Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106518 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“I can’t accept either. It’s not right.”
“Who told you?” I asked.
She blinked, then averted her eyes. “Who told me what?” She was a horrible liar, and a worse actress.
“Don’t lie to me,” I said, a hint of impatience creeping into my tone.
Her blue eyes met mine. She hesitated. “I overheard a few people talking.”
I didn’t believe that shit for a second. She scanned my face. “So is it true?”
“Is what true?” I challenged.
“That you are part of the Camorra?”
She said it like the word meant nothing to her. She didn’t know what exactly we stood for, didn’t know how powerful we were. For most people the mere word was associated with fear, not for her. I hoped it would stay that way, but I knew it couldn’t. Living in this part of town, working for Roger, she’d soon see or hear things that would make her realize just what the Camorra did.
“I am,” I said, emptying the rest of my Scotch.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to keep it a secret?”
“It’s difficult to keep a secret that’s none.” The Camorra was Las Vegas. We controlled the night clubs and bars, restaurants and casinos. We organized the cage fights and street races. We gave the poor fuckers bread and games, and they accepted any distraction from their miserable lives greedily. People knew of us, recognized us. There was no sense in trying to pretend we were something else.
“But what about the police?” she asked. A few other customers were throwing glances her way, their glasses empty, but none of them would dare come over to interrupt us.
“Don’t worry,” I said simply. I couldn’t tell her about our association with the Sheriff of Clark County, and our connection to some of the judges. That wasn’t something she needed to know.
The seventy dollars were still lying on the bar between us. I picked them up and stalked around the bar. Leona’s gaze was a mixture of caution and curiosity. I took her wrist. She didn’t resist, only watched me intently. I fought the urge to back her up against the wall, and get a taste of her. Fuck, but I really wanted that taste.
I turned her hand and put the money into her palm. She opened her mouth, but I shook my head. “I don’t want that money back. You will buy yourself a nice dress and wear it tomorrow. And do me a favor and get rid of those fucking sandals. Then our debt is settled.”
Embarrassment filled her face as she looked down at herself. “Do I look that bad that you feel the need to buy me clothes?”
“I’m not buying you anything. I’m just giving you the money.”
“I’m sure it’s a big no-go to take money from someone like you,” she said quietly. I was still holding her hand and I could feel her pulse speeding up under my fingertips.
I leaned down to her ear. “It’s an even bigger no-go to refuse a gift from someone like me.”
She shuddered but still didn’t pull back. When I released her, she stayed close to me. “Then I’ll have no choice, I suppose,” she said.
“You don’t,” I agreed.
People were watching our exchange with badly hidden curiosity. A glance at the clock revealed that I needed to get going. I didn’t want to make Remo wait.
“Tomorrow I expect to see you in your new clothes,” I told her.
She nodded, then finally took a step back. Her expression was torn.
“So you’ll be back tomorrow?” she asked.
I walked back around the bar, then turned to her once more. “Yes.”
* * *
I watched Fabiano’s retreating back. Now that he wasn’t there to distract me anymore, I realized how many customers were sitting in front of empty glasses. Cheryl and the waitress of unidentifiable age were at the other end of the room, and only now began to make their way over to me. I quickly hid the money in my backpack before I rushed toward the first table to take orders. I could tell that people were mustering me curiously. This conversation with Fabiano had drawn more attention to me than I enjoyed.
I could still feel the remnants of shame when I thought of his request to buy a new dress for myself. I knew my clothes had seen better days. And my flip-flops…I stifled a sigh.
Perhaps I should have stood my ground and refused the money. Owing the mafia money was bad news, but Fabiano had gifted me the money not as a mobster but as a…what exactly? We weren’t friends. Barely knew each other. Was I in his debt, or worse in the Camorra’s? Did he expect something in return?
The idea was terrifying and exciting at the same time. Not that I would ever give him any kind of physical closeness in return for money, but the idea that he might be interested in me, filled me with a giddy kind of excitement.