Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles 3)

Dante was silent. “We will be there.”

“Nino will send you the details. I’m looking forward to meeting you.” I hung up, but the triumph I felt lasted only a moment. My eyes found the door behind which Serafina was hiding.

Two more days.

Then I’d set her free.

It would be up to her if she flew straight into Danilo’s cage …

My chest constricted but I pushed past the sensation. Serafina was never meant to be mine.

I stood, and tearing my gaze away from the door, I left.

CHAPTER 19

SERAFINA

“Wear this,” Remo ordered, throwing my wedding dress down on the bed. I stared at the white layers of tulle, at the blood stains and the tears. I hadn’t seen it in almost two months. It didn’t feel like something I’d ever owned. Nothing I was meant to wear ever again.

“Why?” I asked.

Remo turned toward me, his dark eyes hard. “Because I told you to do it, Serafina.”

Not Angel. Serafina. What was going on? I narrowed my eyes. “Why?”

He moved closer, glaring down at me. “Do as I say.”

“Or what?” I said harshly. “What could you possibly do to me? You have taken everything from me that mattered. There’s nothing left for you to take, to break.”

Remo’s mouth turned cruel. “If you really think that’s true, then you are weaker than I thought.”

I swallowed hard, but I didn’t put on the dress. We both knew I was so much stronger than he’d ever imagined. Maybe that was why he kept doing this, pushing me away.

Remo reached for his knife and pulled it out with a bone-chilling clink of the blade against the sheath. Goose bumps rose on my skin, but I stood my ground because if I knew one thing it was that Remo wouldn’t hurt me. Not anymore, not ever again.

Whatever twisted bond had formed between us, it prevented him from causing me pain.

Gripping the neckline of my nightgown, he sliced through the fabric with a sharp slash of the knife. The shreds pooled at my feet, leaving me in only my panties.

His dark eyes roamed over my body, the knife still clutched in his hand, and my core tightened with need. He gripped my hip and wrenched me toward him, his lips crushing down on mine. I gasped as his tongue conquered my mouth, teeth clanking. He backed me up against the bed until I fell back. He slashed through my panties with his knife, and the closeness of the blade caused a shiver to pass down my spine. Remo towered over me and freed his erection, his eyes furious and hungry and terrifying.

Holding his gaze, I opened my legs for him because I was lost, had been lost from the moment Remo had laid eyes on me, and as I looked up at him, I knew without a doubt that he, too, was lost.

The corners of his mouth lifted as he lowered his gaze to my center. He got down on his knees, pushing my legs even further apart. Remo buried his face in my lap. I arched up, my nails digging into the crisp sheets, my gaze finding my torn wedding dress. Remo’s mouth claimed me relentlessly, with tongue and lips, bites and licks. There was no escaping. He wouldn’t let me. He made me surrender, not with force, not with violence … He dove in, swirling until I was a slave to the sensations he created. My orgasm crashed over me like an avalanche, but my eyes remained locked on the stained white fabric of my dress—a sign for my honor, my purity.

Both lost.

Both taken … No. Given.

Remo’s mouth traveled up my stomach, licking and nibbling, tongue flicking my nipple. He bit down lightly then soothed the spot with an open-mouthed kiss. His body covered mine, his palms pressed into the bed beside my head, the knife still clutched in his grasp. For a moment our eyes locked, and I hated him, hated myself, hated us both, because hate became harder to hold on to each day that I spent with him.

We both needed our hate, and yet it was slipping through our fingers like sand. There was no way to contain it. Lost. His dark eyes reflected my inner turmoil. Losing ourselves to each other.

My gaze returned to my dress when Remo thrust into me in one all-consuming merciless stroke. His mouth pressed up to my ear as he slammed into me angrily. “When I saw you in that dress, I knew I needed to be the one to rip your innocence from you. I knew I needed to be the one to make you bleed. Who knew you’d make me bleed in return?”

I shuddered, my throat tightening even as my body throbbed with traitorous pleasure. Finally I tore my gaze from the dress to glare up at Remo—my captor, my nemesis, my ruin … and yet, despite what he’d taken from me, hatred wasn’t the only thing my weak, idiotic heart felt. But that was a truth I would take to my grave.