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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.
“Hey,” I said hesitantly, suddenly unsure if it was a good idea that I was here. I was the wife of the man who owned the Sugar Trap and even more places like that. C.J. and the other women belonged to the Camorra, and basically Nino as well. He wasn’t Capo, but none of Remo’s decisions were made without consulting Nino first.
I handed her a tissue. “I’m sorry for what he said.”
“Why? It’s the truth. I fell for him because he said exactly what I wanted to hear, what no man had ever said to me. He seemed too good to be true, but I didn’t want to see the signs pointing toward the truth.”
“Sometimes it’s easier to believe a lie,” I said quietly, because I believed Nino’s simulated affection too, much too eagerly.
She met my gaze. “I slept with Nino.”
My body seized with shock. I had guessed that some of these women had slept with him, but hearing her say it still hurt.
“But it’s been a while. I haven’t seen him with any of us in weeks.”
Some of the weight lifted off my chest—probably since I’d told him I wanted him to stop being with other women. So he had kept word. “He’s slept with many women before me,” I said with a small shrug.
“Yeah, they all do,” she said bitterly.
“Did … did he force you?”
She tilted her head. “I’m a whore.”
“That doesn’t mean you don’t have the right to say no.”
She smiled. “That’s not how it works. But he never forced me. I never said no. Why would I? There are far worse men out there than Nino Falcone. He’s good looking and not cruel during sex. That’s a good thing.”
I nodded quickly, glad when she stopped talking about having sex with Nino. “Why don’t you leave? Or are you still paying off your debt?”
“Not anymore, no. It’s been paid off for a year now, but I don’t have anything to return to. I’ve grown used to this life. If you’ve been around here for a while, it’s not like you can work a normal job. We’ve all seen too much. We could work as waitresses in one of the Camorra’s clubs or bars, but there aren’t many other options once you’re in this.”
“So you are a prisoner of the Camorra.”
C.J. touched my arm. “Aren’t we all? Don’t tell me your life has ever been yours?”
No. It wasn’t. Born in blood. That was what every child, girl or boy, was in our world. I was no longer bound to the Famiglia. Now I was bound to the Camorra. But free? That wasn’t something I would ever be. It wasn’t something I’d ever considered an option. A bird born in captivity will never know the feeling of unbridled freedom the open sky can offer. How can you long for something you have never experienced?
“It’s okay. Don’t blame yourself. Some things just can’t be changed.”
“I know,” I said, but it didn’t change the fact that I wanted to change them.
Nino was clean when he emerged from the backdoor and so was Remo. I was back at the bar with C.J. sitting beside me, drinking our second glass of wine. “I should leave,” she said quickly. “The first customers will arrive soon.”
I nodded. I had every intention of making it my goal to visit the whorehouses of the Camorra and get to know the women there. If I knew them, I’d feel even more obligated to help them—even if I knew it was a losing battle. Remo would never listen to me, and even Nino wouldn’t let me meddle in their business.
