited patiently until she could no longer pretend that there was anything remotely interesting in the fridge. She squared her shoulders and turned to me.

Her smile was all wrong. Tense and unsure. On the verge of being fake. And there was the flicker of caution but still no fear. “Water?” she guessed, already reaching for a glass.

I shook my head. “No fight tonight. Give me a Scotch.”

“Right,” she said. “Are you going out? You look nice.”

“Nice, hm?” I repeated. She didn’t need to know that Remo and I would check out one of our strip clubs tonight. There had been some inconsistencies with the books, which we needed to investigate. And after that we’d have a long talk with the sluts working there.

A blush spread over her cheeks, making me want to reach over the bar and brush my fingers over it, to feel her heated skin and those damn freckles. The innocent act usually wasn’t something that got to me, because it usually was just that, an act. But with Leona I could tell that no acting was required. “All business, no fun,” I told her.

Her smile faltered again. She reached for the cheapest bottle of Scotch. I shook my head. “Not that one. Give me the Johnnie Walker Blue Label over there.” It was the most expensive Scotch Roger’s Arena offered. It wasn’t really an establishment for fine tastes. The guys around here liked their drinks how they liked their women: cheap.

“That’s thirty dollars a glass,” she said.

“I know,” I said when she slid the glass over to me. I downed a long sip of the amber liquid, enjoying the burn. I didn’t drink often, had only been drunk twice in my life. There were other ways to get a high – fucking and fighting, my favorites.

I pushed a fifty-dollar note over to her. “Keep the rest.”

Her eyes grew wide, and she gave a small shake of her head. “That’s too much.”

She fumbled in the cash register and pushed the twenty dollars of change over to me, then she bent down for a moment, to retrieve another fifty dollar note and put that down in front of me as well.

“I told you I don’t want that money back, and the twenty dollars are your tip.”

“I can’t accept either. It’s not right.”

“Who told you?” I asked.

She blinked, then averted her eyes. “Who told me what?” She was a horrible liar, and a worse actress.

“Don’t lie to me,” I said, a hint of impatience creeping into my tone.

Her blue eyes met mine. She hesitated. “I overheard a few people talking.”

I didn’t believe that shit for a second. She scanned my face. “So is it true?”

“Is what true?” I challenged.

“That you are part of the Camorra?”

She said it like the word meant nothing to her. She didn’t know what exactly we stood for, didn’t know how powerful we were. For most people the mere word was associated with fear, not for her. I hoped it would stay that way, but I knew it couldn’t. Living in this part of town, working for Roger, she’d soon see or hear things that would make her realize just what the Camorra did.

“I am,” I said, emptying the rest of my Scotch.

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to keep it a secret?”

“It’s difficult to keep a secret that’s none.” The Camorra was Las Vegas. We controlled the night clubs and bars, restaurants and casinos. We organized the cage fights and street races. We gave the poor fuckers bread and games, and they accepted any distraction from their miserable lives greedily. People knew of us, recognized us. There was no sense in trying to pretend we were something else.

“But what about the police?” she asked. A few other customers were throwing glances her way, their glasses empty, but none of them would dare come over to interrupt us.

“Don’t worry,” I said simply. I couldn’t tell her about our association with the Sheriff of Clark County, and our connection to some of the judges. That wasn’t something she needed to know.

The seventy dollars were still lying on the bar between us. I picked them up and stalked around the bar. Leona’s gaze was a mixture of caution and curiosity. I took her wrist. She didn’t resist, only watched me intently. I fought the urge to back her up against the wall, and get a taste of her. Fuck, but I really wanted that taste.

I turned her hand and put the money into her palm. She opened her mouth, but I shook my head. “I don’t want that money back. You will buy yourself a nice dress and wear it tomorrow. And do me a favor and get rid of those fucking sandals. Then our debt is settled.”

Embarrassment filled her face as she looked down at herself. “Do I look that bad that you feel the need to buy me clothes?”

“I’m not buying you anything. I’m just giving you the money.”

“I’m sure it’s a big no-go to take money from someone like you,” she said quietly. I was still holding her hand and I could feel her pulse speeding up under my fingertips.

I leaned down to her ear. “It’s an even bigger no-go to refuse a gift from someone like me.”

She shuddered but still didn’t pull back. When I released her, she stayed close to me. “Then I’ll have no choice, I suppose,” she said.

“You don’t,” I agreed.

People were watching our exchange with badly hidden curiosity. A glance at the clock revealed that I needed to get going. I didn’t want to make Remo wait.

“Tomorrow I expect to see you in your new clothes,” I told her.

She nodded, then finally took a step back. Her expression was torn.

“So you’ll be back tomorrow?” she asked.

I walked back around the bar, then turned to her once more. “Yes.”

Leona

I watched Fabiano’s retreating back. Now that he wasn’t there to distract me anymore, I realized how many customers were sitting in front of empty glasses. Cheryl and the waitress of unidentifiable age were at the other end of the room, and only now began to make their way over to me. I quickly hid the money in my backpack before I rushed toward the first table to take orders. I could tell that people were mustering me curiously. This conversation with Fabiano had drawn more attention to me than I enjoyed.

I could still feel the remnants of shame when I thought of his request to buy a new dress for myself. I knew my clothes had seen better days. And my flip-flops…I stifled a sigh.

Perhaps I should have stood my ground and refused the money. Owing the mafia money was bad news, but Fabiano had gifted me the money not as a mobster but as a…what exactly? We weren’t friends. Barely knew each other. Was I in his debt, or worse in the Camorra’s? Did he expect something in return?

The idea was terrifying and exciting at the same time. Not that I would ever give him any kind of physical closeness in return for money, but the idea that he might be interested in me, filled me with a giddy kind of excitement.

“So staying away from him isn’t going so well, huh?” Cheryl said as she came to a stop beside me, carrying a tablet stacked with beer bottles.

“I can’t stop him from having a drink in the bar,” I said with a small shrug.

“He isn’t coming for the drinks. Before you started working here, he was hardly around, and to be honest, I preferred it that way.” She sauntered off, her hips swaying from side to side as she expertly maneuvered past tables on her high heels.

I sighed. My mother’s knack for troublesome men had obviously been handed down to me. Perhaps there was some way to lose Fabiano’s attention. Problem was that part of me didn’t want him to lose interest in me. Some twisted, idiotic part was eager for his attention. That a man like him had even a flicker of interest in me boosted my meager self-confidence. Back in school, boys had only showed me attention because they thought I’d give it up easy as the daughter of a whore. They weren’t interested in me because I was pretty or clever, but because they thought I was cheap. But Fabiano didn’t know about my mother, and with the way he looked he certainly had no trouble replaceing willing women.

Cheryl shot me a glare across the room. I’d been lost in my thoughts and ceased working again. I pushed Fabiano out of my head. If I didn’t want to lose this job, I’d have to get a grip on myself.

That night after work, Fabiano wasn’t there to drive me home. And I realized I’d been secretly hoping that he’d come in after he’d handled business – whatever that meant.

I swung my backpack over my shoulder, and gripped the straps tightly as I began my walk home. Few people were around at this time, and most of them made me want to run. I quickened my pace, checking my surroundings. Nobody was following me, and yet I felt as if I was being hunted. All this talk about the Camorra had been fuel for my imagination.

It was ridiculous. I was used to walking on my own. Back at home with my mom, she definitely had never picked me up anywhere. I had been the one who had to go in search of her more than once when she didn’t return home. And often enough I’d found her passed out in one of her favorite bars, or in a backstreet.

When I finally arrived at home, I released a relieved breath. The lights were still on in the living room.

“Leona? Is that you?”

Dad sounded drunk. I hesitated. I remembered the last time I’d seen him drunk when I was twelve. He’d had a huge fight with my mother and hit her so hard that she lost consciousness. After that she left him. Not that the men got better after that. For my mom life was a downward spiral that never stopped. Perhaps she’d put a stop to it now, her probably last chance at rehab.

I stopped in the doorway of the living room. Dad was sitting on the sofa, the table in front of him covered with beer bottles and papers. They looked like betting slips. I doubted he was celebrating his betting luck.

“You are late,” he said, a slight slur in his voice.

“I had to work. The bar is open late,” I said, wanting nothing more than to go into my bedroom and let him sleep off his intoxication. He pushed himself off the sofa and came around it and closer to me.

“I thought you weren’t drinking anymore.”

“I’m not,” he said. “Most of the time. Today wasn’t a good day.”

I had a feeling the good days were few and far between. “I’m sorry,” I said automatically.

He waved it off. He took another step in my direction and almost lost his balance. Memories of all the fights between him and my mother that I’d witnessed resurfaced one after the other. I didn’t have the energy for them now. “I should probably go to bed. Tomorrow will be another long day.”

I turned when I heard his uncoordinated steps and then his hand clamped down on my wrist. I jumped in surprise.

“Wait,” he slurred. “You have to give me some money, Leona. Roger must have paid you by now.”

I tried to slip out of his grip but it was too tight, and painful. “You’re hurting me,” I said through gritted teeth.

He didn’t seem to listen. “I need money. I need to pay off my betting debts or we’ll be in trouble.”

Why would we be in trouble if he didn’t pay his betting debts?

“How much do you need?” I asked.

“Just give me all you have,” he said, his fingers on my wrist as much a way to keep me from leaving as a way to keep himself upright.

I knew how it was going to be. Mom was the same way with her addiction. She stole every penny she found in my room, until I had no choice but to carry it on my body at all times. Not that that ever fended her off on her more desperate days.

“I need to put money back for college and we need food.” I didn’t hold much hope that he’d use much of his own money for grocery shopping. The donuts had been a one time exemption.

“Stop thinking about college. Girls like you don’t go to college.”

I finally managed to free myself of his crushing grip. Rubbing my wrist, I took a step back from him.

“Leona, this is serious. I need money,” he said.

The despair on his face made me reach into my backpack. I took the fifty-dollar note and handed it to him. That left me with a little over one hundred dollars after Roger had paid me today. Tips were decent in the arena.

“That’s all?”

I didn’t get the chance to reply. He staggered forward, catching me by surprise. He ripped my backpack out of my hand, shoved his arm inside and began rummaging. I tried to get it back but he pushed me away. I collided with the wall. When he found the rest of the money, he dropped the backpack and pushed the notes into his jeans pocket.

“A good daughter wouldn’t lie to her father,” he said angrily.

And a good father wouldn’t steel from his daughter. I picked my backpack off the ground. One of the straps now had a rip in it. Fighting tears, I rushed into the bedroom and closed the door.

Tired and shaken, I sank down on the mattress. Of course, nothing had changed. I’d lost count of the times my mother had promised me she’d start anew. The drugs had been stronger than her willpower and her love for me. And here I was with my father who battled his own addiction, and I was stuck with him. Why did people in my life always break their promises?

I had no money to leave Las Vegas and even if I did, where would I go? I couldn’t afford an apartment anywhere, and I had no friends or family I could turn to.

I undressed, putting the dress carefully on the ground. Without money, I wouldn’t be able to buy new clothes, but there was no way I could wear my dress again. It smelled of sweat and had a ketchup stain on the skirt. I took jeans shorts and a plain white shirt out of my backpack. They were crumpled from Dad’s rummaging but they’d have to do.

Tired, I lied back.

College isn’t for girls like you.

Perhaps I was silly for dreaming about it, but my dreams were the only thing keeping me going. I wanted to get a law degree. Help people who couldn’t afford a good lawyer. I closed my eyes. An image of Fabiano popped into my head. Nobody would ever take money from him. He was strong. He knew how to get what he wanted. I wished I were like that. Strong. Respected.

Early the next morning, I washed my summer dress, then hung it over the shower stall to dry. Even though I still had a few hours until work, I left the apartment. I didn’t feel comfortable there after the incident with Dad yesterday. He hadn’t scared me. Too often had I been confronted with the same blatant despair from my mother.

Luckily, I’d found a few dollars in coins that I’d gotten as tips yesterday at the bottom of the backpack and wanted to grab breakfast for myself.

With my coffee-to-go and a Danish, I strode through the streets without a real purpose. When I noticed the bus, which was heading toward the Strip, I used my last money to buy a ticket. I wasn’t even sure why. It wasn’t as if I could ask for a job anywhere there. They would laugh in my face.

I got off near the Venetian, and just kept walking, marveling at the splendor of the hotels, at the lightheartedness of the tourists. This was a different Las Vegas than the one I’d experienced so far. I stopped eventually in front of the fountains of the Bellagio. I closed my eyes. How was I ever going to get a good job around here when I couldn’t even buy myself a decent dress?

I had seen the security guards keep an eye on me when I’d wandered through the hotels. They had pegged me a thief from one look at me.

I knew Dad would keep taking my money unless he suddenly stopped losing his bets, which was highly unlikely. The bank always won.

I asked a passerby for the time since I had no watch or mobile. I had only thirty minutes until I had to be at work. There was no way I was going to be on time, considering that I’d given my last money for the bus ticket to the Strip and would have to walk back. That would take at least one hour, probably longer. With my luck, it would even start raining again.

I started walking away from the luxury of the Bellagio, feeling more and more out of place on the Strip with my wrinkly white shirt and second hand jeans shorts. To top it off, I was freezing my butt off. Perhaps Dad had been right. Perhaps I’d still work in Roger’s bar when I was old and bitter. I almost laughed, then shook my head. If I stopped believing in my future, it was lost, but days like yesterday made it hard to stay hopeful.

Fabiano

I spotted Leona the moment I stepped out of the Bellagio. The doorman handed me the key to my car and I slipped in, never taking my eyes off the girl. The engine came to life with its familiar roar and I pulled out of the driveway, heading down the street toward Leona.

She didn’t notice me until I pulled up beside her and let the window down. My eyes traveled down to her fucking flip-flops. “Shouldn’t you be wearing your new dress today?” I shouted over the noise of the engine and the traffic driving past as I leaned over the passenger seat to get a good look at her. She was dressed in a wrinkly white shirt that was stuffed into old jeans shorts. Though I appreciated the first glimpse of her lean toned thighs, I was annoyed that she hadn’t bought a new dress for herself. I wasn’t used to people ignoring my wishes like that.

She shrugged. She looked obviously uncomfortable. I pushed the passenger door open. “Get in,” I ordered, trying to reign in my annoyance.

For a moment, I was sure she’d say no but then she dropped her backpack from her shoulder and sank down on the seat. She closed the door and put a belt on before finally meeting my gaze, almost defiantly.

I let my eyes wander over her body, coming to rest on the faint bruises on her left wrist. I took her hand and inspected the bruise. She pulled away and hid her wrist beneath her other hand.

“I lost my balance in the shower this morning,” she lied easily.

“Are you sure you didn’t fall down the stairs?” I asked in a low voice. Anger began to simmer under my skin. I knew bruises. And I knew the lies women told to hide they were being abused. Father had hit my sisters and me almost every day, especially Gianna and myself. We were the ones he couldn’t control, the ones always doing wrong in his eyes. And I’d lost count of the times I’d seen my mother cover up her bruises with make-up.

The bruise around Leona’s wrist was from a too-tight grip.

She gave me a look, but her expression faltered and she shook her head. “It’s nothing.”

“Who did this?”

“It’s nothing. It doesn’t hurt or anything.”

“Your father.”

“What makes you think that?” she asked, her voice a bit higher than before.

“Because he’s the only one you have reason to protect.”

She licked her lips. “He didn’t mean to hurt me. He was drunk. He didn’t notice how tightly he was gripping me.”

Did she really believe that? Or was she scared of what I’d do to him? And by God I wanted to tear into him like a starved bloodhound.

It wasn’t like it was my business what her father did to her. It shouldn’t be. But the mere idea that he was hurting her made me want to pay him a visit and give him a taste of what I was capable of.

“Is that why you’re dressed like that?” I asked with a wave at her clothes. I pulled the car away from the curb, crossed four lanes to reach the turning lane, then did a U-turn, followed by a cacophony of car horns and raised middle fingers from drivers on both sides of the street.

“What are you doing?” Leona asked, gripping the sides of the seat. “That’s the wrong way.”

“It’s not. We’re buying you a dress, and fucking new shoes. If I have to see you in those fucking flip-flops one more time, I’ll go on a rampage.”

“What?” Her eyes widened. “Don’t be ridiculous. I need to get to work. I don’t have time to go shopping.”

“Don’t worry. Roger will understand.”

“Fabiano,” she said pleadingly. “Why are you doing this? If you expect anything in return, I’m not that kind of girl. I’m poor but that doesn’t mean I can be bought.”

“I have no intention of buying you,” I told her. And it was true. Something about Leona made me want to protect her. It was a new experience for me. Not that I didn’t want her in my bed, but I wanted to make her want it too. I’d never had to pay for sex, and never would. The whores in Vegas were on the Camorra’s payroll anyway.

She watched me for a long time. “Then why?”

“Because I can and because I want to.”

The answer didn’t seem to satisfy her but I focused on the street and she didn’t ask more questions, which was a fucking good thing, because I really didn’t want to analyze the details of my fascination with her. She reminded me of my sisters. Not in a kinky way. More like she reminded me of a longing I’d buried deep in my chest. Fuck me.

“So your father stole the money I gave you?” I asked eventually, my fingers bearing down on the wheel, and wishing it were his fucking throat.

She nodded. “He seems to be in trouble.”

If he were in real trouble, I’d know it. The money he owed us, it couldn’t be much yet. If Soto still handled him, he was a lucky man.

“Men like him are always in trouble,” I told her. “You should get away from him.”

“He’s my father.”

“Sometimes we have to let go of our family if we want to amount to anything in life.”

Surprise and curiosity registered on her face. I gritted my teeth, annoyed at myself for my words.

I parked at the curb in front of one of the high-class boutiques I knew the society chicks frequented I occasionally fucked when they felt like adding a thrill to their fucking pampered lives.

Leona looked toward the storefront then back at me, her lips parting in disbelief. A small crease formed between her brows. “Don’t tell me you want me to go in there. They won’t even let me inside looking the way I do. They’ll just think that I’ve come to steal their clothes.”

Would they? We’d see about that. I got out of the car, walked around the hood and opened the door for her. She stepped out, then reached for her backpack. I stopped her. “You can leave it in my car.”

She hesitated, then stepped back so I could shut the door. She looked around herself nervously. She felt fucking uncomfortable. I held out my hand for her. “Come,” I said firmly.

She put her palm in mine, and I closed my fingers around her hand. That Leona trusted me despite what she knew about me, made me want to be good to her, which was surprising. I rarely wanted to be good to anyone. But I had enough money, so one dress wasn’t going to kill me. And new shoes were really more for my own sanity than anything else. These flip-flops had to go.

I led her toward the store. The shop-window was decorated with silver and golden Christmas bubbles. The security guard, a tall, dark-skinned fucker, gave her a once over but let us enter as he registered my face. The vendor couldn’t hide her disdain at Leona’s appearance. Her red painted lips twisted and Leona’s hand in mine tensed. My eyes slanted to her. Her free hand fidgeted with her wrinkly white shirt; shame washed over her face and her freckles disappeared among her blush.

She shifted closer to me, seeking shelter. She sought fucking shelter with a man like me. I doubted she noticed. But I had. And I raised my eyes to the vendor’s face, letting her glimpse behind the mask I wore when I wasn’t handling business, let her see why I was the Enforcer of the Camorra. Why some people begged before I’d even put my knife against their skin. She stiffened, and recoiled.

I smiled coldly. “I assume you can help us.”

She nodded quickly. “What is it you’re looking for?” she asked me.

“You should ask her,” I said in a low voice, nodding toward Leona.

“A dress,” Leona said quickly, then added, “And shoes.”

The vendor took in Leona’s flip-flops. But this time her expression didn’t betray her disdain. Good for her.

“What kind of dress?”

Leona sought my gaze, helpless. I gestured for the vendor to give us a moment. She scurried off to the back of the store where another vendor was standing behind the cashier desk.

“I never got to choose. I don’t know anything about dresses or shoes. I got whatever fit me from Goodwill.”

“You never had a new piece of clothing?” I asked.

She looked away. “Clothing wasn’t my priority. I had to put food on the table.” Her eyes were drawn to the line of dresses to our right.

“Try on whatever catches your eye.”

It became obvious pretty quickly that she wasn’t going to touch any of the dresses, and so I pulled a dark green dress with long sleeves out and held it out to her. She took it and followed the vendor toward the changing rooms in the back. I leaned against the wall, keeping my eyes on the curtain that hid Leona from view. It took longer than getting changed should. “You okay in there?”

She came out, grimacing. I straightened. The dress hugged her body in all the right places and flared out until it reached her knees. And the back, it dipped low, revealing her delicate shoulder blades and spine. She looked completely different. She regarded herself in the mirror and shook her head, her lips setting tight. “This feels like a costume,” she said quietly. “As if I’m pretending I’m someone I’m not.”

I moved closer. “And who is it you’re pretending to be?”

She glared. “More than white trash.”

“White trash,” I repeated in as calm a voice as my anger allowed. “Who called you that?”

“I’m the daughter of a junkie and a gambling addict. I am white trash. I’m not this.” She gestured at her reflection.

“Nobody will ever call you white trash again, you listen? And if they do, you will tell me and I will rip their throats out, how about that?”

She tilted her head, again trying to read me, to understand. “You can’t change my past. You can’t change who I am.”

“No,” I said with a shrug, my finger trailing down her throat. She wasn’t breathing, and I, too, held my breath at the feel of her soft skin. “But you can. I can only force people to treat you as you want to be treated.”

She tore her gaze away from mine and took a step back. I dropped my hand, then went back out and selected another dress. She took it without a word and slipped back into the cabin.

I sank down on one of the too soft armchairs. She looked fucking good in every dress she tried. Nobody would take her for white trash dressed like that. Nobody should take her for white trash dressed in her fucking second hand clothes either. “Buy them all,” I told her but she shook her head firmly.

“One,” she said, raising a single finger. “I’ll get one because I promised you. But no more.” She lifted her chin and straightened her spine. Stubborn and brave, despite what she knew of me.

“Then take that one,” I pointed at the dark green dress that she’d put on first.

“Isn’t it too revealing?” she whispered.

“You have the body for it.”

A pleased flush spread across her freckled cheeks, but there was still hesitation. “I don’t want people to get the wrong impression.”

I tilted my head. “What kind of impression?”

She looked away, fumbling with the fabric of the dress. When the vendor was out of sight, she said quietly, “That I’m selling more than drinks. Cheryl mentioned that a few customers pay her to do other things.”

I rose from the armchair and moved closer. She peered up at me. “Nobody will try anything, Leona. They know you are off limits.”

Her brows drew together. “Why?”

“Take the dress,” I ordered.

She stiffened her spine again. Stubborn. I softened my next words. “You promised.”

She nodded slowly. “Okay.”

I turned to the vendor, who was hovering outside the changing rooms. “She’s going to put it on right away. We still need shoes.”

She hurried off and came back with the matching flats in dark green leather. I’d hoped for stilettos but I doubted Leona could walk in them anyway. I nodded my approval and she handed them to Leona. Her eyes met mine, and again the question, then she disappeared behind the curtain once more.

Leona came back out of the changing room, dressed in her new dress and shoes, looking fucking amazing. I let my eyes wander over her slender shoulders, her narrow waist and lean legs. The dress ended a couple of inches above her knees and dipped low on her back, revealing inch over inch of immaculate skin.

She carried her old clothes. I wanted to tell her to throw them away but I had a feeling she didn’t have any clothes to spare. Instead I went over to the cashier and paid for the dress and shoes.

Leona’s eyes grew wide when she saw the sum.

“I can’t believe how much you paid! I could have bought ten dresses at Walmart for that much money,” she whispered as I led her out of the shop.

I pressed my palm against the naked skin between her shoulder blades, relishing in her small shiver and the way goose bumps rose on her skin. The familiar blush spread on her cheeks. Before I opened the door, I leaned down to her, my lips brushing her ear. “It’s worth every penny, trust me.”

She released a small shaky breath and quickly got into my Mercedes as if she needed to bring some space between us. But there was no way I’d let her get away from me.