Twisted Emotions (The Camorra Chronicles 2)

“Thanks,” he said and began drying himself. “You can use the pool as well, you know.”

“I haven’t swam in many years, and I was never very good,” I admitted, having a hard time focusing on his face. For some reason, Nino’s presence was even more overwhelming when he stood right in front of me, soaking wet.

“I can teach you if you want,” Nino drawled.

“Maybe in a few weeks or so,” I said quickly because I wasn’t sure if I was ready to be in only swimwear around Nino, even if he had already seen me naked on our wedding night. That day seemed like a lifetime ago.

“I have to take out your stitches today. If I hadn’t been busy these last few days gathering information on Outfit buildings, I would have done it before. Why don’t we do it right away and have breakfast afterward?”

I smiled. “That sounds good.” Then added quickly, “Not the part about the stitches but the breakfast part.”

He held out his hand. My stomach flopped strangely when his warm fingers closed over my skin and he tugged me to my feet. His brows pulled together when his finger brushed my wrist, but then he released me.

“What kind of information did you gather?” I asked as we walked back to the house.

“Remo is planning an attack on Chicago. We assume Fabiano’s father was the driving force behind the attack on our territory. He has powerful supporters in the Outfit, one of them is Fiore Cavallaro, and as long as the old man lives, Dante probably won’t get rid of Scuderi.”

“But Scuderi is Fabiano’s father. Why would he try to kill his own son?”

“He tried to kill him before when Fabiano was a kid. Remo found him shortly after, and Fabiano’s been part of our family ever since. Scuderi holds a grudge against his children. I’m sure you know the story of why war broke out between the Outfit and the Famiglia.”

“Of course. Fabiano’s sister Liliana killed her husband with the help of a Famiglia soldier and ran off.”

“Scuderi wants to salvage his honor, if Fabiano is to be believed.”

I frowned. “But what does that have to do with you gathering information?”

“As I said, we intend to run an attack in summer. It’s our goal to extract Scuderi so Fabiano can kill him and we can send his remains back to Cavallaro as a present.”

That sounded like an insane plan. Kidnapping the Outfit’s Consigliere was an impossible task. Men like that were always surrounded by soldiers and guards. We arrived in our bathroom, and I stood awkwardly beside the sink as Nino took out the instruments he needed to pull out my stitches. “Where do I sit?”

“I’ll lift you onto the counter. That way I don’t have to bend too low.”

Nino stepped up close and his clean, manly scent flooded my nose. My cheeks heated, and I jumped when his strong hands touched my waist as he lifted me up onto the wash table as if I weighed nothing. I opened my bathrobe and waited nervously.

Nino touched my knees, and I became very still. His touch was light, purposeful—not at all sexual but a mix of fear and excitement shot through me anyway. The latter caught me by surprise, but Nino didn’t give me much time to consider this because he nudged my legs apart. My body’s natural reaction to clamp shut lasted only a moment. Then I allowed him to part my thighs so he could take a look at my wound.

My cheeks turned hot when he crouched before me and pushed my nightgown up, giving him a clear view of my panties. It was a vulnerable position, but despite the nerves coursing through me, my fear was only a distant voice in the back of my mind, where I’d buried my most hurtful memories.

Nino’s fingers were gentle and clinical as he felt my wound. “Does it still hurt?”

I shook my head, startled by the light tingling his touch caused. I hoped Nino didn’t realize how my body reacted to him.

He was very careful when he pulled out the stitches, so it only stung the slightest bit. When Nino had pulled the last stitch, his eyes took in the small scar, and he brushed his thumb over it. My breath got stuck in my throat from the sensation that traveled all the way to my center. I’d never experienced anything like it.

Nino straightened. “All done. The small scar will fade.”

“It’s not like anyone but you will ever see it,” I said, and his expression became strangely intent.

“That’s true.”

He gripped my waist again and set me down. This time his hands lingered on my waist a moment longer, and I swallowed, my stomach fluttering again. But Nino dropped his hands. He motioned toward the shower. “I’m going to shower now. After that, we can make breakfast.”