The Camorra Chronicles Boxset (Books 1-3)

by Reilly, Cora

  I slid a finger over the edge of her bra and tugged it down, revealing the pink nub. “Fabiano,” she said hesitantly, but I didn’t allow her time for more words. I swirled my tongue around her nipple then pulled back to watch Leona press her legs together. She tasted amazing, like clean sweat and something sweeter. I lowered my mouth again, traced the tip of my tongue around the edge of her nipple, then slid to the peak and flicked it, licking her with languid strokes of my tongue. I sucked the small pink nipple into my mouth, relishing in the taste and Leona’s shivers. She moaned again.

  If playing with her tits made her come undone, I couldn’t wait to dip my tongue between her silky folds.

  I took my time with her nipple, wanting her to beg me for release. She ground her hips into the mattress in obvious need but didn’t say the words I wanted to hear. My erection was rubbing painfully against the fabric of my briefs, driving me insane.

  Done with being patient, I brushed my palm up her inner thigh. Her muscles tensed under my touch, but she didn’t stop me. I held her gaze as my fingers brushed the crook between her thigh and pussy. Still no sign of protest. Instead, she opened her legs a bit wider, trust in her eyes.

  Damn it, Leona.

  I claimed her mouth for a fierce kiss and slipped my fingers under her panties and over her soft folds. She was so fucking aroused, so fucking ready to have me take her. Her body was practically begging for it, but that fucking trusting look in her eyes ruined it all. I ran my thumb up slowly until I brushed her clit. She bit her lip, hips rising up from the bed. I kept my eyes on her face, relishing in the twitches of pleasure, the wonder at how I could make her feel with just a simple touch of my thumb. The trust in her eyes anchored me, and I needed it to, because my body wanted more than she was willing to give, and the darkest parts of me knew nothing would stop me. And those dark parts were almost all that was left of me. Those parts of me had run the show for years. My thumb moved in slow circles over her wet flesh, and her gasps and moans were less controlled. She clutched my arm, and I kissed her hard, swallowing her cry as she tumbled over the edge. Her eyes fell shut as she shuddered, and for the briefest moment, I considered breaking my promise and breaking whatever dangerous bond was forming between us. Then she looked up at me, shy and embarrassed and guilty, and I knew it was too fucking late for that.

  CHAPTER 13

  LEONA

  My heart raced in my chest as the last waves of pleasure ebbed away. Embarrassment slowly banished the thrilling euphoria. Fabiano didn’t say anything, and I wasn’t really sure what to say either. I hadn’t meant for things to progress this fast. To sleep in Fabiano’s bed, to have him touch me. The sensations had been wondrous, unlike anything I’d ever been capable of eliciting with my own fingers.

  He peered down at me, a dark expression on his face, as if what had just happened was a mistake. I felt self-conscious under his scrutiny. It didn’t make sense why he’d be unhappy about it. He hadn’t gone against his own convictions, but perhaps he had come to the realization that I wasn’t worth his attention. Maybe I did something wrong, though I couldn’t really see how that was possible seeing as I hadn’t done anything but let him touch me.

  Worry filled me. Perhaps that was the problem.

  I sat up. Sunlight filtered through the gap in the white curtains and past it I caught a glimpse of the Strip. I didn’t belong here. I wasn’t an Italian girl from noble upbringing.

  “I should get going,” I said lightly.

  Fabiano didn’t say anything, but behind his blue eyes was some kind of inner conflict raging on.

  I was about to slip out of bed, when he placed his hand on my shoulder, stopping me. He leaned over to me for a gentle kiss that left me breathless then pulled back. “This is only the beginning.”

  This is only the beginning. I couldn’t decide if it was promise or threat.

  I slipped into Dad’s apartment, closing the door with a soft click, not wanting to wake him. Seconds after the roar of Fabiano’s engine had faded, Dad slunk out of the kitchen. He looked worse than the last time I’d seen him, like he needed a long shower and a few days of sleep.

  His bloodshot eyes regarded me with silent judgment. They lingered on a spot above my pulse point, and the memory of Fabiano leaving his mark resurfaced. I placed my palm over the tender spot.

  Dad shook his head. “You should have stayed with your mother.” I didn’t argue. Part of me knew he was right. I walked past him toward my bedroom. The space felt even less like home after my night in Fabiano’s apartment. I knew I couldn’t allow myself to grow accustomed to the luxury he had at his disposal. It wasn’t something I could ever hope to have, and until now it never had been, but it was hard not to want something that beautiful once you experienced it firsthand. And his tenderness, his closeness ... that was the most beautiful thing of all. Something I needed, something I was scared to lose.

  The memory of Fabiano’s mouth and hands on me sent a pleasant shiver through my body. That, too, was an experience I never thought I would want and now I worried I wouldn’t stop wanting it.

  I changed out of yesterday’s clothes and into shorts and a shirt, swung my backpack over my shoulder, and left. Until I had to start work, I stayed elsewhere. And I already had an idea where. Now that things with Fabiano were getting more serious, I needed to find out more about his past.

  The library was quiet as I took my seat at one of the computers. I typed Fabiano Scuderi into the search engine and hit enter. There were a few entries about Remo Falcone from recent years, especially regarding his fighting, which included the occasional photo of Fabiano with beautiful girls that sent my stomach plummeting. Over all, he seemed to keep out of the public eye. Then I found older articles, from more than eight years ago, which surprised me.

  The articles weren’t from Las Vegas. They were from Chicago. Some of them mentioned a man called Rocco Scuderi, who was Fabiano’s father and supposedly the Consigliere of the Chicago Outfit. I still wasn’t very well informed about the mob and its terms, but even I knew that Fabiano’s father was a big deal in Chicago. From what I’d gathered, the Las Vegas Camorra wasn’t getting along with the other mob families in the country. Why was Fabiano here and not in Chicago? One photo of him and his family caught my eye. It showed Fabiano with his parents and three older sisters, all three of them so beautiful and elegant it hurt looking at them. This was what Cheryl meant when she said Italian virgins from noble upbringing.

  I was nothing like them.

  Only one of them, the youngest, shared his dark blond hair, while the eldest was almost golden and the one in the middle a redhead. They were a striking family. I kept scrolling for more results and soon found articles about his sisters as well, especially the oldest sister, Aria, with her husband, the head of the New York mafia.

  I wondered why he never talked about them. Of course, I didn’t talk about my mother either, but she was a crystal meth addict and a whore. The only thing that was remotely embarrassing about his family was that they were gangsters, and that definitely wasn’t the reason why Fabiano had kept them a secret. If I had siblings, I’d want to stay in contact with them. I’d always wanted a brother or sister at my side for support during the many nights I was left alone when my mother was out looking for johns or other ways to get money.

  At last, there was one article from a small Las Vegas newspaper about Fabiano titled “The Renegade son,” which speculated about him joining the Las Vegas Camorra to become Capo. Apparently there had been a falling-out with his father that made him leave Chicago and help Remo Falcone. Overall, the information was sparse. It didn’t give me what I really wanted, a glimpse behind the mask Fabiano displayed to the public.

  The next day was Christmas Eve, and I went to work as if it was a day like any other. I tried to call the rehab center but hadn’t reached anyone. Dad hadn’t left his room before I had to leave the bar. Merry Christmas to me. Not that I had any intention of celebrating. The bar was deserted, only a few lonely souls c
rouched over their drinks.

  “Why don’t you go early?” Cheryl asked around eight o’clock. “I can handle our two customers.”

  I shook my head. “Don’t you have family to celebrate with?”

  Her lips tightened. “No. Roger will grab me around midnight for a Christmas quickie though.”

  I tried to hide my pity. I knew how it infuriated me when people gave me pitying looks. And it wasn’t as if my Christmas was much better. “Where is he anyway? This is the first time he isn’t in the bar.”

  “He’s at home, celebrating Christmas with his daughter.”

  “Daughter?” I echoed in disbelief.

  Cheryl nodded. “His wife died a few years ago and he’s raising her alone.”

  “Oh.” For some reason I had thought Roger didn’t have a life outside of the bar.

  “Just go, chick.”

  I sighed. Dad probably wasn’t home. He’d mentioned an important race he had to watch. I grabbed my backpack then took out the cell phone Fabiano had given me yesterday so I could contact him. The only person I could think of calling was Fabiano, but would he even want to spend Christmas Eve with me? He was busy yesterday and only dropped me off at home after work ... without mentioning Christmas at all. I clicked his name and quickly typed a message.

  Got off early. You don’t have to pick me up if you’re busy. It’s not too late for me to walk home.

  I wasn’t even out of the bar when Fabiano replied.

  Wait for me.

  I couldn’t help the smile.

  Cheryl watched me from across the room, shaking her head, and I quickly walked out into the parking lot. I knew she wouldn’t be happy if she knew how much time I was spending with Fabiano. I was happy, despite everything.

  Ten minutes later, his Mercedes pulled to a stop beside me.

  I got in and took my seat beside him as if it had always been like this. He didn’t move to kiss me, never had while we could be watched, but he put a hand on my knee.

  “I didn’t think you’d really go through with driving me home every night,” I said, trying to ignore the way my body warmed at his touch.

  Fabiano steered the car with one hand. “I’m a man of honor. I keep my promises.”

  Honor. A word that had played little to no role in my life so far. My parents were unfamiliar with the concept. Honor would have gotten in the way of their addiction.

  My eyes traveled to the Camorra tattoo again. It scared people. Fabiano scared people. I hadn’t realized it at first, but now that I looked for the little details in people’s demeanor around him, it was impossible to miss.

  Perhaps I didn’t know enough about the Camorra and Fabiano to be scared. Maybe I was foolish not to be scared.

  “I thought perhaps tonight you wanted to celebrate Christmas Eve with the Falcones.” They were like his family, after all.

  His fingers on my knee tightened. “Remo and his brothers don’t celebrate Christmas Eve.”

  “But what about your real family? You never mention them.”

  Fabiano’s lips thinned for the briefest instant before he schooled his expression into one of usual calm. “The Camorra is my family. Remo is like my brother. I don’t need any other family than that.”

  I’d hoped he’d tell me more about his real family. I hesitated, unsure if I should mention that I’d found articles about them. I didn’t want to appear as if I stalked him, even though that was the case.

  “Ask,” Fabiano said with a shrug, as usual able to read my face and the questions there.

  “I found something about your family on the internet. There was a picture of you with them and a few articles about your sisters. One of them called you ‘the renegade son.’”

  His lips pulled into a sardonic smile. “Interesting twist on events they construed in that article,” he said.

  “So, you didn’t leave for Las Vegas because you wanted to become Capo here?”

  “I would have been happy becoming Consigliere for Dante Cavallaro and the Outfit. Back when I didn’t know anything, I thought it was the ultimate honor to follow in my father’s footsteps. Now I know that there’s no honor in inheriting your position. The only way to deserve a position of power is if you fight for it, if you bleed and suffer for it.”

  “And you did,” I said. I’d seen the scars. And even without them, you didn’t become like Fabiano if life hadn’t forged you in fire.

  “I did, and so did Remo. He tore his position as Capo from the bleeding hands of the man who deemed himself capable of the job.”

  “And his brothers? What about them? Is that why they all have to fight? To prove their worth.”

  “That’s one reason, yes.”

  It was strange that humankind thought it had come so far that humans considered themselves superior to animals, when we, too, still followed our base instincts. We looked up to the strong for a true leader, an alpha to guide our way, to take away the difficult decisions. The thrill of power struggles still captivated us. Why else were sports like cage fighting or boxing so popular?

  I realized we weren’t heading for my father’s apartment nor to Fabiano’s place.

  “Hungry?” he asked, nodding toward the KFC drive-thru, the corner of his mouth twitching.

  I nodded, wondering what he was up to.

  “How about chicken for dinner and Las Vegas to ourselves?” he asked.

  I smiled. “Sounds perfect.”

  The car smelled of the fried chicken and fries as Fabiano drove us up to the hill he had taken me for our first date. We were probably the only people who celebrated Christmas Eve with a KFC meal, but I didn’t care. It wasn’t like I’d had better Christmas dinners in the previous years. I was glad that Fabiano wasn’t trying to imitate a traditional celebration. We parked at the very edge of the hill and stared out toward the bright city lights as we ate. “I think this is the best Christmas of my life,” I said between bites of chicken.

  “I wished it weren’t,” Fabiano murmured.

  I shrugged. “So you had good Christmases with your family?”

  His walls came up, but he gave me a reply. “When I was young, five or six, before my oldest sister left. After that, things quickly went downhill.”

  He fell silent and put down his half-eaten drumstick.

  I licked sauce off my fingers then dropped them self-consciously when I noticed Fabiano watching me. He reached for my throat and brushed over my pulse point where he’d left a mark two days ago, his blue eyes possessive and ... something gentler.

  “Let’s go out for a bit. I have a blanket in the trunk.”

  Fabiano got out of the car and picked up the blanket. I walked up to the hood of the car and let my eyes take in the skyline. Las Vegas looked like it always did. It was flashy and colorful and bright. It could have been any evening other than Christmas, and I was glad for it. Fabiano came up beside me and handed me the wool blanket. I wrapped it around myself. It was soft and smelled of lavender. Fabiano’s body was taut with tension, and he was looking—no, glaring—down at a small package in his hands.

  A dark blue box with a silver ribbon. Oh, no. Was this for me? My stomach plummeted. I didn’t have anything for him. I hadn’t even thought about it. It had been so long since I’d celebrated Christmas that I hadn’t even considered buying him a present. And what could I have gotten him anyway? He had every luxury possible.

  I looked up from the box to find Fabiano now regarding me as if he was trying to make up his mind. Eventually he held out his hand with the present.

  I didn’t take it. “You don’t have to give me anything.”

  His grip on the parcel tightened. “I want it gone.”

  Okay. I blinked.

  I took the box hesitantly. “I don’t have anything for you.”

  He didn’t look surprised. “You don’t have to, Leona. It’s nothing.”

  “No, it’s not. Nobody has given me a Christmas present in years,” I admitted and felt raw because of it.

  Fabiano�
��s expression softened for the briefest moment. I opened the box with shaking fingers. Inside was a gold bracelet with small blue stones decorating it. “It’s beautiful.”

  “Put it on,” he said as he sank down on the hood of his car. He had a very strange look in his eyes as he regarded the bracelet, almost as if the piece of jewelry had come to haunt him.

  I held my arm out for him, and he fastened the bracelet around my wrist. The stones flashed in the headlights. I’d have to keep it hidden from my father and in the bar as well. It was pathetic to think that I would rarely have an opportunity to wear it openly.

  I searched Fabiano’s eyes. They gave nothing away. Part of me was scared of what I wanted. Part of me was scared he’d grow tired of me the moment I gave him what he wanted. I knew how things could turn out.

  His hand found mine, linking our fingers, and I stared down at our hands then slowly back up because I wasn’t sure if he was doing this because he knew how it affected me or if he was being real. If this ... whatever it was ... was even real.

  He cupped my face and pulled me toward him. My knees hit the bumper between his legs as our bodies molded together. He kissed me, slow and languid. I pressed my palms against his firm chest, feeling his calm heartbeat. His lips trailed over my cheek then brushed my ear.

  “I can think of something you could give me as a present.”

  I stilled against him, my gaze seeking his. In the near dark it was difficult to read him. Sometimes it felt like he was doing it on purpose, saying something to break the moment, to destroy what could amount to something beautiful.

  I cleared my throat. “I told you—”

  “You won’t sleep with me, I know.”

  I raised the wrist with the bracelet. “Is that why you bought this?”