Twisted Bonds (The Camorra Chronicles 4)

“I could go,” Kiara said.

Remo and I both said ‘no’ at once.

“Why not?” Kiara asked, coming closer. “She’s in a hospital, heavily guarded. We’re not going to be alone with her. I can support Adamo, because I’m not as emotionally involved as you are. Do you really think it’s a good idea if either of you is there?”

I didn’t want Kiara to be near our mother, but she had a point. Remo would lose his shit around our mother. He and I had been discussing how to kill her for years now, but never had the necessary courage. I moved toward Kiara and touched her hip. “You are always compassionate and forgiving. I’m worried how you’ll handle it.”

Kiara tilted her head up, resolute. “I know what she did to you all. I won’t feel sorry for her.”

I shook my head. “I don’t want you in a room with her.”

Kiara sighed. “Then what about Fabiano? He won’t feel pity for her no matter what she says or does, and he’s capable of doing what’s necessary in case she tries anything.”

“That’s a good idea. I’ll ask him.”

“It’s a fucking huge mistake, that’s all I’m going to say,” Remo said. “One day you’ll see it too.”

CHAPTER 12

KIARA

I’m telling you it’s a fucking mistake.

Remo’s words still rang in my head clear and loud as we pulled up in front of the mental institution. Adamo and Fabiano got out. Nino and I remained in the car.

“Will you come in with us?” I asked Nino.

Originally Fabiano and Adamo were meant to do the visit alone, and then Adamo asked me if I’d join them and so Nino, of course, insisted to come as well.

A muscle in Nino’s jaw flexed and for a long time he only stared ahead before he gave a terse nod. “I don’t want you anywhere near her.”

“Fabiano and Adamo are going to talk to her. I’ll stay back. She can’t hurt me.”

Nino pushed open the car door and I followed. A man with a short gray beard, gray hair and a white coat waited for us on the steps. From the outside it looked like a normal mansion, but upon a closer look I discovered bars in front of many windows and the garden behind the building was separated from the driveway by a tall fence. The doctor walked toward Nino and shook his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met. I’m the new head psychiatrist, Dr. Mitchell.”

Nino barely reacted. “Where is the meeting taking place?”

“I thought the gardens would be a good option. The weather is nice and the other inhabitants are in the cafeteria for lunch so you’ll have privacy.”

“Lead the way,” Nino said.

Dr. Mitchell glanced from Nino to us, hesitating, then he turned and led us inside the mansion. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, something more prison-like perhaps, and I was pleasantly surprised.

Inside the floor was sterile stone and the walls were painted in a subdued yellow, probably for its calming qualities. “She’s already waiting outside,” Dr. Mitchell said.

“Alone?” Nino asked sharply.

“With her caregiver.”

Fabiano’s eyebrows rose. He was tense, cautious. Nino and he were armed with guns and knives. Adamo hadn’t been allowed to carry any because Nino worried their mother might get her hands on them.

We arrived in a vast garden and the doctor pointed toward a bench. A woman with short, dark hair sat with a big man in shrubs. Nino’s demeanor changed immediately, a shift in his muscles and expression, something dark and primal awakening that had me worried. Fabiano noticed too and briefly touched Nino’s forearm, causing him to meet his gaze. “Nino, shall Adamo and I go ahead and you wait here?”

Nino nodded and turned to the doctor. “You can leave, so can the caregiver.”

Dr. Mitchell looked like he would disagree then thought better of it and waved for the caregiver to come over.

Adamo and Fabiano slowly headed for the bench. Eventually only Nino and I remained at the beginning of the path, staring down toward the bench. Fabiano stopped right in front of it. Adamo spoke to his mother and then sat down beside her.

Nino walked a few steps closer, his body brimming with tension. We stopped still a good distance away, out of earshot, but close enough to see the burn scars on the woman’s arms. Scars from when she’d tried to kill her boys by cutting their wrists and burning them alive.

She turned around, glancing over her shoulder at us, and my breath lodged itself in my throat. Her eyes were gray like Nino’s.

Nino reached for his gun but I touched his hand. His gaze flew to mine, foreign and hateful, but more than that—haunted.

“Not today,” I whispered. “Let Adamo have this moment.”

Nino nodded and lowered his hand. I linked our fingers, squeezing to show him my support. Mrs. Falcone was still staring toward us, though mainly at me. Her unfaltering attention made me nervous. Something about it was too intense.