Twisted Hearts (The Camorra Chronicles Book 5)

by Cora Reilly

  “I won’t give up Gemma, Remo. I don’t give a fuck what you say or decide. I’ll marry her. And don’t play the high card, you fucking kidnapped a bride and held her captive until she succumbed to your madness.”

  Remo gripped my collar and jerked me against him, his eyes burning with rage. Everyone fell silent, and even the kids watched open-mouthed. Remo shook with the effort not to beat me to a pulp, or try at least. “Never mention it around the twins again, got it?” he said in a deadly voice. “You’re lucky I don’t want Greta to see me breaking your fucking jaw.”

  My eyes slanted to his little girl, again in her favorite pink tutu, staring at us with huge terrified eyes. Nevio, on the other hand looked like he was getting a huge present. Massimo and Alessio watched in curiosity while Aurora kept crawling around.

  “It won’t happen again,” I said quietly, my version of an apology. The only one I was capable of and Remo knew, because he was the same way. He released me and took a step back.

  “I didn’t nullify anything. I talked to Daniele this morning. He was pissed, but he doesn’t want to cancel the engagement at this time because it would reflect badly on Gemma and their family.”

  “What about Gemma?”

  “He was careful with his words, but it’s safe to say that at the current time, she’d rather go to a nunnery than become your wife.”

  Gritting my teeth, I looked away from his twisted expression. Guilt wasn’t a feeling I kept in my standard repertoire. I didn’t care about enough people to invest that level of emotion often. Only my family… and Gemma, I realized now, because I felt like an asshole for how I’d treated her. These last few weeks had been kicking my ass with the Bratva trying to gain their footing in Las Vegas again. The city was too important to give it up easily. For a while, our shaky understanding with the Pakhan of Chicago had helped but that was a thing of the past now too. Diego and I had been leading a few attacks on Bratva outposts, the last one two days ago, which almost ended with both of us dead.

  I’d thought that party and the two girls would be the perfect distraction, I was wrong.

  Fuck it.

  I never wanted to hurt Gemma.

  “Maybe you should move your ass over there and apologize to your fiancée,” Fabiano suggested.

  “You think?” I muttered.

  I turned around and headed toward my Bugatti, only to remember that it was still in front of the party mansion, covered in cake. Grabbing the key to Nino’s Tesla, I headed out to the Bazzolis.

  Daniele opened the door with a tight expression. “Savio.”

  “Daniele,” I said, waiting for him to invite me in. He didn’t. Behind him, I could see Claudia and Nonna looking at me like I was the Devil.

  “Where’s Diego?” Daniele asked.

  I rubbed the back of my head. “He’s still sleeping…”

  Daniele shook his head. “We don’t condone alcohol abuse and promiscuity. When we accepted you to join our family, we hoped you’d respect our values, not convince our children to trample on them.”

  Ouch. Diego had never needed much convincing, and Gemma still held true to her values, but I got his point. “Can I have a word with Gemma? I need to clear a few things up.”

  Daniele glanced at his wife, who was halfway up the stairs, then he turned back around to me and shook his head. “Unfortunately, Gemma doesn’t want to see you.”

  “She’s my fiancée.”

  “That she is, not by her choice at this point.”

  I grimaced.

  “I think it would be for the best if you don’t see Gemma until you’ve made up your mind about a wedding date and the meaning of the sacred bond of marriage.” He gave me a nod and closed the door right in my face. Stunned, I waited for a couple of moments then I walked around the house to the tree. Gemma’s window was right next to it. I was about to climb the tree when Nonna’s face appeared in the window. The look she gave me could have frozen the Mojave.

  All right. They needed time to cool off.

  On my way to the car, I sent Gemma a text.

  I won’t let you go, Kitty. I promised to marry you and I will. Thanks for the cake, by the way. I guess I deserved that.

  It wasn’t an apology, but it was the best I could do. The Falcone gene seemed to make it impossible to utter the actual words.

  When the bell rang, I knew it was Savio, and with the same certainty, I knew that I didn’t want to see him. Not today, and not in the foreseeable future. I’d marry him because that’s what my family wanted, but I was done trying to make it work. I was done, period.

  My tears had dried and my eyes didn’t water when his voice carried up to the hallway where I listened to his and Dad’s conversation.

  Mom came up the stairs, her eyes landing on me and softening. Nonna was close behind her. After they’d given me a lecture for going to a party, they’d stayed up all night consoling me.

  Toni had already called me this morning. She’d taken her car home after getting in an argument with Diego and covering Savio’s car in the remains of my cake.

  I turned around and went back to my room, sinking down on my bed. Nonna came in, glancing at me, then walking over to the window. She let out a disapproving cluck.

  My phone beeped. I skimmed over Savio’s message, then shoved the phone under my pillow. That was his version of an apology? Did he really think that was all it took to make up for his actions and words?

  Nonna sat down beside me and took my hand. “Men aren’t like us.”

  I let out a derisive laugh. “Yeah.”

  “You chose Savio, knowing who he was. It’s a burden every woman has to carry, accepting their husband’s mistakes. Women make marriages work. It’s what we do.”

  “We aren’t married yet and if it’s up to Savio, that won’t change until I’m old and wrinkly.” Besides, I had absolutely no intention to be the only one who was going to make a marriage work. That wasn’t a one-man—or rather one woman show.

  Nonna clucked again. “He’ll marry you. Your father is going to put pressure on him.”

  We both knew that Dad’s hands were bound. If Savio wasn’t a Falcone, then he could have done something, but as it was, we could do nothing but wait.

  It was the summer after I’d finished high school. Toni and I had both been accepted to the University of Nevada, if only because Savio had a hand in it. He still hadn’t given any indication that he wanted to marry me anytime soon, but I was done playing woe is me. I hadn’t seen him since his birthday, had done my best to avoid any place where he could cross my way. Diego had stopped bringing him to our house, after a talk to Mom.

  I’d spent the two weeks since the end of school with Toni, making plans for college, or working in the Amalfi, helping Dad with his insane workload. It was strange thinking of going to college, because it had never been part of my life plan.

  I had chosen Romanic languages as a major with a minor in Gender and Sexuality Studies as a subtle form of protest—Toni’s amazing idea. She was majoring in Entrepreneurship in preparation to take over the Arena in the distant future.

  Even though college had never been my dream, it now became the distraction I needed. I had something to look forward to.

  “Gemma, pay attention. The tomato sauce is going to burn,” Nonna said, clucking her tongue.

  I quickly stirred the red sauce in the ginormous saucepan. It was the only workout I’d been getting in, except for the occasional round of sit-ups or push-ups in the morning. Still, after a day of carrying dishes and stirring sauces, my arms ached all the same. Nonna and I worked in the restaurant from ten in the morning until eleven at night every day, except for Mondays. Dad stayed even longer, brooding over bills. Sometimes Mom helped as well, but Carlotta had been spending more time in the hospital these last couple of months with check-ups and tests to determine if she was strong enough for a transplant.

  Male voices rang out. The restaurant was still closed. It would open for lunch in thirty minutes.

 
; A bang sounded.

  “Bratva! Lock the back!” Dad screamed before the first shots rang out.

  I dropped the spoon, completely frozen.

  Nonna rushed toward the backdoor and quickly locked it. Seconds later, someone kicked against the massive door. My heart pounded in my chest.

  Shots and screams rang out in the restaurant. Dad was there with two waiters. Nonna grabbed my wrist in a crushing grip and opened the door of the kitchen cupboard. “Get in there.”

  I shook my head. “Nonna, no. Let me fight.”

  “These men have guns! Now climb in there, Gemma.” She kissed my forehead and practically shoved me down on my knees.

  “Nonna,” I whispered.

  She gave me a stern look. “Now.”

  I crawled into the cupboard and pressed my legs against my chest.

  “Swear not to come out, not to make a single sound, no matter what happens.”

  Then Nonna closed the door. Not a second too soon. A bang sounded as the kitchen door flung inward and two men came inside. Through a tiny gap, I could see Nonna move toward them.

  One of the men screamed something in Russian and then he pointed the gun at Nonna and… pulled the trigger. I jerked. Everything seemed to suddenly move slowly.

  Nonna sank to the floor behind the kitchen island, out of my line of sight.

  I couldn’t breathe.

  The Russians said something else, then one of them left. The other moved toward where Nonna had been and whatever he did to her, it made her hand move so I saw it. Unmoving. Lifeless. Was she… was she dead?

  A sob slipped out of me. The man straightened and he looked straight at me. I tensed as he stalked toward me and ripped open the door. He leered. “Ahhh, what have we here?” he said in a strong Russian accent.

  Kneeling before me, he grasped my ankle and tried to pull me out. I kicked upward, thrusting my heel into his chest. He stumbled backward with a string of what sounded like curses.

  I quickly scrambled out to get in a better fighting position, but before I could brace myself, he gripped my hair and ripped hard. I bit my lip, stifling a cry. If I made a sound, the other men would come running, and my opponent obviously didn’t want to call for help against a girl. He dragged me toward the door and past Nonna who stared at me with wide, lifeless eyes.

  I twisted in his hold and drove my fist upward, ramming the heel of my hand into his nose. With a muffled groan, he released me, staggering back. He looked pissed. His nose spurting blood, he lunged at me at the same time as I aimed a high kick at his head. My foot collided with his chin, throwing it back. It smashed against the edge of a wall cabinet and his eyes went out of focus. He fell forward. My eyes went wide when he collided with me, taking me down with his much heavier body.

  My head crashed against the floor. Stars burst in my vision and then all went black.

  “We should talk to a few of the Underbosses with stronger Bratva Outposts and plan a simultaneous attack. They are getting too bold. We need to kill as many as possible in a single effort,” I said.

  Diego nodded, scanning the map of our territory where Nino had marked the biggest Bratva strongholds. Diego had started working as an Enforcer alongside Fabiano, but because I trusted him the most from all the soldiers, he still accompanied me to dangerous missions. Despite the mess with his sister, he and I had come to a silent agreement—by pretending I wasn’t engaged to his sister. It was a cowardly thing to do and I knew I needed to get a grip, man up and finally ask Gemma to set a date for the wedding, but I had cold feet.

  Diego pointed at L.A. and San Diego. “What about them?”

  “No signs of Bratva yet,” I said. “They’re trying to get Las Vegas first. It’s a matter of prestige. Remo’s killed and tortured so many Bratva fuckers these last few weeks, but they keep popping up like weeds.”

  My phone rang. Remo. “What’s up?”

  “The Bratva attacked the Amalfi.”

  It took my brain a moment to register his words. Gemma worked in the Amalfi every day. Even if I hadn’t contacted her in the last two months, I’d kept an eye on her.

  “Nino and I are on our way.”

  “What about Gemma?”

  Diego rose from his chair, paling.

  “We don’t know anything,” Remo said.

  I pushed to my feet, staring at Diego. “The Bratva.” I didn’t need to say more. The Amalfi had been attacked before. In the fifties and sixties, it had been a Russian restaurant, run by the Bratva, before the Camorra had taken it from them. We ran toward my car, jumped in and I floored the gas, my heart beating in my fucking throat.

  Diego clutched his phone against his ear, but no one was picking up in the restaurant.

  “Call Gemma. She always has her phone with her to talk to Toni!”

  He tried—nothing.

  Diego gripped his hair. “If…if…fuck.”

  “Nothing will happen to anyone.”

  Nothing would happen to Gemma.

  Diego called home, reaching his mom who was taking care of Carlotta.

  I slammed on the brakes in front of the restaurant and shot out of the car. Remo’s SUV was already parked in the front. Pulling out guns, Diego and I stormed into the restaurant.

  Remo whirled around, pointing his guns at us then pointed them back at the kitchen doors, approaching them slowly. Nino knelt beside a body. Diego rushed toward them.

  His father lay in a pool of his blood. Bullet wounds littered his body. His eyes stared unseeingly up at the ceiling. Diego made a small choked sound. Two dead assholes lay near the bar, dead. Russians, no doubt. The waiters next to the bar were dead as well.

  “Where’s Gemma?” I asked.

  “We arrived shortly before you,” Nino said. “We didn’t have time to check the kitchen yet. There wasn’t a sound though.”

  Which meant everyone still around was dead. Whoever had done this would be gone by now.

  “Gemma and Nonna were supposed to be here,” Diego said tonelessly.

  Remo motioned for us to follow and together we went toward the kitchen. Raising our guns, Remo shoved open the swing door and we all rushed inside. Like Nino had said, nobody inside the kitchen was capable of making a sound.

  Diego’s nonna lay on the floor, a bullet hole in her forehead. Dread settled in my bones and my heart slammed against my ribcage. Diego pushed past me and Remo, and stormed toward his grandmother, then he looked at something to his right.

  He let out a hoarse cry, his face scrunching up with despair and he dropped his gun. “No!”

  He rushed forward and I followed after him. Then I saw Gemma on the floor in a pool of blood. A tall man lay half on top of her. I froze and everything seemed to stand still.

  My breath lodged itself in my throat. My fingers around my gun loosened.

  Remo grasped my shoulder, looking at me. “Get a grip!”

  I gripped the handle of my gun, even if I hardly felt my fingers or any other part of my body.

  Diego fell to his knees beside Gemma. “No,” he roared then softer, “No, God, please.” I staggered toward him and helped him shove the Bratva asshole off Gemma. At least, she was still dressed. She wasn’t raped before they killed her. That was the only consolation. She didn’t have to suffer.

  My eyes prickled and I swallowed. The sensation was foreign, one I hadn’t felt since I was a little boy—a heavy pressure in the back of my throat and in my chest. Diego pressed his forehead to Gemma’s stomach and began to cry.

  With a shaking hand, I touched his back. Remo appeared beside us.

  I looked up at him and for some reason he was blurry. I couldn’t stand the look on his face and so I looked back to Gemma. Fuck. The last words I’d said to her flitted through my head, the horrible things I’d told her, how badly I’d treated her. As if she was nothing but a sex toy for me, nothing important when she was the only girl who’d ever been a friend, the only girl I’d ever wanted for more than sex. Yet, I hadn’t shown her. I had clung to my freedom, beca
use the rush of those meaningless flings and party nights had brightened the darkness that so often filled my insides. It hadn’t worked, not for long. Like a flash that broke through the night for only an instant, the thrill of my flings hadn’t banished that darkness for long.

  I bent over Gemma’s head, cupping her bloody cheek and kissed the tip of her nose. She was even still warm. She couldn’t have been dead for long and that realization made this even harder. If we’d been quicker, maybe we could have saved her. Regret over the past is wasted time—that was Nino’s credo. The fuck did he know?

  Stroking her blood-covered face, I leaned down to her ear. “I was an asshole. I’m so fucking sorry, Gem, so fucking sorry. I’ll miss you so fucking much, every annoying little thing. You are the only girl I ever truly wanted, and I fucked it up.”

  I swallowed past the lump in my throat. My fingers traced her throat, so soft. So fucking gorgeous even in death. I’d thought I’d have time, that we’d have time to be together, had taken it for granted. The speared watch on my forearm taunted me as I stroked Gemma’s skin. Outsmarting time, what a stupid thing to think.

  A gentle pulse throbbed against my fingertips. I jerked my head up, staring at Gemma.

  “What is it?” Remo asked immediately. Diego lifted his tear-stained face.

  I dug my fingertips into her throat. A pulse. A fucking pulse. For a moment, I didn’t dare believe it. “Remo,” I got out. He knelt beside me and shoved my hand aside, then he pressed his fingers against her pulse point. “Nino!” he roared.

  “What… what’s going on?” Diego whispered.

  Nino came in then rushed over to us and bent over Gemma, feeling her pulse. “She’s alive.”

  Diego sucked in a sharp breath.

  Relief washed over me.

  Remo moved to the Bratva asshole. “He too.” He grinned twistedly.

  “He’s mine,” I said. Once Gemma was taken care of, I’d turn the last few hours of that asshole’s life into a nightmare.

  Remo inclined his head.

  Nino felt Gemma’s head then moved on to her ribs.