Twisted Emotions (The Camorra Chronicles 2)

Savio’s mouth thinned. “No. Remo thinks it’s better to wait until he is fourteen so he has some time to pull his head out of his ass.”

Savio pulled the car up at the curb in front of a café then got out without another word. I quickly got out as well and immediately realized that the Savio in the mansion or in the car wasn’t the Savio that the outside world got to see. His expression had hardened, not as cruel as Remo’s and not as cold as Nino’s but enough to send a shiver down my back. He no longer appeared like a teenager. He looked a man.

He surprised me when stepped closer. I gave him a curious look. “I’m supposed to protect you. I’m not going to be the one who gets his ass handed to him by Nino because something happened to you.”

I doubted Nino would care. Maybe he’d be displeased because his possession had been damaged or maybe even worried that it would endanger the truce with the Famiglia. “I thought Las Vegas was safe.”

“It is,” Savio said, his eyes scanning the sidewalk and street. The few passersby looked like tourists, even though we weren’t near the Strip. “But since the Outfit attacked, we are more careful.”

It made sense. Being attacked in your own territory must have been a hard blow. Savio motioned for me to follow him toward the café, and I tried to stay close to him. He didn’t make me quite as nervous as Remo, which was a relief. He held the door open for me, and I stepped in. The barista behind the counter gave me a smile, but it dropped the second Savio entered.

He strode toward the counter. After we’d ordered coffee to go and a few donuts, we moved over to wait for our order. The barista’s hands shook so much she kept spilling the milk. Her eyes kept flitting toward Savio and occasionally me. I couldn’t help but feel bad.

“Is everyone around here this scared of you and your brothers?” I asked when we were on our way back to the car. I took a sip from my coffee, watching Savio.

“Not everyone, no. Her brother owes us money. He got a visit from Fabiano recently. That’s why she’s like that.”

The moment I buckled up, Savio pulled the car away from the curb. He awkwardly steered the car with his cup wedged between his legs because there was no cup holder.

I took a sip then lifted the box with the donuts. “Is eating in your car off limits?”

“No. Hand me one with lemon glaze. The cleaning people can get rid of the crumbs.”

I handed him one of the donuts and took a plain one out for myself. I took a bite, and we settled into silence. I glanced at him again.

“What?” he muttered.

“You changed when we were outside.”

Savio narrowed his gaze at me. “We Falcones need to display a certain image outside. Even Adamo knows it. You should remember it too.”

“Me?” I asked, surprised.

“You are a Falcone now, aren’t you?”

I nodded. “Yeah. You’re right.” A Falcone. It would take a long time to come to terms with the fact that I was a part of the most notorious family in the US.

Savio parked. “I have to handle some business, but you have to come along.”

I quickly emptied my coffee then followed Savio. We were in front of an Italian restaurant called Capri. “As I said, this restaurant belongs to one of our soldiers. His son is a friend and also a soldier.”

This time, when we stepped inside the gloomy restaurant, the reactions were quite different. No fear or hands shaking. The restaurant hadn’t opened yet. Two guys around Savio’s age and two older men sat around a table and were arguing about something. They all looked our way the moment we entered. They nodded at Savio, but then their eyes were glued to me. Uncomfortable under their scrutiny, I had to fight the urge to lower my gaze, remembering Savio’s words.

He walked toward the men, and I followed a couple of steps behind, not sure if I was supposed to stay at his side when he’d soon have to discuss business. The younger guys got up. Both hugged Savio and clapped his shoulder. Then the tall, bulky one let out a low whistle. “Nice catch, Savio. New girl for the week?”

Savio glanced toward me, and I could feel my cheeks heat. When he turned back to the men, his smile had thinned. “She’s Nino’s wife.”

An awkward silence followed, and the bulky guy flushed, which seemed to amuse Savio if the twitch of his mouth was any indication. One of the older men shot to his feet and hit the teenage boy over the back of the head. “Apologize now, Diego!”

“I didn’t mean any disrespect,” Diego mumbled.