Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles Book 3)

by Cora Reilly

  “Don’t you dare!” Samuel shouted, lunging toward the camera as if it was Remo. Dante gripped his arm to stop him, but even my uncle appeared at the edge of control.

  Remo ignored them, except for a twitch of his lip. He pulled out the knife he’d used to slaughter Simeone and showed it to me. “They can pay for their sins with pain or pleasure.”

  I shuddered. “You have no right to judge other people’s sins,” I whispered harshly. Remo slowly walked behind me, too close, his breath hot against my neck. My eyes landed on the screen and met Samuel’s desperate gaze. He looked on the verge of breaking. I needed to be strong for them, for him and Dad, and even Dante and Danilo. For the Outfit.

  “What do you choose, Serafina? Will you surrender to torture or pay with your body?”

  I held Samuel’s gaze. I’d take my pride to the grave with me. Women were built to give birth. These men could brave pain and so could I.

  Remo stepped back into my view. “If you don’t choose, I will make the choice for you.” His eyes and face said he knew my choice, was sure of it, because I was a woman, weak and insignificant.

  I smiled arrogantly. “I will choose the bite of cold steel over the touch of your unworthy hands any day, Remo Falcone.”

  His eyes flashed with surprise, respect ... and terrifying excitement. “I will enjoy your screams.”

  “Remo, this is enough,” Dante ordered.

  Remo only stared at me, murmuring, “We have only just begun.” Without a warning he gripped me, whirled me around, and jerked me against his body—his chest, every inch of him pressing against my back and ass. His hand cupped my chin, tilting my head up so I was forced to look at him. He wanted to see my eyes, my expression, my fear and terror when he made me scream.

  I returned his gaze with all the hatred and disgust I could summon. I hoped I’d be strong enough to deprive him of my screams, prayed for it. “Where would you like to feel my blade?”

  He held the gleaming steel right before my eyes, letting me see the sharp edge of it. I had seen that both Remo’s and Nino’s Camorra tattoos covered scars on their forearms. Maybe it meant something, maybe not. I had nothing to lose at this point.

  “Or did you change your mind about your choice? Will you pay with your body after all?”

  I didn’t trust my voice because terror clogged my throat, and Remo could see it. I gripped his wrist and guided the knife to my arm until the cool blade touched the soft skin of my forearm, close to my veins.

  Something flickered in Remo’s eyes and triumph filled me, because for some reason this spot got to him. I kept my hand on his as the blade rested against my sensitive skin.

  Remo pressed and I tensed at the slight burn, but he wasn’t really cutting yet—as if he couldn’t bring himself to do it. I couldn’t believe it was because he had reservations about hurting me; this was the cruelest man in the west after all. And it definitely wasn’t because he couldn’t bear to destroy my unblemished skin. I was sure he’d love to be the first to leave a mark. There was something else holding him back, something dark and powerful. I pushed against his hand, pushed it down on my arm, and the blade cut my skin, but Remo resisted.

  I searched his dark eyes, wondering what went on in their depths, terrified of ever finding out. Remo’s eyes hardened, turned harsh, brutal, and finally he pressed the blade down and it cut through my skin. Sharp pain burned through me, and I shook under the force of it, my hand still on top of his as he drew the knife across my skin, but not stopping him. For some reason his eyes reflected my pain as if he could feel it more profoundly than I did.

  Remo released my chin, his arm snaking around my waist to keep me upright, but I kept my head tilted up, my eyes burning into his. I bit down on my lower lip as a scream clawed up my throat. Copper filled my mouth. Then it spilled over my lip, down my chin.

  Remo stopped the blade, something in his eyes keeping me frozen.

  “Enough!” Dad roared. “Stop it. Stop it now!”

  Remo’s brows drew together as our gazes remained locked. He released my waist and stepped back. My legs buckled, and I fell to the ground, my knees colliding with the hard floor. I barely registered the pain. I sat back on my haunches as I cradled my arm in my lap. The cut wasn’t as deep as I thought, but blood soaked my silver satin gown, and the blood from my lip quickly joined it. I looked up to see Remo turning off the camera then the screen. Samuel’s desperate face disappeared from view.

  Nino stood against the wall, his eyes on my wrist and an unsettling expression on his face. Remo had his back turned to me, facing his brother, but his shoulders were heaving.

  I forced my body to stand, despite the shaking of my legs, and let my bleeding arm hang in front of me on display.

  Nino tore his gaze away and stared at Remo. I wasn’t sure what passed between them, not sure I ever wanted to find out.

  Remo slowly turned his head, his cruel eyes meeting mine, dark pools of rage leaving me breathless. For once he didn’t smirk or smile, didn’t look superior or furious. He looked almost confused in his own terrifying, otherworldly way.

  And I swore to myself that no matter the price, no matter what it would cost me, one day I would be the one to bring Remo Falcone to his knees, the one to break the cruelest man I knew.

  CHAPTER 6

  REMO

  Nino’s expression was strained, but he wasn’t about to lose his shit again. He was staring into my eyes, no longer at Serafina. He swallowed then the cold mask took hold of his face and he straightened. My eyes fell to the scars on his wrist covered by our tattoo, then to similar scars on my skin, not as straight, not as focused. I almost touched the fucking scar over my eyebrow like I’d done in the weeks after...

  “You will have to stitch her up yourself. You played this game and lost. You underestimated your opponent,” he drawled then left, leaving me standing there, fucking furious and fucking ecstatic.

  I turned around slowly. Serafina was swaying but trying to stand tall. Her chin was covered in blood from the wound in her lip, from biting down on it to stop a scream. She didn’t give me a single one. My gaze dipped lower. Her nightgown was stained with the blood still trickling from the cut in her arm, which she cradled against her chest.

  She was supposed to choose differently like all the other women always did. Instead, she’d caught me off guard, had taken the painful road, had forced my fucking hand. She hadn’t given me the triumph of offering her body to me on a silver platter in front of Dante fucking Cavallaro and her fiancé. Nino was right. I’d underestimated my opponent because I compared her to the women I’d dealt with so far, but Serafina was nothing like them. Proud and noble. I wouldn’t underestimate her again.

  And I would get that fucking scream. I would get more than that.

  My eyes were drawn to her arm. Why had she chosen that spot? When I looked back up, Serafina met my gaze with one of triumph. She knew she had won.

  I stalked toward her, anger simmering under my skin. She tensed, swayed again but didn’t fall. I took her arm and inspected the wound. It wasn’t deep. I hadn’t put enough pressure behind the blade to cut deep. I hadn’t wanted to cut her at all, which was a new experience. Seeing the blood on her perfect skin didn’t give me the deep satisfaction it usually did.

  “How did it feel to hurt me? Does it excite you?” she asked fiercely.

  I leaned close, cupping her chin. She held her breath as I trailed my tongue over her lower lip, tasting her blood. I smiled darkly. “Not nearly as much as this.”

  She jerked back and stumbled, but I caught her, because this wasn’t the fall she would take.

  “We need to treat your wound.”

  She didn’t protest and followed me silently back upstairs to the first floor, and my grip on her arm held her steady. I led her into my bedroom then my bathroom, where I kept the only medical kit in my wing. Nino was the one who usually handled this kind of shit. She leaned against the sink. “You should sit down,” I told her.

 
“I prefer to stand.”

  I let go of her and she clutched the edge of the sink to steady herself. I bent down to retrieve the medical kit, but my eyes were drawn to the high slit in her nightgown revealing a long, slender leg. She shifted so her front faced me. I smirked up at her, but her skin was pale and a fine sheen covered her face. I grabbed the medical kit and straightened, regarding her more closely to judge whether she was going to pass out or not. She narrowed her eyes at me and straightened her shoulders with obvious effort.

  The corner of my mouth twitched. I took out tissue adhesive. The wound wasn’t deep enough to require stitches. I couldn’t remember the last time a cut from me didn’t lead to stitches—or a funeral.

  I took out disinfectant spray, and she stiffened but didn’t make a sound when the stinging spray hit her wound, but she did bite down on her lower lip again.

  “If you keep doing that, the result will be twice as painful.”

  She sent me a scathing look but released her bottom lip.

  I began to put the adhesive on her wound, feeling a strange aversion to seeing the cut I had inflicted. I couldn’t quite define the feeling; it was foreign to me.

  “So is this how it’s going to be? You cutting me open and stitching me back together?” she seethed.

  “I’m not stitching you up. I’m gluing you together.”

  She didn’t say anything, but I could feel her eyes on me. She tapped my forearm with my Camorra tattoo, brushing the crisscrossing scars there. “I wonder who inflicted those cuts,” she mused.

  I froze and my head shot up. She held my gaze with the same look of triumph I had seen in the basement.

  “I wonder who stitched you up afterward? Did you and Nino cut each other in some twisted brotherly ceremony and stitch each other up when you were done? You have the same cuts. Maybe I should ask him.”

  I pushed her against the sink with my body, my hands clamping down on the marble counter as I shook with rage ... and other emotions I would never allow.

  Serafina looked at me, despite the fear taking over her perfect features.

  “Never mention those scars again. And you won’t talk to Nino about this, not a single word, understood?” I growled.

  She pressed her lips together, not saying a word. A droplet of blood squeezed past her lips and trickled down on her chin.

  Exhaling, I stepped back, grabbed a washcloth and soaked it with warm water. I grabbed her chin but she reached for my wrist.

  “Hold still,” I ordered, and she dropped her hand and let me clean her chin. Then I took a closer look at her lip. Her teeth had only nicked the upper layer of skin. “You are lucky. This will heal on its own.” I was so close to her, her scent hit me again.

  Her voice snapped me out of it. “How long will you keep me here?”

  “Who says I’m ever letting you go?” I asked in a low voice before I drew back and led her out of my room.

  After returning Serafina to the guest room, which I locked this time, I was about to start doing my daily training, kicking the punching bag, when Kiara stormed into the game room. Nino was close behind her and tried stopping her, but she tore away from his grip and stalked toward me, looking furious.

  I turned to her, raising my eyebrows. She didn’t stop until she was right in front of me and shoved me hard, her eyes brimming with tears. I caught her wrists because she looked like she would slap me next, and that was something we both didn’t want to happen.

  A second later, a steely grip closed around my forearm. “Release her now,” Nino ordered.

  I met his gaze, not liking his tone one bit. His grip tightened further. A warning. A threat. We had never really fought against each other, for good reason, and I would lay my fucking life down before I would allow it to happen. But Kiara could be the reason why Nino might risk it.

  Savio rose slowly and even Adamo put down his controller.

  I let go of her wrists, and Nino unfastened his hold on my arm. He tilted his head in acknowledgment, a silent thank-you.

  “What are you doing to that girl?” Kiara asked forcefully.

  I narrowed my eyes. “I can’t see how that’s any of your business.”

  “It is my business if you are forcing yourself on a woman,” she hissed, but her voice shook.

  “I’m Capo. I rule over this city. I decide what happens to the people in my territory.”

  I turned to face the punching bag, but Kiara squeezed in front of it. Fury burned through me, but I shoved it down my throat despite the fucking bitter taste. She was Nino’s. She was a fucking Falcone. I grabbed her by the waist and set her to the side like a fucking doll before I faced the punching bag once more. She had frozen under my touch as usual. Unfortunately, that lasted only one fucking second.

  She stepped in front of me again.

  “Kiara,” Nino said in warning, but she glared at him.

  “No! Nobody protected me. I won’t stand by when the same happens to someone else.”

  “Get out of my way,” I said in a low voice, feeling my own anger rising.

  “Or what?” she whispered harshly.

  “I said get out of my way, Kiara.”

  She took a step toward me, bringing us almost chest to chest. “And I said no. It’s a mountain I’m willing to die on. I don’t care about your vendetta with the Outfit or what happened in your past. An innocent woman won’t suffer for it.”

  I couldn’t believe she mentioned our fucking past. Nino should have never told her about it!

  Nino moved closer, watching me, not Kiara. Fucking dread flickered in his eyes—something I still had to get used to because my brother had always been emotionless until he met Kiara.

  I tried stepping past his wife, but she grabbed my wrist. My gaze darted to her thin fingers then back up to her face. Nino shifted slightly, muscles tensing. I gave him a wry smile. Was he thinking about attacking me? His expression stayed cautious. I met his gaze and twisted my free hand so he saw my tattoo and the crisscrossing scars beneath it. He should know that no matter how infuriating his wife was, I’d never hurt her. His brows drew together, and he relaxed with a small nod.

  Kiara tightened her hold. “You protected me from my uncle when he wanted to humiliate me by dancing with me on my wedding. You helped Nino kill him—”

  I interrupted her, growing tired of her emotionality. “You can calm down. I want Serafina to come to my bed willingly and not by force. So you can fucking release me now.”

  She regarded me closely. “She won’t. Why should she? You kidnapped her.”

  “And you were forced into an unwanted marriage to my brother. What’s the difference?”

  She removed her fingers from my wrist. Nino wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “It’s not the same,” she whispered.

  “The only difference is that in your case your family decided who got you, while Serafina’s family had no say in the matter. Neither of you had a real choice.”

  She shook her head and peered up at Nino with so much fucking love I knew I could never hurt a single hair on her body. She returned her gaze to mine. “Let me talk to her,” she said, not asking but ordering.

  “Is that a fucking order, Kiara?” I asked in a threatening voice. Maybe she needed reminding that I was her Capo.

  Nino squeezed her shoulder, but she held my gaze then stepped forward out of his grip and closer to me. “No,” she said softly, looking at me with those big brown eyes as if that would warm my heart. “I am asking you for permission as your sister-in-law and as a Falcone.”

  “Fuck,” I snarled and glared at Nino. “Couldn’t you have chosen an airheaded wife? She’s as good at manipulation as you are.”

  Nino’s mouth twitched and he looked proud. Fucking proud.

  “I’m not sure why I put up with all of you,” I muttered.

  “Does that mean I’m allowed to talk to her?” Kiara asked hopefully.

  “Yes. But I should warn you ... Serafina isn’t as docile as you are. If I were you, I’d watch
my back. She might end up attacking you to save herself.”

  “I’ll take my chances,” she said then turned on her heel and headed straight for my wing. Nino followed her because he was obviously concerned for her safety.

  I released a harsh breath and kicked the punching bag with so much force the hook ripped out of the ceiling and the bag crashed to the ground.

  Savio chuckled as he came up to me. “At first, I really loathed the idea of having Kiara under our roof, but I enjoy her presence more every day.”

  “Why don’t you call someone to fix this fucking bag instead of grating on my nerves.”

  Savio grinned. “Will do, Capo. I know someone you can release your pent-up energy on. I was supposed to train with Adamo. Why don’t you take over? The kid needs a good ass kicking.”

  “Why don’t I just hang you from a hook and use you as a punching bag instead?”

  Savio laughed and sauntered off.

  Staring at the mess on the floor for another moment, I turned around to Adamo, who had his arms crossed over his chest and was glaring. “Come on, kiddo. Train with me.”

  Adamo and I had never trained together unless you counted the mock fights I’d entertained him with when he was a small kid and didn’t hate my guts yet.

  For a moment, he looked like he was going to refuse, but then he pushed up to his feet. He trudged after me in that annoying way he’d adopted recently, just to drive me up the walls. I grabbed my keys then tossed them toward Adamo. “Catch.”

  He did, frowning.

  “You’re going to drive us there.”

  “Really?” he asked and for once wasn’t glaring at me.

  “Really. Now move. I don’t have all day.”

  Adamo hurried past me, not trudging, and I followed after him, shaking my head and smiling. Nothing got that kid as excited as driving cars or rather racing them.

  When I arrived in the driveway, he was already behind the wheel of my new neon green Lamborghini Aventador, grinning like the cat that got the fucking cream. The moment my ass hit the passenger seat, he revved the engine and we shot down the driveway.