Twisted Hearts (The Camorra Chronicles 5)

Soon the guests took their places and food was served. Gemma was oddly quiet when we moved to the dancefloor for our first dance. With hundreds of eyes on us, she presented her most beautiful smile, but I saw the lingering sadness. It would have been her father’s turn to dance with her after this.

She swallowed, her eyes darting to the black sky. “Do you think Dad and Nonna are watching?”

A tricky question. I wasn’t a believer. I kissed her temple and tightened my hold on her, leaning down to her ear. “Your dad would be happy to see you like this. And your nonna would be proud of you for making it to your wedding night before succumbing to my charm.”

Gemma choked out a laugh, slapping my chest lightly. “You are so full of yourself.”

I kissed her lips, glad that she was smiling again.

Diego danced with his sister after that and I danced with their mom. One dance followed the other after that, an endless string of women coming and going. I’d made sure that none of my past lovers were invited, which wasn’t a problem considering I’d steered clear of Italian women. Diego wasn’t that lucky. His dance with Toni was a prime show of awkwardness.

“Dance with me,” a high voice said.

I lowered my drink. I’d only just managed to escape the dance floor and now found myself staring at a girl with black hair and blue eyes. “Is that an order?” I asked.

From across the room, I found Remo to see his reaction to my predicament, but he wasn’t looking my way. He was watching Luca with narrowed eyes. Luca, on the other hand, looked at me as if he was currently imagining how to slice me into the tiniest pieces possible.

His daughter batted her lashes at me. A death trap in the making, that girl. “It would be rude of you to say no.”

“Is that so?” I asked, setting down my drink.

“Definitely,” she said.

“Remind me of your name again.” I knew her name, everyone did, but she was a bit too confident.

Indignation flashed on her face, a flicker of childish poutiness. “Marcella Vitiello.”

“Ahh, yes, now I remember.”

She flushed, obviously confused by my bored voice. In New York, everyone probably fawned over her like she was a princess.

“Are you going to dance with me or not?”

“That’s a polite or not.”

“You’re scared of my dad,” she muttered. “I thought in Las Vegas, at least, people would be braver.”

“I’m not scared of your dad, Marcella. If you’re so brave, go to my brother Remo and dance with him. I have a wife I need to keep entertained.” I gave her a nod, then walked away. I wouldn’t be the pawn of a pre-pubescent spoiled princess from New York.

I went in search of Gemma, who I hadn’t seen in a while. I found her at our second pool, staring at the illuminated cascades. Her arms were wrapped around her middle. She wasn’t crying, which was a huge relief. I snaked my arms around her from behind, making her jump.

“Why are you hiding out here?”

“I’m not hiding. I just needed to get away from all the attention for a moment.”

I kissed her throat. “See, it wasn’t so bad having your first kiss before today without all these fuckers watching.”

“I doubt Nonna would agree with that,” she said, a mix of guilt and sadness reflecting on her beautiful face.

“You really think she would have been mad at you for having a few kisses before we got married? You’re my wife now, so what does it matter?”

“I don’t know what she would have thought because I can’t ask her, because she’s not here. Neither is Dad.” Her voice wavered and she quickly turned her head away, but I caught the treacherous glistening of her eyes.

“Fuck, Gem,” I said in a low voice. Turning her around, I gripped her face and pressed our foreheads together. “You know they both would have wanted you to be happy. That’s all they wanted.”

She searched my eyes. “Will you make me happy?”

Several answers manifested themselves on the tip of my tongue, none of them appropriate in a situation like this. But the truth was, I wasn’t fucking sure. This marriage was the result of my dick running the fucking show. I wanted Gemma in my bed, and for that to happen, I needed to seal the deal. Of course, that wasn’t all there was to it. But I’d never had to take care of someone. I’d always only done what I wanted, fucked who I wanted. Now that was over. Gemma was my wife.

Fuck, that truth hit me like a sledgehammer.

Gemma huffed. “You’re already regretting this, aren’t you?” She tried to pull away, but I tightened my hold on her.

“I’m not,” I said firmly. It was the truth. I’d marry Gemma again, and not just so I could bury myself in her undoubtedly pretty pussy, but also because I wanted her for myself in every other regard as well. The idea that Mick could have gotten her still sent me into a jealous rage.