Twisted Hearts (The Camorra Chronicles 5)

Mick gave me another smile as we headed for the table.

I ended up sitting between Diego and Mick. They talked about races almost all evening, which meant I had to lean back so I wasn’t in the way, but Mick kept checking me out when he thought no one was paying attention.

After dinner, Mick approached my father. “Can I have a word with your daughter?”

Dad regarded him and crossed his arms in front of his chest, looking like a bouncer. Making sure no one got access before there was a ring on my finger.

I had to hide a sarcastic laugh by coughing.

Diego cocked one eyebrow, and just the gesture reminded me so much of a certain Falcone that I had to swallow hard.

“Diego will stay in the room, but he’ll keep his distance so you’ll have some privacy,” Dad said sternly.

Mick’s face fell, but he nodded. Mom sent me an encouraging smile, her palm pressed to her still hidden bump, before everyone filed out except for Mick, Diego, and I.

Diego stood right beside us, practically breathing down my neck. He was taking his guard duties a bit too seriously. I could hold my own. Even if Mick tried to cop a grope, I’d just smash my fist into his face. Diego’s lip was nicely swollen after all. I wondered what he’d told Mick.

Mick stepped up to my brother, annoyed. “You heard your father. You are supposed to give us privacy, man.”

“You can have privacy in two years, not before then,” Diego muttered.

I touched his arm. “Come on. Give us some room. You don’t have to hover like this.”

He tried to stare me down, but from the two of us, my stubborn streak was stronger. With a frown, he walked into a corner. His death stare directed at Mick was the most ridiculous thing.

“Thank you. He’s been intolerable since he found out I was going to ask for your hand,” Mick said in a low voice. I wondered just how long Diego had known. He hadn’t mentioned anything to me.

“That’s how he is,” I said then fell silent, not sure what else to say.

Mick regarded me with adoration as if he couldn’t believe he really got me. Guilt filled me, knowing I’d never be able to look at him the same way. Or could I? Was there a way I could make myself fall for him like I had fallen for Savio? But falling for Savio had happened without intention or reason, just by literally falling. I almost smiled at the memory. Could something like that even be forced?

I liked Mick, but love or attraction seemed impossible. Lust out of the question. I flushed.

Mick noticed and something shifted in his stance. “I know your family are Traditionalists. We, too, abide by very similar rules, so I won’t do anything that’ll make you feel uncomfortable, Gemma. But maybe we can go on occasional dates until then? In public places, and if your father insists on it, with Diego as a chaperone.”

“Sure,” I got out. I’d definitely insist on Diego being there, not because I couldn’t defend myself against Mick but because I could blame my brother on my awkwardness.

Mick nodded with a satisfied smile. “Now that everything’s settled, I’ll go looking for an engagement ring for you.”

My face muscles quivered from the effort to hold the smile. Engagement. Rings. Everything’s settled.

A sense of finality overcame me and with it a strange mix of sadness and anger.

My niece Greta tiptoed into the gaming room, dressed in her white frilly nightgown, dragging her favorite stuffed rabbit behind, and I put down my phone, knowing sexting would have to wait until dollface was back up in her bed. The girl, whose name was either Sandra or Sarah, I couldn’t remember, was getting too clingy anyway, so this was just the distraction I needed.

“It’s bedtime.”

Greta headed for me, rubbing those big eyes before she stopped in front of me. “Can’t sleep.”

I leaned down. “Then you came down here? Why didn’t you go to your mom or dad?”

Sometimes I still couldn’t believe that Remo really had kids. Most of his life he’d spent hating women and now his daughter and wife had him wrapped around their fingers. “They sleep,” she whispered, peering up at me before she opened her tiny arms. “Want cuddles.”

Cuddles. I smiled wryly and picked her up. She snuggled against my chest like a cat and I wrapped my arms around her as she huddled on my lap. She was tiny for a two-year-old, and so sensitive and quiet that it brought out my protective side.

“Want to watch your favorite series?”

She gave a small nod and I picked up my laptop and searched for the series. When the video began playing, Greta leaned her head against my chest and curled her hand around my thumb. It was something she did often, holding on to our fingers as if she needed the additional touch to feel protected. She didn’t understand it yet, she couldn’t, but she was the safest girl in Las Vegas, probably in the States. Remo would burn down the world to protect Greta. Of course, Nino, Adamo, Fabiano, and I would be right by his side.