Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles, #6)(9)

A shadow passed Dinara’s face. “Dead. She was killed.”

I nodded, wondering if she was lying or if she didn’t know the truth.

Eden’s life could hardly be considered living but she definitely wasn’t dead.

She leaned in closer. “Do you still think of that day? Do you regret it?”

“My mother’s brutal death is what fascinates you most about me?” I asked, my voice harder than before.

“It is fascinating. Children are supposed to forgive and forget the wrongdoings of their mother. They are supposed to love and cherish them despite their faults. But you Falcones aren’t about forgiveness, huh?”

Challenge rang in her voice.



I put the cigarette out in my palm, a spot that wasn’t sensitive to pain anymore after I’d made a habit out of killing my cigarettes like that as a teen.

Dinara’s eyebrows rose a fraction. “No, we aren’t in the business of forgiveness, Dinara.” I stood, towering over her. She didn’t move from her spot on the hood, only threw her head back to look at my face. “That’s something you should always remember.”

She hopped off my hood and pushed past me. Throwing me a dark smile over her shoulder as she strode away, she called, “Oh I know, Adamo, and I won’t forget.”

I shook my head. She was something else. My eyes followed her to-diefor body until she arrived at her own car. I had a strict no sex with other racers policy but I had a feeling Dinara wouldn’t stay in the camp for long, only until she realized she couldn’t get what she wanted or I kicked her out. It had been a long time since a woman had caught my attention like this, that I’d felt such a strong urge to conquer someone.

But if I wanted to play Dinara’s game, I needed to find out more about her and the reason for her appearance.

C.J. might know more about Eden. They’d worked together for a while, even if they’d never been close. I had been wrapped up in my own problems back then so I’d never paid much attention to the friendships between the prostitutes. If I wanted to understand Dinara, I needed to find out more about her mother first, and it was clear that neither Dinara nor Remo would be helpful in that endeavor.



I was on the road with the race camp most of the year, but we had several family occasions that required me to return to the Falcone mansion in Las Vegas. In the first few months of me living the nomad life, I’d resented coming home where I was still the youngest brother and would always be, where everyone remembered me as the unstable fuck-up and would probably always do. I’d enjoyed the freedom of a new life racing had offered me, but eventually I’d realized I missed my family and our crazy gatherings, even if Remo knew how to push all my buttons. Maybe it was payback for my teenage years.

I pulled up in front of the ginormous white mansion, and for the first time in a long time, I almost turned back around and returned to camp. For some reason, I didn’t want to be away from Dinara, as if she might vanish into thin air if I left her out of sight. Seeing her drive in the main race for the first time and holding her own, finishing in the top ten despite the strong competition, my admiration for the redhead had only grown. I wasn’t sure what she’d done to wedge herself into my brain like that, and it needed to stop. Maybe a couple of days with my family would give me the chance to stifle my fascination for the redhead and at the same time gather more information about her—if Remo was in a generous mood.

I got out of my car. The front door flew open and my nephew Nevio stormed outside. “Adamo!” he screamed. He barreled toward me and collided with my middle not five seconds later. The air rushed out of me from the impact. “Happy birthday,” I said, tousling his black hair. He pulled back to look up at me with his dark eyes. Every time I saw him, he looked a little more like my oldest brother Remo, his spitting image inside and out. I dreaded to think what kind of trouble he’d cause once he got a little older.

“Where’s the rest of the circus?” I asked.

Nevio stepped back. “In the garden. Will you fight with me for my birthday?”

I laughed as we headed toward the front door. “I doubt your mom will appreciate it if I kick your scrawny ass on your special day. Let’s do it another day.”

“That’s what you said last time,” Nevio complained. And he was right. I usually didn’t stay long enough to make time for cage fights with my nephews. Camp always called too loudly to me.

Like Nevio had said, the rest of the family was in the garden. Nevio rushed away toward his cousins Alessio and Massimo who were doing some kind of sword fight with sticks. Shaking my head, I joined my family at the big table. Before greeting anyone else, I went over to Greta, Nevio’s twin sister. She perched on Remo’s lap, eating a piece of the spectacular cake throning in the center of the table. “Happy birthday, Greta.”

I kissed her cheek and she beamed up at me. “Thank you.” She was the complete opposite of Nevio: shy, careful and peace-loving.

“Long time no see, little brother,” Remo said, his dark eyes boring into mine as if he wanted to extract answers to unasked questions from me. I had a feeling his curiosity was linked to Dinara. Kiara motioned at the cake that she’d undoubtedly baked. “Chocolate cream. Want a piece?” “I wouldn’t miss it,” I said, giving her a warm smile.

Savio got up and hugged me briefly. Our once tense relationship had improved considerably with distance.