Twisted Emotions (The Camorra Chronicles 2)

“Ask him for permission to deal out revenge on someone who attacked your property?” he snarled. “He gave us less than was promised and you think we owe him anything?”

“Not ask but warn him,” I said. I turned to Kiara, who had pressed herself against the wall at Remo’s outburst. “Get dressed.”

Her gaze flickered between Remo and the bathroom door he stood beside.

Remo understood her expression before I did. He walked over to me, away from the bathroom door. Kiara grabbed her bag and quickly rushed into the bathroom.

I raised my eyebrows at him.

“She was scared to walk past me,” Remo said with a shrug.

“She’s fearful.”

“Aren’t they all?” He pulled out his phone. “I’m going to call Fabiano. Savio better stay with Adamo before the kid gets himself killed.”

“Come on,” I said and led him out into the corridor. It was deserted.

Fabiano arrived a few minutes later, his eyes narrowed. “Don’t tell me you killed the girl.”

I raised one eyebrow. “I’m not prone to emotional outbursts like Remo.”

“Perhaps you faked your emotions too well,” Fabiano muttered.

“I didn’t. Kiara is alive and well, considering her circumstances.”

Fabiano threw a glance at Remo. “Nino wants to spill the blood of her uncle. Fucked her when she was a kid,” my brother said.

Fabiano grimaced in what I assumed was disgust. “Killing off Luca’s family won’t go over well.”

“Luca would kill him if he weren’t family. I saw the look he gave the old fucker. And the guy isn’t even Luca’s blood. He’s married to Luca’s aunt.”

“It’s one of his men. He will insist on dishing out punishment himself.”

“No,” I said. “He punished Aria’s cousin for leering at her on Outfit territory. He will understand that I need to kill his uncle myself.”

Fabiano considered my words. “Maybe. But it’s not a good start to this union.” He regarded me. “But I see that you will do it no matter what I say, so I will go looking for Luca and attempt damage control. Maybe he hasn’t left for his own mansion yet.” Fabiano paused. “Where will you take the asshole?”

“I will tend to him on my wedding sheets,” I said, and my mouth pulled into a smile.

Fabiano sighed then turned on his heel and went in search of the Famiglia Capo.

“Ready to pick up your date for the night?” Remo said with a laugh.

I tried to figure out what he meant with it.

“I assume you are going to fuck him with your knife.” I stared down at the blade in my holster.

I nodded slowly. “I’m going to take my time breaking him, body and mind.”

“I hope you let me in on the fun.”

I inclined my head. It would be unreasonable to prevent Remo from participating. I knew every spot on a body that brought agony, but Remo knew how to break them with mind games. Both were more effective if applied in combination.

“Let’s go,” I said, and Remo let me lead the way because this was my crusade.

Keeping to the shadows, we found Durant in the gardens with his wife, laughing loudly and clutching a wine glass in his hand. “I hope he’s not drunk,” Remo muttered. “Don’t want him to miss the night of his life.”

“We will get him sober,” I said quietly as I regarded him. He was a tall man, wide shoulders but had a paunch that told me it had been a while since he’d really fought. Not that it mattered.

Remo sneered. “Fucking a kid. That gives even me the creeps. I hope he isn’t one of those that passes out quickly.”

“We will make sure he stays awake.” I wanted him to enjoy every second of his last hours.

Fabiano stood over to the side, beside the buffet, with Luca. It wasn’t difficult to read the Capo’s emotions. He was furious.

“Come on,” I said to Remo. “Let’s grab Durant.”

He didn’t need any further encouragement. I gripped my bowie knife, fingers curling around the smooth wood handle, as Remo and I moved along the fringes of the party. Most people still around were shit-faced. The moment Durant spotted me and my brother, his eyes widened. He dropped the glass and turned, fleeing the party and leaving his wife standing there with a dumbfounded expression.

Remo sighed. “Why do they always think they can escape?”

I began jogging and spotted Durant stumbling down the slope leading to the water. Maybe he hoped he could reach one of the boats and escape. When I reached a good spot, I stopped and flung my knife. The Damascus blade gleamed magnificently in the moonlight before it impaled itself in Durant’s calf. His ear-piercing scream was a good start to the night. No cries of pleasure tonight. Only agony.

Durant fell to his knees, clutching at his calf.

“Nice,” Remo acknowledged as he came to a stop beside me. We walked down the hill slowly as Durant pushed to his feet and tried to hobble toward the nearest boat, but he couldn’t put any pressure on his injured leg. He should have pulled the knife out; it either would have helped him move faster or it would have made him bleed out quickly. Both would have been better outcomes than what awaited him under Remo’s and my hands.