by Cora Reilly
“There’s a gate at the end. You remember that, right?” I muttered, buckling up.
Adamo hit the button and the gates slid open, and we raced through them with about an inch between the side mirrors and the unrelenting steel.
I shook my head but Adamo didn’t slow down. We weaved through traffic, and honks followed us everywhere. A police car shot out of a side alley and started chasing us with sirens howling and lights flashing.
“Oh man,” Adamo whined, hitting the breaks and pulling over.
The officer got out, hand on his gun, and strolled toward us while his colleague stayed back, his gun at his side. That was the problem with a new car.
Adamo let the window down, and the officer looked at him. “Get out of the car.”
I leaned forward, my forearm with my tattoo propped up against the dashboard and smiled darkly at the man. “Unfortunately, Officer, we have somewhere we need to be.”
The police officer registered my tattoo then my face and took a step back. “This is a misunderstanding. Safe travels.”
I nodded and sank back against the seat. “Drive.”
Adamo looked at me with a hint of admiration in his eyes. Then he pulled away from the curb in a slower pace but still too fast. His mood soured the moment we got out of the car in front of the abandoned casino that served as our gym.
I waited for Adamo in the cage, but he took his sweet ass time getting ready. When he finally shuffled toward me, I really wished he were someone else because I wanted to viciously destroy my opponent. Adamo climbed in and closed the door before he faced me.
He had grown these last few months. He was still much scrawnier than Nino and me, and even Savio, but he was filling out nicely despite his reluctance to fight. His arms hung limply at his side as he watched me with apprehension.
“Come on, kiddo. Show me what you got.”
“Don’t call me kiddo,” he grumbled.
I smiled challengingly. “Make me. So far nothing I’ve seen has hinted at you being more than a sulking kid.”
He curled his hands to fists, eyes narrowing.
Better.
“At least I don’t enjoy hurting girls.”
So that was what had his panties in a bunch. “You don’t enjoy doing anything else with them either,” I taunted, trying to finally get him to act on his anger. I couldn’t give any less fucks if Adamo was a virgin or not. I didn’t understand it one bit, but he could fuck whomever, whenever, however he wanted.
“I like girls.”
“Not their pussies, obviously.”
He flushed bright red. We still had a lot of work to do.
“Have you kissed a girl at least?” I took a step closer to him.
He looked away and my smile widened. “Who was it? A girl from school? Or a whore after all?”
His eyes flashed with anger, and he charged at me. His kick was surprisingly well placed, but I blocked it with both of my forearms then punched Adamo’s side hard—not nearly as hard as I wanted, though. He gasped but still sent several punches my way.
We found a good rhythm, and I could see Adamo getting into it, as if this was one of his annoying video games. I had to admit I enjoyed the sparring. It wasn’t more than that, though, because if I had really fought Adamo, the kid would have been on the ground. Eventually, we leaned against the cage, sipping water and dripping sweat.
“I didn’t think you’d hold back. I thought you wanted to kick my ass because I’m a fucking disappointment in your eyes.”
I lowered the bottle. “What makes you think I held back?”
He snorted. “You are the strongest fighter I know. I wouldn’t stand a chance against you.”
“Not yet. Maybe one day. And you aren’t a disappointment.”
He shook his head. “I’ll never be like you and Nino or even Savio.”
“I don’t want you to be like any of us. I only want you to be a Falcone and be proud of it.”
Adamo stared at me with a frown then looked down at his bottle. “Can we do another round?”
“Sure,” I said, even if I was eager to return to Serafina.
“Don’t hold back as much this time,” Adamo said.
My lips pulled wide, and I set the bottle down. I should have fought with Adamo before.
SERAFINA
I lay on the bed, staring up at the ceiling, worrying about my family, especially Samuel. He was so protective of me, what if he did something stupid like attack and get himself killed? I wanted to be saved but if something happened to Sam, I wouldn’t survive. I’d rather suffer pain and endure Remo’s presence than see my brother get hurt.
A heavy weight settled in my stomach when I remembered the look in his eyes when Remo had put the knife against my skin. That look had hurt so much more than the shallow cut. But the cut had given me an important piece of information about Remo. He had a weakness, and it had something to do with those scars and his brothers.
Steps sounded in front of my door and someone knocked. I sat up, surprised. Nobody had bothered to knock.
The lock sounded and the door swung open as I stood, and a young woman with dark hair and dark eyes, wearing a red summer dress, stepped in. She was shorter than me, and must be the source of the clothes Remo had brought me to wear; it explained why the maxi dress I was wearing ended mid-calf.
I had never met her, but I knew who she was. Not a single person in our world didn’t know her.
“Kiara Vitiello,” I said. The poor Famiglia woman who was thrown to the Falcone wolves to be devoured. Everyone had heard of that union. It had been the gossip of the year among Outfit women. I had only felt pity for the girl, but she didn’t appear as if she needed or wanted it.
“Kiara Falcone now, but yes, that’s me.” She looked over her shoulder with a small frown, and I followed her gaze, finding Nino Falcone standing behind her.
“You don’t have to stay. Serafina and I are going to talk. She poses no danger to me.”
He was worried I’d attack his wife? Maybe using her as a human safety shield would have gotten me out of the mansion, but I wasn’t that brave. If I failed, I knew what that would mean because the look in Nino’s eyes sent an icy shiver down my spine.
“I will stay,” he said firmly, looking straight at me as he walked in, closed the door, and leaned against the wall. “And if you make a move toward my wife, the consequences will be very unpleasant.”
Kiara’s cheeks turned red. She gave me an apologetic smile before stepping close to him, touching his chest. I didn’t hear what she was saying, but Nino’s expression remained stoic. He shook his head once, and she sighed.
She came toward me. I eyed her warily. Not only had she been a Vitiello, but she was now a Falcone. Neither were names that set me at ease.
“I’m sorry. He’s very protective,” she said with a small smile.
I gave Nino the once-over. “That’s obvious.”
His expression remained a cold mask. Remo would have given me his twisted smile or that scary signature look, and I had to admit I preferred it to Nino’s unreadable face, because I had no doubt that he was just as brutal and messed up as his brother but even harder to read.
Kiara extended her hand. “Call me Kiara.”
I hesitated then took it. “Serafina.”
Her eyes fell to my arm. “I’m sorry.”
“That’s not your apology to hand out,” I told her as I returned to the bed and sank down.
“I fear it’s the only one you’re going to get,” she said with a hint of disapproval. At least she seemed appalled by her crazy brother-in-law hurting me.
“I don’t want Remo’s apology. I want him lying at my feet in his own blood.”
I sent Nino a smile, gauging his reaction, but his expression didn’t change. He might as well have been carved from ice. If he couldn’t be taunted into carelessness, my chances of getting past him were nil. If I ever tried an escape attempt, I would have to make sure he wasn’t close by.
Kiara
’s eyes widened a tad as she perched on the edge of my bed, smoothing out her dress. “I think you will have to join the end of the queue. The world is full of people who want the same.”
Oh, I liked her. Stifling a smile, I asked, “Are you one of them?”
She pursed her lips. “No, I’m not.”
“He’s the one hurting you then,” I said with a nod toward her emotionless husband, only now something dangerous flickered in his eyes. He definitely wasn’t indifferent to his wife.
Kiara glanced at Nino, and the smile tugging at her lips surprised me. “Nino would never hurt me. He is my husband.”
She sounded honest and more ... she sounded in love. I’d heard the rumors of what had happened to her and what the Falcones had done to her uncle. Maybe she was just grateful.
“Why are you here?” I asked eventually.
“I thought you’d like female company.”
“I’d like to return to my family, to my home. I’d like Remo to stop his twisted games. That’s what I’d like,” I whispered harshly, feeling bad for snapping at her but not being able to help myself.
She nodded. “I know.”
“I doubt you’ve come to offer your help. You are loyal to the Falcones.”
Again, her eyes moved to Nino. “I am. They are my family.”
I looked away, thinking of my own family, of Samuel, and my heart clenched tightly. She startled me when she leaned closer, and Nino, too, tensed and straightened. Despite my apparent apprehension, she brought her mouth close to my ear and whispered, “These men are cruel and brutal, but it’s not all there is to them. I think you can get under Remo’s skin. I wish it for both of you.” She pulled away and straightened. “I’ll see what I can do so you are allowed to spend your days outside of this room. We could sit in the garden. There’s no reason why your captivity should be more unpleasant than absolutely necessary.”
I stared at Kiara. She surprised me, but if she really thought anyone could get under Remo Falcone’s skin, then life in Vegas had twisted her brain.
CHAPTER 7
SERAFINA
There wasn’t a clock anywhere in the room, but it must have been early afternoon by now. Except for the cold pizza and the tap water, I hadn’t had anything to eat or drink. Maybe this was another part of Remo’s game.
Glancing out of the window, I tried to find the end of the premises, but from my vantage point the gardens surrounding the Falcone mansion appeared endless.
What was Samuel doing now? I closed my eyes. He would blame himself for what happened. I knew him. He had always seen himself as my protector. I wished I could hear his voice, could tell him that it wasn’t his fault. And Mom and Dad ...
I hoped they had at least found a way to keep the truth from Sofia. She was too young, too innocent to be burdened with the cruelness of our world.
The sound of knocking followed by the lock being turned made me face the door. I winced at the dull pain in my forearm. A teenage boy in fight shorts and a T-shirt stepped into my room. He had slightly longer curly brown hair and was lean but muscled.
“Hey,” he said hesitantly, brown eyes kind. “Remo sent me to get you.”
I didn’t move from my spot at the window. “What are you, his servant?”
The boy smiled an unguarded, honest smile. A smile few could afford in our circles. “I’m his youngest brother, but that’s as good as the same in Remo’s eyes.”
His kindness confused me. It didn’t seem fake. My eyes flitted down to his forearm, free of the markings of the Camorra, the knife and the eye. “You haven’t been inducted yet.”
The smile dropped. “I will be in two days.”
“But you don’t want to,” I said curiously.
Caution replaced the open friendliness. “We shouldn’t keep Remo waiting.”
He opened the door wider and gestured for me to walk through. I wondered what he would do if I refused to follow him. He was taller than me and definitely stronger, but I got the impression he would have a hard time laying a hand on me. If he’d been my only opponent, I might have taken my chances, but Remo was downstairs.
Finally, I moved toward him and followed him through the long winding hallway.
“I’m Adamo, by the way,” he said.
I glanced up at him. “Serafina.”
“I know.”
“I suppose you Falcone brothers were all in on the kidnapping,” I muttered.
His brows drew together, but he remained silent. There was a hint of ... embarrassment and disapproval on his face.
After a few minutes, we arrived in the lower part of the mansion, in some sort of entertainment hub with a bar, sofas, TV, and a boxing ring. A punching bag lay amidst rubble, and Remo was glaring down at it as if it had personally insulted him. He, too, was in fight trunks and nothing else.
The memory of how he’d held me under the shower, of how I’d been pressed up to him completely naked resurfaced. I hadn’t registered much at the time, and even in the immediate aftermath, but now my gaze trailed over the display of hard muscles, the many scars that spoke of his violent past and present. Every inch of Remo screamed danger. His height, his muscles, his scars, but worse: his eyes.
They found me and as always it was a struggle to meet them. Around Remo you felt like the omega in a pack of wolves. Your eyes wanted to avoid his out of a deeply buried primal impulse because Remo was the alpha. There was no mistaking it.
Adamo left my side and went over to the sofa, where he plopped down and picked up a controller. A gun lay on the coffee table in front of him.
Remo stalked closer. “Adamo,” he clipped, indicating the gun. Damn it.
Adamo grasped it and shoved it under his leg.
“I wouldn’t even know how to use it,” I lied.
Remo smiled darkly. “You are a good liar.” His skin glistened with a fine sheen of sweat as if he hadn’t bothered showering after a workout.
“Why did you call me down? Do you have another torture session planned for me?”
Remo glanced down at my wound, his expression hardening—all sharp cheekbones and tight jaw. “There’s food in the kitchen for you and something to drink, unless you prefer hard liquor, then this is where you’ll get it.” He nodded toward the bar to my left where an array of bottles, most of them less than half full, awaited consumption. Scotch, bourbon, whiskey, gin ...
I definitely wouldn’t get intoxicated while I was being held captive by the Camorra. “I’m free to walk around the house?” I asked.
Remo smirked. “I don’t think we’ve reached that level of trust yet.”
“We won’t reach any level of trust, Remo.”
Steps echoed out in the hall behind me, and I turned halfway but not enough to lose sight of Remo. I preferred keeping him in my line of vision. As if he knew exactly what I was doing, one corner of his mouth twitched upward.
Savio walked in with that arrogant swagger. “Got someone to fix the punching bag.”
Remo tore his gaze from me. “And it took you four hours?”
“Took care of some other business while I was at it,” Savio said with a shrug.
Remo shook his head with obvious disapproval. “One day I’m going to seriously lose my shit on you.”
Savio didn’t look concerned, and I doubted it was because he was as emotionless as Nino. Savio knew he had nothing to fear from his older brother. The realization surprised me, and I filed it away for later use.
“Now that you’re here, keep an eye on our guest while she’s eating in the kitchen. I’ll take a shower then take over her watch.”
My mouth curled. “I’m not your guest. I’m a captive.”
“Semantics,” Remo said.
Maybe in his twisted mind.
“I could have watched her too,” Adamo grumbled from his spot on the sofa.
Savio and Remo exchanged a look. Either they worried their younger brother would help me or they worried he wouldn’t be able to stop me from escaping. Interesting.
Remo narrowed his eyes at me then strode past me, his arm brushing mine, causing me to draw back.
“Come,” Savio ordered. My eyes lingered on Adamo, who was scowling at Remo’s retreating back. Maybe the Falcones had a weak link in their midst.
Tearing my gaze away, I followed Savio to the back of the ground floor and through a door, which opened to a huge kitchen.
He pointed toward a pot on the stove. I approached it and lifted the lid, finding a creamy orange-colored soup. “What is it?”
“How would I know?” Savio drawled, sinking down on a chair at the kitchen table. “Probably something without meat. Kiara is vegetarian.”
I frowned, trying to decipher the emotion in his voice. I thought I detected a hint of protectiveness when he said her name. Turning on the stove, I took a whiff. “Pumpkin soup,” I said.
Savio shrugged. “I’m having a bowl as well.”
I stared at the arrogant bastard. Did he think I’d fix him lunch? “Why don’t you haul your lazy ass off the chair and get your own bowl?”
He did haul his ass off the chair and advanced on me. He braced himself against the stove on either side of my waist, cornering me. “I’m not Remo,” he said quietly, “but I’m a Falcone, and I love bloodshed. You better watch your tongue.”
I didn’t say anything. Savio was scary in his own way. The soup started bubbling behind my back, and Savio finally withdrew, turning around. I opened a drawer to look for a ladle when a plan took form. Remo was upstairs, showering. I hadn’t seen Nino anywhere, only Adamo was in the living room, and potentially a workman, who, knowing Vegas, wouldn’t come to my help. It was the best opportunity I’ve had so far.
I gripped the heavy pot by its handles and swung back to gain momentum, but before I could release my hold, Savio whirled around. I catapulted the pot with the boiling soup at him. In an impressive show of reflexes, he lunged to the side, avoiding the pot and most of its contents. Splatters of yellow soup covered him from head to toe. I took my chance and tried to rush past him. His hand shot out, clamping down on my wrist, and he shoved me away with an infuriating air of arrogance. Spinning myself around, my hipbones collided with the edge of the table. I fell forward, my elbows hitting the hardwood, my butt jutting out in an undignified way.
