Twisted Bonds (The Camorra Chronicles 4)

One that might cost us Adamo.

He should have never taken part in that race. We had forbidden him, but Adamo was a kid in many regards. We should have made sure he didn’t get the chance to get anywhere near Kansas. We shouldn’t have trusted he was with C.J. in the Sugar Trap. It was as much our fault as if was his. We were meant to protect him.

Remo sat hunched in his seat. We’d just boarded the plane but were already up in the air. We didn’t have any time to waste.

Savio peered up at me. “Do you think we can get him out?”

We didn’t know where the Outfit kept Adamo, and even if we found out, Dante would have the place heavily guarded. We’d try an ambush anyway and it would probably cost all of our lives. My chest constricted thinking of Kiara’s tears when I’d left, her shaking voice when she’d asked me to be careful and return to her.

I wanted nothing more, but if I didn’t try to save Adamo, I wouldn’t be able to live myself, nor would my brothers. We’d save him or die trying. There really was no other option.

The noise of the plane faded into the background until I only heard the screaming.

Pity was a foreign concept to me. When I caused other people pain, it gave me satisfaction figuring out the most effective ways to reach whatever goal I had set myself. Screams didn’t faze me, never had. But seeing Adamo getting tortured on our laptop screen, hearing his screams from the speakers, my insides seemed to shrivel. I remembered holding him as a baby, remembered patching him up whenever as a small kid he fell and hurt himself.

Remo was shaking, his face a mixture of anguish and fury. I felt nothing except for a ringing hollowness that spread further and further until there was only cold. No emotions, no pain, nothing. The reassuring calm of the past.

Remo was right we needed to watch Adamo’s suffering, so we knew what was at stake. We’d seen and done worse, and not just witnessed it on a screen from afar. But this … this cut deeply.

A blonde woman stumbled into view, stopping the torture, protecting Adamo. Serafina Mione.

Remo tensed, and his expression became still in a way it never had. As if this was the revelation he’d been waiting for.

Savio darted a concerned look at me. “Fuck.”

“Remo?” I asked, when he kept staring at the screen.

He ignored me and lifted his phone. I had a feeling I knew whom he was calling, and more than that—what he was going to do.

I shook my head but he didn’t see me, his eyes only for Serafina.

“Dante, I’ll give you what you really want. Tomorrow morning I’ll be in Minneapolis and exchange myself for Adamo.”

Savio took a step closer, mouthing what the hell?

“It’s me you want to see burn, not my brother, and you will get your chance.”

Relief showed on Remo’s face and I knew Dante had agreed to the deal. The Outfit Capo wanted Remo not Adamo.

“Understood.”

With a strange smile Remo lowered the phone.

“They will kill you, Remo,” Savio said.

Remo nodded and met my gaze. “They will cut me, skin me, burn me, cut off my dick, and then maybe they’ll kill me.”

“This is madness, Remo.”

“Maybe. But it’s what’s going to happen, Nino. My decision is final.”

Remo sank down on the seat and Savio leaned close to me. “We can’t allow this. Remo needs to stop sacrificing himself. We need him.”

I swallowed. I’d never been separated from Remo for more than a few days. We’d survived only because we had each other. I sank down across from him, hoping to talk sense into him, even if it had never worked in the past.

Remo shook his head. “Don’t waste your time.”

I stood, too restless to sit. Savio was hunched in his seat and I walked over to him. He raised his head with a dark laugh. “Fuck. The little shit always grated on my nerves. But seeing those assholes cut him and burn him…I want to smash their fucking heads in.”

“One day we will.”

“Yeah, but first they’re going to shred Remo into pieces,” Savio said. He ran a hand through his hair, staring up at me. “You’re a fucking genius, don’t you have an idea how to sort out this mess?”

Remo was staring out of the plane window, brows drawn together and fierce determination on his face.

“I don’t think Remo will allow it.”

Remo was the strongest Capo there was. Without him the Camorra would still be a collection of idiots struggling for power—without him Las Vegas would still be in the hands of unworthy men. Remo was Las Vegas. Remo was the Camorra. Remo was a born leader.

I was not. I’d never wanted to be.

The Camorrista would follow me because they feared me, because of their unfailing loyalty to our family, but not because of me.