Twisted Emotions (The Camorra Chronicles 2)

From my position on the floor, he looked even taller, which didn’t help with my anxiety.

“Did you eavesdrop? Never heard about privacy?” he muttered. He stuffed his phone into his pocket then bent over me, and I flinched. He froze, his eyes widening a moment before he controlled his expression. He was almost as good as Nino. “Jeez, I wasn’t going to grope you, woman.” He held out his hand. “Stop the cowering and take my hand.”

I did, and he pulled me to my feet then released me. I quickly straightened my dress, flustered. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, and I’m sorry that you have to play babysitter when you have obviously better things to do.”

Savio shrugged. “Nino asked me to do it, and you are defenseless.”

Defenseless. He sounded almost disgusted as he said it. I wasn’t sure how to react, so I said, “I was going to make breakfast. Do you want something too?”

Savio snorted. “Good luck. There’s no food in the fridge, only beer. Nino is pretty much the only one who remembers to buy food, and he’s been busy these last few days.”

“Oh,” I said.

Savio sighed, running a hand through his dark hair. It was shorter than Nino’s and a bit darker. “Let’s grab something to eat. We can do a quick detour so I can check in with one of our soldiers who’s having trouble with vandals.”

My eyes widened. Like Nino, Savio told me about business. It was mostly frowned upon to involve women in any kind of business, to even mention it around them, in the Famiglia.

“We don’t have to go out,” he said, assessing my expression. “But then you’ll have to go without food.”

“That’s not why I was shocked. I’m not used to hearing about business.”

Savio shrugged. “It’s what my brothers and I are doing all day, so it’s a constant topic around here. Except for Adamo, whose main activity is sulking.”

I laughed. Savio looked at me like he was trying to figure me out.

“You can go outside and wait in the driveway. I’ll grab a few more guns and then we can head out.”

A few more guns? He already had a holster strapped around his chest, which held a gun and a knife, but it wasn’t my place to comment, so I headed outside. It was warm and sunny. Several cars were parked in the driveway; one of them was a Ferrari in a metallic copper tone, which glowed in the sunlight. My eyes were drawn toward what must have been a marble fountain once. Now the broken down remains of a statue lay in a heap in its middle.

Savio jogged outside. He tossed on a black leather jacket, probably to hide his guns, and nodded toward the metallic Ferrari. Of course. I followed him toward the car and got in. I jumped when the engine roared to life like a beast risen from Tartarus. Savio steered the car down the long driveway and through the gate. “Why is the fountain broken?”

“It was our father’s pride and joy. He had it made in Italy and shipped here. When my brothers and I returned, after we came into power, Remo smashed it with a sledgehammer.”

I could picture it in my mind, Remo wielding that sledgehammer like a madman. “You didn’t try to stop him?”

“There’s no stopping Remo when he’s murderous,” Savio said as he steered us down a wide road with casinos and smaller hotels on either side. “We hated our father. We were busy burning the painting of him and our mother.”

His voice held a tension, and I decided to change the topic. “You aren’t trying to blend in, are you?” I asked, motioning to his car.

Savio rolled his eyes. “With a name like Falcone and with this tattoo…” he moved his arm so I got a peek at his forearm tattooed with an eye and blade “…there’s no way in hell I could blend in around here. And why would I want to? My brothers and I have brought honor back to the Camorra. I’m proud of who I am, of what I am, why would I want to hide it?”

I nodded. It was a foreign concept for me. Most of my life I’d tried to blend in, tried to hide.

“It’s a bit strange that you are my babysitter even though I’m two years older than you, don’t you think?”

Savio’s expression hardened. “Age doesn’t matter. I have been a Camorrista for close to four years. I have fought in the cage. I have killed and tortured. I am capable of defending you and myself, and I have no qualms doing it.”

“Four years?” I asked incredulously. “But that means you were only thirteen back then.”

He nodded. “I wanted to become a Camorrista, and my brothers needed me.”

“What about Adamo? Has he been inducted yet?”