Twisted Bonds (The Camorra Chronicles 4)

Dark shadows spread under his eyes and he smelled faintly of smoke and beer. “Around four.”

“Tomorrow’s school. I don’t want you out all night again.”

“It’s almost the end of the school year. Holidays will start soon. It’s not like anything exciting is happening,” Adamo mumbled, clinging to his coffee cup. “Savio’s partying all the time.”

“Savio’s not in school, and never gets shit-faced,” Remo said sharply. Greta peered up at him, her mouth smeared with puree, ignoring the spoon Seraina now held out to her.

“Savio’s also of age,” Savio said, rolling his eyes. “Man, you look like shit, even worse than our two beauties over there.”

“I just had some fun,” Adamo said defensively.

Nino frowned. “You can have fun, but you need to know your limits and not constantly cross them.”

Serafina and I exchanged a look. We hadn’t set the best example last night but it was only the second time we’d gotten drunk.

“All right,” Adamo grumbled, raising my suspicions. Usually he was more confrontational with these matters.

Remo narrowed his eyes. Greta leaned forward and made grabby hands for one of Nevio’s avocado pieces. Nevio picked it up and held it up so Greta could grab it. The piece was smashed between their hands but Greta brought the green mash to her face and stuffed her fingers into her mouth.

“I can’t stand the cuteness,” I whispered.

Savio’s lips curled. “I guess table manners don’t matter anymore.”

Serafina rolled her eyes then kissed Greta’s head. “You’d rather eat what Nevio has?”

Greta didn’t reply and when Remo held out a piece of steamed carrot to her, she took it and shoved it into her mouth, then grinned. By the end of breakfast, both Nevio and Greta had food all over their faces and hair, but looked sated and happy.

After that Nino and Remo left for a meeting with Stefano who was in town while Serafina and I tried to clean the mess the kids had caused while they played on their blanket on the floor.

I leaned against the counter and watched the two, how they interacted, peacefully sharing their toys, how Nevio quieted when it was only him and Greta.

The constant longing became more prominent and I squashed it. Some things took time.

It was mid-June when I was on my way to take a swim. I’d come to love getting in a workout in the pool early in the morning like Nino and it helped me relax. Spotting Adamo leaning against the wall all by himself, I went over to him.

Adamo’s eyes were almost feverish as I settled beside him. I guessed he’d only just returned from wherever he’d spent the night. He’d been even more withdrawn since the wedding. Maybe seeing Samuel had done something to him after all. He took another drag from his cigarette before he glanced at me. It took his gaze several seconds to fully focus on me; he had taken something. The look in his eyes could only be from drugs and I didn’t think it was only weed. “Adamo?”

“Yeah?” he croaked.

“What’s wrong? You can tell me, you know you can trust me.”

He nodded toward the burn scars on his forearm. It was the first I’d seen him with short sleeves in a while and my stomach tightened when I saw the many small cigarette burns that hadn’t been there before.

“I can’t forget it. I dream about it every single night. About the helplessness, the agony, and worst the unrestrained hatred in their eyes. They wanted to destroy me in the most brutal way possible only because I was a Falcone.”

My throat became dry. This was probably the first time he admitted it aloud. “Because they knew it would break Remo.”

Adamo nodded. “Sometimes I catch myself staring into Fina’s eyes just to summon the memories of that day. They are like Samuel’s and close enough to Dante’s.”

Oh God. What was I supposed to say to that? Adamo avoided Serafina but for this reason I hadn’t expected. “Why do you try to remember?”

“Because I can’t forget! It gives me a sense of control when I choose the moment the memories arise.”

“I understand,” I whispered.

He tossed away the cigarette. “I thought I was different. I tried to tell myself that I was, but I’m not.”

“What do you mean?”

“I want revenge. I want to make them bleed, even if I know it’s not going to change a thing, only lead to more violence, to more misery.” He ran a shaking hand through his hair.

“What did you take?”

“What?”

“You are high,” I said quietly.

I could see his defenses coming up. Adamo had learned to keep secrets, and I worried how many he hid behind his mask.

Adamo stood. “Nobody in the Camorra would sell me drugs, Kiara. How could I be high?”

“I saw you buy something from those guys at the club.”

He shook his head. “That was a one-time thing. When they found out who I was, they refused to sell me anything.”