Twisted Hearts (The Camorra Chronicles 5)

I couldn’t imagine Gemma with a guy, with another guy. Having her on my lap had felt fucking good, and her reaction had been cute, the way she’d tensed in shock when I’d wrapped my arm around her and then softened after a moment.

“Gemma won’t be allowed to keep fighting once she’s promised. Most men don’t allow their women something like that, especially Traditionalists.”

Diego shrugged, but he was looking at me in a way I didn’t like one bit.

Diego was already parked at the curb when Toni and I walked out of school on the last day before the summer holidays. I hugged her before she headed for her bike and I got into the car.

Diego drove off at once, honking when a few kids didn’t cross the street fast enough.

“Bad mood?” I asked.

“Not yet. But that’ll probably change today.”

He was referring to his training with Savio. Diego wanted me to stay away from him and in the last four months, he’d succeeded.

“Mick told me to say hi to you.”

My brows snapped together. “Okay. Tell him hi back, I guess?”

Diego shook his head, muttering something under his breath. I decided to ignore him.

The moment we stepped into the restaurant and I saw Dad’s face, I knew I wouldn’t like what he’d have to say.

I sank down beside him and he pressed a kiss to my temple. Diego slid into the booth next to me. The door to the kitchen swung open and Nonna walked out, carrying a casserole.

Dad cleared his throat. “Gemma, I can’t wait any longer. We need to find a good man for you. Someone who’ll take care of you. We can’t focus on only one possible suitor. You’re not getting younger.”

Dad made it sound as if I was an old spinster and not only sixteen.

Nonna set down the casserole and gave me a knowing smile.

“But, Dad, you know I want…”

“You want Savio Falcone, we all know it,” Diego muttered. “As if he was the second coming of Christ.”

Nonna hit him over the head and muttered a quick prayer under her breath.

Diego rubbed the spot, ducking his head in case Nonna decided he needed a second round. “It’s the truth, and it’s a disgrace how she acts around him.”

Dad’s expression hardened and he leveled his disapproving eyes on me. “How are you acting?”

“I’m not doing anything,” I said, ducking my head too so I could send Diego a scowl. What was his problem? He usually didn’t rat me out.

“I hope you aren’t doing anything that’ll disgrace our family, angelo mio.”

I flushed, realizing what he was thinking.

“That’s not what I meant, Dad,” Diego said at once. “Gemma would never do that. But she’s been telling him about your search for suitors every time she saw him and giving him those embarrassing puppy dog eyes as if that would make him ask for her hand.”

Nonna touched my shoulder. “Young love is so precious.”

“It’s one-sided. Savio doesn’t do love. He only—”

Dad cleared his throat and Diego shrugged. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I do,” Dad agreed. He stroked my head as if I was still a little girl. “Men like him, Gemma, don’t marry, and you are far too precious to settle for what he wants.”

I cast my eyes down. “I know.”

“Good.”

We ate in silence until Diego and I left for our training with Savio. Dad sent me another meaningful look. He and Diego wanted to protect me, but I needed to give it another try. I wanted Savio and no one else.

I wasn’t allowed to fight Savio, only watch him and Diego spar with each other. But considering that I hadn’t even been allowed to do that the last few months, I was more than happy to work out at the boxing sack.

Diego always hovered close by, not giving me a second alone with Savio. After their fight training, he finally headed for the bathroom. I quickly knotted my baggy shirt so my abs showed while Savio wiped his face with a towel. My eyes were drawn to the sliver of skin that peeked out where his shirt rode up. The hint of black peeked out of his waistband. A tattoo? I hadn’t seen him without a shirt for years.

“You got a new tattoo?” I asked curiously, unable to stop myself. I walked closer like a moth is drawn to the light.

Savio lowered the towel, his dark eyes taking in my exposed stomach, and something in his expression filled my insides with butterflies. “Got it a few years ago.” The way his mouth twitched increased my curiosity. The tattoos on his forearms were always on display—the Camorra knife and eye on one wrist, and a mechanical watch speared by a knife surrounded by glass shards covering the scars on his other, but I wondered where exactly this third tattoo was.

“How big is it?” I asked without thinking. Mortification heated up my face when I realized how that sounded.