Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles 6)

I nodded because it was a truth I’d learned in the past. I’d suspected the ridges were self-inflicted. They reminded me of the scars some of my junkie acquaintances had had on their wrists from cutting. “Why?” I asked.

“I took drugs to cover up old pain. But they made me numb in every sense and so I tried to feel something, even if it was pain, as long as I decided what it was.”

Something about Dinara reminded me of myself when I hadn’t been clean for very long. Drugs were a thing of her past like they were in mine, but I wanted to know the reasons for her addiction. “What kind of old pain?”

Her expression closed off. “The truth about me that your brother hides will change the way you look at me. But tell Remo, I gave him permission to share it with you, if that’s what he needs.”

Remo never asked for permission, not from anyone. I doubted that was the reason why he’d been holding back the truth from me.

Dinara climbed on top of me, letting her hair curtain my face. “One day you’ll have to take me to Vegas with you and show me your city.”

“You mean lead you to your mother?”

Dinara’s lips brushed mine. “And if I said yes?”

“I don’t think it’s a good idea, not unless Remo allows a meeting.”

“He won’t be able to keep her from me forever.”

I sighed, raking my hand through Dinara’s hair. “I fear you’re using me against my brothers. You should know that I’m loyal to them.”

“I know,” she said simply and kissed me.

I pulled back. “You won’t be able to sway me, even if part of me wants to do whatever you ask.”

“Shut up,” Dinara murmured.

I allowed her to silence me with her lips. I wasn’t sure what secret Remo would reveal about Dinara. I hoped it wouldn’t make me waver, wouldn’t make me want to help her even against Remo. My brother had done some twisted shit in his life, and I feared the thing with Dinara’s mother was another on that list. I often disagreed with what my brothers did but I stood by them. What if Dinara’s secret made that impossible? Maybe that was why Remo had kept the secret to himself, and maybe now that I was closer to Dinara he’d reveal it for the very same reason. To test my loyalty.

My father hated my mother. Every time I brought up her name loathing edged itself into every hard line of his face. He wanted her dead. No, he wanted her to suffer and die. A simple death wasn’t enough for him. As Pakhan he had the means to kill almost anyone, to make their last hours as excruciating as possible, and he certainly didn’t have qualms about it.

But my mother was in Camorra territory, at the very center of it in Las Vegas, under the watchful eyes of none other than the Camorra’s Capo: Remo Falcone.

Remo Falcone was only a distant memory of a young girl and he was what stood between me and my mother. Impossible to bypass, without help. My father wouldn’t help me. Not unless Remo handed him my mother so he could kill her himself. And Adamo?

Maybe Adamo could help, but would he? Using him to get information had been easy, but what I needed from him beyond that….I wasn’t sure if I should even consider asking. But did I have a choice?

This was too important to let emotions get in the way, especially when I wasn’t sure about their extent. Could anything between us even last?

But unlike Adamo I couldn’t let the past rest. It didn’t let me. And not pursuing revenge? Impossible.

The past was my burden.

Sometimes at night the memories were fresh and I woke with the scent of my mother’s sweet perfume in my nose, my skin covered in sweat. I hated those nights, those dreams, that made me feel small and weak, destroying everything I’d worked so hard for.

The past

“Come on, Mandy,” my mother said as she dragged me out of the car and toward a brick building. I didn’t like that name. But maybe it wouldn’t last. My last five names hadn’t. I missed my real name. Ekaterina, or Katinka, how Dad always called me. But it was bad.

“Mandy, hurry!” Her voice was tight with fear. Men had taken us with them, away from the house we’d lived in for weeks now. They had put us into a car and driven us to a place with a big neon sign above its entrance. A woman’s legs flashed in bright colors and between them the words Sugar Trap blinked. I didn’t fight her hold, only trudged after her. I lowered my gaze to the floor how I had been taught when we walked through a bar. It smelled of alcohol and smoke, but above all, of a heavy perfume, even stronger than the one Mom wore. I almost stumbled when we headed down steep steps. But a man with gray eyes caught my arm. He released me and Mom pulled me even closer.