Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles 3)

I barely slept through the night. Remo hadn’t locked my door after he left, but I didn’t try venturing outside, fearing it was a trap. I was still too shaken to plan my flight in a way that would guarantee its success.

I slid the satin nightgown over my head, even if I didn’t want to give Remo even that small victory, but I’d have to pick my battles if I wanted to survive.

Steps in front of the door made me stiffen, and I got up from the bed, preferring to stand when facing Remo, but it wasn’t the scary Capo who entered. Savio Falcone stood in the doorway, his brown eyes taking in the length of me. I wrapped my arms around my chest before I could think better of it.

“Come,” he ordered with a nod toward the open door.

I walked toward him, and he made a move to grab my arm. “Don’t you dare touch me,” I hissed.

His eyebrows shot up, and he smiled arrogantly. “Then move your pretty ass. And take my advice, don’t ever talk to Remo like that or you’ll find yourself wishing you had never been born.”

I sent him a scathing look as I followed him through the house, taking in my surroundings. It was a spacious, twisted place that quickly left me confused. I could feel Savio’s eyes on me occasionally, more curious than sexual, but still his presence made me nervous. He was tall and muscled and too confident.

Eventually he led me down a steep staircase into a basement.

“Of course you Falcones have your own underground torture chamber,” I muttered, but even I could hear the undercurrent of panic in my voice.

A desolate, abandoned smell hung in the air. Thankfully no excrements or blood.

Savio didn’t say anything, but he motioned for me to enter a room on the right. Remo was already inside. “Here she is. I’m meeting Diego. Tell me how it went,” Savio said with a laugh.

“You’ll get to see the recording,” Remo said, his dark eyes locked on mine. “Stand over there,” he ordered, pointing at a spot in the center of the room. I followed his command, my brain whirring. The room was empty. No mattress, no chair, nothing except for a table with a camera that was pointed at me.

Remo walked around me, scanning my outfit. The silvery satin nightgown clung to my body, and as my nipples puckered in the cold basement, Remo’s eyes were drawn to them. I shivered.

Nino came in as well, and my terror increased as I watched him re-adjust the camera and put a big screen on the table in the corner. He turned the screen so it was facing our way. “Remo,” he said, and his brother went over to him. Nino frowned, but Remo touched his shoulder then looked at me. My nails found their way into the soft flesh of my palm.

The screen flashed to life, and on it I saw my family and Danilo, and my legs almost buckled.

Samuel jerked, his eyes so full of despair it tore at me, and Dad had dark circles under his eyes. Dante and Danilo were better at controlling their emotions, but they, too, didn’t look their usual composed selves.

“I’m so glad you could make it,” Remo said in a British accent, all posh and sophisticated. Wrong. A man like him shrouded in an air of violence and cruelty was anything but an English gentleman.

Remo smiled cruelly at them then turned to me, and his dark eyes flashed with excitement. “Serafina, in Las Vegas women get a choice …” His voice had returned to its normal, low, threatening vibrato.

“Don’t you dare!” Samuel shouted, lunging toward the camera as if it was Remo. Dante gripped his arm to stop him, but even my uncle appeared at the edge of control.

Remo ignored them, except for a twitch of his lip. He pulled out the knife he’d used to slaughter Simeone and showed it to me. “They can pay for their sins with pain or pleasure.”

I shuddered. “You have no right to judge other people’s sins,” I whispered harshly. Remo slowly walked behind me, too close, his breath hot against my neck. My eyes landed on the screen and met Samuel’s desperate gaze. He looked on the verge of breaking. I needed to be strong for them, for him and Dad, and even Dante and Danilo. For the Outfit.

“What do you choose, Serafina? Will you surrender to torture or pay with your body?”

I held Samuel’s gaze. I’d take my pride to the grave with me. Women were built to give birth. These men could brave pain and so could I.

Remo stepped back into my view. “If you don’t choose, I will make the choice for you.” His eyes and face said he knew my choice, was sure of it, because I was a woman, weak and insignificant.