Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles 3)

I backed her into the wall. “You didn’t see anything because there wasn’t anything. I fucked Serafina and enjoyed every moment of it. I wanted to possess her, wanted to rip her innocence from her, and I did. That’s it.”

“If that were all, you would have bathed in your triumph afterward. But you hardly even mentioned her since you let her go … as if you can’t bear saying her name.”

“Kiara,” I growled. “Don’t push me too far. Not right now.”

She pushed against my shoulder, and I stepped back. Without another word, she left, but her eyes had said more than enough.

When I came back down into the game room to kick the punching bag, Savio and Adamo were on the sofa, playing some fucking shooting game. As if we didn’t have enough bloodshed in real life. The plate with the cookies was empty.

“Are there more cookies in the kitchen?” Savio asked without looking up.

“How would I know? Ask Kiara.”

Savio slanted a curious glance my way. “What crawled up your ass?”

I sank down across from them. “Right this moment? You. In general? Kansas.”

“That race is going to be spectacular,” Adamo said.

“Don’t sound so fucking excited. You don’t really believe Remo will allow you to race again after last time, do you?” Savio muttered, throwing his feet up on the table.

“That wasn’t my fault,” Adamo snapped.

“Sure. When you crash a car it’s never your fault.”

“I won’t crash this time. I’m much better. I’ll win.”

Savio didn’t look convinced. “It’s the longest race. Eight hours minimum. That gives you plenty of time to fuck up.”

“I won’t fuck up. And the long distance is the best part. It’s a cool layout,” Adamo said.

“You won’t drive,” I said finally. “The race ends in Kansas City. I don’t want you that close to Outfit territory.”

“Nobody has to know that I’m there. I’m in a car. I can use another name.”

“No. And that’s final.”

Adamo frowned and sank deeper into the sofa. “You promised me I could race more often if I didn’t skip school and did my Camorra duties.”

“And that promise stands, Adamo, but not this race.”

“But Luke will be there again with a new car. He rammed me last time. I want to kick his ass and make him crash his car.”

I leaned forward. “You won’t go anywhere near that race, Adamo.”

“Fine,” he mumbled. “But next race I’m allowed?”

I nodded. I’d thought Adamo’s fascination with races would wane with time, but it hadn’t. He still lived for the occasional race, and I had started rewarding him with them for tasks well done. He was still a reluctant Made Man, but he’d improved, not just his fighting skills but also his guilt over what we did. Sometimes I wondered if I should just let him become the organizer for our races and have him race cars instead of trying to force him into another role, but we needed him. Open war with the Outfit required every Made Man we had.

CHAPTER 25

SERAFINA

Dad was antsy. He kept checking his phone, which rested beside his plate. He usually didn’t have his phone on display when we had dinner. It was our family time.

Mom brought a spoon with pureed sweet potato in an arch to Greta’s waiting mouth; she smacked her lips happily around the food. I, on the other hand, tried to stop Nevio from throwing his food around. He didn’t like being fed and preferred to shove food into his mouth by himself, but he was still too small for that and made too much of a mess. I held his small hands so he couldn’t grab the spoon and brought it to his mouth. It took three attempts before he accepted the food.

“They are cute but watching them eat is a bit disgusting,” Sofia said, her nose wrinkled. “And since they started eating normal food as well, their diapers stink.”

Dad frowned, obviously unhappy about the topic. He could eat dinner while someone was tortured right in front of him but a stinky diaper bothered him. Men.

Nevio let out an indignant howl when I tried for another spoonful of puree. He jerked in his seat.

Dad’s eyes held disapproval. Seven months, and he still couldn’t bear Nevio’s sight. At least he’d held Greta a few times, but I didn’t think he could ever look past their DNA.

The front door banged open, and Samuel rushed into the dining room, looking ecstatic and a bit unhinged. Dad rose slowly and Samuel smiled. I shivered because there was something dark and awfully eager in my twin’s expression. “We got him,” he said. “We got the bastard.”

“Where is he?” Dad asked, knowing exactly whom Samuel was referring to.

I set down the spoon. Mom and I exchanged a look.

“Danilo and I took him to our safety house as discussed.” Danilo? A horrid suspicion overcame me.

Mom began cleaning Greta.