Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles, #6)(86)

Dima knocked on a massive wood double-door with gilded decorations.

Business seemed to be going splendidly for the Bratva.

“Come in,” a deep male voice said in Russian. I’d worked my ass off to learn the language whenever I had a moment to spare but I was still far from being fluent. But I understood enough and could even communicate on a basic level. I’d wanted to surprise Dinara with it. Now I could only hope it would appease Grigory enough to save my life.

Dima shoved open the door and led me into a vast office. I’d seen photos of Dinara’s father on the internet but this was the first time I saw him in person. He rose from his desk chair and walked around the massive piece of furniture, his expression harsh. He was a tall man and judging from the look in his eyes, he didn’t have any interest in listening to what I had to say. I was a threat in his eyes. For his daughter, for the Bratva, for his business. He wanted me gone, as far away from Dinara as possible, and that I’d showed up today, made him want to kill me.

Maybe it was a sign of disrespect in his eyes. Remo would have respected someone who risked his life in such a suicidal way. But Remo’s way of thinking was different from most people. Still, I had to hope that Grigory would realize what this meant.

That I was willing to risk everything for his daughter. Maybe it would save my life. Not that saving my life was my top priority. I wouldn’t leave unless I could be with Dinara.





When I’d been with Adamo, time had often flown by and I’d often wished to slow it down, had wanted to savor our moments together. Now that I’d never see him again, I wished I’d really enjoyed every second of our togetherness without hesitation or reservation.

Alone in my room, every second seemed to drag and I just wanted to speed it up, but to what avail? What was there to look forward to? I’d returned to my life, but I wasn’t the same Dinara who’d joined the race camp at the beginning of the year. After experiencing love and joy and passion with Adamo, my emotionally detached existence in Chicago was unbearable. In the past, I would have opted to create fake euphoria with drugs but now I knew they wouldn’t come close to what I’d felt with Adamo.

I traced the shelves with Fabergé eggs with my eyes. They always gave me a strange sense of peace. I could spend hours looking at their intricate designs. For this very reason, I’d set up a cozy armchair in front of the glass cabinet and this was where I’d spent the last hour. Peace didn’t come, though.

Even art couldn’t stop my thoughts from whirring.

My phone beeped. Glancing down at the screen, I saw that it was a message from Dima.

Adamo is here. In your father’s office.

I sat up fully and stared at my screen in horror.

This isn’t funny!

He didn’t write back. What if this wasn’t a joke? Dima wasn’t really someone who made jokes about something like that, or at all. I rushed out of my room and stormed down the staircase. Adamo couldn’t be here. Even he wouldn’t be this reckless, would he?

But deep down, I knew that he would. Adamo was fearless.

He was the guy who’d joined me on my vendetta without a second thought, who loved the thrill of racing cars at their limit, who wanted to date his enemy’s daughter no matter the cost.

Damn it.

I didn’t bother knocking and just burst into Dad’s office, where I hoped to find Adamo. As long as Dad hadn’t let the guards take Adamo down into our basement, there was still hope, no matter how small. Then I froze because Adamo stood in the middle of the room. Dima and two of my father’s guards lined his sides. Adamo’s head swiveled around and he gave me a smile. What the hell was he smiling about? Did he want to die?

“Have you lost your mind?” I asked, horrified. Dad’s expression made it clear that he’d hoped I wouldn’t find out about Adamo’s arrival. Disposing of him would be more difficult with me here.

Adamo shrugged. “I lost my heart,” he said wryly.

I could have killed him, but more than that, I wanted to kiss him and press myself against him, and never let him go. These last couple of days without him, thinking that I might never see him again had been hell. I’d hardly slept because I’d lain awake wondering if I should just leave Chicago for good and return to Adamo. But fear of my father’s reaction had held me back. I hadn’t wanted to risk Adamo’s life. Yet, now he was here signing his death warrant for me.

“Dad,” I said, turning to my father. “Just let him leave. He’s probably high or drunk. He won’t even remember anything tomorrow. He doesn’t know what he’s doing.”

“I’m perfectly sober and haven’t been high in many years, Mr. Mikhailov.

And I’m absolutely sure of what I’m doing. I’m here to ask you to allow your daughter to be with me, to be free to live the life she wants,” Adamo said in broken Russian, but Dad’s face flashed with surprise, which he quickly masked with anger. I stepped into the room and closed the door, keeping a close eye on both my father and Adamo.

“You can’t keep me away from your daughter, unless you stop my heart from beating.”

Dad looked as if that was exactly what he’d do. He’d killed so many people in his life, some for hardly any reason at all, and Adamo gave him so many reasons. “Showing up here takes a lot of bravery, or maybe it’s just insanity. That’s something the name Falcone has stood for in a long time.”