Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles 6)

“Something like that, yes.”

I reached into the open passenger window and pulled out a clean T-shirt. I’d been wearing this one on the drive from Vegas and while setting up a tent in the burning afternoon sun. I dragged my sweaty shirt over my head and tossed it on the hood beside Dinara. She eyed it briefly but then her gaze moved on to me, definitely checking me out. Her eyes lingered on my abs before she scanned the scars on my body, ending at my marred Camorra tattoo.

“Seems like you aren’t a stranger to dancing with death.”

I shrugged. I didn’t want to talk about the time when most of these scars came to be. I put on a clean white shirt and leaned beside Dinara. Some of the pit girls who shared tents with their respective racer boyfriends or affairs gave us curious looks. A few of them had tried to get it on with me but I hadn’t taken them up on their advances. Dinara followed my gaze. “Got your eye on one of them?”

I chuckled. “No. I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

Dinara tilted her head. “What an un-Falcone-like thing to do. Why limit yourself when you make the rules? You are kings in your territory.”

“Remo is king. The rest of us are his vassals.” I could have kicked myself at the note of bitterness in my voice, making me sound like a fucking sulking teenager, but I was royally pissed at Remo for keeping Dinara’s past a secret from me.

“You are many things but not a vassal. Sounds like you have ambitions to become a regicide to grab the crown for yourself.”

Fury raced through my veins at the accusation. Even when Remo sometimes drove me up the wall, he was my Capo and my brother. I loved him and would rather chop myself to pieces before betraying him like that. I masked my first reaction, realizing it gave me the chance to figure out Dinara’s true intentions. If I left the door open to me betraying Remo, she might see me as an alley to confide in her possible revenge plans. I stared off toward the horizon, leaving the question hanging between us. Dinara regarded me closely but her expression was impossible to read.

“Did you give your brothers a report about the Bratva princess while you were in Vegas?” she asked after almost a minute of silence. More and more people were gathering around the firepit, sitting down on logs arranged around it, and the aroma of smoked ribs now drifted unmistakably into my nose. Music was turned up, a colorful mix of hits from the last few years because tastes varied greatly in the group.

“There isn’t much to report, is there?”

She shrugged and fixed me with a look as if she didn’t believe me.

“I don’t know why you’re here. You’re a mystery and so are your reasons for seeking my closeness.”

“Someone’s overconfident. Maybe I just want to enjoy the thrill of racing.”

“Big coincidence that you’re joining the racing camp that’s in the territory of the Camorra. You have history with us and so does your father.”

“What do you know about my history with the Camorra?” she whispered harshly. For the first time a crack in her beautiful mask showed. She hadn’t been overly emotional so far.

I was taken aback by her outburst but I kept my cool. I shrugged. “I know that your mother works as a whore in one of our brothels.”

Dinara froze, slowly lowering the cup from her lips. Blatant disbelief played across her face. “My mother’s dead.” Her voice sounded…terrified and elated at once.

“No, she’s not. She is alive and in Las Vegas, working for us.”

Dinara tore her gaze away, frowning.She emptied the cup and set it down on the hood. I wished she would allow me to see her eyes but she kept them carefully turned away, not willing to let me see her emotions, but the rest of her body gave me an inkling of her turmoil. Her hands shook when she reached into her pocket and took out a joint. She lit it and took a deep, shaky breath. “You sure?”

The familiar sweet aroma of marihuana filtered into my nose and a deep craving settled in my body. I’d given up on harder drugs during my time in New York after Luca broke a few of my ribs when he found me drugged, but giving up joints was harder, especially because many people smoked them at the after-race parties and barbecues.

Maybe I should have backtracked, but Remo wanted me to tell her for whatever insane reason. Was I risking his life or Dinara’s by telling her? But it was too late to back down now.

“Yes. I’ve met her several times over the years.” That was an exaggeration. I’d never actually talked to her, only seen her in passing. I didn’t remember much about her, not even if she’d been as beautiful as her daughter. She was a hazy shadow I couldn’t focus on.