Despite my lack of sleep due to my father’s rude wake up, I was full of energy all day. My pulse was still thumping with anger and disappointment over what had happened. I wasn’t sure why it still threw me off balance when one of my parents messed up. They had a habit of doing so, but offering me to his debtor like a whore? That was low even for my father. Despair wasn’t an explanation for everything.
“You’ve been cleaning the same glass for fifteen minutes. I think it’s as clean as it can get,” Fabiano drawled.
I jumped, my eyes zooming in on him. He leaned against the bar, elbows propped up on the smooth wood and a piercing look on his face. It was only eight o’clock. I still had almost six hours of work ahead of me, so what was he doing here?
I put the glass aside and Fabiano snatched up my forearm to pull me closer. He scanned the new fingerprint-shaped marks on my wrist. I had forgotten about them.
His eyes narrowed, his mouth set in a hard line. He stroked his thumb lightly over the bruise before he let go. “Tomorrow I’ll pick you up at home around ten o’clock. I’ll teach you how to defend yourself.”
It surprised me that he didn’t ask who had hurt me. Unless of course he’d found out what had happened somehow. He confirmed my suspicions when he slid two hundred dollars over to me. I quickly glanced around to make sure no one was watching. I didn’t need speculations about the reason for the money exchange. “Here’s your money back.”
“My father—” I swallowed. “Is he okay?” I couldn’t believe I even had to ask.
“He’s fine.”
I nodded, and glanced at the money. “But I paid his debt. If you give me the money back, he’ll be in trouble.”
“That’s not your fight, Leona,” Fabiano muttered. “Your father will keep loosing money and eventually he’ll die because of it. Don’t let him drag you down with him. I won’t allow it.”
I knew he was right. Dad was probably already losing money he didn’t have right as we spoke. He couldn’t act any other way. He let his addiction rule his life. I doubted he even still considered going to rehab. I’d seen with mom that rehab wasn’t going to save you if you didn’t have the willpower to go through with it.
“Take your money,” Fabiano pushed the notes farther in my direction. “And use it for yourself, for fuck’s sake.”
I picked up the money and stashed it in my backpack. “Do you want something to drink while you’re here?” I grabbed the Johnie Walker Blue Label from the shelf.
“You remember,” he said with a smirk.
“Of course,” I said simply. I remembered every moment of our encounters. They were the bright light of my time in Las Vegas so far, as ridiculous as it may sound. I poured him a generous amount. It wasn’t as if Roger would care. The Camorra owned everything anyway.
Fabiano took a large gulp, then held the glass in my direction. “Want a taste?”
It sounded dirty the way he said it. “No. I don’t drink. Ever.”
He nodded as if he understood, then he downed the rest of his Scotch and pushed back from the bar. “I still need to do some business. See you in a few hours.”
So he really intended to drive me home every night. I watched his broad back as he made his way through the hall, his gait elegant and lithe like that of a predator.
Sometimes I wondered if I was his prey, if this was an amusing chase for him, he’d soon get bored with. I wasn’t sure if it was something I should hope for.
He didn’t try to kiss me again when he drove me home that night, hadn’t since our first kiss. Perhaps he’d sensed that I would have pushed him away.
“Tomorrow morning, I’ll pick you up. Dress in something you can work out with.”
I got out. Fabiano waited until I was inside our apartment before he drove off.
The light was out in the apartment when I entered. I turned it on and was heading to my room when I noticed movement on the couch in the living room. Dad was sitting with his head bowed, moaning. I approached him slowly.
First I noticed the empty beer bottles on the table. If he stopped throwing away money for alcohol, he’d be better off. Then my eyes were drawn to his naked back and a glaring red mark.
I turned on the lights in the living room. Someone had cut a ‘C’ into his back. Blood had dried around the wound. It didn’t look as if Dad had treated it in any way, except for numbing the pain with alcohol of course.
Dad didn’t acknowledge my presence. He kept his face buried in his palms and let out a low moan.
“Dad?”
He grunted.
“Who did this?” I knew the answer of course.
Dad didn’t reply. He was probably too drunk considering the number of empty bottles that littered the ground. I turned and headed for the bathroom to grab a washcloth. I soaked it with cold water, then searched the cabinets for something to put on the wound. Except for expired Tylenol and a few dirty band-aids they were empty.
I returned to the living room and touched Dad’s shoulder to alert him of my presence. “I’m going to clean up your wound,” I warned him. When he didn’t react, I gently pressed the cold washcloth to the cut.
He let out a hiss and lashed out at me. I avoided being hit by his elbow by inches. “Shh. I’m trying to help you, Dad.”
“You’ve done enough. Leave me alone!”
His bloodshot eyes flashed with anger when he looked up at me.
“You should go to a doctor,” I said quietly, then put the wet washcloth down on the table in front of him in case he decided to clean his wound.
He returned to his bowed position and ignoring me.
I went to my bedroom and closed the door, bone tired from a long day at work and what I’d seen. Fabiano had cut my father as punishment for what he’d done. I didn’t kid myself into thinking that this small wound was the full extent of what Fabiano would do to my father if he messed up again.
I wasn’t sure if I could stop Fabiano. I wasn’t sure if I had the energy to try. I was sick of solving other people’s problems, when I had enough of my own.
I was dressed in my jeans shorts and a loose t-shirt when Fabiano picked me up at ten.
His eyebrows climbed his forehead when he saw my clothes. “That’s not what I meant when I told you to wear comfortable clothes.”
“I don’t own any workout clothes. And to be honest, this is one of three outfits I own in total, including the dress you bought for me,” I said snidely.
Fabiano looked at me for a long time, then he set the car in motion.
“I saw what you did to my father,” I told him.
No sign of guilt showed on his face. “He got what he deserved. If he wasn’t your father, he would have gotten worse.”
“This is you being lenient?” I asked incredulously.
“If that’s what you want to call it.”
It wasn’t the first time my father got in trouble like that. When I’d been around ten and lived with my parents in Dallas, he’d owed money to some biker group. The guys had almost beaten him and my mother to death over it. It didn’t stop my father from borrowing money again.
I leaned back against the seat, my head tilted toward Fabiano. He was steering the car with one hand, the other rested in a relaxed way on the center console. I wondered if his outward cool reflected his inner side. Could he really be that at ease with his life?
My eyes lingered on the dark blond five-o’clock shadow. It was the first time I saw him with anything but a perfectly shaved face and it made me want to rake my fingers over the short stubble.
Sin. That was what he was.
He glanced at me, his lips curling up and I tore my gaze away. Playing with fire had never been part of my life plan. Then why couldn’t I stop thinking about the man beside me?
He pulled up in front of an opulent white concrete building, at least ten stories high with a curved driveway, shielded by a long roof with thousands of light bulbs in multiple colors, most of them broken. An abandoned Casino building, I realized as we stepped through the glass revolving door into the game room. Silence had replaced the sound of the roulette wheels and slot machines. The red and gold chandelier was covered in dust, and an air of forlornness lay over the empty poker tables and Champagne bar. Broken Champagne flutes littered the black bar counter. This was where we would train? “Come on,” Fabiano said, and continued past the deserted cashier booth. The red and blue carpet was worn out from thousands of feet. I followed him, breathing in the old smell. Fabiano wasn’t impressed by our surroundings. He was in his zone. I could already see a change in his demeanor, as if he was eager for the fight. Perhaps the thrill of it was his addiction. Perhaps everyone had an addiction.
We left the first game room and stepped into the next; this one even more splendid than the first. Crystal chandeliers hung from high arched ceilings above our heads and the fluffy carpet softened our steps as my eyes took in the black marble columns and gold-ornamented wallpaper. Most of the roulette tables had been removed, but a few remained. They were no longer the main attraction.
A fighting cage and a boxing ring dominated the center of the room. Their stark brutality a shocking contrast to the luxury from the past. And randomly positioned among the remaining roulette tables were bench presses, punching bags and other weightlifting equipment. Heavy burgundy drapes covered the shell-shaped windows. The sun shone bright through the gap between them. Fabiano turned a switch and the chandeliers cast us in their golden, splintered glow. This wasn’t what I’d expected.
“So this is where you come to fight?”
Fabiano smirked. “This is where I come to train, and occasionally fight, yes.”
“Is it always this empty?”
“Depends. It’s mainly for my boss, his brothers and me. Few other people ever come here.”
“And I am allowed?” I asked.
He didn’t say anything, only led me to a dark mahogany door, then along a hallway with curling paint and torn carpet, around a corner and through another door and suddenly we were in a pool area. This room had been renovated recently. I didn’t get the chance to register more than the large swimming pool made from stainless steel and the Jacuzzi on an elevated platform to the right. “We need to find you some decent training shorts,” Fabiano said as he pulled me into the adjoining locker room.
It was functional like the pool area, nothing fancy or splendid.
“Why this place?”
Fabiano shrugged as he rummaged in a basket with clothes. “Remo wanted it, so he got it.”
“But isn’t it expensive to keep the place from falling apart? It’s a huge building.”
“Parts of it are falling apart. But it costs us more money than a standard gym would. Still what’s life without the occasional irrational decision?”
His blue eyes held mine, and the nerves I’d managed to calm with my curiosity about the building returned full force. Fabiano yanked red shorts out of the basket. “The youngest brother of my Capo uses these. Perhaps they will fit you.”
I took them from him. “Capo?” I asked curiously. I had heard the term of course but Fabiano had said it with so much respect, it surprised me.
“Remo Falcone, he is my Capo. My boss if you want.”
“You think highly of him.”
He nodded once. “Of course.”
I had a feeling he wasn’t just saying it because he had to. Cheryl had sounded terrified when she’d uttered Falcone’s name, but there was no fear in Fabiano’s voice.
“We didn’t come here to chitchat, remember?” he said with a grin. “Now let’s get changed.”
Without a warning he unbuckled his belt.
I turned around with a surprised gasp. “You could have warned me.”
“I could have, but I didn’t want to. I intend for you to see much more of me.”
I glanced around for a way to get some privacy but the room didn’t provide any. There weren’t any stalls, only lockers and an open shower area. Oh, damn it. I pulled down my jeans shorts and quickly slipped on the boxing shorts, then turned around. Fabiano’s full attention was on me as he leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his bare chest. I’d forgotten about that little detail of fighting with him. He didn’t wear a shirt when he was in the cage. My eyes trailed down to his dark blue boxers that hugged his narrow hips with the delicious V disappearing in his waistband.
“And?” he asked.
I blinked at him, tearing my eyes away from his chest. “And?” I repeated.
“Does it fit?”
How could anything not fit that body?
I realized he meant me. “Oh, the shorts, you mean? They are a bit loose but it should be fine.”
“You look sexy in them,” he said in a low voice.
My face blazed with heat.
“Don’t forget your knife. I want to see you use it.”
I bent over my backpack, glad for my hair hiding my blush, but he’d probably already seen it. I grabbed the knife and straightened. He opened the door and waited for me to go through. His warm scent wafted into my nose as I passed him. I had to get a grip on me. We headed back to the beautiful game room and I continued toward the boxing ring, glad to focus on something else than the dangerous, muscled man behind me.
“Not that way,” Fabiano said, a smirk in his voice. I turned and he pointed at the fighting cage to the right.
“In the cage?” I asked, horrified.
He jumped up on the elevated platform of the cage, grinning like a shark. “Of course. I want to see how you deal with stress.”
“Great,” I muttered. “As if fighting with you weren’t stressful enough.”
He held out a hand to me. I slipped my hand in his, and his fingers closed around me, warm and strong, and he pulled me up. I bumped against his chest and he held me there for a moment. I peered up into his face. The glow of the chandelier above our heads let his hair appear golden.
But a golden boy? No, that’s not what he was.
“I thought we were going to fight,” I whispered.
His lip curled. “Just seeing how much more uncomfortable I can make you,” he said.
I glared. “What makes you think this makes me uncomfortable?”
His smile widened. “So it doesn’t?”
I untangled myself from his hold and pointed at the cage door. “How does this thing open?”
He pressed down the handle, looking way too full of himself.
I stepped inside and goose bumps rose on my skin. I thought I could smell old blood beneath the prominent smell of disinfectant and steel. Fabiano closed the cage with a quiet click.
“I don’t get the appeal,” I said as I looked around the cage. “Why do people enjoy being locked into a cage like animals?”
“It’s the added thrill of not having an escape. The cage is unrelenting.”
I nodded, fumbling with the knife in my hand. The biggest chandelier dangling from the ceiling right above my head appeared more daunting than decorative.
“I want to see you handle it.”
I pressed the button that released the blade. It gleamed in the golden light.
I held the knife out.
Fabiano crooked his fingers invitingly. “Do what you would do to an attacker.”
I held the knife a bit higher, my palm closing tightly around the handle.
Fabiano was stifling a smile, I could tell. For him this was probably more than a little entertaining.
“Attack.”
I took a step forward but he bridged the remaining distance between us and feigned an attack. “Try not to lose your knife.”
I tightened my hold further, even though it seemed hardly possible. But before I knew it, Fabiano was there, in front of me, tall and imposing and muscled, and so at ease with what he was doing. There was a short painful pressure on my wrist, and the knife clattered to the ground. I reached for it but Fabiano was quicker. He twisted the knife in his hand, admiring the blade.
I glared. “It’s not fair. You are much stronger and more experienced.” I rubbed my wrist. I hadn’t even seen what Fabiano had done.
Fabiano shook his head. “Life isn’t fair, Leona. You should know. Your attacker won’t be a one hundred pound female with delicate feelings. He will be a two hundred pound fucker who likes to hurt females with delicate feelings.” And then he towered over me again, all muscle and strength and power, and I wanted to kiss him, not fight him.
“That knife,” he said in a low, threatening voice as he held out the blade between us. “It can be your salvation or your downfall.” He gripped my arm and whirled me around. My back collided with his chest as he pressed me against him. I was frozen with shock. He touched the tip of the blade to the skin between my breasts, then he slowly trailed it down to my stomach. The pressure wasn’t enough to leave a mark but my stomach turned at the thought of how it would feel if it were. “That knife can give your opponent another advantage over you. If you can’t handle the knife, you shouldn’t use it.” He let go of me and I staggered forward, out of his embrace. My heart pounded in my chest as I looked down at myself. I could still feel the touch of the blade on my skin. I closed my eyes, trying to stop my rising panic, and worse, arousal.
Fabiano was right. If my attacker got hold of my knife, he’d use it against me. The knife had given me a sense of security but now even that was gone. I turned around to Fabiano who was watching me intently. He held the knife out to me. I approached him slowly and took it.
“Cut me,” he said.
“Excuse me?” I asked.
“Cut me. I want to see if you have what it takes to hurt someone. Cut me.”
I shook my head, taking a step back. “I won’t. This is stupid.”
Fabiano shook his head in obvious annoyance, then snatched the knife from my grip. His eyes held mine as he pressed the blade against his palm and slashed. I staggered back, not from the blood welling up, but from his actions. He dropped the knife to the ground. Blood dripped down on the grey flooring. He squeezed his bleeding hand into a fist, and more blood coated his knuckles.
“I can see that you are scared. Fear is never a good companion in a fight,” Fabiano said, looking completely at ease in the fighting cage. No sign of pain either.
For him this was familiar ground, a place he felt at home in. For me the high cage seemed to tower over me menacingly. Even its luxurious surroundings couldn’t change that. And it wasn’t really helping that I was supposed to fight Fabiano. With his rock-hard stomach, muscled arms and keen eyes he looked already a fighter. And I had seen him fight. There was nothing to compare it to. His speed. His strength. His determination.
I, however, felt out of place.
Fabiano opened his arms, palms outward. My eyes lingered on the gash in his palm he seemed oblivious to. “Hit me. That’s something you can do, right?”
I took a step toward him.
“Curl you hands into fists. Don’t even think about hitting me with your open palm. You’re not swatting at a fly.”
He was making fun of me. I clenched my fists as he’d ordered and took another step toward him. I wasn’t even sure where to hit him. He took a sudden step toward me, startling me, and I backed off.
“Hit me,” he ordered again.
I propelled my fist forward and rammed it into his stomach. A second before the impact I could see his sixpack become an eightpack as he tightened his muscles.
My knuckles collided with his hard stomach and I winced. I pulled back immediately.
“Was that your hardest hit?” he asked.
I frowned. “Yes. Why? Was it that bad?”
His expression gave me an unmistakable answer. “Now kick me as hard as you can and aim as high as possible.”
Hitting had already felt strange but kicking someone was completely out of my comfort zone.
I swung my leg and landed a kick against his ribs. He shook his head. I might as well have batted at him with a feather boa. “That’s no good. I’m not even moving and your aim and force are already bad.”
Had he anything nice to say? I was starting to get annoyed.
He got into a fighting stance and faced away from me. Then he did a high kick against the cage. The crash made me jump and the ground vibrated under my bare feet from the force of Fabiano’s kick. It was still hard to believe how high he could raise his leg and how hard he could kick with it. My leg would have fallen off if I’d tried to move it that high up.
“Perhaps you don’t have the right incentive. Most women only ever dare to hit hard when they’re cornered. Let’s pretend I’m attacking you.”
The thought thrilled and terrified me at once. I nodded, trying to look like I was ready for this.
His blue eyes slid over my body unabashedly. “Do what you must to escape my grip. Hurt me.”
As if there was the slightest chance that I could. And without a warning he lunged forward, grabbed my shoulders and pressed me up against the cage. Caught up between the cold metal and his warm muscled chest, there was no way I could hit him. I twisted but his hold on me didn’t waver. “Fight, Leona. Imagine I was out to hurt you, out to rape you, out to kill you,” he said in a dark whisper that raised the hairs on my neck.
I tried to push away from the cage again, but there was no way Fabiano was budging. He was as unmovable as the cage.
“You need to do better than that,” he murmured against my ear, then licked a trickle of sweat from my throat. It sent a tingle down my spine. Without warning, he released me and I quickly faced him, hoping he couldn’t see what the gesture had done to my body.
He pushed his hair back, a self-satisfied smile on his face. “Brace yourself. I expect you to do better this time.”
I was on the verge of protesting when he jumped forward. Before I knew what was happening, he’d kicked my legs out under me. I gasped as I fell backward and braced myself for the impact. But it never came. Instead Fabiano’s arm snaked around my waist and he lowered me to the ground. Of course that wasn’t the end of it. He knelt over me and pressed my wrists into the ground over my head. His palm was slippery against my skin – blood. One of his knees wedged between my legs, forcing them apart.
My heart galloped in my chest as I stared up into his face. Was this still a game? He looked so focused and…eager. But then a slow smile spread on his face and breathing became easier. “I hope this wasn’t you really trying,” he said. “An attacker could have his way with you now. It wouldn’t be very difficult to rip your clothes off and force myself on you.”
“You would kill anyone who did,” I said. It was a horrible thing to say. And I didn’t know why I had said it. I didn’t know if Fabiano would go that far.
He lowered himself completely on top of me, and somehow his warm weight felt perfect. “You think?” he murmured. “Why would I do such a thing?”
His eyes immobilized me. I couldn’t say anything for a while.
Suddenly I felt foolishly daring. “Because you don’t like to share me.”
Possessiveness filled his face. He pressed his hips against my crotch, and my eyes shot open wide. He was hard. Heat flooded me. I should have pushed him away but I was too surprised and fascinated.
He bent down and licked my collarbone. “I want nothing more than to fuck you right here in the middle of this cage.”
My muscles tensed up. This was too fast. I still wasn’t sure if I should keep this thing up with Fabiano. And I definitely didn’t want to be fucked in a cage like an animal, even if a tiny part of my body disagreed.
I didn’t get the chance to push him away though because he shoved himself off the ground, and landed on his feet in one graceful move.
Fabiano
I crouched in front of her, taking in the sight of her shock-widened eyes and disheveled locks. She propped herself up on her elbows but made no move to stand up.
Her eyes went to my boxer before she quickly looked away. I knew she’d be blushing if her face weren’t already red from exertion. A thrill went through me, as it always did when her innocence shone through. I straightened and slowly she stumbled to her feet as well.
She was a horrible fighter. It wasn’t in her nature to hurt people. Perhaps I could have pushed her into hitting harder if I’d hurt her. Pain was a strong catalyst, but hurting her wasn’t something I had in mind. I wanted to make her scream but not from agony.
She balled her hands to fists. Her wrists were covered in bloody fingerprints but the gash in my palm was only a dim throb.
“Are we going to try again?”
I smirked. She was trying to escape the situation. I inclined my head, then feigned an attack. She raised her arms protectively and closed her eyes. “Don’t ever close your eyes in front of an enemy.”
She glared at me, and tried to land a hit against my stomach. I sidestepped her futile attempt, and grabbed her from behind. I locked her arms under mine and pressed my hips against her butt. I moved her forward until she was pressed up against the cage and my erection was pressed up against her firm butt. She made a sound of protest. “Fabiano,” she wheezed, anger seeping through. “Stop it.”
“Make me,” I challenged, then lightly bit the crook of her neck and suckled the skin into my mouth. She let out a moan, stilled and began squirming in earnest. When I released her soft skin, I’d left my mark. She tried a backwards kick but only lightly grazed my shin. “You can do better,” I said.
She tried to push back but again had no chance against me. Perhaps it was unfair. Even the best fighters didn’t last long in a fight against me. But what I was doing with Leona didn’t even come close to fighting. Playing was more like it.
Suddenly she became slack under my touch and pressed her butt against my erection. If she thought that would throw me off, she was sorely mistaken. Unlike her, I had more than enough experience and wasn’t unnerved by a butt against my cock. The only bothersome thing was the clothes separating her butt from my cock.
“Playing with fire?” I asked quietly.
“You started it,” she muttered, indignation flashing in her eyes. There was finally some fight in them.
“And I’m willing to play it to the end,” I said suggestively. “Are you?” I dug my erection against her butt once more.
She became still. “No. I’m not.” Her voice was no longer playful or angry. I peered down at the soft freckles of her nose and cheek. Her eyes met mine. She was uneasy and nervous, but not scared. She trusted me to respect her boundaries. Leona might be my undoing. I loosened my hold on her arms, allowing her to turn around. She tilted her head up, searching my face. I wondered when she’d stop looking for something that wasn’t there. I pressed my palms into the cage beside her head, letting my head fall forward until our lips were less than an inch apart. Her eyes darted down, and she surprised me when she rose on her tiptoes and closed the gap. Her kiss was soft and restrained. My body was screaming for something else. I deepened the kiss, then grabbed her butt and lifted her until her legs slung around my waist. Her back pressed up against the cage, I ravished her mouth. She clung to my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin and her heels into my butt. When she pulled back, she was breathless and dazed.
“You’re not good at setting boundaries,” I told her.
She leaned her head back against the cage. “I know,” she said guiltily.
“So that’s what you call fighting?” Nino drawled as he walked in, a sport bag swung over his shoulder. His attentive gaze stopped on Leona. Every muscle in me tensed.
I lowered Leona, then put my hand on her back.
Nino followed the gesture. His expression didn’t change. Unlike Remo, he wasn’t prone to emotional outbursts. It made him harder to read, definitely not less dangerous. Tall, lean, immaculate beard and dark hair pulled into a short ponytail, Nino looked like a runway model. Women fell hard for him until they realized that his emotionless expression wasn’t a mask. Nino didn’t have to hide his emotions. He had none.
“We’re done here,” I said. I nudged Leona toward the cage door, opened it, then climbed out first before I lifted Leona down. She stood close beside me. She was wary of Nino, as she should be. Her instincts couldn’t be completely off if she recognized him as a danger.
I greeted him with a short embrace and a clap on the shoulder. “Who are you training with?”
“Adamo, if he decides to show up.”
I rolled my eyes. “Good luck.” His eyes slid behind me to Leona again. And something protective and fierce swelled in my chest. He didn’t say anymore. I doubted he was really interested in her. He was curious because I showed interest in her.
I led Leona toward the changing room, but only grabbed our bags.
“Aren’t we going to change?” she asked.
I shook my head. I wanted to get her away from Nino. It was safer if Remo and his brothers wouldn’t see Leona too often. I led her outside and toward my car. Some of the tension fell off me as we brought some distance between us and Nino. Remo and his brothers were like family to me but I knew better than to trust them with Leona.
Leona gave me a sideways glance. “Who was he?”
“Nino. One of Remo’s brothers.”
“You didn’t like being around him,” she said.
If she’d picked up on it, Nino would have too. That wasn’t good. “I practically grew up with him. He’s like my brother, but I don’t like you around him. It’s better if you don’t get involved in that part of my life.”
“Okay,” she said simply.
When we arrived in front of her home, I turned toward her, wanting to fucking kiss her again. I’d played it cool since our first kiss but I was tired of holding back, especially after what happened in the cage.
“Are you celebrating Christmas with Remo and his brothers?” she asked.
I stiffened. I hadn’t expected that question. “I don’t really celebrate Christmas.” I hadn’t in several years. Not since my sisters left for New York. I didn’t care for the holidays, but now that she’d mentioned it, I realized that Christmas was only a week away.
“Me neither. I will probably work,” she said with a small shrug.
“Won’t you celebrate with your father or your mother?”
She stared out of the windshield, fidgeting with her shorts. “I used to. A long time ago. When I was little we managed two or three nice Christmas evenings. The rest were a mess.” She sighed. “After my dad abandoned us, my mother was busy working all the time to get money for crystal. She forgot things like Christmas or my birthday. They weren’t important to her. And my dad…” She shrugged. “I suppose he was glad to be away from us and the responsibility.”
She still hadn’t mentioned her mother being a whore but I allowed her that small reprieve. “That’s why you shouldn’t feel responsible for your father. He isn’t an honorable man. He should protect his own flesh and blood and not offer it to someone in exchange for a debt.”
She flushed. “You know about that?”
“Soto told me.”
“It’s not easy to abandon him. I still love him despite his flaws, I can’t help it.”
I grimaced. “Love is a weakness, a sickness. You’ll see where it gets you.”
Her blue eyes searched mine, still looking, still hoping. “You can’t mean that. Love is what makes us human, what makes life worth living. Love is unconditional.”
She said it with so much fervor that I knew she was trying to convince herself as much as me. “Do you really believe that? Do you think it turned you into the person you are today? Because love definitely didn’t make me who I am. Blood and hate and thirst for revenge kept me going. They still do, and so do honor, pride and loyalty. So tell me, Leona, did love form you?”
Leona pressed her backpack against her chest. “Not me. But nobody ever loved me like that,” she said quietly. “My parents always loved their addiction more than me, and there was never anyone else. So I suppose love didn’t form me.” She looked me square in the eyes, challengingly. Did she expect pity? She needn’t have worried. Pity was an emotion I’d given up a long time ago. I was furious. Furious on her behalf.
“Then what did?” I asked.
