Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles 6)

Noticing my attention, she gave me a confident smile before she made a beeline for me.

Her black biker boots looked huge on her, as if they weren’t meant for delicate female feet, and no matter how much Dinara acted like a tough guy she looked delicate by the simple fact of her body’s measurements. “Are those your brother’s? Don’t you think sharing clothes takes sibling love a bit too far?”

Of course, I knew by now that Dima wasn’t Dinara’s brother but she had never really retracted on the original lie.

Dinara stalked toward me and perched on the hood of my car without asking. It was expected to ask another driver before you even touched his car, but she obviously didn’t care about the rules as she’d displayed before. Good thing I didn’t either.

I held out the plate with the stack of pancakes to her but she shook her head.

“Dima?” She pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

“Yep. The tall, lanky guy giving us the stink eye.”

Dinara didn’t look his way. “You still think he’s my brother?”

I leaned beside her, arms crossed, trying to look as if I didn’t care either way as I stuffed another piece of pancake into my mouth. “He’s not?”

“No,” she said with a hint of amusement. “He’s not.”

She held out her cigarette pack to me. Usually I didn’t smoke this early in the morning but I took one anyway and slid it into my mouth. “Got fire?”

A grin flitted across her face but just as quickly it vanished. She held up the lighter, the flame fluttering in the soft breeze. I set the plate down on the hood before I leaned closer until the tip of the cigarette dangled over the fire and lit up. Our gazes met and she held mine steadily. Many girls tried to be coy or batted their lashes, some even looked away because the name Falcone had that effect on people. But Dinara looked at me. I got the feeling that she was trying to see beyond what I wanted other people to see, and yet, she kept up her own guards. Whatever she had to hide, I’d figure it out.

“I guess it makes sense you don’t travel around without a bodyguard,” I said. “I’m actually surprised your father allows you to have only one.”

“I don’t need bodyguards and my father knows I’d never let anyone cage me in. I chose Dima and he’s the only one I accept.”

Something familiar and protective was in the way she spoke about the guy, but I had never seen them exchange any physical intimacies, so that gave me hope there wasn’t actually something going on between them.

Dima was still watching us. Something about the way he looked at Dinara raised my suspicion. I wanted to have Dinara deny it. “He’s your boyfriend?”

She blew out smoke, staring up at the sky. “No, but he used to be. A while ago.”

“Looks like he wished he still were.”

Dinara gave me a wry smile. “You’re awfully curious about my relationship status.”

“I prefer to know everything about the people who drive my races.”

“Even their bed stories?”

“Even those, especially if they involve the Bratva princess. Intel on you is a high commodity.”

“I bet,” she said. “Did Remo ask about me?”

The way she said his name made me pause. My brother spread fear in the hearts of even the bravest man. Dinara’s voice wasn’t scared. She sounded as if she were talking about an old acquaintance, someone she wouldn’t mind seeing again. They had unfinished business of some sort. Maybe I was her way of getting closer to my brother, even if it really wasn’t hard to find him and he wasn’t really prone to avoiding people who meant trouble. I wasn’t sure how I felt knowing that she might only be seeking my closeness to get revenge on my family, or whatever else her pretty head had in mind.

“You’ve read up on my family, I guess,” I said.

She laughed. “As if that’s necessary. Your family’s reputation isn’t really a secret. Even in other parts of the country.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying not to look at her belly again. “Even in Russia?”

She dropped the cigarette and squashed it. “In the according circles, of course, but I spent most of my life in the States.”

I shrugged. “We work hard to keep up our reputation.” It wasn’t long ago when I’d wanted nothing to do with my brothers’ business and the Camorra. I’d even considered refusing the tattoo. Of course, Remo didn’t allow it. Now I was glad. This life was really all I knew, and allowed me to follow my passion: racing.

“And it’s a spectacular reputation,” she said.

“Most of it is thanks to Remo.”

“One of the most fascinating tales about your family came to be thanks to you if I’m not mistaken. You are the mother murderer,” she said. Her teal eyes snapped to mine, arresting me.