Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles 3)

“I hate you,” I whispered as if saying the words aloud would make them true.

Remo’s eyes bore into mine, filled with emotions, his mouth twisting in a dark smile because he knew. He moved closer, tongue sliding along the seam of my lips. “Nothing tastes sweeter than your lips, even when they’re spewing lies, Angel.”

His next thrust hit deep, and I could not hold back. Blinding pleasure rushed through my body. My lips parted but I swallowed my cry. I wouldn’t give it to Remo. Not today. He bit down on my throat, and the force of my orgasm doubled. The moan clawed itself out of my throat. He couldn’t even allow me that small victory. His own face twisted with strain as he kept thrusting, shoulders flexing. He kissed my mouth softly then my ear, and I knew he would deliver words meant to break, words worse than any torture could ever be. I’d known it from the moment I’d seen his cold face this morning.

“You wanted to know why I need you to put on your wedding dress,” he rasped as his thrusts became less controlled.

My chest tightened with dread.

Remo kissed my ear again. “You see, I arranged a meeting with Dante for tonight, and I promised to give you back. Danilo will be there as well, and I thought he’d appreciate finally seeing you in your wedding dress. Even if I stole what you promised to him.”

Shock and fury crashed down on me, and I slapped Remo hard. He gripped my wrist and pressed it into the mattress over my head as he thrust into me again, eyes staking claim on me over and over again, taking more with every thrust. But he couldn’t lock me out anymore, because I, too, had laid claim to a part of him.

His body tightened, coiling tight with pleasure, and as always, my own traitorous body submitted to him again. I cried out. Remo linked our fingers, pressing them deeper into the mattress as his mouth found mine for a kiss full of anger and dominance. When he finally stilled on top of me, my eyes moved up to my dress.

“You are mine, Angel. Body and soul,” he rasped. And God help me, he spoke the truth.

When I put the dress back on, it felt like a sacrilege wearing something so pure and white. Goose bumps rippled across my skin when the heavy fabric settled around my legs. I stared down at the layers of tulle, the blood stains and tears. Had I really chosen this dress? Had I ever felt comfortable wearing it?

Remo regarded me with a hard expression. “I still remember the first time I saw you in it.”

I didn’t say anything.

Remo reached for my engagement ring on the nightstand, and the little hairs on my neck rose. He stopped right in front of me and took my hand then slid the ring on with a twisted smile. “This marks you as Danilo’s, doesn’t it?”

I stared at him fiercely, unyieldingly because he knew the mark he had left went deeper than an expensive ring. Something in Remo’s eyes shifted, a flicker in his harsh mask, yet he still held my hand. He released me abruptly and stepped back. “Danilo will be delighted to get you back.”

“I’m not the girl I used to be.”

Remo’s gaze hit me like a sledgehammer, but he didn’t say anything, even though I wanted … needed him to.

Up until the very end, I was convinced Remo would keep me. I kept denying the truth until I was faced with the result of my sins: the exhausted faces of my family and fiancé.

They waited in the abandoned parking lot. Dad, Dante, Danilo. Samuel wasn’t there, and I knew it was because he would have lost it. Behind them on the ground lay a tied up man, probably Fabiano’s father. His back was turned to me so I couldn’t be sure.

Their eyes were drawn upward toward one of the buildings, and when Remo pulled me out of the car, I found the reason why. Nino was perched on the roof as a sniper. Fabiano got out of the car as well, his own gun drawn.

Remo led me a few steps away from the car. Then he stopped. “You were very ill-advised attacking our territory, Dante,” he said pleasantly, his grip on my hip tight as he held me against his body. My eyes lingered on the ground because my guilt sat so heavily on my shoulders I couldn’t find the courage to meet the gazes of the men who’d come to save me. The white fabric of my dress seemed to mock me, and I focused on the bloodstains.

Bracing myself, I finally raised my head and wished I hadn’t.

Nothing had ever hurt worse than the look on Dad’s face. He took in my bloody dress, the bruises on my throat where Remo had marked me over and over again. Remo had made his claiming of me as apparent as possible, flaunted it in front of everyone, and it had the desired effect. Uncle Dante, my fiancé Danilo, and my father regarded me as if they had been gutted. Remo’s ultimate triumph.