Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles Book 3)

by Cora Reilly

  “I like your ass from that vantage point,” Savio commented.

  “As long as you like it from a distance,” Remo warned.

  I whirled around.

  Standing in the open door, Remo took in the mess on the floor and on his brother. “What the fuck happened here?”

  Savio grimaced at his shirt then scowled at me. “That bitch tried to boil me alive.”

  I straightened, trying to hide my fear of what my punishment would be for the attack, but then Remo laughed, a low rumble that raised goose bumps on my skin.

  “I’m glad you find it funny,” Savio muttered. “I’m done. Next time you’re busy, do me a favor and ask Nino to watch her.” He stalked out without another glance.

  “Clean that up,” Remo ordered with a nod toward the floor, the amusement gone from his voice.

  I remained where I was.

  Remo walked around the lake of orange on the floor and stopped right in front of me, forcing me to tilt my head back. He cupped my chin. “Let me give you a piece of advice, Angel. Choose your battles wisely,” he murmured threateningly. “And now you will clean the floor. I don’t give a fuck if your highborn hands aren’t supposed to get dirty.”

  I lowered my eyes from the harshness of his gaze but tried to mask it as me drawing back from his touch. “Where’s a mop?”

  Remo turned and headed for the door. “I’ll be back in exactly two minutes and you won’t move a fucking inch, understood?”

  I pressed my lips together, a small act of defiance—if it could even be considered that—because Remo knew I’d obey. Very few people would have dared to defy Remo in that moment. I hoped one day to be among them.

  REMO

  I headed for the utility cupboard. Savio leaned against the bar, nursing a drink and his bruised ego. “Next time you should pay more attention.”

  He glared. “I think from the two of us, you have more reason to worry. She’s yours, not mine. Wait till she tries to boil your dick.”

  “I can control Serafina. Don’t worry.” I took a mop and a bucket out of the closet before I returned into the kitchen. Serafina stood at exactly the same spot, frowning down at the floor.

  She kept surprising me. The photos I’d seen of her on the internet and the accompanying articles had suggested she was an ice princess. Cold, prideful, fragile. As easy to crush as fresh snow, but Serafina was like eternal ice. Breaking her with force was difficult, not impossible, because I knew how to break, but that would have been the wrong approach. Even eternal ice yielded to heat.

  I handed her the bucket and the mop, which she both took without protest. She avoided my eyes as she set out to fill the bucket with water and put it down on the ground. It became apparent pretty quickly that Serafina had never wielded a mop in her life. She used too much water, flooding the floor.

  Leaning against the counter, I watched her in silence. She should have taken a rag, gotten down on her knees, and cleaned the floor properly, but I knew her pride would stop her from kneeling in my presence. Proud and strong and painstakingly beautiful, even sweaty and covered with soup.

  The floor was still smeared with soup when she finally gave up. “The mop’s not working properly.”

  “It’s not the mop’s fault. Trust me.”

  “I wasn’t raised to clean floors,” she snapped, wayward strands of hair clinging to her cheeks and forehead.

  “No, you were raised to warm a man’s bed and spread your legs for him.”

  Her eyes widened, anger twisting her perfect features. “I was raised to take care of a family, to be a good mother and wife.”

  “You can’t cook, can’t clean, and probably have never changed a diaper in your life. Being a good mother doesn’t seem to be in your future.”

  She shoved the mop away so it clattered to the floor and moved closer then jerked to a halt halfway. “What do you know about being a good mother? Or a decent human being?”

  My chest constricted briefly, but I pushed through it. “I know how to change a diaper for one, and I provided my brothers with protection when they needed it. That’s more than you can say for yourself.”

  She frowned. “When did you change a diaper?”

  “When Adamo was an infant, I was already ten,” I said. It was more than I had wanted to reveal in the first place. My past wasn’t Serafina’s business. “Now come. I doubt you can do better than this. The cleaning staff is coming in the morning anyway.”

  “You let me clean this even though you have people for it?”

  “Your pride will be your downfall,” I said.

  “And your fury will be yours.”

  “Then we’ll fall together. Isn’t that the beginning of every tragic love story?” My mouth twisted at the word. What a waste of energy. Our mother had loved our father. She’d hated him too, but her love had stopped her from doing what was necessary. She’d let our father beat and rape her, had let him beat us because it meant he wouldn’t lay a hand on her. She never stood up to him. She cowered and worse ... turned his anger toward us to protect herself. Her one act of fucking defiance was to punish our father by killing his sons. She tried to pay him back by killing her own flesh and blood because she was too fucking weak to retaliate in any other way. In a house full of weapons, she couldn’t find the courage to ram a blade into our father’s back like she should have done the first time he laid a hand on her. She chose the easy way.

  “We won’t have a love story. Not a tragic one, not a sad one, and definitely not a happy one. You can have my hatred,” Serafina said fiercely.

  “I’ll take it,” I murmured. “Hatred is so much stronger than love.”

  Nino joined me on the terrace in the evening. “Savio told me what happened.”

  “She’s strong-willed.”

  “She’s trouble,” he corrected. “Keeping her under this roof poses a considerable risk.”

  I gave him a wry smile. “Don’t tell me you are scared of a girl.”

  Nino’s expression didn’t change. “Fortunately, fear isn’t among the emotions I’ve unlocked.”

  “Then keep it that way,” I said. Fear was as useless as love—and even more crippling.

  “I’m concerned about Adamo. His initiation is in two days. Keeping Serafina as a captive in the mansion might increase his reluctance to take the oath.”

  I turned to him. “You think he’ll refuse the tattoo?”

  Nino sighed. “I don’t know. He’s slipping away. I can’t get him to talk to me anymore. Kiara is the only one he spends time with.”

  “Adamo is rebelling, but he’s still a Falcone. Should I push him more?”

  Nino shook his head. “I think that would make him pull away further. We have to hope that he comes around eventually.”

  “The initiation is in front of our underbosses and captains. If he refuses ...” I trailed off.

  Nino nodded because he understood. Adamo refusing the tattoo would be shameful, a betrayal. There was only one punishment for refusing the tattoo: death.

  “I suppose it wouldn’t be the first time we’d have to kill a considerable number of Camorrista,” I said.

  “These men are loyal. It would be unfortunate to dispose of them, and we’d be faced with too many opponents at once.”

  “It won’t come to that.”

  Nino nodded again and stood quietly beside me. “Have you given Serafina something for the pain?”

  “Pain?” I echoed.

  “Her wound might sting.”

  “It’s a shallow cut. It can’t possibly cause her more than slight discomfort.”

  Nino shook his head. “That’s what I thought when I treated Kiara’s wound, but she was surprisingly sensitive to pain. And Serafina won’t be any different. Maybe worse. It’s probably the first cut she’s suffered, probably the first act of violence at all, Remo. She’ll feel pain more profoundly than you and I do.”

  I considered his words and realized he was probably right. From what I’d gathered, Serafina had probably
never even been hit by her parents. The first act of violence ... I didn’t dwell on those thoughts. “Do we have anything for pain?”

  “I have Tylenol in my room. I can bring it to her after dinner. Kiara is cooking her cheese lasagna again.”

  “No, I will give it to her when I bring her a slice of the lasagna.”

  “Okay,” Nino murmured, regarding me carefully.

  “What?” I snarled, his silent judgment grating on my nerves.

  “Originally the plan was to keep Serafina in the Sugar Trap.”

  “Originally I didn’t know what kind of woman she was. And she is safer here. I don’t want anyone to get their hands on her. It would ruin my plans.”

  “I’ll get the Tylenol,” Nino said, turning around and leaving me standing there.

  I went inside and made my way into the kitchen, which smelled of herbs and something spicier. Kiara glanced up from the chopping board. She was slicing tomatoes and throwing them in a bowl with lettuce.

  “No one’s eating salad around here,” I told her as I strode toward her. The tensing of her body was barely noticeable anymore.

  “I’m eating it, and Nino will too, and maybe Serafina prefers to stay healthy as well,” Kiara said. I stopped beside her and glanced into the oven where a big pan was bubbling over with cheese.

  “Serafina has more pressing problems.”

  Kiara’s eyes shot up, and I gripped her hand before she could chop her fingers off. “Nino needs to show you how to hold a knife properly,” I demanded then released her.

  She put down the knife. “When will you send her back?”

  I stared down at her.

  She pushed a strand behind her ear, looking away. Kiara was still quick to submit. “You will send her back, right?”

  Nino came in with the Tylenol, glancing between his wife and me. He frowned but didn’t comment.

  “When’s the lasagna done?” I asked.

  “It should be ready now.” She gripped the handle, and I stepped back so she could open the oven. She nodded. “Perfect.”

  Nino took oven mitts and gently pushed his wife to the side. “Let me.”

  He set the bubbling pan onto the stove, and Kiara smiled at him, touching his arm. “Thank you.”

  His expression softened, and I still couldn’t wrap my mind around it. My brother loved—or whatever he was capable of—Kiara. Taking the Tylenol from his pocket, he handed it to me. “Give me a piece of lasagna for Serafina.”

  Kiara pursed her lips but did as she was told. “Why can’t she have dinner with us?”

  “She’s a captive,” Savio muttered as he came in. He was still pissed because of the soup incident.

  “She can be a captive and eat dinner with us, don’t you think?” She looked up to Nino for help. He touched her waist and a look passed between them I couldn’t read.

  Sick of their silent exchanges, I left with the lasagna and the Tylenol. When I stepped into the bedroom, Serafina was sitting on the windowsill, her arms wrapped around her legs. I wondered what kind of clothes she’d worn in Minneapolis. I couldn’t imagine she’d opted for floor-length dresses like Kiara. Serafina didn’t turn my way when I stepped in, not even when I crossed the room and set the plate down on her nightstand.

  “Tell Kiara I’m sorry I wasted her soup.”

  “Are you sorry?” I asked as I stopped in front of her. Her blue eyes were still firmly focused on the window.

  “I’m sorry for wasting it, not for throwing it at your brother. I’m sorry I missed, though. You can tell him that.”

  I stifled a smile and regarded her closely, her elegantly curved mouth, her immaculate skin. My eyes lowered to her forearm. She held her arm at an awkward angle so it wasn’t pressed up against her leg. I held out the Tylenol. “For the pain.”

  Her gaze fell to my palm. Then she looked up. I could tell she considered refusing, but again she surprised me by taking the pills, her fingertips brushing the scars on my palm. Her blond brows furrowed.

  “Those are burn marks, aren’t they?”

  I withdrew my hand and curled it into a fist at my side. “Eat. I have plans for you tomorrow.” I turned on my heel before I walked out and locked her door.

  CHAPTER 8

  SERAFINA

  The next morning I took a quick shower, holding my arm out of the stall so it wouldn’t get wet. The painkillers had helped with the sting. I hadn’t expected that kind of consideration from Remo, and I suspected he had ulterior motives for the gesture, but it had given me another piece of the puzzle. The scars on his palms held a special meaning. I had a feeling they were connected to the scars his tattoo covered.

  The sound of the lock startled me, and I quickly put another one of Kiara’s long summer dresses on before I stepped out of the bathroom, my hair still damp and barefoot.

  Remo stood with his arms crossed in front of the window, tall and dark and brooding like the love interest in romance movies. He turned and scanned my body. It was unsettling how physical his gaze felt on my skin.

  “I’m taking you outside for a walk in the gardens.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “Why?”

  “Would you prefer to spend your captivity holed up in here?”

  “No, but I’m wary of your motives.”

  Remo smiled darkly. “I want to keep you sound of mind and body. It would be a shame if these four walls broke you before I can.”

  I glared at him, glad he couldn’t hear my thundering pulse.

  “Now come,” he ordered with a nod toward the door, his eyes lingering on my body.

  I followed after him and almost bumped into him when he paused in the hallway, glancing down at my feet. “Won’t you put on shoes?”

  “I would if I had any that fit me. Kiara is a six and I’m a seven and a half.”

  Remo regarded me a moment before touching my lower back, and I lurched forward in surprise. He indicated I walk ahead, the corners of his mouth tipping up, those dark eyes assessing me.

  My body tingled from his touch, and my heart throbbed in my chest. Remo’s closeness terrified me, and he could tell. I made sure to keep my distance, but Remo trailed after me, his gaze burning my neck, his tall frame a shadow over my back.

  I managed to relax when we stepped outside into the bright sunshine. Remo led me through the sprawling gardens that had different pools, shooting targets set up, and perfectly manicured greenery. The warm grass felt wondrous under my bare feet, but I didn’t let it distract me from my main objective: scouting my surroundings.

  Remo was oddly quiet, which was unsettling because it meant something was going on behind those dark cruel eyes.

  “You can try to run, but you can’t escape,” Remo said firmly when I scanned the property boundary. The high walls around the premises were topped with barbed wire, and when we walked close enough I could hear the hum of electricity.

  “Are you looking for a weakness in our safety measures?” he asked with a hint of dark amusement. “You won’t find any.”

  “Everything, everyone, has a weakness. It’s only a matter of finding it,” I said quietly, stopping.

  Remo stepped in front of me, his dark eyes triumphant as they slowly traced the length of me. “And you are Dante’s weakness, Serafina.”

  “I’m only his niece. Dante has condemned so many men to death in his life, do you really think he cares about the life of one girl?”

  Remo cupped the back of my head, holding me in place as he brought our faces closer. I let him, softened in his hold, knowing it wasn’t the reaction he wanted. His dark eyes searched mine, and I had to fight not to look away.

  “I wonder if you really believe it or if you hope I believe it,” he said in a low voice.

  “It’s the truth.”

  His lips widened in a harsh smile. “The truth is that you are a woman, something precious, something they must protect. It’s engrained in them, burned into them irrevocably from the day of their birth. Their honor dictates they keep you safe, and ev
ery second you are in my hands, they are failing you, failing themselves. With every second that passes the shame of their failure eats away at their honor. As Made Men we live on honor and pride. They are the pillars of our world, of our fucking self, and I’m going to tear them down pillar by pillar until every fucking member of the Outfit is crushed beneath the weight of their fucking guilt.”

  My breath had lodged itself in my throat, and I could do nothing but stare at the man in front of me. Maybe he’d underestimated me, but I—and I feared even the Outfit—had underestimated Remo Falcone as well. His actions spoke of barely restrained violence and led you to believe that he lacked any sliver of control, that he could be driven into rash acts. But Remo was dangerously intelligent. A ruthless man with the power and wit to get his revenge.

  “Maybe they will feel guilty, but they won’t waver. They won’t risk any part of the Outfit for me. Not for the soundness of my body, not for my life, and least of all for my innocence, Remo. So take either or all. You won’t weaken Dante or the Outfit.”

  Remo’s thumb stroked the side of my throat. I wasn’t sure if he did it on purpose or without noticing, and it wasn’t the touch but the look in his eyes that made me shiver.

  “They will protect your innocence at any cost because it’s the only pure thing in their fucking lives. They think your innocence could wash away their sins, but they breathe sin. We all do. One hundred virgins can’t wash the sin from our veins. Definitely not from mine.”

  ”Not even an angel?” I murmured, tilting my head up, peering at him through my lashes. My pulse throbbed in my veins, aware of the risk I was taking. But I was forced into Remo’s game, willing or not, and I could either be a pawn or a player.

  Something in Remo’s dark eyes shifted, something hungry and lethal unfurling. He leaned closer, his breath hot against my lips. “You are playing a dangerous game, Angel.”