“Adamo is rebelling, but he’s still a Falcone. Should I push him more?”
Nino shook his head. “I think that would make him pull away further. We have to hope that he comes around eventually.”
“The initiation is in front of our underbosses and captains. If he refuses …” I trailed off.
Nino nodded because he understood. Adamo refusing the tattoo would be shameful, a betrayal. There was only one punishment for refusing the tattoo: death.
“I suppose it wouldn’t be the first time we’d have to kill a considerable number of Camorrista,” I said.
“These men are loyal. It would be unfortunate to dispose of them, and we’d be faced with too many opponents at once.”
“It won’t come to that.”
Nino nodded again and stood quietly beside me. “Have you given Serafina something for the pain?”
“Pain?” I echoed.
“Her wound might sting.”
“It’s a shallow cut. It can’t possibly cause her more than slight discomfort.”
Nino shook his head. “That’s what I thought when I treated Kiara’s wound, but she was surprisingly sensitive to pain. And Serafina won’t be any different. Maybe worse. It’s probably the first cut she’s suffered, probably the first act of violence at all, Remo. She’ll feel pain more profoundly than you and I do.”
I considered his words and realized he was probably right. From what I’d gathered, Serafina had probably never even been hit by her parents. The first act of violence … I didn’t dwell on those thoughts. “Do we have anything for pain?”
“I have Tylenol in my room. I can bring it to her after dinner. Kiara is cooking her cheese lasagna again.”
“No, I will give it to her when I bring her a slice of the lasagna.”
“Okay,” Nino murmured, regarding me carefully.
“What?” I snarled, his silent judgment grating on my nerves.
“Originally the plan was to keep Serafina in the Sugar Trap.”
“Originally I didn’t know what kind of woman she was. And she is safer here. I don’t want anyone to get their hands on her. It would ruin my plans.”
“I’ll get the Tylenol,” Nino said, turning around and leaving me standing there.
I went inside and made my way into the kitchen, which smelled of herbs and something spicier. Kiara glanced up from the chopping board. She was slicing tomatoes and throwing them in a bowl with lettuce.
“No one’s eating salad around here,” I told her as I strode toward her. The tensing of her body was barely noticeable anymore.
“I’m eating it, and Nino will too, and maybe Serafina prefers to stay healthy as well,” Kiara said. I stopped beside her and glanced into the oven where a big pan was bubbling over with cheese.
“Serafina has more pressing problems.”
Kiara’s eyes shot up, and I gripped her hand before she could chop her fingers off. “Nino needs to show you how to hold a knife properly,” I demanded then released her.
She put down the knife. “When will you send her back?”
I stared down at her.
She pushed a strand behind her ear, looking away. Kiara was still quick to submit. “You will send her back, right?”
Nino came in with the Tylenol, glancing between his wife and me. He frowned but didn’t comment.
“When’s the lasagna done?” I asked.
“It should be ready now.” She gripped the handle, and I stepped back so she could open the oven. She nodded. “Perfect.”
Nino took oven mitts and gently pushed his wife to the side. “Let me.”
He set the bubbling pan onto the stove, and Kiara smiled at him, touching his arm. “Thank you.”
His expression softened, and I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it. My brother loved—or whatever he was capable of—Kiara. Taking the Tylenol from his pocket, he handed it to me. “Give me a piece of lasagna for Serafina.”
Kiara pursed her lips but did as she was told. “Why can’t she have dinner with us?”
“She’s a captive,” Savio muttered as he came in. He was still pissed because of the soup incident.
“She can be a captive and eat dinner with us, don’t you think?” She looked up to Nino for help. He touched her waist and a look passed between them I couldn’t read.
Sick of their silent exchanges, I left with the lasagna and the Tylenol. When I stepped into the bedroom, Serafina was sitting on the windowsill, her arms wrapped around her legs. I wondered what kind of clothes she’d worn in Minneapolis. I couldn’t imagine she’d opted for floor-length dresses like Kiara. Serafina didn’t turn my way when I stepped in, not even when I crossed the room and set the plate down on her nightstand.
“Tell Kiara I’m sorry I wasted her soup.”
“Are you sorry?” I asked as I stopped in front of her. Her blue eyes were still firmly focused on the window.
“I’m sorry for wasting it, not for throwing it at your brother. I’m sorry I missed, though. You can tell him that.”