Twisted Emotions (The Camorra Chronicles 2)

Slipping out of the bed, I curled up in one of the armchairs, not bothering with a blanket. Much later, the door creaked open. As the light spilled in from the corridor, I could see Nino dressed in his wedding suit. Then he closed the door, bathing us in darkness. He stopped halfway to the bed. “You can sleep in the bed. Remo won’t require it tonight. It’s ours.”

I swallowed. “I haven’t slept in a bed in years.”

“Why?” There was no judgment in his voice, only mild curiosity.

“Because that’s where it happened,” I choked.

“He begged for death in the end if it’s any consolation.”

I sucked in my breath. Was it? It shouldn’t have been, but part of me felt consoled. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“The power he still holds over you … that’s something you have to break.”

I stood and slowly walked toward the bed. In the dim light I could only make out Nino’s tall form, but I had a feeling he was watching me.

I lay down and covered myself with the blanket.

Nino’s shadow shifted and I could hear clothes rustling. He was getting out of his wedding suit. The remnants of fear made my breathing change. Perhaps it would always be like that. Would he try again? I was his wife after all.

“You should try to sleep,” he said in that calm drawl as he slipped under the covers. He didn’t come close enough so we would touch.

“I can’t.”

“The nightmares won’t stop because he’s dead,” he said, and I knew he was right, but it was unsettling that he knew. They’d called him a genius, as twisted and dangerous as he was intelligent. And I realized he was all that and more. Monstrous.

Every cut he’d inflicted on Uncle Durant in my presence spoke of clinical precision, of years of practice, and I knew what came after I’d left had been worse.

He begged for death in the end.

“But he won’t ever hurt you again, and nobody else will either,” he said as if him speaking the words made it law.

Because of the bloody message he sent today. “What about you?” Silence. “Will you hurt me?”

He shifted and the bed moved under his weight. I sucked in a breath before I could stop myself. Even in the dark, I could see him turn to face me. “I won’t hurt you either. Physically at least.”

“But you will abuse me mentally?” I asked.

“No. Not intentionally.” He paused. “But I don’t feel.”

“Feel what?”

Pity? Mercy?

“Feel.”

I tried to understand what he meant. “You don’t feel emotions?”

“Haven’t since I was a child.” He paused. “Not like people usually do. It’s difficult to explain.”

A sociopath. That was what people like him were called.

“I recognize them and I can simulate them in a satisfying manner if I want, but I don’t feel them.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Perhaps his admittance should have scared me. “So what does that mean for us?”

“That means that I will never act on anger or fear or sadness, but …”

“But never on love or affection either,” I finished. I wondered why he had slaughtered my uncle if it wasn’t for anger. Was it habit? Because that was how things were handled in Vegas? Even in New York any Made Man would have killed the man who’d dishonored his bride.

“Indeed.”

I didn’t need love as long as I knew I was safe from him. Besides, I had gone without real affection for years now. I could live through more. “What about desire?”

“That isn’t an emotion. It is animalistic drive. And basically humans are animals.”

Not so safe after all. “So you act on desire.” Fear was back in my voice, and my body clammed up with it.

In the dark I could see the slight movement of his face. “I do. And to be upfront, I desire your body.”

There it was. My pulse sped up, and I could feel a new wave of panic begin to rise.

“But I won’t act on it.”

“You won’t?”

“At some point it might be required that we produce offspring, but until then I can seek out other women to handle my needs … if that’s what you prefer?”

So clinical and emotionless. “Yes,” I said, relieved that he’d suggested something like that. I could have cried from relief.

He didn’t say anything. For him this was settled. I closed my eyes. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest, and I could breathe freely again.

I fought him, tried to push him off, but he was too strong. Gasping, I woke and panicked because something was holding me down. I struggled harder, terror clawing at my chest. Only one of my arms was free. I flailed.

A firm hand caught my wrist, and I let out a choked sound.

The lights came on, and I blinked against the brightness.

“Calm down, Kiara. You are tangled in the covers.”