Twisted Hearts (The Camorra Chronicles #5)(9)

I straightened, narrowing my eyes. “Allow me?” In this city, I didn’t need anyone’s permission to do anything—except for Remo’s.

“I expect you to honor our values and not act inappropriately toward Gemma in any way.”

Was he fucking serious? “All right, Diego, why don’t you go fuck yourself? You really think I’d hit on your thirteen-year-old sister?”

I was going to punch his fucking jaw. He sighed. “No. But it’s my job to protect her and make sure she’s safe. You make fun of our values all the time.”

“Mainly because you are very selective when choosing to live up to your values, or do I have to remind you of last night’s encounter with Dakota? Was she reciting her fucking Hail Mary or why was she kneeling in front of you with your dick in her mouth?”

Diego glanced around with a worried look. “Shhh. I don’t want Nonna or my mother to find out.”

“That you enjoy a nice BJ now and then?” Diego looked around again. I scoffed. “Whatever. Rest assured, I’ll keep my hands to myself around Gemma. Fuck, she’s like a kid sister for me.”

Diego shoved his hands into his pockets and nodded. His hypocrisy sometimes drove me up the walls. His father strode over to me, followed by Gemma, who was mostly hidden behind his bulky and tall frame—one Diego had inherited.

Daniele held out his hand and I shook it. He definitely squeezed my hand harder than usual. “I hear you’re going to take Gemma fighting today.”

“I’ll show her a few moves as promised,” I said, trying to keep my sarcasm to a minimum.

Diego tossed me a warning look.

Daniele gave me a tight smile. It was the first time he was anything but friendly to me. Gemma still hovered behind him in her knee-length polka-dotted dress with a fucking bow around the waist and a white collar. There was even a bow in her ponytail.

Fuck, just the thought of hitting on her made my balls shrivel to the size of raisins.

“I trust you keep her safe as Diego would. We appreciate that you and your brothers show respect for our traditions,” Daniele said. The hint of warning rang in his voice, raising my hackles. It took all my meager self-control not to give him a piece of my mind. Nobody threatened my brothers or me.

“Don’t worry, Daniele. Gemma will be the safest girl in Vegas when she’s with me. I’ll protect her like a little sister.”

Gemma’s lips pinched.

Daniele nodded, satisfied. Then he led Gemma toward my car with a protective hand on her back. Her eyes grew wide when she spotted my copper Bugatti. It was a favorite with the ladies. I took her gym bag from Daniele, dropped it in my small trunk, and walked toward the driver’s side.

Daniele sent me another meaningful look before he closed the door. I resisted the urge to floor the gas and take off with spinning tires. Instead I pulled away from the curb slowly. Gemma waved at her family, beaming like the kid that she was.

Diego was a fucking idiot.

Gemma folded her hands in her lap, then darted her eyes to me. Slowly she turned red. She squirmed in her seat, looking like she was about to have a difficult math test.

“You okay?”

She jumped. “Oh yes, sorry. It’s just…”

“Just?” I twisted toward her when we stopped at a red light.

“This is the first time I’m alone with a boy who isn’t family.”

The light turned green and I hit the gas, making Gemma’s eyes widen. “You’ve known me for years. I’m practically family.”

She didn’t look happy about that. “I’m not your sister, you know?”

I chuckled. “I’m aware of that, yes.”

Silence descended on us. I turned the music on, my favorite playlist. The pounding bass of “Candy Shop” by 50 Cent filled the car. I drummed my fingers in rhythm to the sound.

Gemma frowned. “This song doesn’t make sense. Why does a rapper sing about lollipops and rodeos?”

“That’s a euphemism for a BJ.” I closed my mouth. Fuck, that’s probably not something I should have said.

Gemma stared at me with wide curious eyes. “What’s a BJ?”

I focused on the street, trying to come up with a semi-appropriate reply, but chastity wasn’t really my forte. “Forget it.”

If she asked Diego about it, he’d kick my ass. Maybe I should send her Dakota’s way. She had explained a BJ to Diego after all.




The rest of the drive passed in silence because my playlist wasn’t made for choir girl ears, but I could see Gemma still mulling over the song.

I led her into our gym and nodded toward the door of the locker room. “Why don’t you go change?”

Gemma nodded eagerly and dashed off.

I shook my head at her enthusiasm. I was already in gym clothes, so I had time to prepare my boxing gloves. Usually I preferred to fight with taped hands, because punches were harder that way. Yet, with a girl, I needed to make sure not to hurt her. I bandaged my fists anyway for our training at the boxing sack when Gemma emerged from the locker room.

I paused. Gemma wasn’t wearing the gym clothes she usually had—no washed out, too big sweatpants and baggy T-shirt. This time she wore one of those Gymshark workout outfits all the fitness tubers went crazy about. Tight purple tank top and tight leggings in the same color. Only the fitspo girls filled out those clothes. Gemma only managed to emphasize her non-existent curves.