Twisted Loyalties (The Camorra Chronicles Book 1) Read online

  Twisted Loyalties

  Cora Reilly

  Contents

  Title Page

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  More Books by Cora Reilly

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 by 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.

  Cover design by Romantic Book Affairs Designs

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  Prologue

  NEW YORK – Famiglia territory

  Luca had been Capo for more than ten years, but things had never been more fucked up than they were now. He was perched on the edge of the wide mahogany desk as he scanned the crinkled map that showed 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 won over Kansas City from the Russians only recently. Remo Falcone was starting to get too confident. Luca had a fucking inkling that his next move would be an attack on either Outfit or Famiglia territory. Now he had to make sure Falcone set his sights on Dante Cavallaro’s cities and not his own. War between the Famiglia and the Outfit had killed enough of his men already. 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 no good.”

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

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

  “Nothing,” Luca said matter-of-factly. Something in his face was off, though. “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 far worse than the Outfit or the Famiglia. They still dealt in sex slavery and kidnapping, besides the usual business of drugs, casinos and prostitution. Even in the mafia world, they were 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 broken. 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 save,” Luca said. “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 him or talked to him in many years. Since war had been declared, 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 valid information on the matter.”

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

  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 to Growl. He still scared her with his tattoos and scars, with the darkness lingering in his eyes. And she wasn’t easily scared anymore, not being married to Luca.

  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 and gentle boy, had always tried to protect his sisters.

  Matteo gave her a look that told her she was being naïve. She didn’t care. She wanted to be naïve if it meant keeping the memory of her kind, funny little brother. 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 else. That boy you knew, he’s dead. He has to be. Enforcement isn’t a job for the kind hearted. It’s cruel and dirty work. And the Camorra doesn’t show mercy toward women like it’s habit in 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 what his soldier had
said. He didn’t. Something in Aria cracked. “I can’t believe it. I don’t want to,” she said. “How can he have changed so much?”

  “He’s here,” one of Luca’s men informed them. “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 when steps approached. The door was opened and a tall man stepped in. He was almost as tall as Luca. Not quite as broad, but muscled. A Tattoo peeked out under his rolled up shirtsleeves. His dark blonde hair was cut short 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. He was no longer a boy; he was a man. Not just by age. His eyes settled on her. The smile of the past didn’t come, even though recognition flashed in his eyes. God, there was nothing left of the light-hearted boy she remembered. But he was 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 the holster around his chest. She knew there would be 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 anger in his eyes before 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 less like a gesture of familiarity than a threat.

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

  “My God,” Aria whispered in a tear-thick voice. “What happened to you?”

  A predator grin curled his lips.

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

  Fabiano Scuderi.

  Enforcer of the Camorra.

  Chapter One

  The past:

  I curled into myself. I 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, awakening old bruises. I gasped when the toe of his shoe shoved into my stomach and had to swallow down bile. If I threw up, he’d only beat me worse. Or take the knife. I shuddered.

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

  Father glowered at me, breathing hard. He wiped his hands on a towel that his soldier Alfonso had handed him. Perhaps this was the last test to prove my worth. Perhaps 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 hurt 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 the other. 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’d thought it was to make me strong for my future tasks. I’d done everything 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 gave way.

  More pain.

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

  His face twisted with rage. “Then we’ll just have to make sure that your brother is my oldest son.” He nodded at Alfonso, who rolled up his sleeves. The first punch hit my stomach, then my ribs. I kept my eyes on my Father as punch after punch shook my body, until my vision finally turned black. He’d kill me.

  “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.

  “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. My vision was blurry. 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, then 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, then sank down to my knees. My clothes were covered in blood. I clutched the dollar note in my palms. 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 and 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 killed me.

  I coughed and tasted blood. Perhaps I’d die anyway. My eyes flitted around. There was a huge graffiti on the wall of the building to my right. A snarling wolf in front of swords.

  The sign of the Bratva.

  Alfonso couldn’t kill me himself.

  This place would. Kansas City belonged to the Russians.

  Fear urged me to rise and leave. I wasn’t sure where to go or what to do. I hurt all over. At least it wasn’t cold. I began walking to look for a place I could 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, swallowed a whimper. My ribs. They hurt fiercely. I couldn’t return to the Outfit. Father would kill me. Perhaps I could try to contact Dante Cavallaro. But he and Father had worked together for a long time. 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. And running to New York with my tail between my legs to beg 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 at me had been my imagination. . I was a fucking idiot. And hungry.

  No food in two days. I’d wasted my entire money the first day on burgers, fries and Dr. Pepper.

  I held my ribs. The pain had gotten worse. I’d tried to get money with pickpocketing today. Chose the wrong guy and been beaten 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 lied back. The door opened, men got out and walked away. Bratva territory.

  I was so fucking tired.

  It wouldn’t be slow. 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 flowed out of 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, not as badly as me, and dressed in fight shorts. “They say there’s a crazy Italian fucker outside sprouting 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. Only a few years older. Eighteen perhaps.

  “Talking that kind of shit in this area means you got a death wish or are batshit 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, heads clean-shaven stepped out of a door beside the Bratva graffiti.

  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. Not the 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. And now get the fuck up from the ground and fight.” He narrowed his eyes when I didn’t move. “Get. The. Fuck. Up.”