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Nevio smirked. “Of course, you do, Rory.” He drew in a deep breath as if he was sniffing the air for a trail. “I like how much potential for havoc the darkness holds. The same night sky, two very different perspectives.”
I didn’t know what to say to that, so I nodded. Once again, it felt like a simple conversation attempt had brought even more distance between us. The back door to our patio swung open, and Dad waited in the doorway.
Nevio tipped an invisible head. “Where’s Massimo?”
“At your mansion,” Dad said and motioned for me to come in. I stepped up to his side. “Thanks for taking me home.”
Dad glanced between Nevio and me. “Always the gentleman,” he said dryly.
Nevio grinned at him, waved at me, and left. Soon, his tall form disappeared in the shadows.
“Carlotta is up in your bedroom with your mom.”
“Okay,” I said with a tired smile.
Dad was watching me in a way I couldn’t quite place, and I was too tired to try. Trying not to embarrass myself in front of Nevio had taken enough out of me.
When I arrived at my door, Mom just pulled it shut. “There you are. Carlotta is getting ready.”
Mom pressed a kiss to my cheek, and I slipped into my bedroom. I turned off the main light in favor of my dimmed down night-light, then I perched on the windowsill. It didn’t take long until three shadows moved across the lawn, dressed in black. They carried backpacks, and Alessio wore a black balaclava. A shiver passed my spine.
“I don’t know why they have to do this at night when they’re already doing so much for the Camorra during the day,” Carlotta murmured when she came up behind me.
I’d often asked myself that question too. “Maybe it’s the thrill of the forbidden.”
“I wonder if this is more Nevio’s doing, and Alessio and Massimo just join him out of solidarity.”
I pursed my lips. “Alessio and Massimo aren’t innocent bystanders either.”
“I know,” Carlotta said softly, but I could hear that she disagreed.
I had been surprised when Mom and Dad had agreed to let me go to Roger’s Arena on a fight night. For a long time, even my argument that Davide had been allowed to go for a while had seemed invalid in comparison to their need to protect me. Dad was overly protective of me, but in this case, I was certain that Mom had been the one who had been against it more. She loathed the cage fights and was anxious weeks before Dad’s fights. They had become less frequent in recent years, but on occasion, he and the Falcone brothers still showed their strength in the cages.
“Are you sure you don’t want to ride with us?” Mom asked again as I put on my favorite white sneakers in our entry hall.
“She’ll be fine, Leona,” Dad said with a hint of amusement. “Let her soak up the pre-fight atmosphere with the trio.”
Mom sank her teeth into her lower lip. “I’m just worried they’re already too caught up in their fight mode and will be reckless.”
“It’s a short drive, and I’m sure Massimo will be the one driving.” Dad went over to Mom and grabbed her shoulders, rubbing them lightly. “Relax. You’re tenser than on my fight nights.”
I giggled. “Mom, you realize I won’t be in the cage tonight, right?”
Mom huffed. “You two shouldn’t gang up on me. And trust me, Aurora, seeing a fight on screen and seeing it live are two very different things.”
I had watched only one recorded fight a couple of days ago. It had been one of Dad’s old fights, and it had made me squeamish. Not because of the blood—I had no trouble with that, but the brutality with which Dad had acted had unsettled me. I only knew a different version of him. I could only imagine how much more impressive it would be to see a live fight, especially as I’d heard stories of how brutal the fights of the trio were.
My phone beeped with a message from Carlotta.
On my way.
I smiled in relief. I had worried that Carlotta would bail. She wasn’t too fond of blood and definitely didn’t enjoy fighting as much as her sister, Gemma, did, who had had fight training when she was our age. Diego would drive her to the fight, though. He was in the arena more than any other Camorrista because of his wife, Antonia, who had inherited the bar from her father, Roger.
I got up and regarded myself critically in the mirror. It had probably taken me way too long to decide what to wear to an event where nobody would be dressed up or pay attention to what I was wearing. Eventually, I’d settled on tight black jeans and a burgundy off-the-shoulder crop top.
“It’s cool inside the arena. You should put a cardigan on,” Dad said pointedly.
Mom rolled her eyes. “It’s sweltering in there. She’ll be fine.”
