She nodded obediently. “Can we fight now?”
I chuckled. “Sure.” I motioned toward the boxing ring and led her toward it. Grabbing her boxing gloves, she climbed through the ropes I parted for her. I swung myself over them and landed with a low thud inside the ring.
Again the admiration. I really needed to tone it down around Kitty.
I helped her put on her gloves, ignoring the way she blushed at our closeness. Then I put on my own gloves and faced her. I let her do high kicks against my palms for a while before I began sparring, but it became obvious pretty quickly that Gemma wasn’t focused on fighting, too distracted by my closeness. I stepped back with a shake of my head. “This isn’t working.”
She froze.
Here we go. I needed to establish ground rules if this was supposed to work the next few months. I’d given Diego and his father my word to protect Gemma, even if that required crushing her heart. “Listen, Gemma, I agreed to train with you but right now you aren’t fighting, you’re daydreaming.”
“I’m… I’m not,” she whispered lamely.
“You are,” I said firmly. “I know you’ve got a crush on me, but if you want to keep training with me, you’ll have to stop it. Either you focus on fighting or we won’t work out together again.”
Her face was bright red and fuck it, her eyes were glistening with unshed tears. If I brought her back to the Bazzoli house with red eyes, that would go over fucking well. Still, I needed to drill the message into her head.
“But you promised…”
“I promised to fight with you, yes. Right now, this doesn’t feel like training. You need to get a grip. You are a little kid, not to mention Diego’s sister. I like grown women, not little girls.” The last might have been a tad cruel, but maybe that would finally make her stop the fawning.
She whirled around and climbed out of the boxing ring, then tried to rush toward the locker room. Unfortunately, she stumbled in her haste and fell to her knees, then she didn’t move.
Fuck. I jumped out of the ring and stalked toward her, then squatted in front of her.
“Did you hurt yourself?”
She gave a jerky shake of her head, her face lowered and tiny shoulders shaking.
Crying girls usually made me take off as quickly as I could, but this was Diego’s little sister. “Don’t cry.”
“I feel stupid,” she said thickly. “I know you have all these pretty girls…”
“You are pretty too, but you are way too young, Gemma. Your dad and brother would kill me, as they should. How about we forget today, and I promise to keep training with you if you swear to forget about your crush on me until you’re older.”
She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, looking up hopefully.
“Do we have a deal?”
She nodded. “Deal.” Then she tilted her head in contemplation. “How much older?”
I chuckled, shaking my head. “Much older.”
“Like fourteen?”
I shook my head again. “Older.”
“Fifteen?”
“Definitely older.”
She pursed her lips. “Sixteen?”
I straightened and held out my hand. She took it so I could pull her to her feet. “Older.”
“But by then, you’ll already be married to another girl!”
I burst out laughing. Oh, Kitty was too hilarious. “Don’t worry, I’m never going to marry.”
“Never?” she whispered.
“Never.”
“Oh.”
Nino shook his head again. “Are you sure about this?” His hand with the tattoo needle hovered about an inch over my pelvis.
I rolled my eyes at my brother. “If you ask one more time, I’ll go into one of the tattoo studios on the Strip and get it there.”
Nino’s expression flashed with disapproval—of the studios that didn’t do a good enough job in his opinion, which was the reason why he’d done most of his tattoos himself, and of my choice of tattoo.
A bull’s head, or rather a Minotaur’s head right above my dick. It was as much a joke as provocation. My man-slut reputation was already indisputable, might as well have fun with it.
The needle pierced my skin and Nino finally started his work. “I hope you don’t come to regret this image.”
“From all the things we’re doing on a daily basis—torture, killing, prostitution, death fights—you really think I’m going to regret a bull tattoo?” I flashed him a grin and earned an uncomprehending look.
Out of my brothers, I really was the sanest, which didn’t say much.
“I can’t see what one has to do with the other,” Nino drawled as he kept outlining the Minotaur. “And you can choose to stop any of the mentioned activities. That tattoo is permanent unless you have it removed, but that’s going to be difficult, given the depth of the ink to assure the deep black color, and the size of the tattoo.”
“If I stop doing those things, how am I going to be of use for the Camorra? Adamo’s already pretty useless. You and Remo can’t have another one of us suffer from exaggerated scruples.”
Nino glanced up briefly. “Would you prefer not to be involved in the unsavory parts of our business? So far you never gave any indication that torturing or killing bothered you.”
It had bothered me in the beginning. Unlike Remo and Nino, I was capable of empathy and pity to begin with and had to learn toning both down. It hadn’t taken long. Our fight for power in Las Vegas had wiped away most of my innocence quickly. I enjoyed many of our activities, but I’d never be as good as torture as Nino and Remo.
“It doesn’t,” I said simply.
Nino regarded me a moment longer, but I’d learned to hide my emotions and thoughts over time, even if I rarely bothered to do it.
Nino was almost done with the tattoo when the door opened, and Remo walked in.
“Unless you want to see Savio’s cock, you should stay in the hallway,” he said.
“How much longer will it take? Dinner’s almost done,” Kiara shouted from a distance away.
I smirked. “Your husband enjoys the sight of my crown jewels. He’s taking his time.”
Nino let out a sigh, but Remo showed the hint of a smile as he inspected my tattoo. None of us were bothered by each other’s nakedness. We’d fucked around each other for years before Kiara’s presence led to a sex ban in the common areas of the house.
“All right. I’m heading back down to the kitchen,” Kiara called.
“Don’t show your dick to my wife,” Nino warned.
I chuckled. “Only if she asks to see it.”
“You really think that’s going to impress women,” Remo said, with a sharp nod toward my tattoo.
“It’s not meant to impress. It’s a warning,” I said. The reactions of my brothers made this tattoo already a good choice. “And since when do you know how to impress women?”
“It’s a waste of time.”
I shrugged. “I don’t waste my time on women. Either a girl’s an easy lay or I don’t bother.”
Gemma 15, Savio 19