Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles 3)

My breath had lodged itself in my throat, and I could do nothing but stare at the man in front of me. Maybe he’d underestimated me, but I—and I feared even the Outfit—had underestimated Remo Falcone as well. His actions spoke of barely restrained violence and led you to believe that he lacked any sliver of control, that he could be driven into rash acts. But Remo was dangerously intelligent. A ruthless man with the power and wit to get his revenge.

“Maybe they will feel guilty, but they won’t waver. They won’t risk any part of the Outfit for me. Not for the soundness of my body, not for my life, and least of all for my innocence, Remo. So take either or all. You won’t weaken Dante or the Outfit.”

Remo’s thumb stroked the side of my throat. I wasn’t sure if he did it on purpose or without noticing, and it wasn’t the touch but the look in his eyes that made me shiver.

“They will protect your innocence at any cost because it’s the only pure thing in their fucking lives. They think your innocence could wash away their sins, but they breathe sin. We all do. One hundred virgins can’t wash the sin from our veins. Definitely not from mine.”

”Not even an angel?” I murmured, tilting my head up, peering at him through my lashes. My pulse throbbed in my veins, aware of the risk I was taking. But I was forced into Remo’s game, willing or not, and I could either be a pawn or a player.

Something in Remo’s dark eyes shifted, something hungry and lethal unfurling. He leaned closer, his breath hot against my lips. “You are playing a dangerous game, Angel.”

I smiled. “So are you.”

His lips pressed against mine. I hadn’t expected it. Almost kisses, like threats ghosting over my skin, had been his tactic … until now. This wasn’t a ghost touch. It was substantial, and yet it felt like the promise of a kiss, a threat of what lay ahead. Stunned by Remo’s action, I held his gaze. Finally, I ripped away and raised my palm to slap him, but he caught my wrist. He jerked me closer once more.

“That’s the kiss Danilo would have given you in church, and maybe even later on your wedding night. Polite. Controlled. Reverent.” His voice dipped low. “That’s not a kiss.”

Anger surged through me. “You—”

Remo’s mouth crashed down on mine, fingers bruising my hip as his other hand cradled my wrist between our bodies. His lips conquered mine, his tongue tasting the seam of my mouth, sucking at my tender lower lip, demanding entrance. Heat flushed through me, and my lips parted slightly. Barely. A flicker of submission and Remo plunged his tongue into my mouth, tasting me, consuming me. His taste was intoxicating, his body’s heat overpowering. His thumb pressed into my wrist, his palm sliding from my hip to my lower back. Small sparks of electricity followed in his touch’s wake.

My head swimming, I was unable to pull back, unable to move at all. Finally, Remo let me free. I sucked in a desperate breath, lightheaded, confused, my body tingling from head to toe.

Remo exhaled. “That, Angel, was a kiss. It’s the only kind of kiss you’ll ever get from me, and it’s the kiss you’ll use to measure every kiss that follows.”

I stumbled away from Remo, shaking. “What have you done?” I stammered. I pressed shaking fingers to my lips, horror striking down on me like lightning. That was supposed to be Danilo’s privilege. My first kiss.

Remo had taken it.

No.

I had given it away.

Remo shook his head, glowering. “I cut you with my blade and you didn’t shed a single tear, but a kiss makes you cry?”

I turned away, trying to get a grip on my emotions. All my life I had been raised to be the perfect wife, to gift myself to my husband. And just like that I’d allowed Remo to plunder part of my gift. For a moment, I felt like bawling. Then I felt Remo’s warmth against my back, not touching but lingering between us.

“Are you scared of Danilo’s wrath if he finds out his angel hides a few black feathers beneath the glowing white of her plumage?”

I glanced over my shoulder at his striking face. “You don’t know anything about Danilo or me.”

“I know your weakness, and I know his.”

I faced him once more. “You, too, have a weakness, and one day your enemies are going to use it against you with the same cruelty you bestow upon them.”

“Maybe,” he growled. “Maybe they’ll rise after I’ve burned down their pride, but not everyone is built to rise from the ashes.”

I scoffed. “You sound like a martyr. What do you know about burning?”

Remo didn’t say anything, only looked at me with cruel intention, the same expression I’d seen when he’d cut me.