Gemma stared at me with wide curious eyes. “What’s a BJ?”
I focused on the street, trying to come up with a semi-appropriate reply, but chastity wasn’t really my forte. “Forget it.”
If she asked Diego about it, he’d kick my ass. Maybe I should send her Dakota’s way. She had explained a BJ to Diego after all.
The rest of the drive passed in silence because my playlist wasn’t made for choir girl ears, but I could see Gemma still mulling over the song.
I led her into our gym and nodded toward the door of the locker room. “Why don’t you go change?”
Gemma nodded eagerly and dashed off.
I shook my head at her enthusiasm. I was already in gym clothes, so I had time to prepare my boxing gloves. Usually I preferred to fight with taped hands, because punches were harder that way. Yet, with a girl, I needed to make sure not to hurt her. I bandaged my fists anyway for our training at the boxing sack when Gemma emerged from the locker room.
I paused. Gemma wasn’t wearing the gym clothes she usually had—no washed out, too big sweatpants and baggy T-shirt. This time she wore one of those Gymshark workout outfits all the fitness tubers went crazy about. Tight purple tank top and tight leggings in the same color. Only the fitspo girls filled out those clothes. Gemma only managed to emphasize her non-existent curves.
Fuck. I knew why she had chosen that outfit, and I knew that neither Diego nor her father would approve of it.
She stopped right in front of me, her cheeks already bright red. It was obvious why. Of course, I’d seen her watching me before, but it always seemed funny. Now alone with her and knowing how crazy Diego was regarding his sister, the thing felt like a catastrophe in the making.
Crushing girls’ hearts was practically my special skill set, but knowing I had to break Kitty’s innocent little heart actually caused me a flicker of qualms.
She peered up at me like a lovesick puppy. I wondered how she imagined this day to go in her choir girl fantasies. From what Diego had mentioned, Gemma hadn’t even had the talk yet and her questions in the car had confirmed that. She probably thought all girls and boys did when they were alone was take a stroll over daffodil meadows.
Thank fuck, I’d at least chosen to wear a shirt today.
“Let’s start with our warm-up,” I said. She dropped her pink boxing gloves, waiting expectantly. “Double-unders. Ever done them?”
“I can’t do more than one or two,” she admitted.
“We’ll change that.” I handed her a jump rope then took one for myself. “Watch how I do it.” I walked a few steps back and began jumping. Simple rope jumps at first until I sped up and switched to double-unders. Just for fun, I did a couple triple-unders, but they were difficult to maintain, so I switched back to double-unders again. Gemma watched me slack-jawed.
I stopped. “Your turn.”
She looked ready to pass out from nervousness, so it really didn’t come as a surprise that she got tangled in the rope after only two jumps. Flushing, she quickly tried again, but her legs got entangled once again. “I’m sorry!”
“You don’t have to be sorry.” She was about to try again, but with the way her hands were shaking that would end the same way. I lightly touched her arm, stopping her. Her eyes flew up to mine, stunned. I could see goose-bumps spreading on her skin.
I pulled my hand away. “Don’t look at the ground while you’re jumping. Stare straight ahead, and only use your feet to push off the ground not your calves, that takes too much energy.”
“O-okay,” she stammered.
Gemma had never been this nervous around me. Being alone with me really threw her off. It almost made me feel sorry for her, but mostly I had to stop myself from laughing. “Give it a try and focus.”
She nodded, determination crossing her face. This time she managed to establish a good rhythm.
“Now, try to do a double-under.”
She did but didn’t jump high enough nor spin the rope fast enough. I explained what she had to change and eventually she managed to do three double-unders in a row. “This is something you need to practice over and over again. It’s not something that comes easy.”
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.”