Twisted Hearts (The Camorra Chronicles 5)

I made Mom lie down in bed, but Diego refused to rest. He sat on the sofa, bent over our bills. I knew it was his way to distract himself so I let him.

The bell rang and Diego jumped to his feet. Grabbing his gun, he answered the door. Toni stood on the doorstep, behind her one of the Camorra soldiers. Her eyes darted from Diego to me, and her expression softened. I staggered forward, falling against her. She hugged me tightly. Diego slowly backed away and returned to the sofa.

With her arm wrapped around my shoulders, Toni led me upstairs then laid down with me in my bed. She held me all night as I cried.

We had a big family, and yet they didn’t even make up half of the people attending Dad’s and Nonna’s funeral. Loyal customers from the restaurants and Camorrista filled the pews of the church. Diego steadied Mom who seemed to shrivel under the force of her grief.

When I spotted Savio, Remo, and Nino followed by their wives, surprise washed over me. I’d expected them to show up at the graveyard, but knowing their aversion to religion, I hadn’t thought they’d show up for church. They came over to where Mom, Diego, and I stood beside the open coffins. Every word of condolence left another wound in my heart. By now, it was tattered. I hadn’t once dared to look at the bodies of Nonna and Dad, could hardly bear being here at all.

Savio stopped in front of me and took my hand. He didn’t say he was sorry, and I was glad. The words had become meaningless, unable to encompass the magnitude of our loss. His touch was warm, steady, the comfort I desperately needed. Diego was staggering under the pressure of being the master of our family, but Savio, he was solid and strong.

I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around his when he was about to pull back. I needed someone to hold me up, to steady me. I felt like I couldn’t hold myself anymore. It was all too much. The grief filling not just my heart but also the church and back at home, every inch of the house. I tugged at his hand and his brows drew together. He bent down. My lips came up to his ear. “Get me out of here,” I begged.

He nodded, and wrapping an arm around me, he led me off to the side, away from hundreds of solemn faces, and teary eyes. Not away from my guilt and grief. Those clung to me.

He pulled me into a small side room and closed the door.

“Better?” he asked in a gentle voice.

He searched my eyes. His face didn’t hold a trace of his usual arrogance or teasing, and I almost wished for it, for that flicker of normalcy among the shambles of my life. I’d spent the last week in a bubble of darkness. Mom and Diego, even Carlotta, were as broken as I felt, and with every new member of our extended family that visited, their sadness was added to our own, until I buckled under its weight.

“Gem, say something. Tell me what to do.”

I lifted the hand he wasn’t still holding and curled it over his neck.

His expression became wary. I stepped closer, my chest pressing against his. So steady and warm, so strong. The Falcones were a force—invincible, every single one of them. I knew the stories, what they had to endure, what they survived. They shouldn’t be here, none of them, but they’d beaten death over and over again. These last few days I’d been so scared of losing more people I loved—Toni, Mom, Carlotta, Diego…

With Savio, I knew he’d never allow death to get the better of him. A silly thought and yet I believed it.

My fingers tightened around his neck, trying to pull him down to me as I stepped on my tiptoes. Savio resisted, confusion flickering in his dark eyes. “Gem, say something.” His voice was rough, a purr deep in his chest that I could feel where our bodies touched. Even on my tiptoes I couldn’t reach his lips. “Savio,” I said softly. “Please.” I didn’t need to say what I wanted, he knew.

“You’ll regret this.”

“Maybe,” I said, but right this second, I needed this more than air.

Finally, Savio let me pull him down and his lips pressed against mine.

I sunk into his taste, his warmth. I yearned for him, all of him. His strength and scent were intoxicating. His tongue teased, stroked, caressed. His hands kept me steady, brushed over my back, then cupped my cheeks, deepening the kiss further.

I was completely at his mercy. His presence made me feel protected, cared for. Standing on my tiptoes, I leaned into him, needing to be closer.

“Fuck, Gem, you taste perfect,” he rasped between delicious swipes of his tongue. I couldn’t reply, slave to the sensations the kiss evoked in me. After days of cold, I felt warm. He lowered me on the bench, never stopping the kiss as he bent over me. I clung to his neck, wrapped my legs around his middle as he knelt before me.