Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles, #6)(80)

“And yet you shared it with Adamo instead of me or your father.”

“Because neither of you would have allowed me to get my hands dirty. You would have taken matters into your own hands. Maybe you would have allowed me to watch but definitely not to partake.”

“Because what you did can destroy you.”

“But it didn’t,” I said firmly. “I don’t have nightmares, and I don’t feel guilty.”

That wasn’t quite true. I had nightmares but they were better than the ones that had haunted me in the past. They didn’t wake me in a cold sweat with a pounding heart.

“I won’t return to Chicago now. I’ll finish the season—”

“Your father wants you back in Chicago, so that’s where I’m taking you.

You got what you wanted, now you have to come to your senses.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you going to tie me up and kidnap me?”

“Your father won’t accept a no in this case, and he’ll blame Adamo if you don’t show up in Chicago tonight.”

I gritted my teeth. I didn’t want to provoke my father. He’d been pissed about my vigilante quest but had allowed me to do what I needed to do, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t be as tolerant if I ignored his order this time. I didn’t want to turn him against Adamo. I wanted him to like Adamo, to accept him as the man I loved, no matter how unlikely that was.

“I’ll have to talk to Adamo first,” I said. Dima didn’t bother hiding his disapproval but I didn’t care. I wouldn’t sneak away. Adamo deserved to know what was going on. I turned on my heel and went in search of Adamo.

I found him, as expected, at Crank’s trailer, probably discussing last-minute details for tomorrow’s race. He gave me a distracted smile but his face morphed into a frown when he saw my expression. He said something to Crank who nodded before he jogged toward me. “What’s wrong?”

It was strange how well Adamo knew me. I’d always prided myself on my poker face, but after everything Adamo and I had been through, we knew each other’s fake expressions and the true meaning behind them. It was scary and comforting all at once.

“I need to return to Chicago—tonight.”

Adamo froze. “Why? You’ll miss tomorrow’s race.”

“I know. But my father insists that I’ll return to talk to him. He’s given me the time to do what I needed to do but now his patience is running thin.”

Adamo regarded me silently for a couple of heartbeats. The hint of worry and suspicion flared up in his eyes but disappeared so quickly I would have missed them if I didn’t know him just as well as he knew me.

“I’ll be back as soon as possible,” I said firmly. “But I need to straighten things with my father first. I don’t want him to send the cavalry and create more tension between our families.”

Adamo touched my hips, pulling me closer. “Maybe he won’t allow you to return.”

“The only way he could make me stay is to lock me in and that’s something he’d never do.” To me, at least. Because of what happened to me, Dad hated to force his will on me, which was why I had more freedoms than most girls I knew.

“If you don’t return, I’ll drive to Chicago and get you myself.”

I scoffed. “Don’t you dare. That would be insanity. Dad would kill you on sight. Trust me to handle my father. He won’t force me to stay. I know him.”

Adamo still looked doubtful but he nodded anyway. “All right. I trust you.

Promise me to hurry.”

“I will.”

“Dinara!” Dima called across camp, impatience ringing in his voice.



I sighed. “It’s time for me to leave.” Adamo pressed his lips against mine and kissed me passionately. When he pulled back and released me, Dima’s expression had darkened even more.

“Did you tell him goodbye?” Dima asked when we got into the car together.

“It wasn’t a goodbye. It was a see-you-later.”

Dima sent me an exasperated look. “That’s not what your father wants.”

“It’s what I want,” I said sharply.



Chicago felt even less like home than last time. I’d transformed over the last few months. I didn’t bother changing into new clothes before seeing Dad. My boots, tattered jeans, and biker jacket were me and I didn’t want to pretend I was someone else.

Dad’s face flashed with surprise when I entered his office. He scanned my outfit, obviously disgruntled. For him, women should wear dresses and skirts to emphasize their femininity. He got up from his desk chair and strode toward me to pull me into a tight embrace. “It’s good to have you back now.

I couldn’t stop worrying about you while you spent time in Camorra territory.”

I gave him a tense smile. He thought I’d returned for good, that I wouldn’t return to camp, to Adamo.

“Dad,” I began, pulling back.

Dad’s eyes tightened. “Your place is here, with your people, with your family.”

“I’m a grown-up, and grown-ups eventually move out and live their own life. You know that I never really felt like I belonged in our circles. I don’t want to schmooze the wives of oligarchs and politicians, or pretend I give a damn about the newest limited-edition bag from Louis Vuitton. I want to be free and do as I please. I don’t want to fulfill my role as a Pakhan’s daughter.