Twisted Pride (The Camorra Chronicles Book 3)(61)

I approached Kiara as she stirred a new batch of baby food, a sweet potato puree. “Do you get Christmas presents for each other?”

Nino had given me a credit card from one of the Falcone bank accounts yesterday, and while I’d wanted to decline at first, I took the card. Remo seemed determined to make sure I had everything I needed. Still, it felt a bit odd to use their own money to buy them presents, but it wasn’t as if I could access my family’s accounts anymore.

“Well, last year was still a bit of a Christmas trial. Nino and his brothers still need to get used to a female touch in their life, but I got them gifts, and a few days after Christmas I got gifts from them as well.” She laughed. “I think this year they might have gifts on time.”

“I don’t know what to get any of them. I don’t know them well enough, and I don’t really feel like part of this family yet ...”

She touched my shoulder. “But you are, Serafina. It’s a strange situation for all of us, but it’s the best thing that could have happened, especially for Remo.”

“You think?” I whispered.

“I know it,” she said firmly. “How are things between you?”

“I’m trying to keep my distance. I’m scared of allowing too much closeness too fast.”

“But you want to be with him?”

I laughed. “I don’t think I have a choice.”

“He won’t force you.”

“That’s not what I mean,” I said quietly. “I don’t think my heart or my body will leave me a choice.”

She nodded, understanding filling her face. “I’m so happy for the both of you, the four of you.”

“Do you think Remo’s capable of ... love?”

Kiara looked thoughtful. “He and Nino went through horrible things as children. It formed them into the men they are today. It still affects them. I’m not sure what it did to Remo. If parts of him were irrevocably destroyed ...”

I didn’t ask what kind of horrors lay in Remo’s past. Kiara would have told me if she thought it was her place to share. If I wanted to find out, I’d have to ask him.

“If you want to go Christmas shopping, we can go together tomorrow. Fabiano could guard us.”

“That would be nice,” I said.

Despite Nino’s words of protest, Remo came down for dinner that evening, and we all settled around the dining room table. Greta and Nevio were in their new high chairs between Kiara and me. I had taken over the job of trying to wrangle food into Nevio’s mouth since Greta seemed to do well around Kiara. I could feel Remo’s eyes on us the entire time with an expression I could only describe as longing. My food was getting cold anyway, so I decided to give him a chance to be a real dad.

“Why don’t you give this a try?” I asked Remo. I wasn’t sure if he was interested in feeding or if he was like some fathers whose interest in their children ended when it required them to do something.

Everyone paused what they were doing for a moment. Remo put down his fork and stood. His movements were still stiff, not just because of the bandages; it would take some time for his broken bones and bruises to heal. I gave him my chair, took my plate, and settled into the place he’d vacated. Nevio was making grabby motions, but the spoon and bowl were out of his reach. I could tell that he was getting frustrated with the situation and a hissy fit was fast approaching.

Remo took the spoon and lifted it toward Nevio’s face, but he didn’t restrain his arms. Before I could warn him, Nevio snatched at the spoon and catapulted sweet potato puree through the room. Most of it landed square on Remo’s shirt. The rest in Nino’s face.

I bit the inside of my cheek to stop laughter.

Kiara didn’t show the same restraint. She burst out laughing. Nino wiped his face with a napkin, his eyes on his laughing wife—and softer than I’d ever seen them.

Nevio rocked excitedly in his chair, a toothless grin on his face. Remo glanced down at himself, then at his son, and his lips twitched. This time he took Nevio’s hands in his big one before he brought the spoon toward his mouth. Nevio pressed his lips together, obviously unhappy about the situation.

“This reminds me of you, Adamo,” Remo said.

Adamo grimaced.

Nino nodded. “You always made a mess during feeding as well.”

“If we start exchanging baby stories, I’m out,” Savio muttered.

Remo turned back to Nevio and nudged his lips with the spoon. “Come on, Nevio.”

I stood and got on my haunches beside Nevio’s high chair. “Come on, Nevio, show your dad how well you can eat.”

Remo looked down at me, his expression stilling when I called him ‘dad.’ After a moment of hesitation, Nevio finally allowed Remo to put the spoon in his mouth.

I smiled, straightened to my feet, and pressed a kiss on Nevio’s head. Then I leaned over Greta and did the same. She smiled at me with the spoon in her mouth, and my heart just exploded with gratefulness. I caught Remo’s eyes but quickly glanced away because the look in his threatened to crush my resolve to keep my distance.



After bringing the twins to bed, I grabbed my phone and headed for Remo’s bedroom. Nino had practically dragged him there so he could lie down and rest.

I knocked.

“Come in, Angel.”

Frowning, I entered. “How did you know?”

He regarded me with an expression that sent a little shiver down my spine. “Because my brothers don’t knock, they barge in, and Kiara usually stays away from my bedroom.”

I nodded, my hand still on the door, debating if I should leave it open just to be safe.

Remo smiled knowingly. “I’m practically bedridden. No reason to be worried. I won’t attack you.”

Bedridden. As if. That man couldn’t be broken easily. I closed the door. I wasn’t worried about Remo making a move. I was worried I’d throw caution in the wind and do what I’d been dreaming of forever. “As if that would stop you.”

Remo didn’t say anything.

I held up my phone. “I thought you’d like to see photos of Nevio and Greta.”

“I’d like that,” Remo said, moving to the side so there was room beside him on the bed. I eyed the spot then Remo leaning against the headrest with his naked upper body. Even the bandages didn’t make Remo any less attractive.

Trying to hide my thoughts, I strolled over to him casually and sank down beside him, legs stretched out before me. Remo’s eyes lingered on them. I was wearing a dress and no tights because it was surprisingly warm in the house. Goose bumps rippled across my skin. I cleared my throat and clicked on the first photo, which Mom had taken shortly after I’d given birth to the twins. I held them in my arms and looked down at them with an exhausted yet adoring expression.

Remo leaned in and his arm brushed mine. Despite the material of my dress between us, a tingle shot through me at the brief contact.

“You look pale in the photo,” he said quietly.

“After twenty-two hours of labor everyone does.”

Remo’s dark eyes flickered with a hint of wistfulness.

“I wish you could have been there...if I’d known what I know today, I would have come to Vegas sooner. I’m sorry I took that away from you.”

Remo cupped my chin and I tensed because he looked like he was going to kiss me. “Regret over the past is wasted energy. We can’t change the past, no matter how much we want to do it.”

“What would you want to change?” I asked, trying to ignore the feel of Remo’s touch.

He shook his head with a dark smile. “Not your kidnapping. I don’t feel an ounce of regret about stealing you.”

“You don’t?” I frowned, pulling back slightly but Remo leaned in, fingers still on my chin.

“Not one fucking bit. I’d kidnap you again to be the one you gift yourself to. You could have never been mine if I hadn’t stolen you.”

I didn’t argue, neither about me being his, nor about the fact that without the kidnapping we would have never found together.

“What about you?” Remo murmured. “Do you regret becoming mine?”

“No,” I admitted, and finally drew back from his touch. “Not that. I just wish it wouldn’t have cost my family so much.”

Remo nodded and settled back against the headrest. “Hardly anything worth having can be gained without loss and pain and sacrifice.”

My eyes trailed over his wounds and bruises. He’d sacrificed himself for his brother. But I had a feeling it wasn’t the only reason why he’d allowed my family to capture and torture him. He’d accepted pain, maybe even losing his life, for a chance to see me again.

I cleared my throat and clicked on the next photo. The first photo of Nevio and Greta lying in a crib beside each other.

I showed him photo after photo, neither of us saying anything. It was difficult to focus on anything but Remo’s warmth, his scent, the strength and power he oozed.

When I finally shut off my phone, my body was humming with need. I met his gaze, which rested unabashedly on me. Remo regarded me with an expression I knew too well. Hunger and dominance. He touched my bare knee.

I exhaled.

His hand slipped slowly up between my legs. “Remo,” I warned, but he held my gaze, his lips pulling wider.