Twisted Bonds (The Camorra Chronicles 4)

I wouldn’t let him die.

CHAPTER 14

KIARA

I had to stifle a gasp when I saw Adamo. A few soldiers brought him to the mansion and Fabiano supported him as he limped into the gaming room. His shoulder was in a cast and his forearm covered in bandages. His face was swollen and bruised, and the sight sent a stab of worry through me, but nothing, absolutely nothing, prepared me for the look in his eyes. They’d always been warm, soft, but now they were haunted, dark, harsh, and again I couldn’t help but notice how much like Remo that Adamo looked in that moment.

“I don’t need your help,” Adamo muttered and freed himself from Fabiano’s hold.

“Don’t be stupid. You’re fucking messed up.” Fabiano tried to reach for Adamo again but he lashed out with his uninjured arm.

“No!” he roared, stumbling and falling to his knees, wheezing.

I took a step toward Adamo but Fabiano held up his hand, palm outward, shaking his head.

Leona leaned in the doorway, and the look of shock on her face could have been mine. This wasn’t the Adamo we knew.

“Adamo—” I whispered.

Slowly he looked up and for a moment I thought he was crying, but his eyes were almost feverish with anguish. “You wanna know what’s really messed up? That I’m here and Remo is in their fucking hands! He should have never exchanged himself for me. You should have stopped him.”

“Remo can’t be stopped. He would do anything for you and your brothers. Absolutely everything. He’ll gladly put his life down if it means you get to live.”

Adamo laughed darkly, still kneeling in front of us. “They aren’t only going to kill him. They’re going to tear him apart.” He started ripping at his bandages, shoving Fabiano back who tried to stop him, and finally his forearm came into view. Half of the Camorra tattoo was burnt away. “They’re going to send him through hell, and we’re just waiting for it to happen!”

Fabiano’s chest heaved as he stared down at Adamo. “Nino and Savio are going to figure something out.”

“It’ll be too late then. It’ll be too fucking late,” Adamo rasped. “If they kill Remo, I’ll go back and kill them.”

I wrapped my arms around my middle, realizing I’d just witnessed Adamo losing his innocence. Maybe it was bound to happen. He didn’t sound like an angry teen speaking empty threats, he sounded like a man with a mission, and that more than anything scared me.

Fabiano touched Adamo’s shoulder. “If they kill Remo …” he swallowed, his mouth setting in a harsh line. “If they kill Remo, which they won’t, we’ll walk into Outfit territory together and kill every last man responsible for this.”

Adamo smiled grimly. “We could shatter the Outfit, and you could become Underboss of Chicago under the Camorra’s rule.”

Fabiano stared as if Adamo had completely lost it. He gripped his good arm and hoisted him to his feet. “Come on. We’ll get you into bed. You’re exhausted.”

Adamo didn’t resist and I watched them making their way to Adamo’s wing. Swallowing hard, I closed my eyes. A soft touch made me open them again.

“My God,” Leona whispered. “Whatever happened with the Outfit … it broke him.”

I shook my head. “It won’t break him. It’ll make him stronger like it did his brothers. Dante and the Outfit created another enemy.”

Leona looked doubtful. “You really think it won’t haunt Adamo?”

“It’ll haunt him for a long time, maybe always, but eventually he’ll get through it.” I was convinced of it but I was scared of the time it would take for him to reach that point.

“But he won’t be the same,” Leona said.

“He already isn’t the same.”

I took a deep breath, needing to distract myself, not just from my worry over Adamo’s mental state but also for Nino and Savio, and most of all Remo. If the Outfit killed him, it would crack Nino. He’d lead the Camorra into war, logical or not. He’d avenge his brother in the cruelest way possible. I wasn’t sure if the man that Nino became afterwards would still be the man I’d come to love. “I’m going to cook Adamo’s favorite spaghetti. Will you help me?”

Leona nodded and together we headed into the kitchen and began to work in tense silence.

I knocked at Adamo’s door, the spicy scent of garlic swirling in my nose. My stomach was knotted too tightly to consider eating anything.

“Come in.”

Pushing open the door, I stepped inside, carrying a tray with a bowl of spaghetti aglio e oglio. “I made your favorite pasta.”

Adamo lay on top of the covers, in sweatpants, revealing a bruised upper body. His forearm with the burnt tattoo lay on display as if he’d been staring at it before I’d knocked.

Adamo awkwardly pushed into a sitting position. “Thanks.”

I made my way through the narrow corridor of dirty clothes and positioned the tray across his legs. “Can I stay?”