Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles 3)

The windows were tinted, so he couldn’t see the kids on the backseat. I let down the window a gap.

“Miss Mione, nobody informed us you’d be leaving.”

“I’m informing you now,” I said firmly.

He frowned. “I’ll have to ask the boss.”

I scowled. “Get out of my way. I’m driving over to the safe house to kill the man who raped and tortured me.”

His eyes grew wide, and he lowered his gaze, the shame of all Outfit soldiers reflecting clearly on his face. “I’ll have to make a quick call.”

He lifted his phone to his ear, and I considered hitting the gas. He lowered the phone, touched the screen again then lifted it once more. “Samuel, I can’t reach your father. Your sister is at the gate, trying to leave.”

He held the phone out to me. I took it with a glare.

“Fina, what’s going on?”

“Tell him to let me leave.”

“Fina.”

“I’m coming over. I need to … I need to see what you’re doing. You owe it to me, Sam.”

Guilt sliced through me, but I shoved it back.

“You should take a bodyguard with you.”

“Sam,” I whispered harshly. “Let me leave. Do you want me to beg? I’ve done enough of that, trust me.” A lie, one I’d never wanted to use on Samuel.

He sighed. “Okay. But right now we’re not doing anything. Dad, Danilo, and Dante are catching some shut-eye. It’s been a long day.”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes. Let them sleep for now. They don’t need to know I’m coming over yet. You know how Dad can be.”

I handed the phone back to the guard and after an order from my brother, he finally let me through.

Samuel was waiting for me outside the safe house when I pulled up. I programmed the heating so it would keep the car warm for my babies before I exited. Samuel regarded me with a deep frown. He was wearing a different shirt than last time I saw him, and as I got closer, I noticed the red under his fingernails. He wrapped an arm around my shoulders, and for a moment I tensed because I worried he could feel the holster, but his arm was too high up and my cardigan too thick. He led me inside. My eyes searched the main area.

“They’re in the sleep area upstairs. Do you want me to wake them?”

“No,” I said quickly. My eyes were drawn to the screen. It showed Remo lying on the floor, not moving. I tried to gauge the angle. Samuel followed my gaze. “We’ll continue in about an hour.”

I raised my eyes to his. Dark shadows spread under his eyes. “You look like you should get some sleep.”

“Someone’s got to keep watch.”

“He doesn’t look like he can do anything.”

Samuel’s lips curled. “He’s a tough fucker.” His expression softened. “But we’ll get him to beg. At some point, even he will break.”

I doubted it but we’d never find out. “Do you have something to drink for me?”

Samuel nodded and walked over to the table in the corner. I took out the syringe before I followed him. “Water okay?” he asked as I stopped close beside him.

I touched his chest. “I’m sorry, Sam.” His brows snapped together in confusion, and I shoved the needle into his thigh.

Sam jerked. “Fina? What?” But he was already staggering, his eyelids drooping. I clung to him, trying to stop him from falling and injuring himself, but he was too heavy. He sank to the ground. His eyes began to lose focus. I bent over him and kissed his forehead. “I hope you’ll forgive me one day.”

I stepped into the torture room, my eyes landing on Remo. He was sprawled out on the floor, lying in his own blood, naked except for black briefs, his arms and legs tied to hooks in the ground with rope. Bruises and cuts littered almost every inch of him. On the table to the right, I could see torture tools. The knives covered in blood, but some of the others were still pristine and untouched, waiting for their purpose.

Remo’s eyes peeled open in his blood-covered face, and they knocked the breath out of me again.

A dark smile twisted his mouth, but there was an emotion in his eyes that tightened my stomach. “Angel, have you come to watch your family cut off my dick? I hear that’s scheduled for today.”

I crept closer to him, my sneakers trudging through his blood covering the rough floor. My steps didn’t falter. Blood did nothing to me. Not anymore.

Remo regarded me quietly. His eyes slid down my arm to the tip of the knife peeking out from my long cardigan sleeve. “Or have you come to do it yourself?”

I stopped right above Remo. Even though he was on his back, cut and bruised, covered in his own blood, he appeared powerful. Remo couldn’t be broken because he didn’t fear pain or death.