The Camorra Chronicles Box Set

  Copyright ©2019 Cora Reilly

  All Rights Reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the author except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, businesses, events and places are either the product of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously.

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  CONTENTS

  Twisted Loyalties

  Twisted Emotions

  Twisted Pride

  PROLOGUE

  NEW YORK – FAMIGLIA TERRITORY

  Luca had been Capo for more than ten years, but things had never been this fucked up. Perched on the edge of the wide mahogany desk, Luca scanned the crinkled map showing the borders of their territory. His Famiglia still controlled the entire length of the East Coast, from Maine to Georgia. Nothing had changed in decades. The Camorra, however, had extended their territory far beyond Las Vegas into the east, having acquired Kansas City from the Russians only recently. Their Capo, Remo Falcone, was starting to get too confident. Luca had a fucking inkling that his next move would be attack either Outfit or Famiglia territory. Luca had to make sure Falcone set his sights on Dante Cavallaro’s cities and not his own. Enough of his men had already died in the war between the Famiglia and the Outfit. Another war with the Camorra would tear them apart.

  “I know you don’t like the idea,” he muttered to his soldier.

  Growl nodded. “I don’t, but I’m in no position to tell you what to do. You are Capo. I can only tell you what I know about the Camorra, and it’s not good.”

  “So what?” Matteo, Luca’s brother and right hand man, said with a shrug, spinning his knife between his fingers. “We can handle them.”

  A knock sounded and Aria entered the office, which was in the basement of Luca’s club, the Sphere. She curiously raised her blond eyebrows, wondering why her husband had called her. He usually handled business on his own. Matteo and Growl were already inside. Luca was leaning against the desk and unfolded his tall frame from when she stepped into the room. She went over to him and kissed his lips lovingly then asked, “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” Luca said matter-of-factly, his lips set tight, his eyes holding a wary glint. Something was off. “But we’ve contacted the Camorra for negotiations.”

  Aria glanced at Growl. He had fled Las Vegas six years ago after he’d killed the Camorra’s Capo, Benedetto Falcone. From what he’d told them, the Camorra was much worse than the Outfit or the Famiglia. Besides the usual business of drugs, casinos, and prostitution, they also dealt in sex slavery and kidnapping. In the mafia world, the Camorra was considered bad news. “You did?”

  “The fight with the Outfit is weakening us. With the Bratva already breaching our territory, we have to be careful. We can’t risk the Outfit forging a deal with the Camorra before we get the chance. If they fight us together, we’ll be in trouble.”

  Guilt filled Aria. She and her sisters were the reason why the truce between the Chicago Outfit and the New York Famiglia had dissolved. Her marriage to Luca was supposed to create a bond between the two families, but when her youngest sister, Liliana, fled Chicago to marry Luca’s soldier, Romero, the Outfit’s boss, Dante Cavallaro, declared war on them; he couldn’t have reacted any other way.

  “Do you think they will even consider talking to us?” Aria asked. She still wasn’t sure why she was here in the first place. She didn’t have any useful information about the Camorra.

  Luca nodded. “They sent one of their own to talk to us. He’ll be here soon.” Something in his voice, an undercurrent of tension and worry, raised the little hairs on her neck.

  “They’re taking a huge risk by sending someone. They can’t know if he’s going to return alive,” Aria said in surprise.

  “One life is nothing to them,” Growl murmured. “And the Capo didn’t send one of his brothers. He sent his new Enforcer.”

  Aria didn’t like the way Luca, Matteo, and Growl were looking at her.

  “They think he’ll be safe,” Luca said and after a long pause added, “because it’s your brother.”

  The ground dropped away from Aria’s feet, and she gripped the edge of the desk. “Fabi?” she whispered.

  She hadn’t seen or talked to him in many years. Since they declared war, she wasn’t allowed to contact her brother. Her father, the Consigliere of the Outfit, had made sure of it.

  She paused in her thoughts. “What’s Fabi doing with the Camorra? He is a member of the Outfit. He was supposed to follow my father as Consigliere one day.”

  “He was supposed to, yes,” Luca said, exchanging a look with the other men. “But your father’s got two younger sons with his new wife, and apparently one of them will become Consigliere. We don’t know what went down, but for some reason Fabiano defected to the Camorra, and for some reason they took him in. It’s difficult to get accurate information on the matter.”

  “I can’t believe it. I’m going to see my brother again. When?” she asked eagerly. Fabiano was almost nine years younger than Aria, and she’d practically raised him until she had to leave Chicago to marry Luca.

  Growl shook his head with a frown.

  Luca touched Aria’s shoulder. “Aria, your brother is the new Enforcer of the Camorra.”

  It took a few seconds for the information to sink in. Aria’s eyes darted over to Growl. His tattoos and scars, and the darkness lingering in his eyes, scared her. And being married to Luca, she wasn’t easily scared anymore.

  Growl had been the Enforcer of the Camorra when Benettone Falcone had been Capo. And now that Falcone’s son had seized power, Fabi had taken over the role. She swallowed. Enforcer. They did the dirty work. The bloody work. They made sure people obeyed, and if they didn’t obey, Enforcers made sure their fate was a warning to anyone considering the same.

  “No,” she said softly. “Not Fabi. He’s not capable of that kind of thing.” He had been a caring, gentle boy and had always tried to protect his sisters.

  Matteo gave her a look that told her she was being naïve. She didn’t care as long as it kept the memory of her kind, funny little brother alive. She didn’t want to imagine him as anything else.

  “The brother you knew won’t be the brother you’ll see today. He’ll be someone completely different. That boy you knew ... he’s dead. He has to be. Enforcement isn’t a job for the kindhearted. It’s cruel and dirty work. And the Camorra doesn’t show mercy toward women like is habit for New York or Chicago. I doubt that’s changed. Remo Falcone is a twisted fucker like his father,” Growl said in his raspy voice.

  Aria looked at Luca, hoping he’d contradict his soldier. He didn’t. Something in Aria cracked. “I can’t believe it. I don’t want to,” she said. “How could he have changed so much?”

  “He’s here,” one of Luca’s men informed them, walking into the office. “But he refuses to hand over his weapons.”

  Luca nodded. “It doesn’t matter. We outnumber him. Let him through.” Then he turned to Aria. “Perhaps we’ll find out today.”

  Aria tensed with the sound of steps approaching. A tall man stepped through the open office door. He was almost as tall as Luca. Not quite as broad, but muscled. A Tattoo peeked out under his rolled-up shirtsleeves. His dark blond hair was buzzed on the sides and slightly longer on top, and his ice-blue eyes ...

  Cold. Calculating. Cautious.

  Aria wasn’t sure she would have recognized him in the street. No longer a boy, he was a man—and not just judging by his age. His eyes settled on her. The smile of the past didn’t come, even though recognition flashed in his eyes. God, there really was nothing left of the lighthearted boy she remembered. But he was still her brother. He would always be. It was foolish, but she rushed toward him, ignoring Luca’s growled warning.

  Her brother grew tense as she threw her arms around him. She could feel the knives strapped to his back, the guns in his chest holster. She was confident there were more weapons on his body. He didn’t hug her back, but one of his hands cupped her neck. Aria looked up at him then. She hadn’t expected to see the anger in his eyes as he returned his focus to Luca and the other men in the room.

  “No need for drawn weapons,” he said with a hint of cold amusement. “I haven’t traveled all the way to hurt my sister.”

  His touch on her neck seemed more like a threat and less like a gesture of familiarity.

  Luca’s fingers closed around her upper arm, and he pulled her back. Fabiano followed the scene with dark humor in his eyes, remaining stock-still didn’t move an inch.

  “My god,” Aria whispered in a voice thick with tears. “What happened to you, Fabi?”

  A predator grin curled his lips.

  Not Fabi anymore, she thought. That man in front of her ... he was someone to be afraid of.

  Fabiano Scuderi.

  Enforcer of the Camorra.

  CHAPTER 1

  THE PAST – FABIANO

  I curled into myself and didn’t fight back. I never did.

  Father grunted from the effort of beating me. Punch after punch—my back, my head, my stomach—creating new bruises and awakening old bruises. I gasped when he shoved th
e toe of his shoe into my stomach, swallowing down bile. If I threw up, he’d only beat me worse. Or use the knife. I shuddered.

  Then the hits stopped, and I dared to look up, blinking to clear my vision. Sweat and blood dripped down my face.

  Breathing hard, Father glowered at me. He wiped his hands on a towel that his soldier, Alfonso, had handed him. Perhaps this was the last test to prove my worth. Maybe I’d finally become an official part of the Outfit. A Made Man.

  “Do I get my tattoo?” I rasped.

  Father’s lip curled. “Your tattoo? You won’t be part of the Outfit.”

  “But—” He kicked me again, and I fell back to my side. I pressed on, not caring about the consequences. “But I will be Consigliere when you retire.” When you die.

  He gripped my collar and pulled me to my feet. My legs ached as I tried to stand. “You are a fucking waste of my blood. You and your sisters share your mother’s tainted genes. One disappointment after another. All of you. Your sisters are whores, and you are weak. I’m done with you. Your brother will become Consigliere.”

  “But he’s a baby. I’m your oldest son.” Since Father had married his second wife, he’d treated me like dirt. I thought it was to make me strong for my future tasks, so I’d done everything I could to prove my worth to him.

  “You are a disappointment like your sisters. I won’t allow you to bring shame down on me.” He let go of me and my legs finally gave out.

  More pain.

  “But, Father,” I whispered. “It’s tradition.”

  Rage twisted his facial features. “Then, we’ll just have to make sure that your brother is my oldest son.” He nodded at Alfonso, who rolled up his sleeves.

  Alfonso landed the first punch in my stomach then my ribs. My eyes remained on my father as blow after blow shook my body, until my vision finally turned black. My own father would have me killed.

  “Make sure he won’t be found, Alfonso.”

  Pain. Bone deep.

  I groaned. Vibrations sent a twinge through my ribs. I tried to open my eyes and sit up, but my lids were crusted shut. I groaned again.

  I wasn’t dead.

  Why wasn’t I dead?

  Hope flared up inside me.

  “Father?” I croaked.

  “Shut up and sleep, boy. We’ll arrive soon.”

  That was Alfonso’s voice.

  I struggled into a sitting position and peeled my eyes open. Through blurry vision, I could see I was sitting in the back of a car.

  Alfonso turned to me. “You’re stronger than I thought. Good for you.”

  “Where?” I coughed then winced. “Where are we?”

  “Kansas City.” Alfonso steered the car onto an empty parking lot. “Final stop.”

  He got out, opened the back door, and pulled me out. I gasped in pain, holding my ribs, then staggered against the car. Alfonso flipped open his wallet and handed me a twenty-dollar note. I took it, confused.

  “Perhaps you’ll survive. Perhaps you won’t. I suppose it’s up to fate now. But I won’t kill a fourteen-year-old kid.” He grasped my throat, forcing me to meet his eyes. “Your father thinks you’re dead, boy, so make sure you stay away from our territory.”

  Their territory? It was my territory. The Outfit was my destiny. I didn’t have anything else.

  “Please,” I whispered.

  He shook his head then walked around the car and got in. I took a step back when he drove off, sinking down to my knees. My clothes were covered in blood. I clutched the money in my hand. This was all I had. Slowly, I stretched out on the cool asphalt. Pressure against my calf reminded me of my favorite knife, strapped to a holster there. Twenty dollars and a knife. My body ached. I never wanted to get up again. There was no sense in doing anything. I was nothing. I wished Alfonso had done as my father ordered and just killed me.

  I coughed and tasted blood. I’ll probably die anyway. My eyes flitted around. Graffiti covered the wall of a building to my right: a snarling wolf in front of swords.

  The sign of the Bratva.

  Alfonso couldn’t kill me himself.

  This place surely would. Kansas City belonged to the Russians.

  Fear urged me to get to my feet and leave. I wasn’t sure where to go or what to do. I hurt all over. At least it wasn’t too cold. I began walking, looking for a place to spend the night. Eventually, I settled for the entrance of a coffee shop. I’d never been alone, never had to live on the streets. I pulled my legs against my chest and swallowed a whimper. My ribs. They hurt fiercely. I couldn’t return to the Outfit. Father would make sure I was dead this time. Perhaps I could try to contact Dante Cavallaro. He and Father had worked together for a long time, and I’d look like a fucking rat. A coward and weakling.

  Aria would help. My stomach clenched. Her helping Lily and Gianna was the reason why Father hated me in the first place. Running to New York with my tail between my legs, begging Luca to make me part of the Famiglia, wasn’t going to happen. Everyone would know I had been taken in out of pity, not because I was a worthy asset.

  Worthless.

  This was it. I was alone.

  Four days later. Only four days. I was out of money and hope. Every night I returned to the parking lot, hoping, wishing that Alfonso would return, that Father had changed his mind, that his last pitiless, hateful look had been my imagination. I was a fucking idiot. And hungry.

  No food in two days. I’d wasted the whole twenty bucks on burgers, fries, and Dr. Pepper the first day.

  I held my ribs. The pain had gotten worse. I’d tried to get money by pickpocketing today. Chose the wrong guy and he beat up. I didn’t know how to survive on the street. I wasn’t sure I wanted to keep trying.

  What was I going to do? No Outfit. No future. No honor.

  I sank down on the ground of the parking lot, in plain view of the Bratva graffiti. I lay back. The door opened as men left the building, walking away. Bratva territory.

  I was so fucking tired.

  My death wouldn’t be slow. They would take their time. The pain in my limbs and hopelessness kept me in place. I stared up at the night sky and began reciting the oath I’d memorized months ago, in preparation for the day of my induction. The Italian words flowing from my mouth filled me with loss and despair. I repeated the oath over and over again. It had been my destiny to become a made man.

  There were voices to my right. Male voices in a foreign language.

  Suddenly a black-haired guy stared down at me. He was bruised, though not as badly as me, and dressed in fight shorts. “They say there’s a crazy Italian fucker outside, spouting Omertá. I guess they meant you.”

  I fell silent. He’d said ‘Omertá’ like I would say it, like it meant something. He was covered in scars. Probably a few years older than me. Eighteen, perhaps.

  “Talking that kind of shit in this area means you’ve got a death wish or are bat-shit crazy. Probably both.”

  “That oath was my life,” I said.

  He shrugged then looked over his shoulder before turning back with a twisted smile. “Now it’s going to be your death.”

  I sat up. Three men in fight shorts, bodies covered in tattoos of wolves and Kalashnikovs and heads clean shaven, stepped out of a door beside the Bratva building.

  I considered lying back and letting them finish what Alfonso couldn’t.

  “What family?” The black-haired guy asked.

  “Outfit,” I replied, even as the word ripped a hole in my heart.

  He nodded. “Suppose they got rid of you. No balls to do what it takes to be a made man?”

  Who was he? “I got what it takes,” I hissed. “But my father wants me dead.”

  “Then prove it. Get the fuck up from the ground and fight.” He narrowed his eyes when I didn’t move. “Get. The. Fuck. Up.”

  And I did, even though my world spun and I had to hold on to my ribs. His black eyes took in my injuries. “Suppose I will have to do most of the fighting. Got any weapons?”

  I pulled my Karambit knife from the holster around my calf.

  “I hope you can handle that thing.”

  Then the Russians were upon us. The guy began some martial arts shit that kept two of the Russians busy. The third headed my way. I swiped my knife at him and missed. He landed a few hits that had my chest screaming with agony, and I dropped to my knees. With my body battered and bruised, I had no chance against a trained fighter like him. His fists rained down on me, hard, fast, merciless. Pain.