Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles 3)

The house they took me to was a shabby three-story building close to the tracks, located in the industrial part of Minneapolis. When we stepped inside, my eyes registered Danilo first. He had his arms crossed and was staring at a screen on a table against one wall. Beside him stood my uncle Dante, as usual dressed in a suit, but his jacket was already slung over a chair that sat in front of the screen, and he had rolled up his sleeves.

My stomach turned. I’d never seen him with rolled up sleeves, and I knew why. I had never been around when he’d tortured someone. There was another man, one of Dad’s soldiers, who was working at a laptop, probably establishing the Darknet connection. They turned when we entered, and all eyes zeroed in on me. I wasn’t supposed to be here.

Dante frowned and came toward us. Danilo stayed where he was, but he, too, watched me. I wasn’t his fiancé anymore. I was nothing to him. My sister was promised to him, and now she was as precious as I had been. And yet he would be part in the Outfit’s revenge because Remo had insulted Danilo in the worst way possible: he had taken me from him.

Dante stopped before us, his cool eyes resting on me. “Serafina, this is Outfit business. You shouldn’t be here.”

“It is my business, Uncle. The Falcones held me captive.” I met his gaze head-on. After months in Remo’s company, I didn’t feel the urge to lower my gaze despite my uncle’s own scary vibe, especially today. There was something predator-like about him, about them all. Eager to tear into their victim, to hear its screams and taste its blood.

He inclined his head. “It will be brutal and bloody. You are free to watch on the screen.”

He turned and walked back to Danilo, followed by Dad. Samuel squeezed my shoulder. “If it’s too much, go sit there.” He pointed at a sofa behind the table with the screen. “You shouldn’t leave the building. I don’t want you outside without me or Dad.”

I nodded. Samuel released me and joined the other men. Slowly, I moved closer and when I reached the table, I caught sight of the screen. My breath caught in my throat. It showed Adamo in an empty room, bound to a chair, his head hanging down.

“Ready?” Dante asked. Danilo, Dad, and Samuel nodded. Dante turned to the man at the screen. “Are we live?”

“All set. The camera in the torture room is sending.”

“Good,” Dante said coldly. With a last glance at me, the men disappeared through a door. A few minutes later they appeared on the screen, entering the room. I sank down on the chair beside my father’s soldier, who gave me a quick curious glance. I could imagine what he thought, what they all thought. Since I had been kidnapped, I was only known as the woman Remo Falcone sullied. The broken one.

Samuel held something under Adamo’s nose so he jerked upright, eyes flying up in shock. He had changed since I’d last seen him. His face had become harder, older, and he had grown and become more muscular. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, and a few scars littered his chest but not nearly as many as Remo had. The distant resemblance to Remo sent a stab through my heart.

Adamo’s gaze wandered over my dad, Samuel, Danilo, and Dante, and for a second fear flashed across his face. Then he controlled his features.

Dante stepped forward, and the look on his face sent a chill down my spine. “Adamo Falcone. Welcome to Outfit territory.”

Adamo smiled bitterly. “I would have won the race if you hadn’t shot out my tires.”

My eyes grew wide. Provoking my family in a situation like that was madness.

Dante’s expression became harder. Samuel had already taken his knife out, and Danilo looked ready to plunge his dagger into Adamo as well. Only Dad remained back. He was a restrained man but his stance was off.

“You share the same arrogant disposition as your brother Remo, I see,” Dante said pleasantly. “It’s only fair that he gets to watch you pay for his sins.”

Adamo shook his head. “No matter what you do, Remo won’t care. Remo is crueler than all of you combined.”

Dante tilted his head. “We will see.” He took a knife from a table to the side and moved back toward Adamo, who tensed and leaned back. Dante reached down and cut Adamo’s right arm loose.

Confusion drew my brows together. Dante grabbed Adamo’s arm and turned it over, displaying the Camorra tattoo. “How long have you been a Made Man?”

“One year and four months,” Adamo muttered, glaring up at my uncle.

“You will be judged as a Made Man, not a boy, Adamo Falcone.”

Adamo grimaced. “I don’t give a shit about all this. Do what you have to do. It won’t change a thing.”