Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles Book 3)(16)

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.

“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.