Twisted Emotions (The Camorra Chronicles 2)

I slid out of bed and approached Nino hesitantly, but he jerked his head to the side. “Remo,” he croaked. Then it got louder, more desperate. “Get Remo!”

Stumbling toward the door, I ripped it open and ran down the corridor. My heart beat in my throat and my bare feet smacked loudly against the cold granite. What was going on with Nino?

Fear, raw and unhinged, rushed through me. What if I lost Nino to whatever this was?

I crossed over into the east wing, Remo’s domain. I’d never been there before and I knew I wasn’t welcome, but Nino needed his brother, so no matter how scared I was of Remo, I would get him.

It took me a moment to get my bearings in the unfamiliar part of the house. I wasn’t sure where Remo’s bedroom was and with only minimal moonlight streaming in through the window at the end of the corridor, it was difficult to make out more than the hazy outlines of doors. Panicking, I ripped open the first door, and even in the dark I could make out the shape of a bed. An old smell hung in the air, something dusty and abandoned. Nobody had lived there in a while.

There were so many rooms in this house, I’d never find him in time. I felt the wall for a light switch, but my body shook and I couldn’t get my bearings. The dark was beginning to close in on me, but I moved on to the next door, my finger curling around the handle. Then there was a warm breath against my ear and a low murmur. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

I screamed and lashed out instinctively, my hand colliding with a stubble-covered chin a moment before I realized whom I’d just hit. A strong hand clamped down on my wrist. I stilled, suddenly glad for the dark because it hid Remo’s expression from me.

“Let me go,” I whispered, voice shaking.

He released me, and I stepped back. “I’m sorry for hitting you,” I got out. “You scared me.”

He remained silent for another moment, towering over me with that unsettling vibe of violence. “Answer my question,” he ordered.

“It’s Nino. I don’t know what’s happening with him. He’s upset.”

“Upset,” Remo said doubtfully.

“Remo, please, can you turn on the light.” I swallowed. “It’s making me nervous being in the dark with you.”

He shifted and his arm brushed mine, then light flooded the corridor. When my eyes grew accustomed to the blinding light, Remo came into focus, tall and naked except for briefs. His eyes slid down my body, dressed only in my thin nightgown, before they returned to my face. His chin was slightly red from when I’d hit him.

“I’m losing my patience here, Kiara.”

“Nino needs your help!” I said annoyed, because there was no way I could explain Nino’s situation to him. And finally something went through to him, and he turned around and began running. I had absolutely no chance to catch up with him with his long legs.

Panting, I arrived in our bedroom a couple of minutes later.

Remo was kneeling beside his brother, who was on the ground, his hand on Nino’s shoulder. They both looked like fallen angels with their curved backs, their scars and tattoos, the muscles formed from years of fighting. Remo’s fallen angel on his back with the broken wings had never made more sense than it did now.

“What’s happening?” I croaked, and Remo looked up from where he knelt beside his brother. For a moment he looked as helpless, as terrified as I felt, and that sight undid me because this was Remo, this was a man always commanding, always hard and powerful and cruel and not afraid of anything. It came almost as a relief when he narrowed his eyes at me, his mouth pulling into a twisted smile, as if this was my fault, as if without realizing it, I had broken Nino even though I held nowhere close to the power over him to do so.

“Get out,” Remo growled, but I didn’t want to leave. “Get out!” he snarled, and I knew he’d make me if I didn’t, so I rushed out and ran along the corridor, down the stairs, and into our living room, which wasn’t really called that because most living room activities took place in the shared area of the mansion when all the brothers were together. This was my sanctuary and sometimes Nino’s when he tried to simulate affection for me.

I sank down on the piano bench. My fingers instantly found the keys, needing to feel their cool smoothness. The first notes of the song I’d written for Nino rang out. Desperate, drawn-out, low notes in the beginning then hesitant, higher notes, lighter notes until the melody seemed almost excited in their staccato, followed by overwhelming, high-pitched notes until finally the melody became a gentle flow, a song of acceptance, but this ending seemed wrong now, and my fingers moved on, the notes reaching higher and higher, filling me up until my emotions created this melody.