Twisted Emotions (The Camorra Chronicles Book 2)

by Cora Reilly

  The song ended. As was expected, Luca, the Capo who had given her to me, stepped up to take over. Kiara didn’t soften. She was as scared of dancing with him as she was of me. I forced myself to release her. She wasn’t in danger. This was a dance. There was no reason to make it out to be more.

  I turned to Aria. Luca narrowed his eyes at me. I ignored his unreasonable reaction and held out my hand to his wife. She took it and gave me a smile. She was a good actress. If it hadn’t been for the slight tension in her fingers and the acceleration of her pulse, I might have believed her expression.

  Pulling her against me, we began to dance. She was easy to steer, took my lead, and kept up a pleasant smile.

  “You have Fabiano’s eyes.”

  Her gaze flew up to mine, and her expression faltered. “He is my brother. Even if you made him believe something else.”

  “We didn’t make him believe anything,” I corrected. “We taught him that blood doesn’t define your loyalties.”

  “You turned him into—”

  “Into what? A killer? A torturer?”

  She sighed.

  “Every man in this room is a killer, and the boys are on their way to becoming one.” And from what I knew of Luca, he definitely was one of the cruelest men in our circles, but Aria probably had limited knowledge when it came to her husband’s business habits.

  “This isn’t wedding talk,” she said. “I hope this wedding will allow us to find peace, and I hope your brother will allow Fabiano to be close to his blood family.”

  “It’s up to Fabiano, but he is with the Camorra now. Don’t forget that.”

  “I won’t, trust me,” she said sharply. Her eyes followed her husband and my wife as they danced. Kiara was stiff in Luca’s hold.

  “Kiara is very tense around men,” I said.

  Aria frowned. “Most women are tense on their wedding day.”

  “They are?”

  She gave me a look, but I couldn’t read it. “Men,” she said under her breath. It had nothing to do with me being male, but I didn’t elaborate. “For a bride, a wedding night holds quite a bit of terror.”

  “Fear of the unknown is common, but it is only the joining of two bodies. Nothing to be fearful of.”

  Aria blinked up at me. “Perhaps for you, but Kiara might disagree, like any other woman, especially considering who she has to join bodies with.”

  “I am more than capable of fulfilling my duties as a husband.”

  “I don’t doubt that you can go through with it. The Camorra is notorious after all.” She grimaced. “It’s not my business.”

  But her voice made it clear that she wanted it to be her business. “It’s not. You are right,” I drawled. A truce didn’t mean Remo or I would allow the Famiglia to meddle in our business.

  When the last notes of the song faded, she rushed to say, “Her father hit her before he was killed. That might explain her problem with men. But I think there might be more …”

  “More?”

  She stepped back. “Thank you for the dance.” She turned and moved toward Luca, who was waiting for her at the edge of the dance floor. Kiara had already been handed off to Felix.

  I moved toward Remo, who stood beside Fabiano close to the buffet. As my oldest brother, it would be his turn to dance with Kiara after her Uncle Felix. I grabbed his arm, and he raised his dark eyebrows.

  “Try to scare her as little as possible.”

  “I can be pleasant and gentlemanly if I try,” he said.

  Fabiano laughed. “Sorry, Remo, but that’s the best joke I heard in a while.”

  “What am I supposed to do to set your little wife at ease?” he asked, but his eyes followed a young woman who walked past us. I really hoped he wouldn’t try anything with one of the Famiglia’s women.

  I was the wrong person to ask. “I don’t know.”

  We glanced at Leona who flushed. “Perhaps smile?”

  Remo’s mouth pulled into a smile.

  “I have seen hyenas with less unsettling smiles,” Fabiano muttered, and Leona choked on her laughter and buried her face against his arm. The song ended, and Remo pulled free of my grip, heading for Kiara, who looked like a lamb facing off with a butcher.

  Giulia surprised me when she asked for a dance. I was fairly sure that wasn’t how things were usually handled, but I led her toward the dance floor and pulled her against me. Her husband watched us from his spot beside Luca at the buffet. They were both tall and muscled and shared a similar disposition for brutal leadership … if rumors were to be believed.

  “I don’t know if you are even capable of such a thing, but I ask you to be kind to Kiara.”

  I glanced down at Giulia. “You ask me?” I said with raised eyebrows.

  She frowned. “If you have a heart, please don’t hurt her.”

  “I was told there’s no way around hurting a woman in her first night.”

  Her eyes filled with tears but her expression looked angry. “You know what I mean!”

  “Kiara is my wife, a grown woman, and from this day on she’s part of the Camorra. She isn’t your concern,” I said in a warning tone.

  Giulia tensed but didn’t say anymore. The second the music was over I released her, and she returned to her husband while I went back to my brothers and Fabiano.

  KIARA

  Remo Falcone headed my way, and it took considerable effort not to run. His eyes were almost black like his hair. There was something in his face that spoke of unbridled violence, and that wasn’t because of the scar trailing from his brow down his temple to his cheekbone. He held out his hand with a twisted pull of his mouth. It was reminiscent of how a lion regarded a gazelle.

  His palm and fingers were littered with scars and burns.

  “You are supposed to take my hand so we can dance,” he said in what I assumed was annoyance.

  Suppressing a shudder, I slipped my hand into his. I didn’t look up into his face. It would have been my undoing. His fingers closed around my hand with less pressure than I had expected, and his other hand gently touched my back and pulled me against him. My body clenched, my breathing caught in my throat. I had to hold in a gasp. He led me along to the music, but my trembling didn’t make it easy for him. He tightened his hold on me, bringing us closer, and I exhaled sharply at the feel of his hard body against mine.

  My fingers on his bicep began slipping as I fought against the impending panic attack.

  “Look at me,” he ordered.

  I couldn’t.

  “Look at me.” A low murmur full of command, and I finally met his gaze. His expression wasn’t angry, more assessing, as if he was sizing me up. “This is dancing. Don’t make it into something more than that because you let your imagination run free.”

  I was momentarily startled. He sounded a lot like Nino; maybe he hid his intelligence behind his layers of violence.

  “Now pretend you are a happy bride. This is a day of celebration,” he said, and his own lips formed a scary smile.

  I tried my best to relax in his hold, to make my face look pleasant, but I wasn’t sure if I succeeded. I counted the seconds till the end of the song, but when it finally ended, Uncle Durant appeared at our side and terror from the past took hold of me. I dug my nails into Remo, clinging to him, undoubtedly leaving marks with my fingernails.

  “I would like to dance with my niece now,” Uncle Durant said to Remo, but his eyes were on me, full of knowledge and triumph as always.

  He hadn’t touched me since those nights. I clutched Remo tightly, looking up at him. His dark eyes regarded me, narrowing ever so slightly. Please don’t let me dance with him. The words didn’t leave my mouth. Durant reached for me, but Remo angled us so he was between my uncle and me.

  Remo turned his gaze to my uncle, but he didn’t let go of me. “I can’t allow that unfortunately. My brother wants her back at his side.”

  “It’s tradition in the Famiglia,” Uncle Durant said. “Maybe you don’t care about traditions
over in Vegas, but here we do.”

  Remo’s lips pulled wider, and I realized then that his smiles for me had been genuine; he was being nice. This smile had a sinister feel to it. “We honor our traditions as well. In Vegas, it’s tradition that I cut out the tongues of people who annoy the fuck out of me. If you insist on your traditions, I will have to insist on mine. And your tongue will look good in my collection.”

  Uncle Durant’s face turned red. His angry gaze settled on me briefly, and I pressed into Remo, but then my uncle moved away.

  “You can release me now,” Remo muttered.

  I unfastened my hold and stepped back, ashamed. Remo held onto my hand, not allowing me to go. His thumb pressed against my wrist in a similar way like Nino had.

  “What was that?” Remo asked in a low, dangerous voice.

  “Nothing. I don’t like him.”

  “That was not dislike, Kiara,” he said, still in that terrifying voice. His fingers pressed harder into my wrist. I risked a peek at him. His eyes were narrowed at me, as if he could see into the deepest, darkest corners of my soul. “Dislike wouldn’t have made you seek protection in my arms, trust me.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Don’t lie to me. I am your Capo now.”

  Nothing would make me reveal my secret, not even Remo’s terrifying scowl. “I didn’t ask for your protection,” I whispered.

  He stepped closer, and I cringed. “You begged me for protection. Unlike Nino, I have no trouble reading your emotions.”

  I wasn’t sure what he meant.

  “You didn’t have to protect me. I’m not your responsibility.”

  “You are a Falcone now. My brother’s wife. You fall under my rule. That makes you mine to protect.”

  He tightened his grip on my wrist, ignoring my flinching, and dragged me off the dance floor toward Nino, who raised his eyebrows at his brother. Remo practically shoved me into Nino’s arm. Despite my tension, Nino wrapped an arm around my waist and left it there. “That was her last dance with anyone but us,” Remo ordered. “I don’t give a fuck about their traditions. She is under our rule now.”

  Nino narrowed his eyes. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” Remo said. “But her family is starting to piss me off.”

  Nino glanced between his brother and me but didn’t say anymore. After that, I didn’t have to dance again.

  CHAPTER 6

  KIARA

  “Bed her, bed her!” The chanting began before I’d managed to mentally prepare myself. Perhaps I was stupid for thinking I could prepare for it.

  My husband’s brothers, Remo and Savio, shouted the loudest, but most of the other men were almost as loud. The youngest brother, Adamo, remained in his seat, lips pressed together in a firm line. He hadn’t talked to me or danced with me or anyone else.

  “Bed her, bed her!” the cries grew louder.

  I sought Nino’s gaze. He nodded at me, got up, and held out a hand. I took it because I could not refuse him with everyone watching us. Forcing down my fear, I stood and followed him past the rows of guests who had lined up to see us out. The men clapped Nino’s shoulders; the women caught my gaze with pity and sympathy in their eyes. Giulia was pressed up against her husband, worry filling her expression. I quickly looked away.

  “On to unchartered grounds!”

  “We want to see the sheets!”

  There were more comments like that, and they turned my stomach into solid rock.

  Nino’s face didn’t betray his reaction to the shouts. His fingers pressed against my wrist tightly, and I was glad because they grounded me, kept me from faltering, from drifting off to the past.

  Remo and Savio were close by as we went down the long corridor—a corridor that held many childhood memories, few of them good and tonight worse memories would be added to the list.

  We arrived in front of the dark wooden door to the master bedroom, dozens of men behind us.

  “No fucking your virgin bride up against the wall, remember?” Remo said with a laugh.

  I jerked, my pulse doubling. Nino’s fingers tightened against my wrist.

  “Remo,” he growled in a voice that sent fear into every fiber of my being.

  “Have fun!” Savio shouted with a grin.

  The Falcones were going to feel cheated. A sacrificial virgin was to be given to the monsters in Las Vegas for a promise of peace. I was never given the chance to be a virgin. That choice had been taken from me. Painfully ripped from me.

  Fear, acute and raw, clawed at my chest as my husband led me into our room for the night and closed the door to the grinning faces of his brothers. Nino released me, and I quickly created distance between us, moving toward the bed.

  Six years had passed, but the memories still woke me at night. I was scared of being close to a man, to any man, especially this man – my husband.

  Standing a few steps in front of the bed, my eyes swept over the white sheets—sheets my family expected to the see stained with my blood in the morning.

  Blood that wouldn’t be there.

  I crept closer to the bed. There had been blood the first time, the second time, and even the third time. Lots of blood, pain, terror, and begging. There had been no presentation of the sheets back then. Our maid, who had never come to my aid, cleaned them.

  I wouldn’t beg tonight. It hadn’t stopped my abuser many years ago.

  It wouldn’t stop my husband.

  I knew the stories. I had seen him in the cage.

  My only consolation was that I doubted he could break me more than I already had been all those years ago.

  I couldn’t take my eyes off those perfect white sheets—as white as my dress. A sign of purity, but I wasn’t pure.

  “They are your traditions, not ours,” Nino said calmly but loud enough to tear me from my thoughts.

  I schooled my face into placidness. “Then why follow them?” I asked as I turned. My voice had betrayed me. Too hushed, laced with a terror that I hoped he mistook for virginal fear.

  He wasn’t as close as I’d expected. He wasn’t even looking at me. Standing beside the desk, he read the note my aunt had written congratulating us on the nuptials. He put it back down then looked up at me. There was nothing on his face that gave me a sense of hope. No kindness, no pity. It was a blank canvas. Beautifully cold with empty gray eyes, an immaculate short beard, and combed back hair.

  As he shook his head, he destroyed what little hope I’d had. “The Famiglia wants blood, they get it.”

  He was right. It was what my family expected, what I was supposed to deliver, but they wouldn’t get blood. And my husband would realize his prize was faulty. The Camorra would cancel the truce. My husband would rebuke the marriage, and I’d be left to live as a pariah.

  It would be my ruin. My family would shun me. Nobody would ever want to marry me after that, and an unmarried woman in our world was doomed.

  He began unbuttoning his shirt, calmly, precisely. Finally he shrugged it off, revealing scars and tattoos—so many, so disturbing—and steely muscles. I turned away, my pulse galloping in my veins. Terror, similar to that which I’d felt many years ago, clawed at my insides. I needed to rein it in, figure a way out of this mess. I needed to save myself, not from him claiming my body but from me losing my honor.

  I reached into my purse, which dangled over my forearm, and freed a pill from the packet. My throat was tight, and I wasn’t sure if I’d manage to swallow it without water, but walking into the bathroom seemed impossible in my current state. I wasn’t sure I would make it without breaking down.

  With shaking fingers, I brought the white pill to my lips. A hand curled around my wrist, stopping me. My eyes flew up to stare into Nino’s narrowed eyes. I hadn’t even heard him approach.

  “What is that?” he asked forcefully.

  I didn’t say anything, too terrified for words. With his free hand, he reached into my purse and pulled out the packet. His eyes scanned the description. He threw it a
way before his gray eyes met mine, and he held out his hand. “Give me that pill.”

  “Please,” I whispered.

  Not a flicker of emotion on his beautiful, cold face. “Kiara, give me that pill.”

  I dropped it into his palm, and he threw it away as well. I could have cried. How was I supposed to rein in my terror, keep the memories at bay without something to calm myself?

  His thumb brushed my wrist, and he murmured, “I won’t have you drugged.” He released me. I stepped back and turned around to face the bed, sucking in a deep breath. He was watching me.

  I reached behind me for the buttons on the back of my dress. I would be the one to open them. That would give me a sense of control, unlike last time when my clothes had been ripped from me against my will, my body too weak to fight against it.

  I swallowed the bile. My fingers shook too much to close around the tiny buttons.

  “Let me,” came the cool drawl from my husband who was close behind.

  No! I wanted to scream, but I forced the sound down. “I want to do it myself,” I managed in an almost calm voice.

  He didn’t say anything, and I didn’t dare look at his face. I fumbled with the buttons, and one after the other gave way. It took an excruciatingly long time. He waited silently. His calm breathing and my ragged breaths filled the room.

  Then I remembered that the groom was supposed to cut the bride out of her gown with his knife. Nino must have forgotten—after all, that wasn’t his tradition either. I didn’t have the courage to remind him or to button my dress again so he could cut me out. I’d lose it completely.

  I pulled my dress down and it pooled at my feet. Now only my strapless bra and panties remained. I discarded my bra but didn’t have the courage to remove my panties yet.

  Nino’s cold gray eyes scanned the length of me. “Your hair ornaments need to be removed as well. They will be uncomfortable against your skull.”

  I choked back a desperate laugh but tried to loosen the fine gold string from my hair. My shaking fingers didn’t allow it. Nino moved closer, and I recoiled. His gray eyes locked on mine. “I will remove it.”