Twisted Hearts (The Camorra Chronicles 5)

I twisted in his hold and drove my fist upward, ramming the heel of my hand into his nose. With a muffled groan, he released me, staggering back. He looked pissed. His nose spurting blood, he lunged at me at the same time as I aimed a high kick at his head. My foot collided with his chin, throwing it back. It smashed against the edge of a wall cabinet and his eyes went out of focus. He fell forward. My eyes went wide when he collided with me, taking me down with his much heavier body.

My head crashed against the floor. Stars burst in my vision and then all went black.

“We should talk to a few of the Underbosses with stronger Bratva Outposts and plan a simultaneous attack. They are getting too bold. We need to kill as many as possible in a single effort,” I said.

Diego nodded, scanning the map of our territory where Nino had marked the biggest Bratva strongholds. Diego had started working as an Enforcer alongside Fabiano, but because I trusted him the most from all the soldiers, he still accompanied me to dangerous missions. Despite the mess with his sister, he and I had come to a silent agreement—by pretending I wasn’t engaged to his sister. It was a cowardly thing to do and I knew I needed to get a grip, man up and finally ask Gemma to set a date for the wedding, but I had cold feet.

Diego pointed at L.A. and San Diego. “What about them?”

“No signs of Bratva yet,” I said. “They’re trying to get Las Vegas first. It’s a matter of prestige. Remo’s killed and tortured so many Bratva fuckers these last few weeks, but they keep popping up like weeds.”

My phone rang. Remo. “What’s up?”

“The Bratva attacked the Amalfi.”

It took my brain a moment to register his words. Gemma worked in the Amalfi every day. Even if I hadn’t contacted her in the last two months, I’d kept an eye on her.

“Nino and I are on our way.”

“What about Gemma?”

Diego rose from his chair, paling.

“We don’t know anything,” Remo said.

I pushed to my feet, staring at Diego. “The Bratva.” I didn’t need to say more. The Amalfi had been attacked before. In the fifties and sixties, it had been a Russian restaurant, run by the Bratva, before the Camorra had taken it from them. We ran toward my car, jumped in and I floored the gas, my heart beating in my fucking throat.

Diego clutched his phone against his ear, but no one was picking up in the restaurant.

“Call Gemma. She always has her phone with her to talk to Toni!”

He tried—nothing.

Diego gripped his hair. “If…if…fuck.”

“Nothing will happen to anyone.”

Nothing would happen to Gemma.

Diego called home, reaching his mom who was taking care of Carlotta.

I slammed on the brakes in front of the restaurant and shot out of the car. Remo’s SUV was already parked in the front. Pulling out guns, Diego and I stormed into the restaurant.

Remo whirled around, pointing his guns at us then pointed them back at the kitchen doors, approaching them slowly. Nino knelt beside a body. Diego rushed toward them.

His father lay in a pool of his blood. Bullet wounds littered his body. His eyes stared unseeingly up at the ceiling. Diego made a small choked sound. Two dead assholes lay near the bar, dead. Russians, no doubt. The waiters next to the bar were dead as well.

“Where’s Gemma?” I asked.

“We arrived shortly before you,” Nino said. “We didn’t have time to check the kitchen yet. There wasn’t a sound though.”

Which meant everyone still around was dead. Whoever had done this would be gone by now.

“Gemma and Nonna were supposed to be here,” Diego said tonelessly.

Remo motioned for us to follow and together we went toward the kitchen. Raising our guns, Remo shoved open the swing door and we all rushed inside. Like Nino had said, nobody inside the kitchen was capable of making a sound.

Diego’s nonna lay on the floor, a bullet hole in her forehead. Dread settled in my bones and my heart slammed against my ribcage. Diego pushed past me and Remo, and stormed toward his grandmother, then he looked at something to his right.

He let out a hoarse cry, his face scrunching up with despair and he dropped his gun. “No!”

He rushed forward and I followed after him. Then I saw Gemma on the floor in a pool of blood. A tall man lay half on top of her. I froze and everything seemed to stand still.

My breath lodged itself in my throat. My fingers around my gun loosened.

Remo grasped my shoulder, looking at me. “Get a grip!”

I gripped the handle of my gun, even if I hardly felt my fingers or any other part of my body.

Diego fell to his knees beside Gemma. “No,” he roared then softer, “No, God, please.” I staggered toward him and helped him shove the Bratva asshole off Gemma. At least, she was still dressed. She wasn’t raped before they killed her. That was the only consolation. She didn’t have to suffer.