Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles 6)

“Fucked her too if she’s one of your whores?”

I grimaced. “No.”

Dinara rolled her eyes. “Don’t play indignant. I know how things work. Mobsters often seek the services of whores and many of them even lose their V-card to one. I’m familiar with the business. The Bratva and the Italian mob aren’t that different when you break it down.” The way she said Bratva, I almost developed an appreciation for the word.

“I didn’t fuck your mother, Dinara. I’m not in the habit of sleeping with every available pussy.”

I couldn’t speak for my brothers though. Remo had definitely fucked her in the past. I wasn’t sure about Nino and Savio, but the latter had dipped his cock into anything before Gemma tied him down.

Dinara nodded but didn’t say anything. She looked upset. Dima had pushed away from his car and was slowly coming closer. A true protector. I wanted to kick his stupid Bratva ass. His expression wasn’t that of a bodyguard, and not a brotherly friend either.

She jerked to her feet and dropped the joint before stomping on it. I felt a pang I tried to ignore.

“I need to leave the camp and return to Chicago.”

I shook my head and stood as well. “Tomorrow evening the first race of the seven-day circuit starts. You need to be present in the afternoon to set up everything. If you miss the first race in the circuit, you can’t join the race at a later point. Every race builds up on the previous. And if you miss seven races, your chances of staying in camp are close to nil.” I didn’t want Dinara to disappear so soon. I wanted to keep her close, to find out more about her history, and her.

“I’ll be back in time,” she clipped and started to move away.

I touched her arm. “We’re almost 1400 miles away from Chicago.”

She gave me a sardonic smile over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t miss tomorrow’s race. We aren’t done yet, Adamo.”

With that, she walked away and I was left to stare at her back, wondering if her last words were warning or promise.

Dima hurried toward me. “What’s—”

“I need a private jet from Salt Lake City in thirty minutes. Set everything up.”

Dima stared at me. He opened his mouth but I wasn’t in the mood to talk.

“I don’t have time for questions. Get a jet. We need to leave now. We’re taking my car.”

Dima didn’t try to extract more information from me. Instead he picked up his mobile and pulled a few strings with contacts before he gave a terse nod. “Done.”

We settled in my car, and I hit the gas. We’d have to hurry if we wanted to reach the small private airport in time. It sat right outside of Salt Lake City.

It was half-past five, so if everything went to plan, we’d board the jet around six.

“What’s going on Dinara? Are you in danger? Did anything Falcone say upset you?”

Upset didn’t even begin to cover my feelings about the news Adamo had given me. My mother was alive. For years, I’d thought she was dead. Everyone had led me to believe she was.

My fingers around the steering wheel tightened even more until it hurt. I wasn’t in the mood to talk now. My head was a mess full of whirring thoughts, a thunderstorm slowly building up and about to unleash its destructive power. Deep inside of me, my dark craving began its enticing chant, a siren’s call I’d resisted for ten months now.

Dima gave up on talking to me for the rest of the drive and when we pulled up at the airport with only five minutes to spare before the scheduled departure, I breathed a sigh of relief. After Dima and I had boarded the private jet and settled down on seats facing each other, the stewardess served us drinks and snacks. “This could be a bumpy ride. A thunderstorm is brewing over Chicago.”

I gave her a quick smile. “That’s perfect.” Obviously set aback by my reply, she excused herself. I took the glass, and sipped at my Gin & Tonic while the plane began moving and soon we were air-bound.

Dima never took his eyes off me. “Won’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“Did you know about my mother?”

If Dima knew what I meant, he hid it well. His blond brows pulled together. “What about her?”

The problem was Dima was my father’s man, would always be. He’d sometimes bent the rules for me but ultimately, he’d never betray my father outright.

“That she’s still alive, not dead like my father said.”

Dima shook his head. “How do you know? Did Adamo put that idea into your head?”

I leaned forward, narrowing my eyes. Something in his voice was off. Our close bond made keeping secrets from each other a difficult endeavor. “Did you know? Why would Adamo lie about something like that?”