Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles 6)

“No, keep your hair. I love it.” His brows furrowed. “Are you worried about tomorrow? He won’t escape, and if I can’t restrain him, which I doubt, I can still call reinforcement.”

“I’m not worried about that. I saw you fight Dima. I know you can handle even a capable fighter. I’m worried about myself.”

Adamo stretched out beside me, cloaking me in his fresh herbal shower gel scent. The bed creaked under the additional weight. “How you’ll handle the situation?”

I nodded and pointed at the new gun on my nightstand. Adamo had gotten it for me. “I held it in my hand this morning and imagined pulling the trigger while looking into the asshole’s eyes. In my imagination it felt good, it was easy, just a twitch of my finger, nothing more.”

Adamo leaned close, his lips brushing my ear. “If you’re asking if it’ll be as easy in reality, then I have to say probably not. We won’t know until the moment. Maybe you’ll pull the trigger without a second thought, or maybe you’ll realize you can’t follow through with our plan.”

“I have to.”

I didn’t want Adamo to be my executioner. I couldn’t put that burden on anyone else. “It’s my revenge. I should do it. With you at my side, I can do it.”

Adamo’s dark eyes met mine. “We can stop at any point. We don’t have to finish every name on that list. This is about helping you cope with what happened, not make it worse. And if you need me to do it, I’ll handle them all for you.”

If I’d only needed an executioner, I could have asked Dad to hunt down every single of my abusers. He would have gladly done it. He too yearned for a way to avenge me, and maybe even himself. That men had dared to lay hand on the daughter of a high-ranking Bratva member was like a slap in the face, even if my abusers didn’t know who I was.

The next morning, before Adamo and I set off to find guy number one on our list, we settled in front of his laptop to watch the disc with the recording of me with today’s target. The screen lit up with the image of a bed and a young version of myself perching on its edge with her hands in her lap, her eyes cast down. It was like watching someone else but I knew that would change the moment I started the recording. The girl’s horrors would become mine. The video would become reality in my head, would draw up memories of scents and sensations from the dark corners of my mind. I’d be dragged right back into the past. Adamo waited for me to hit play, his eyes kind and his expression patient.

I only stared at the screen, my body frozen. Past Dinara had her hair in pigtails, something that many of my abusers favored.

“We don’t have to watch,” Adamo said. “You know what happened. We know he’s guilty. There’s no reason to torture yourself with images from the past.”

I didn’t react, only stared at the screen. The problem was these images had haunted me almost every day since Dad had picked me up in Vegas over a decade ago.

“Or if you don’t want me to watch I can go for a walk until you’re done.”

Panic rushed through me at his suggestion, so I grabbed his hand, linking our fingers. “No,” I whispered harshly. “I can’t watch it alone. It’s bad enough that I relive it in my nightmares every night all alone.”

He squeezed my hand and my heart clenched with a mix of emotions at his support. Adamo had absolutely no reason to help me, but here he was. He was trying to keep his emotions under control for me but in his eyes, I could see many of my own emotions. The absolute hatred toward my abusers and the determination to exert revenge, and beneath all of that, an emotion both Adamo and I couldn’t risk given our families, our backgrounds…our futures. I’d been trying to ignore my feelings but looking at him now I couldn’t deny that I was falling for Adamo. It was absolutely insane and I was glad that our revenge plan would keep me too busy to consider the insanity of my heart’s choice.

I focused on the screen and hit play, my body tightening even more. The first guy on our list walked into the room. His smile was overly kind as he approached my past self, but beneath it, lingered eagerness and hunger. Soon his face appeared before my inner eye, no longer on the screen. My grip on Adamo’s hand tightened as I tried to keep my face neutral, wanting to be strong, even as revulsion and terror battled in my insides. My throat corded up and cold sweat broke out on my body, plastering my clothes to my body. When the man sat down beside young Dinara on the bed and touched her leg, I hit the pause button, stopping the video. I released a harsh breath, my pulse racing in my veins as past fears drove up my adrenaline. “I can’t watch it.”