Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles, #6)(45)

The craving for relief swelled like the tide, unstoppable, slowly eating away at my resolve like the waves took over the sand. I fumbled for a cigarette, even though I hated the taste, the smell, the feel of the soggy paper in my mouth. I’d never be a smoker because I enjoyed it. But it was better than nothing, better than the alternative. I needed something to soothe my anxious mind, to silence the call of my dark craving.

Adamo came closer, his keen eyes scanning my shaking fingers. Maybe he knew the telltale signs. After all, he was intimate with dark cravings as well.

I steeled myself for his touch but his hands stayed lodged in his jeans. His dark eyes searched mine. Taking a deep drag, I turned my head away, giving him my profile. “I’m not lying,” he said, then took a deep breath. “Remo showed me a video of you and what happened.”

I felt the color drain from my face, and my throat corded up. Too many years had gone by for me to remember everything, or even the majority of what had happened. I remembered bits and pieces. Nightmarish events that haunted my sleep in disjointed episodes or flashes of still images. I’d worked hard to forget as much as possible, had used alcohol and drugs to speed up the process. “You—” My vocal cords froze up and I couldn’t say more.

Anger battled with horror and frustration in my body. Again others knew more about me and my life than I did.

Adamo came even closer, so very careful as if he feared I’d take flight.

Running had never solved a thing. “I hardly watched anything. Only a couple of minutes until I realized where it was heading. I couldn’t bear to watch further.”

I glowered. “You couldn’t bear to watch? I lived through what you couldn’t even watch.”

I wasn’t even sure why I was angry about that. A big part of me was glad he hadn’t seen more of my horrors. A tiny part was still ashamed when I thought of what had been done to me. It was an ugly voice even years of therapy, drugs and distractions hadn’t silenced.

Adamo nodded, his expression kind and solemn at once. I wanted to punch him as hard as I could. Instead I balled one hand to a fist and took another deep drag from my cigarette. My fingers were shaking, letting the smoke rise up in an erratic zig-zag course.

“I know,” he murmured in a voice like silk. “I shouldn’t have watched it at all without asking for your permission first. This was taken in your personal space.”

I scoffed. “Trust me, nobody cared about my personal space back then.”

I shivered, as remnants of memories flickered at the back of my mind.

Words, scents, images that had left permanent marks in my subconscious.

“Dinara, I—” He released a breath.

I met Adamo’s gaze. “Say whatever you have to say. I’m not breakable, Adamo. What happened back then didn’t break me, whatever happens now and in the future won’t break me either.” My voice was pure steel, just like the protective coating slowly covering my heart.

“What do you mean?” Adamo asked, looking honestly confused. “I don’t have any intention to do something that could hurt you, much less break you.”

“The look in your eyes now when you look at me… it means what we had is over.”

What we had. We hadn’t even put a name to it, hadn’t allowed us to define something that went against many odds. I hadn’t allowed myself to put too much importance into our liaison. I’d tried to tell myself it was only about having fun and getting closer to a Falcone, but now that I saw our bond crumble right before my eyes, I realized it had been more than just fun. More than I should have ever allowed. More than my father would ever accept.

He bent his head, capturing my gaze with his. His scent, warm and spicy, wrapped around me. “How am I looking at you?”

I laughed bitterly and pointed the glowing tip at his face. “Like this. The same way my father looked at me when Remo handed me back to him. As if I was a broken puppet. Your favorite puppet that you took out to play every day but suddenly it had an irreparable crack, and now you can’t ever play with it again because you fear it might break apart if you do. So, you’ll put it on a shelf and hardly ever look at it because whenever you do, you’re sad about what you lost. That’s how you look at me, Adamo. So, go your merry way, I’ll survive.”

I wouldn’t let our relationship continue because Adamo acted out of pity, because he didn’t have the balls to end it with poor me.

I was a survivor. I would survive Adamo walking away, not without my dark craving, but I would survive one way or another. Still, my stomach twisted at the thought that this could be our final goodbye—even if goodbye was inevitable for us.

Adamo shook his head. “Bullshit. I never played with you, and I won’t go my merry way. We aren’t over and I won’t allow you to put a wedge between us.” He gripped my shoulders, not gentle at all, and my stupid heart pounded with hope. “Nothing changed between us.”

And yet everything had. His eyes told the truth. If we wanted a chance, Adamo needed to see me as the girl I’d been before he’d known the truth. He had to see me as a separate being from the poor girl from the video. I wasn’t sure if he could. Dad had tried and failed. I never resented him for it. He was my father. I accepted the way he looked at me because we were family. But I wouldn’t do the same for Adamo. I couldn’t. I needed this part of my life to be only for Dinara, and not poor abused Katinka. “Then fuck me, Adamo.