Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles 3)

Adamo shrugged. “My friends and I only take it now and then to relax.”

I breathed harshly. Adamo lay completely still beneath me. I took a deep breath, stifling the fury burning through me, then got to my feet. “You won’t ever take anything again or I will kill every single of your so-called friends. Rich parents or not. And now you will take your new car for a test drive to Harper’s home and tell her you won’t give her free drugs anymore. If she wants drugs, she can come to me and pay the regular price. Understood?”

Adamo blinked up at me. “Understood,” he said slowly, sitting up. “My new car?”

I thrust the keys to the ground beside him. “Bought you that Ford Mustang Limgene in red and black that you’ve had as your screen saver for months now.”

Adamo took the keys. “For my birthday?”

“For your birthday and your initiation. Now talk to Harper and take Nino with you,” I said then walked into the living room, straight toward the punching bag. I began kicking and punching, but my rage didn’t lessen.

Fabiano joined me after a moment. “I suppose I don’t need to watch the girls anymore?”

I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to think about Serafina now because if I started thinking about her, I might end up ruining my own fucking plan.

Fabiano stepped in my line of vision. “That girl led him on.”

“I know,” I growled and sent the bag flying. The hook groaned but stayed anchored in the ceiling. “How about a sparring match?”

“You don’t look like you want to spar. You look like you want to destroy someone,” Fabiano commented, but he began unbuttoning his shirt. I tugged at my own T-shirt and dragged it over my head then shoved down my pants and swung myself into the boxing ring, wearing only my briefs.

Fabiano did the same and stood across from me. I motioned him forward, and he went into attack mode at once.

We hit and kicked hard and fast. Fabiano’s punches spoke of suppressed anger, and my own were fueled with fury. I shoved him into the ropes, but he caught himself. “Is this because of Serafina?” I taunted.

“No,” he shot back. “I always enjoy kicking your ass, Remo.”

He lunged at me again.

“What’s going on here?” Kiara asked from the entranceway.

We ignored her.

“If nobody bothers to give me an answer, I’ll head upstairs and talk to Serafina.”

“You won’t,” I ordered, and Fabiano landed a hard punch in my side.

Snarling, I did a sidekick and got his shoulder. “Kiara!” I held up my palm toward Fabiano to pause the match.

She froze. “I thought she could have dinner with us. I have mac and cheese in the oven.”

“You won’t go anywhere near her without someone to watch your back, understood?”

She nodded eventually. Then her eyes moved on to Fabiano. “Why don’t you call Leona. I made enough food so you can join us.”

“That’s a good idea,” I said then jumped out of the ring. It was obvious that I wouldn’t get rid of my anger today.

“Will you bring Serafina down, then?”

“No,” I said tersely.

“Why not?” Kiara asked, and I stalked toward her. She didn’t back off as I stopped right in front of her.

“Because I don’t fucking trust myself around her today, okay?”

Kiara nodded, a deep worry line forming between her brows. “Okay.”

“I can bring her food up later,” Fabiano suggested.

I slanted him a hard look. “Yeah, why not?” My voice rang with warning.

He held my gaze for a long time until he grabbed his phone from the pocket of his pants off the ground and brought it to his ear. I put my clothes back on, not giving a shit that I was sweaty. Kiara trailed after me as I sank down on the sofa. She didn’t know what was good for her. Now that she wasn’t completely terrified by my presence anymore, she was starting to annoy the fuck out of me.

“Is it because of Adamo?”

“What?”

“Your sour mood.”

I smiled darkly. “You haven’t seen me in a sour mood yet, and if I can help it, you won’t.”

She pursed her lips. “He’s conflicted. He doesn’t want to disappoint you, but he also doesn’t want to kill and torture in your name.”

I didn’t say anything, only returned her gaze until she looked away. She had more trouble holding my eyes than Serafina did.

“He’s killed before.”

“And he feels guilty for it.”

I braced myself on my thighs. “Nobody forced his hand back then. He could have hidden like all the other spectators of the fight. He could have run. He could have shot the asshole’s leg or arm, but Adamo shot him in the head. Maybe Adamo doesn’t want to be a killer, but he is. It’s in our nature, Kiara. He can fight it as long as he wants, but eventually the darkness seeps through. It’s what it is.”