by Cora Reilly
Nino tore his eyes away from his brother and looked at me. My chest tightened with relief and warmth, and I wanted to go to him and hug him, wanted to soothe him with words, give him comfort with my touch, but Nino wasn’t like that. He didn’t need comfort, or tenderness, or love…
“Play that song again,” he said quietly.
I touched my fingertips to the keys and began the song, a song that wasn’t just a string of notes but a gaping hole in my heart. Nino approached me slowly, and as he did, Remo backed away a few steps but kept watching us.
Nino lowered himself beside me on the bench, but I didn’t stop playing. I closed my eyes and let the music flow, wishing he could understand that this song encompassed everything I felt for him, everything I’d ever felt for him. Then new notes rang out, and my eyes jerked open, my fingers faltering as Nino began to play the song as well. What?
He added his own notes, and I realized it was on purpose. I joined in and played my melody, the two melodies seeming to flow around each other. It was more beautiful than anything I’d ever heard. Nino’s eyes were on my face as he played the song from memory without faltering, but I had to return my gaze to the keys because I couldn’t understand the look in his eyes.
Remo met my gaze briefly over the piano, and his expression was just as unreadable. Then he turned around and left. I didn’t understand any of this, but hearing Nino’s melody merge with mine, creating something inexplicably beautiful … it felt like a gift.
Nino and I played until the sun rose over the mansion and filled the room with light. Our melody had evolved, a string of beautiful notes, and my heart seemed to burst with emotions when our fingers finally lifted off the keys. Nino looked exhausted, and my own body yearned for sleep too, but at the same time, I felt like screaming my feelings from the rooftops.
I stood and took Nino’s hand. His cool gaze flitted up to me. “Let’s go to bed,” I whispered.
Something shifted in his eyes as if for once there was something that scared him, as if he didn’t trust himself while asleep.
“We don’t have to sleep, but you need to rest for a bit,” I told him, and finally he got up from the piano bench and followed me upstairs.
Nino lay down, and I stretched out beside him, close but not touching. I wanted to press up against him, give him closeness. In the past he’d held me to comfort me, not because he required that kind of attention.
My gaze flickered across his face. His eyes were distant, and there was tightness to his mouth that suggested he was still fighting something within him.
I couldn’t hold back anymore and reached out for him, laying one hand hesitantly on his arm. It was ridiculous for me to be worried about touching him. We’d been closer than that, but I didn’t want to push something onto Nino if he didn’t want it just because it would have helped me.
His eyes zeroed in on me, and he lifted his arm so I could move closer, and I snuggled up to him, my hand coming to rest on his hard abs. I wished I knew if this was something he wanted, something he needed, or if he did it for me as part of his simulated affection.
I didn’t dare ask him what had caused this episode, or what he had seen in his mind to bring him to his knees like that, but the question burned on my tongue. Maybe one day he would tell me.
CHAPTER 21
KIARA
We stayed in bed until midday, and for once, I woke before Nino. I was wedged against his side as usual, and he looked peaceful sleeping, no sign of last night’s episode visible on his face. His cheek bone was swollen with a bluish tint as expected, but it didn’t make Nino less attractive. For some reason this small blemish on his perfect face made him even more beautiful.
He stirred and opened his eyes. I smiled at him. “How do you feel?”
He remained silent for a few heartbeats. “Different.”
“Different?” I echoed, confused, but he didn’t elaborate. He untangled himself from the blankets and sat up with a slight wince, his palm pressing up against his ribs.
“Do you need something for the pain?”
“No,” he said. “It’ll fade. And pain is a good motivator. Next time I’ll have to be better so my opponent doesn’t land hits like this.”
I climbed out of bed as well and hovered beside him. “Will you go swimming?”
Nino nodded. “It’ll help with the tiredness.”
I grabbed my book and put on my bathrobe while Nino put on his swim trunks. He didn’t bother going into the bathroom anymore. We were past that point. We headed outside in silence, and I took my usual place in the lounge chair while Nino dove into the water. His movements weren’t as rhythmic or as smooth as usual. He drove himself harder than ever before, swimming fast and almost angrily. I wasn’t sure how one could swim angrily, but it sure looked like it.
I put my book down and stood to get a better view. Nino’s breaths were short, less controlled, as he swam one round after the other. This was a much longer swimming session than his daily thirty minutes. Worry gnawed at me as I watched him overexert him as if he was trying to swim away from something.
Finally, he stopped and held himself against the wall of the pool, his chest heaving, panting. He pushed himself out of the water, inked arms flexing, and staggered to his feet. I handed him his towel, and he pressed it against his face. When he lowered it to dry the rest of his body, the calm returned to his expression, but it looked wrong. Off. I couldn’t even pinpoint why.
“Let’s go inside. I’ll make us something to eat.”
Nino didn’t bother changing out of his swim trunks, and he followed me into the kitchen. I began to gather everything needed to make pancakes. The sounds of the clanking pots had Remo joining us. He was dressed and looked surprisingly well rested despite my intrusion last night.
His eyes darted from me to Nino, who was reading the news on his phone without looking up. Remo moved to my side, as usual ignoring my personal space as his hip bumped against mine. He watched me whip together the batter.
“How’s he doing?” he murmured, his dark eyes filled with worry.
I paused because that sight still got to me. “I don’t know. He’s still acting weird.”
Remo moved to the kitchen table and sank down in a chair across from Nino. “So are you up for work today?”
Nino put down his phone and looked up. “What do you have in mind?”
“We caught two Outfit bastards. I thought we could get some information out of them. When we’re done, we can send them back to Cavallaro in a few nicely wrapped packages. What do you think? Will a nice round of torture lift your spirits?” Remo smiled twistedly.
Was he being serious? Did he really want to involve Nino in something this brutal when he wasn’t quite himself? “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
Both Nino and Remo glanced my way. Nino furrowed his brows in an almost confused expression while Remo had murder on his face. I was growing used to it.
“You better remember your place,” Remo said harshly.
Nino met my gaze. “Your worry is unnecessary, Kiara.”
I doubted it, but I kept my mouth shut and prepared the pancakes, dividing them between three plates, and carried them over to the table.
Remo seemed surprised.
“I assumed you’d want to eat with us. Even if you threaten me, I won’t let you go hungry.”
His dark eyes assessed my face, and I returned his gaze. Didn’t he always insist I needed to learn to be a Falcone? Not cowering to him was a good step toward that goal. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought I saw a flicker of respect in his eyes.
“I like you better now that you aren’t scared of your own fucking shadow anymore.”
I shrugged. “And I like you better when you’re not being scary and bossy.”
“Then you don’t like me very often,” Remo said, digging into his pancakes. I sat down beside Nino, and he surprised me by putting his hand down on my thigh and squeezing. When I chanced a glance at him, he was focused on eating.
“When do we need to leave?” Nino asked his brother.
“The assholes are in the basement of the Sugar Trap. Savio and Fabiano are already there. I wanted to wait for you before we started.”
Nino nodded and finished his pancakes. “I’ll get dressed and then we can leave.” He turned to me and hesitated. “Is Adamo here?”
“He should be here, but the asshole snuck out this morning and took my Bugatti. If he gets back, I’ll kick his fucking ass. Until then, your girl will be alone here.”
Nino shook his head. “No. She can’t defend herself yet.”
I frowned. “The mansion is safe, and I’m good with a gun. Well … decent, but that should be enough.”
“Decent is not good enough against most of our enemies. Cavallaro will soon realize we have his soldiers. I won’t leave you unguarded.”
“She can come with us,” Remo said with a shrug.
I knew the Sugar Trap was a strip club and whorehouse. But if the Camorra’s enemies were taken there, that probably wasn’t all it was used for.
Nino regarded me. “That is a difficult place for Kiara.”
“I can deal,” I said firmly.
The second we stepped into the Sugar Trap, everyone’s eyes swiveled toward us. A few scantily clad women were gathered around the bar, talking to a tall, black guy sorting bottles. He nodded at Remo and Nino but regarded me curiously. The women, however, only mumbled a few words of greeting before they returned to what they had been doing. Poles were spread around the room on small stages, and there were several doors branching off the main bar. I assumed they were for private sessions.
Remo’s hard eyes only brushed over the women as if their mere presence annoyed him. Nino turned to me. “You can wait in our office while Remo and I are in the basement.”
I shook my head. “No, I’ll stay here and talk to the women.”
Remo snorted. “They are whores. Talking isn’t what they’re good at.”
I bit back a comeback and turned to Nino, trying to hide my worry. It must have showed because he brought my hand up to his lips and kissed my wrist. Several women gaped at us from their spot at the bar, and even Remo looked caught off guard. Public displays of affection weren’t usually Nino’s style.
Nino leaned forward, whispering in my ear. “I’ve survived every horror you can imagine, Kiara. Don’t waste your worry on me. Torturing Outfit bastards won’t do anything to me. I don’t feel their fear. I don’t care about their begging.” He pulled back, and I released a breath. Without another word, Nino and Remo walked through the backdoor.
The moment they were gone, the five women dared to stare at me again, and the guy behind the bar watched me too. I walked toward them. “Hi,” I said, trying to hide my embarrassment. “I’m Kiara Falcone.”
The guy laughed. “Everyone knows who you are, Mrs. Falcone. I’m Jerry. What can I do for you?” His white teeth contrasted with his dark face, and I liked him at once.
The women whispered among themselves but didn’t say anything directly to me. A few months ago this would have driven me away, but I’d learned to brave unsettling situations.
“What do you have?” I asked Jerry.
“Everything you want. Wine, beer, shots, cocktails. And even if we don’t have it, I’d get it for you, Mrs. Falcone.”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “No need for that, please. Just give me a Coke. It’s too early for wine.”
“If you ask me, every hour of the day is wine o’clock,” the woman closest to me said as she raised a glass with red wine. She was very tall and had long blond hair, and was heavily made up like the other women. I supposed it was required in their field of work. I’d never before dealt with a sex worker. As my eyes took in the five women, I wondered how many of them had started working here of their own free will and how many had been dragged into this by a Romancer or to pay of their own debts. The other women, too, had wineglasses in front of them. I supposed alcohol made it easier to live a life like that.
“Give me a glass of white wine,” I said. I couldn’t help but wonder with how many of these women Nino had slept, but I decided not to ask.
Jerry chuckled. “Don’t let their alcoholism rub off on you.” Despite his words, he poured me a generous glass and slid it toward me.
“Free alcohol is one of the few perks of working here,” another woman muttered.
I took a sip from my wine and regarded them, looking for signs of abuse. A few of them had small bruises on their arms or legs but nothing major.
“I’m C.J.,” said a younger woman with long brown hair and a kind smile.
“She’s a Falcone,” the woman beside her hissed.
I took another sip. “I am,” I confirmed. “I’m also a person and a woman. You don’t have to fear me.”
The tall woman shook her head. “You are not one of us, that’s for sure.”
“I’m not, you are right, but I understand more than you think. I’m not your enemy.”
C.J. walked around and leaned against the bar counter beside me. “We heard what happened in New York, what the Falcones did to your uncle.”
Jerry shoved her shoulder lightly. “Why don’t you shut up?”
I swallowed, but then I forced a smile and nodded. “Nino and Remo killed him.”
“Slaughtered him,” the tall woman butted in.
“Got what he deserved, if you ask me,” C.J. muttered.
“Many men deserve the same,” the tall woman said.
I put down my glass and blurted, “Are you sex slaves?”
C.J. shrugged. “Not the kidnapped-in-the-middle-of-the-night kind, no. Most of us started this because we didn’t have a choice. We needed the money, we felt obligated, and most of us stay because once you’re in this, it’s hard to work a normal job again. Once the debts to the Camorra are paid off, we earn good money.”
The tall woman narrowed her eyes at me. “There are very few women in this business who do this because they enjoy it. Maybe johns want to believe most of us are nymphomaniacs who became hoes to get more dick. Fucking assholes. As if any of us enjoy sucking the dick of an old, hairy, unwashed bastard.”
“Here comes the prick responsible for fresh meat,” C.J. whispered, and the look in her eyes made it clear; he was the reason why she worked at the Sugar Trap.
I turned around and a tall, brown-haired man, maybe a couple of years older than me, entered the club. He was very handsome, and I understood why he had become the Camorra’s Romancer. It was his job to make women fall for him until they were in so deep that they would do anything for him; even sell their bodies. He didn’t give off the scary vibe so many Made Men did. He knew how to hide it, which was probably crucial if you wanted to lure women into your trap. His eyes wandered over the women without a hint of guilt. Then they settled on me and his face was puzzled. I hadn’t met him yet, or at least, I hadn’t noticed him. Something in his behavior shifted ever so slightly, as if he wasn’t sure where to put me, but then he strode toward me and recognition flashed across his face.
He ignored the women beside me, shook hands with Jerry, then turned to me. “I’m Stefano,” he said in a silky voice. “It’s a pleasure meeting you.” His charming smile hit me full force.
Remo prowled through the backdoor, covered in blood, and tapped the counter. “Four scotches, Jerry.” Then his dark eyes moved on to Stefano. He shook his head and narrowed his eyes before walking around to meet us. I couldn’t take my eyes off his blood-spattered arms and throat. His shirt was black, but I was sure it was drenched in blood too.
He grabbed Stefano’s shoulder. “That is a conquest you wouldn’t survive, Stefano. I’d hate to lose my best Romancer, but I’d have to put you down, and you’d fucking thank me for it because Nino would fucking tear you into bite-sized pieces and feed them to you.”
Stefano watched Remo’s bloody hand on his white shirt, curling his lip. “I know who she is, Capo. I was only introducing myself.”
“We know how it
goes. You charm them and then they fall head over heels and lose their few remaining brain cells.” Remo flashed a cruel smile at the gathered women.
I rolled my eyes. “First, I’m not going to fall for him. I’m Nino’s. And second, I have more than a few brain cells.” I didn’t mention that no matter what Stefano did, he couldn’t win my heart because my heart belonged to Nino.
Stefano’s eyes widened, and he looked at Remo as if he expected his Capo would strike me dead for the audacity.
“Indeed.” Remo smirked and released Stefano, leaving a bloody handprint on the man’s shirt. Jerry handed Remo a tray with four glasses of scotch. “We’re almost done,” he said to me, then to Stefano, “Hands off.” The women backed away as he passed them with the tray.
Stefano let out an Italian curse under his breath as he regarded his ruined shirt.
“I suppose you won’t charm your way into girls’ hearts with blood on your shirt.”
He shrugged. “If I told the right story, they’d believe I saved a man’s life and that’s why I have that handprint on my shirt. Women believe all kinds of shit if an attractive man makes them feel special and tells them how gorgeous they are, even if they’re average at most.”
I took a deep swig of my wine, not sure what to say to that.
But C.J. found my words. “You’re an asshole.”
Stefano grinned at her. “That’s not what you said when I fucked your brains out and you declared your love for me.”
She paled then whirled around and disappeared through the door behind the bar.
“That was very rude,” I said. “I don’t know why you think you can treat women like you do.”
“Because they allow me to treat them like that,” he said quietly, his brown eyes hard. “Everyone gets what they deserve.”
I shook my head at him and hopped off the barstool to find C.J. A corridor led to a staff-only door that was left ajar, and I stepped in, finding C.J. leaning against a sink, crying.
