Twisted Emotions (The Camorra Chronicles 2)

Kiara followed close behind. “I should do it. After all, I caused the mess.”

“Following that logic, Remo and Savio should clean up,” I said.

“That’s not going to happen,” Remo shouted.

“Is he angry?” Kiara asked quietly.

“Remo is always angry. You have to be more specific than that.”

“Because I disturbed him and his … woman.”

“You didn’t disturb him. Trust me. Remo is used to a lot of shit. You freaking out on him won’t stop him from fucking a whore.”

Kiara tensed. “Do you call all women whores?”

“No, but that’s what they were. They work in the Sugar Trap for us.”

Her nose wrinkled. “So you always use whores?”

“No. But if things are busy, it’s the easiest way to get sex. Finding a regular woman requires we go out and charm them. That’s considerably more work.”

Kiara sighed. “You and your brothers are messed up.”

Remo got up from the sofa. “Is there any food in the fridge? I’m starving.”

“I bought eggs and bacon yesterday.” I took the mop, a dustpan, and a small broom out of the closet as Remo disappeared from view. Kiara took the broom and dustpan from me and walked somewhat stiffly back to the remains of the broken glass on the floor. I filled a bucket with water before I followed her.

“How’s your wound?” I asked.

“It stings, but your stitches seemed to hold,” she said, her expression softening. “You’re really good at playing doctor.”

“I have years of practice stitching up my brothers and myself, though Remo has provided me the most practice.”

“You all have a lot of scars,” she said, her eyes tracing my upper body. I had trouble reading her expression. She didn’t seem unsettled by my half-dressed state.

“Everyone has scars. Some are skin deep, others reach beyond that.”

“Soul deep,” she whispered.

“Are you referring to yourself?”

She watched me mop up the blood and brushed the shards into the dustpan then smiled strangely up at me. “I don’t think my scars will ever fade.”

“They don’t need to fade.” I grabbed her hand and touched it to the scar above my bellybutton. Her fingertips fluttered over my skin, her eyes wide with shock. “A knife went in there. Dirty blade. The wound wouldn’t heal for a long time. For a moment, I was sure it wouldn’t heal at all. How does it feel?”

She frowned. “The skin is a bit harder, but your tattoos cover up everything.”

“The skin is harder there because of the thick scar tissue. It’s less sensitive to pain and cold and heat. It’s stronger.”

Her brown eyes held my gaze. “I don’t understand.”

I moved my face closer. “The scars he left, your body can heal them if you let it, and the result will be stronger than what was there before.”

CHAPTER 13

KIARA

I got up when Nino disappeared in the bathroom to change into his swim trunks. Every morning since I’d moved in three weeks ago, he followed the same ritual. I had occasionally watched him from the window in the beginning until I’d found the courage to follow him outside one day a week ago. Now he always waited for me.

He raised his eyebrows when he saw me putting on my bathrobe and grabbing a book. “Ready?”

“Ready.”

I followed him downstairs, my eyes darting to his body. He looked good in his swim trunks. In the last few days, I’d often caught myself staring at him. His body fascinated me, I could admit that, and touching his scar hadn’t summoned past demons as I’d feared. His scars and tattoos made me want to find out the story behind each of them. Nino’s story.

Stretching out on one of the sun chairs, I watched as Nino made his way toward the edge of the pool and jumped in elegantly. He always followed the same routine. Two rounds of the butterfly stroke, two rounds of the backstroke, and two rounds of the crawl. Then he repeated everything from the start. He never faltered in his movements throughout the thirty minutes that he swam, and I didn’t read a single word. I couldn’t take my eyes off him, off the muscles in his arms and back as they flexed. It was mesmerizing and beautiful, graceful.

May mornings in Las Vegas were surprisingly warm, and I relished the feel of the sun on my skin as my eyes rested on my husband.

My husband. It didn’t feel real yet. He had kept his word, had never made a move to touch me, and sometimes I caught myself wondering how it would be if he did touch me … if were closer. I knew it wasn’t a possibility I should bother entertaining.

When he swam toward the ladder, I quickly lifted my book and returned my gaze to the page, but above the edge of the book, I watched Nino getting out and a small shiver trailed up my spine.

After a moment of Nino soaking in the sun—a sight that always halted my breath in my throat and sent spears of heat through my body—he headed my way, dripping water. I handed him the towel he’d put down on the sun chair beside mine and tried not to act like I had been secretly watching him the entire time.