Twisted Emotions (The Camorra Chronicles Book 2)

KIARA

I flinched every time my uncle’s stifled cries rang out as Remo and Nino broke each of his fingers. My eyes weren’t on my uncle, though, but instead on my husband’s face. His expression was keen and attentive as he watched my uncle like he was conducting an interesting experiment.

Next, they began cutting his clothes off his body, slicing his skin over and over in the process. I jerked to my feet. I couldn’t watch this, couldn’t see him naked, couldn’t listen to his muffled cries anymore.

Nino looked over to me and stopped his brother from removing my uncle’s underpants. Nino walked toward me. “Do you want to hear what he has to say before you go?”

I wasn’t sure but I gave a very small nod.

Nino went back and pulled the sock out of my uncle’s mouth. “I’m sorry,” Durant croaked. “Please forgive me.” His eyes begged me.

Nino looked at me, cold gray eyes emotionless despite what he had been doing to my uncle. “Do you forgive him?”

Could I forgive him? Can you forgive having your childhood destroyed? Having your innocence ripped from you? Losing that childlike trust in your family in the worst way possible? “No,” I said.

Nino stuffed the sock back into Durant’s mouth.

I had to go when Nino brought the knife down onto my uncle’s chest. I closed the door and took a shuddering breath then stiffened when I noticed Fabiano heading my way, carrying transfusion bags. I moved to the side so he could enter, but he returned a moment later with empty arms. “I’m going to take you to Remo’s room. Nino will join you later.”

I didn’t say anything, just watched the tall blond man. We walked in silence, and when I stepped into Remo’s room, he left me alone. I walked over to the bed and crept under the blankets, staring into the darkness. The bed was too heavy with the memories of the past, even if it wasn’t the same bed where it had happened.

Slipping out of the bed, I curled up in one of the armchairs, not bothering with a blanket. Much later, the door creaked open. As the light spilled in from the corridor, I could see Nino dressed in his wedding suit. Then he closed the door, bathing us in darkness. He stopped halfway to the bed. “You can sleep in the bed. Remo won’t require it tonight. It’s ours.”

I swallowed. “I haven’t slept in a bed in years.”

“Why?” There was no judgment in his voice, only mild curiosity.

“Because that’s where it happened,” I choked.

“He begged for death in the end if it’s any consolation.”

I sucked in my breath. Was it? It shouldn’t have been, but part of me felt consoled. “Thank you,” I whispered.

“The power he still holds over you … that’s something you have to break.”

I stood and slowly walked toward the bed. In the dim light I could only make out Nino’s tall form, but I had a feeling he was watching me.

I lay down and covered myself with the blanket.

Nino’s shadow shifted and I could hear clothes rustling. He was getting out of his wedding suit. The remnants of fear made my breathing change. Perhaps it would always be like that. Would he try again? I was his wife after all.

“You should try to sleep,” he said in that calm drawl as he slipped under the covers. He didn’t come close enough so we would touch.

“I can’t.”

“The nightmares won’t stop because he’s dead,” he said, and I knew he was right, but it was unsettling that he knew. They’d called him a genius, as twisted and dangerous as he was intelligent. And I realized he was all that and more. Monstrous.

Every cut he’d inflicted on Uncle Durant in my presence spoke of clinical precision, of years of practice, and I knew what came after I’d left had been worse.

He begged for death in the end.

“But he won’t ever hurt you again, and nobody else will either,” he said as if him speaking the words made it law.

Because of the bloody message he sent today. “What about you?” Silence. “Will you hurt me?”

He shifted and the bed moved under his weight. I sucked in a breath before I could stop myself. Even in the dark, I could see him turn to face me. “I won’t hurt you either. Physically at least.”

“But you will abuse me mentally?” I asked.

“No. Not intentionally.” He paused. “But I don’t feel.”

“Feel what?”

Pity? Mercy?

“Feel.”

I tried to understand what he meant. “You don’t feel emotions?”

“Haven’t since I was a child.” He paused. “Not like people usually do. It’s difficult to explain.”

A sociopath. That was what people like him were called.

“I recognize them and I can simulate them in a satisfying manner if I want, but I don’t feel them.”

I wasn’t sure what to say. Perhaps his admittance should have scared me. “So what does that mean for us?”

“That means that I will never act on anger or fear or sadness, but …”

“But never on love or affection either,” I finished. I wondered why he had slaughtered my uncle if it wasn’t for anger. Was it habit? Because that was how things were handled in Vegas? Even in New York any Made Man would have killed the man who’d dishonored his bride.

“Indeed.”

I didn’t need love as long as I knew I was safe from him. Besides, I had gone without real affection for years now. I could live through more. “What about desire?”

“That isn’t an emotion. It is animalistic drive. And basically humans are animals.”

Not so safe after all. “So you act on desire.” Fear was back in my voice, and my body clammed up with it.

In the dark I could see the slight movement of his face. “I do. And to be upfront, I desire your body.”

There it was. My pulse sped up, and I could feel a new wave of panic begin to rise.

“But I won’t act on it.”

“You won’t?”

“At some point it might be required that we produce offspring, but until then I can seek out other women to handle my needs … if that’s what you prefer?”

So clinical and emotionless. “Yes,” I said, relieved that he’d suggested something like that. I could have cried from relief.

He didn’t say anything. For him this was settled. I closed my eyes. It felt like a weight had been lifted off my chest, and I could breathe freely again.

I fought him, tried to push him off, but he was too strong. Gasping, I woke and panicked because something was holding me down. I struggled harder, terror clawing at my chest. Only one of my arms was free. I flailed.

A firm hand caught my wrist, and I let out a choked sound.

The lights came on, and I blinked against the brightness.

“Calm down, Kiara. You are tangled in the covers.”

It took me a moment to realize who was speaking, who was holding my wrist. Nino’s face came into focus above me, and I cringed into the pillow. I tugged at the wrist he was holding and he released me.

“Let me help you.” He reached for me and I stiffened, watching his hand. He grabbed the covers and yanked. They came loose and I was free. I sucked in a deep breath.

His hair was disheveled and with it not being combed back or in a short ponytail he looked more human, almost approachable. Of course, that changed the moment my eyes dipped below his throat, where his tattoos began. Almost every inch of his torso was covered in them. They barely touched his neck so they weren’t visible if he wore a shirt. The tattoos snaked over his shoulder on his back and down to his arms, reaching his wrists like sleeves. They didn’t hide the steely outline of muscles or the raised scars.

I swallowed and sat up. My skin was slick with perspiration, but I shivered. “I’m not used to that much space. The chaise longue I slept on didn’t allow for me to move enough to get entangled like that.”

Nino was still propped up on one arm. His gaze trailed over my face, and it made me acutely aware of our proximity and the rude way I woke him. He must have realized what kind of lousy deal he’d gotten by now. I was nothing like the promised prize. He couldn’t claim me, and I stole his sleep. “I’m a mess,” I whispered. “At least, you don’t have to worry about other men making a move on me.”

“I’m not worried about that,” he said in a low voice.

I tilted my head. “Have you discovered that you got a faulty prize?”

“Faulty?” he inquired.

I motioned at myself. “Broken. I’m not what was promised. You should give me back.”

Nino pushed himself into a sitting position and brought us closer. I forced myself to remain still, but my body tensed. His eyes flickered over me, perhaps noticing my reaction, but he didn’t pull back. “I was promised a Vitiello woman in marriage. A woman with beauty and grace. You fulfill my requirements.”

I stared. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“To think it would suggest it’s born of my imagination, but your beauty is fact. And the reason why I’m not worried about men making a move on you is because you are a Falcone now, my wife, and in Las Vegas nobody goes against us.”

I swallowed harder.

“The dark holds power over you because he came at night for you?”

I nodded, followed by another hard swallow.

“Your nights are safe. You are safe now, Kiara. Even in the dark there’s nothing you have to fear, no one, because I am there and they will have to go through me. And no one ever has won against me. I am the most dangerous thing in the dark, but you don’t have to fear me.”

I lowered my eyes, not understanding. “Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why don’t I have to fear you? You are a Falcone.”

“I am. And my brothers and I protect each other because we are family, and we protect Fabiano because we made him family, and now we will protect you because you are my wife and that makes you family as well. That’s what family is supposed to be, don’t you think?”

I looked up at him with a shaky smile. “Was that how your family raised you? How your father raised you? Because my father beat me and killed my mother in an attempt to save his own life. My Aunt Egidia and Uncle Felix treated me like a burden and pariah because my father was a traitor, and my uncle Durant, he … he …” I still couldn’t say it.

“My father and mother were never family. They were blood, nothing more. My brothers and I are blood, but we also decided to be more, to be a unit. We are blood and chosen family. And we protect family.” His expression was more animated than I’d ever seen it, and I wondered if he realized it … if he really was as emotionless as he claimed to be. “If you choose to be a Falcone, if you choose to be our family, if you choose to be mine not just on paper and because it is your duty, then we will protect you.”

“What do I have to do to be family? To be yours?”

“Be loyal. Be trustworthy. Forget your blood family and New York. Cut the bonds that tie you to them and become a Falcone. It’s us against the rest. It will always be like that.”

“I can do that.” Nothing in New York was holding me back. The only person I cared about and who cared about me was Giulia, and we had barely seen each other because she lived in Philadelphia and I lived in Baltimore with her parents.  She also had Cassio’s children to take care of.

He gave a nod and reclined in bed. “Try to sleep now.”

I lay back down on my side, and Nino extinguished the lights. As always, my body seized with fear in the dark. I focused on Nino’s calm breathing. He was too far away for me to feel the warmth of his body, but I heard him. He wasn’t asleep. I don’t know why I knew it, I just did. I closed my eyes and counted his breaths until sleep dragged me down.

Nino

Kiara’s breathing remained tense for a long time after her nightmare. I knew she was trying to make me believe she had fallen asleep, and I allowed her to think she was succeeding. It was curious how often people forgot about the little details when it came to their body language. Breathing in sleep had a different quality than when awake, especially if your waking moments were filled with fear.

Other people’s fear was something I was used to; people feared me because of my name and my Camorra tattoo. Even if they didn’t know me, they feared me because they saw me in the cage or because they realized I didn’t feel. It deeply unsettled most people once they realized that my blank expression wasn’t forced. It came naturally.

Kiara shifted slightly. She was asleep now, but neither my mind nor my body craved sleep. Usually, I had no trouble finding sleep after torturing someone. It didn’t raise my pulse up or make my blood boil, and yet this time there was an underlying restlessness in my limbs as I lay beside Kiara.

I wasn’t sure why I had reacted so strongly. Maybe it was that as my wife I felt obligated to protect her.

I slipped out of bed eventually and left the room. It was quiet in the house and gardens at this hour. People had left the party while Remo and I had been busy with Durant. I assumed Luca had strongly advised them to take their leave. The dark had never harbored horrors for me like it did for Kiara. I enjoyed its peaceful quietness. I went downstairs and followed a slight breeze toward the French windows. As expected, Remo was awake as well. He stood on the crest of the knoll and stared out toward the ocean. He hadn’t bothered getting dressed in pants or a shirt after we were done with Durant. He stood only in his briefs.

His body tensed briefly at my approach, but then his muscles slackened. I stopped beside him, but he didn’t turn to look at me. The scent of copper flooded my nose, and my eyes trailed down his body. Even in the dim moonlight it was obvious that he hadn’t even bothered cleaning up yet.

“Why are you still covered in his blood?” I asked curiously.

“When has there ever been a day without blood in our lives?” He threw my earlier words back at me. I frowned. Remo was in a strange mood.

“Do you know what day today is?”

“April 25,” I said, but I knew that wasn’t where he was going with his words.

He turned his head, and his expression would have sent most people running. “It’s her fucking birthday.”

“I know.”

“Right this moment she’s fucking taking a breath, a breath she shouldn’t be taking. She should burn in hell.”

My chest became tight as it occasionally did when Remo felt compelled to mention our mother. “We can still kill her,” I said.

Remo balled his hands to fists. “Yeah. We could.” His eyes assessed me. “Fourteen fucking years and she’s still breathing.”

“We could ask Fabiano to do it. He would understand.”

“No,” Remo growled. “That day is between us. And if anyone kills our mother, it’s going to be us. Together.” He held out his hand, his Camorra tattoo on display.

I nodded and gripped his forearm as he gripped mine. “I would go through fucking fire for you.”

“You already did, Remo,” I said.

He released my arm and took a deep breath. “The smell of blood always reminds me of that day. Isn’t that kind of ironic considering how much blood we’ve spilled over the years? You’d think it would manage to drown out that one fucking day.”

“Some things stay with you,” I said.

Remo nodded. “You being here I assume you didn’t fuck your wife.”

“Her past stayed with her too. Killing her uncle didn’t change that.”

“Would killing our mother change things for us?” he asked quietly.

I considered that, but for once I didn’t know the answer. “I don’t know.”