by Cora Reilly
Fabiano leaped into the cage, cat-like and breathtaking. His eyes sought mine and for a split second he looked at peace.
I had stopped washing the glasses, stopped listening to the customers. There was only him. The crowd erupted with a new wave of cheers. That man. He was mine.
I had never been worth anything, but one look from him made me feel like the center of the world.
His opponent hopped from one foot to the other, balled fists raised, trying to goad Fabiano into action. With a last glance at me Fabiano leaped toward his opponent.
His punches were hard. There was no hesitation in his hits and kicks. His eyes were keen and attentive, reading his opponent and using his weakness. Everything about this sport was brutal and hard. Relentless. But Fabiano’s movements spoke of grace and control. The crowd yowled and applauded every time he landed a hit. Blood soon covered Fabiano’s hands and arms. He was harder and crueler on his opponent than last time.
Cheryl leaned close as she put dirty glasses in the wash water. “I hope that puts some sense in you. If that doesn’t scare you shitless, nothing will.”
Fear was the last thing on my mind as I watched Fabiano. Cheryl regarded me, then shook her head. “Oh Chick, and I thought Stefano was the Camorra’s romancer. Who would have thought that their monster would break your heart?”
“He isn’t a monster. And he’s not breaking anything,” I murmured.
She loaded her tray with beer bottles for the next table. “He will break something. If it’s only your heart, you are lucky. And if you haven’t seen his monster until now, you might be in more trouble than I thought. Don’t come running my way when you encounter it.”
She knew nothing. “Don’t worry.”
Soon the man was lying on the ground, Fabiano crouched over him, punching him over and over again.
I shivered, and felt relieved when the man finally patted the ground in surrender. The referee entered the cage and raised Fabiano’s arm into the air. Fabiano looked my way, body covered in blood.
He looked magnificent. His words from our first meeting came back to me, about alpha males and their appeal, and I had to admit that he had been right as far as I was concerned. I’d never been mesmerized by fighting before but watching Fabiano was something else entirely.
He climbed out of the cage and accepted the congratulating hands of several customers, but his eyes kept returning to me. I put down the dishtowel, then grabbed a bottle of water.
“Where are you going, Chick? Right into the lion’s den?”
Cheryl shook her head and took my place behind the bar. “Go ahead. Everyone has to dig their own grave, I suppose.”
I sent her a grateful smile despite her annoying words, and slunk toward the changing room. People were still too focused on the fighting cage, where the Camorra’s bookie had appeared.
I didn’t bother knocking before I entered the changing room. He’d seen me following him. I doubted anyone ever managed to sneak up on him. My clothes stuck to my skin from working all day and it should have made me self-conscious. I needed a shower, but my need for something else was even stronger. Fabiano wiped the remaining traces of blood away. Now his chest only glistened with sweat, the sheen accentuating every hard ridge of his perfect body. I wanted to trace my tongue along the dip between his pecs, down to the fine hair disappearing in the hem of his boxers. I’d never felt acute want like this. He was risking his position for me, and I wanted to risk something too.
I quickly tore my gaze away from Fabiano and stepped into the changing room, then closed the door before someone saw me. I needed to stop thinking like that about Fabiano. Touching him and having him touch me was okay, but if I allowed more he’d stop respecting me. He’d lose interest. I knew it. Especially now that he knew what my mother was. The cool door under my palms grounded me. I didn’t hear his approach but felt him close behind me, his heat pressed up against my back. “You kept distracting me today,” he murmured close to my ear. I shuddered at his proximity. Seeing him fight today, had turned me on. There was no use denying it. The sport was brutal and hard, and Fabiano knew no mercy when he beat up his opponents, but my body responded to the sight of him. He’d looked invincible. Powerful.
The image of his hungry stare after he’d won sent a sweet tingling to the spot between my legs. “I can’t stay here forever. People will start to wonder what we’re doing.” I didn’t doubt that several people had noticed me going into the changing room with Fabiano. I cringed at what they might think about me now.
“Let them wonder,” Fabiano growled, then licked over my shoulder blade. “You taste perfect.”
I shivered. “I’m sweaty.”
He gripped my hips and whirled me around to him, his head coming down and his lips claiming mine. I opened up, my tongue darting out to meet his. I ran my hand over his slick chest, my fingers trailing over the ridges. Perfection. He hissed when I slid over a cut.
“Sorry,” I mumbled quickly but he quieted me with his tongue.
He backed me up until my shins collided with something hard. His arm wrapped around my lower back and he lowered me until I lay on the narrow wooden bench. One knee between my legs, he was bent over me, his mouth conquering mine, stealing my breath and making me dizzy with emotions and need. He didn’t let up and I could feel myself getting more and more aroused with every second. His tongue was so wonderfully skillful as it caressed mine. The scent of fresh sweat and Fabiano’s own muskiness engulfed me.
He moved his knee up until it pressed against my crotch and I moaned into his mouth at the sensation. I had to stop myself from rubbing myself shamelessly against his knee for some release. “Stay like that,” he ordered, then he moved back and only when he knelt on the floor between my legs did it dawn on me what he had in mind.
My eyes darted to the door. “Fabiano, please. What if someone comes in?”
“They won’t.”
“I’m sweaty. You can’t.” I shoved at his head but he didn’t let himself be deterred from what he was doing. He slid my skirt up, then hooked a finger under my panties and shifted them to the side. Cool air hit my wet flesh and my muscles tightened with need. “Oh Leona,” he whispered darkly. “I thought you didn’t like to see me fighting.” He leaned his head against my inner thigh, his eyes darting from my most private area, wet and throbbing for him, to my face. I flushed with embarrassment but didn’t say anything.
“But your pussy seems to enjoy it a lot.”
Why did he have to use that word?
He blew against me and I quavered. I needed him to touch me. Shoving him away was taking a backseat in my mind as I watched him lower his hungry gaze between my legs again.
And then he leaned forward and I held my breath, every muscle in my body taut with tension. His tongue darted out, licking over my heated flesh, sending a torrent of sensations through my lower body. I squeezed my eyes shut and bit down on my lip to stop myself from making a sound. Outside music was still blaring but I didn’t want to risk anything. He took his time, exploring with his tongue. Good Lord.
I gasped and arched off the bench as he kept up his ministrations, mouth and tongue sure of every twitch and turn they did, driving me up toward a point I’d never imagined.
“You are perfect,” he rumbled against me, and the sound of his voice was like a hot shower after hours in the cold.
I curled my fingers around the edge of the bench, clinging to it desperately as my legs began trembling. My breath came in short bursts.
Fabiano closed his mouth over me and began sucking. I whimpered but he pressed on, tongue circling and flicking. I was falling. A different kind of falling than before. I let out a small cry, one hand darting out to grab his blond hair. He hummed his approval as I kept him in place. I needed this. He pulled a few inches back, and I huffed in protest. I was so close. “Don’t stop,” I pleaded, not caring how desperate I sounded. I was so close to the edge. Raw need.
A need so strong it hurt. I wanted to tumble over t
his cliff, and fall and fall. I needed that fall.
“But what if someone comes in,” he asked in a low voice, his tongue sliding along my inner thigh. He was taunting me now.
“Fabiano, please. I don’t care!”
He chuckled. He held my gaze as he lowered his head so very slowly and when his lips brushed my flesh I almost cried from relief. He flicked his tongue over my clit, eyes possessing me, owning every inch of me, and I gasped as my body exploded with heat. I shook against the bench and if Fabiano’s hands on my hips hadn’t kept me in place I would have tumbled onto the floor in a heap. Black seeped into my vision as the waves of pleasure raced through me.
My limbs felt heavy and sluggish. Gradually the throbbing between my legs started to fade. Fabiano crouched over me, eyes full of possessiveness. I breathed heavily.
“That was perfect,” I got out.
He shook his head. “It’s only the beginning.”
There it was again. That promise sounding like a threat. Where was he taking me? Down a path I’d never chosen for myself, a path farther away from a mundane, bourgeois life I’d imagined for myself. He kissed my throat. “And happy New Year.”
New Year, I’d almost forgotten. Would this finally be a good year?
Fabiano straightened, all flexing muscles and dark hunger as he towered over me. Even the loose fighting boxers couldn’t hide his arousal. I pushed myself into a sitting position, knowing what he wanted, and wanting it too, but unsure if it was wise. We’d been in the changing room for too long already. But I’d stopped being wise a long time ago.
I peered up at him, eyes locked on his. I reached out and pressed my palm against the bulge in his pants. His abs flexed but he didn’t make a sound. Still full of control. I wanted to see him give it up, wanted him to fall like I was. Both body and heart.
I rubbed him through the thin fabric, feeling him grow even bigger. I tugged at his waistband, wanting to see him in all his naked glory.
And for the first time I didn’t care how it would make me look that I wanted a man, that I felt lust and acted upon it. I curled my fingers around his shaft, feeling it throb. It felt hard and hot, and yet smooth. Marvelous. Every inch of him.
I ran my fingers up and down slowly, but Fabiano gave a thrust of his hips. I peered up.
“Leona, I’m in no state of mind for the soft approach.”
I tightened my hold and moved faster, but eventually let him take control as he closed his hand over mine and thrust his hips in rhythm with his strokes. New blood dripped from the wound over his ribs but he didn’t seem to mind. I raised my gaze from our hands moving together, to his face. Hunger and need. And that gentler emotion that scared me shitless, but that scared him even more. I knew that now.
When he tensed and his release took over I watched his face in wonder, hoping for a revelation, and he looked marvelous, but not unhinged. Still in control, even now.
I think I love you.
His eyes peeled open, and his emotionless mask slid over his features as we stared at each other. He took my hand and led me toward the shower.
I followed even as I said, “Fabiano, we can’t.”
He ignored my protest and pulled my dress up over my head, then removed my underwear. “You said you needed a shower.”
I gave up on protesting and slipped under the warm stream with him. His hands slid over my slick skin, and his lips found mine. Blood tinged the ground pink. He peered down at me, as the water plastered his hair against his head. “Do you still think I want to degrade you?”
I flushed, wanting to forget my words from that night. He had given me pleasure with his mouth, but it was different. “No,” I said quietly.
“Good.” And then his lips were back on mine and I let him pull me out of reality as his warmth surrounded me. I placed my palm over his heart, feeling its beat. I wanted it to beat only for me. His fingers curled around my hand and he pulled it away. Away from his heart, and raised it to his lips for a kiss. I pressed my forehead against his shoulder.
This was enough.
Chapter Seventeen
I stifled a sigh when a knock sounded at my door. I had to leave for work in a few minutes and had no time for a talk to my father. Since Mom had moved in with us two days ago, our already strained relationship had taken a nosedive toward worse. He only wanted money from me anyway. That was the only reason why he even let me and Mom stay with him. But I didn’t have much money. I’d given almost all of my savings to my mother, so she could pay part of her debt to the Camorra. And it still wasn’t enough, which was why she was out on the street selling her body again.
I opened the door.
Dad was deathly pale, sweat coating his forehead.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, even though I had a sinking feeling that I knew. There was always the same thing wrong.
“I’m in trouble, Leona.”
“You always are,” I said, reaching for my backpack to head out but Dad gripped my arm. “Leona, please. They will kill me. He will.”
I froze. “Why would they do that?”
“I’m owing too much. I can’t pay them. I’m a dead man if you don’t help me, Leo, please.”
Leo. That was a name he’d called me when I’d been a little girl, when he’d still occasionally been a decent father.
He’s not your business. That’s what Fabiano had told me, and after the last days of my father treating my mother like shit, I wanted to agree with him.
“How much do you owe them?”
“I don’t know. Two thousand perhaps. I don’t know! I lost track.”
How could he lose track of his debts? I closed my eyes for a moment. The remaining money was supposed to get me into college, to buy me a future, and again my father ruined it. I turned and took the money from its hiding place beneath the carpet, and held it out to my father. He didn’t take it. “I can’t bring them the money. They will kill me before I can hand it over. Leona, you must go for me.”
I could go to Fabiano, and give him the money. Of course he wouldn’t take it. He would gladly kill my father. He had done enough for me already. “Where do I need to bring it?”
“It’s called the Sugartrap. That’s where Falcone and his Enforcers hang around most days.” He gave me the address, then clutched my hand. “You have to hurry. Perhaps they already sent someone out for me.”
I grabbed my backpack and headed for the place Father had told me. I’d not only give up my hard-earned money for him. I’d also be late for work because of it. If Roger threw me out, I’d be doomed. I doubted I’d get a job on the Strip, or anywhere else, soon. I knew we’d need every cent I earned with my mother and father both in Vegas.
When the red and yellow neon sign of the Sugartrap caught my eye, I halted. The word was wedged between two opened, high-heeled legs. The windows were tinted black so you couldn’t look inside. I knew what kind of place this was, and it wasn’t a place I’d ever wanted to set foot in.
There was a ginormous, black man guarding the door. I approached him slowly. He didn’t budge.
“I’m here to see Remo Falcone.” Even as I said it, I realized how foolish I must have sounded. Remo Falcone was the Capo of the Camorra. He owned everything that mattered if Fabiano was to be believed. Why on earth would he waste his time with me?
The bouncer seemed to think the same because he snorted. “Mr. Falcone doesn’t cast the girls who work here. Go away.”
Cast the girls? “I’m not here to work in this place,” I said indignantly. “I’m here because I have money for him.”
The man tilted his head to the side but still didn’t let me pass. I tried to catch a glimpse at his watch to see how late I was for work. I pulled the money from my backpack and held it out to the Bouncer. He reached for it but I snatched it back. I didn’t trust him to hand it over to Falcone. “Go away,” he muttered.
“Let her through,” came a cold drawl from behind me. I whirled around to look up at a tall man. Nino Falcone. He nodded for me t
o step into the gloomy light of the Sugartrap. I did, because, really, I doubted anyone could refuse those cold eyes.
“Straight ahead,” he said. I kept walking, even though having him behind me gave me the creeps.
The corridor opened up to a bar area of red velvet and black lacquer. There were poles and booths with velvet curtains, and several doors that branched off the main room.
“Go ahead. First door on the right.”
I peered at him over my shoulder. He walked two steps behind me, watching me with those cold, unreadable eyes. I showed him the money. “Perhaps you can give your brother the money. It’s from my father. His name is Greg Hall.”
“I know who he is,” Nino Falcone said, absolutely no hint of emotion in his eyes. “Go ahead.”
I shivered and moved toward the door he’d indicated. I pushed down the handle and stepped through, into another long corridor with black walls and a red carpet. I kept walking to the end where another door waited. The hairs on my neck rose at the proximity of Nino Falcone, and at his quiet scrutiny. “Let me,” he drawled and stepped past me to open that door. He entered a long room without windows. There was a desk on the left side that looked untouched. To the left there was a boxing sack and couches. Remo sat on one of them, laptop on his lap. His eyes moved up when his brother entered. Then they slid over to me and I knew it had been a huge mistake to come here. The man, Soto, that had attacked my father stood off to the side as if he was reporting to his Capo.
Remo Falcone put aside his laptop and rose from the sofa. Where Fabiano was grace and control, this man was unhinged power and barely contained aggression. My fingers crumpled the money.
