Twisted Cravings (The Camorra Chronicles Book 6)

The first race of the season was scheduled almost two weeks after the qualification race where I’d met Dinara. We had forty races in total spread out over the year. Stepping out of my tent, I sucked in a deep breath of the still fresh desert air. Dozens of tents were set up around me, all of them circling a bonfire and barbecue area where the racers and pit girls gathered at night. Our camp always traveled from one starting point to the next. Many racers spent the entire year in our racer camp, their only home. Some compared it to the Burning Man festival, but the rivalry between some drivers made it less of a free-spirited and relaxed place.

It was the day before the race, the deadline when all drivers had to appear in camp. My eyes registered a neon-green Viper at the very edge of the camp. I stifled a sigh. Dinara was the last to show up and last night I’d worried she wouldn’t. I wasn’t even sure why I cared. Her presence meant trouble.

Our camp cook was flipping pancakes on a mobile gas stove and I grabbed a plate with a stack of steaming pancakes before I headed toward Dinara’s car.

I didn’t see her anywhere, only Dima who hunched over a cup of coffee, leaning against the hood of his car. I gave him a curt nod, which he barely returned. Stuffing a pancake into my mouth, I walked back to my tent. From the corner of my eye, a streak of familiar red caught my attention. Turning my head, I spotted Dinara. She came from the direction of the mobile showers one of our race workers transported on a truck from one camp stop to the next. Her hair hung in damp ringlets down her shoulders and she didn’t wear any makeup. A too-big Van Halen T-shirt was knotted above her belly and her jean shorts hung low on her hips, revealing a belly button piercing which made me want to discover the rest of her body to find out if there was more body jewelry hidden beneath her clothes.

Noticing my attention, she gave me a confident smile before she made a beeline for me.

Her black biker boots looked huge on her, as if they weren’t meant for delicate female feet, and no matter how much Dinara acted like a tough guy she looked delicate by the simple fact of her body’s measurements. “Are those your brother’s? Don’t you think sharing clothes takes sibling love a bit too far?”

Of course, I knew by now that Dima wasn’t Dinara’s brother but she had never really retracted on the original lie.

Dinara stalked toward me and perched on the hood of my car without asking. It was expected to ask another driver before you even touched his car, but she obviously didn’t care about the rules as she’d displayed before. Good thing I didn’t either.

I held out the plate with the stack of pancakes to her but she shook her head.

“Dima?” She pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

“Yep. The tall, lanky guy giving us the stink eye.”

Dinara didn’t look his way. “You still think he’s my brother?”

I leaned beside her, arms crossed, trying to look as if I didn’t care either way as I stuffed another piece of pancake into my mouth. “He’s not?”

“No,” she said with a hint of amusement. “He’s not.”

She held out her cigarette pack to me. Usually I didn’t smoke this early in the morning but I took one anyway and slid it into my mouth. “Got fire?”

A grin flitted across her face but just as quickly it vanished. She held up the lighter, the flame fluttering in the soft breeze. I set the plate down on the hood before I leaned closer until the tip of the cigarette dangled over the fire and lit up. Our gazes met and she held mine steadily. Many girls tried to be coy or batted their lashes, some even looked away because the name Falcone had that effect on people. But Dinara looked at me. I got the feeling that she was trying to see beyond what I wanted other people to see, and yet, she kept up her own guards. Whatever she had to hide, I’d figure it out.All text © NôvelD(r)a'ma.Org.

“I guess it makes sense you don’t travel around without a bodyguard,” I said. “I’m actually surprised your father allows you to have only one.”

“I don’t need bodyguards and my father knows I’d never let anyone cage me in. I chose Dima and he’s the only one I accept.”

Something familiar and protective was in the way she spoke about the guy, but I had never seen them exchange any physical intimacies, so that gave me hope there wasn’t actually something going on between them.

Dima was still watching us. Something about the way he looked at Dinara raised my suspicion. I wanted to have Dinara deny it. “He’s your boyfriend?”

She blew out smoke, staring up at the sky. “No, but he used to be. A while ago.”

“Looks like he wished he still were.”

Dinara gave me a wry smile. “You’re awfully curious about my relationship status.”

“I prefer to know everything about the people who drive my races.”

“Even their bed stories?”

“Even those, especially if they involve the Bratva princess. Intel on you is a high commodity.”

“I bet,” she said. “Did Remo ask about me?”

The way she said his name made me pause. My brother spread fear in the hearts of even the bravest man. Dinara’s voice wasn’t scared. She sounded as if she were talking about an old acquaintance, someone she wouldn’t mind seeing again. They had unfinished business of some sort. Maybe I was her way of getting closer to my brother, even if it really wasn’t hard to find him and he wasn’t really prone to avoiding people who meant trouble. I wasn’t sure how I felt knowing that she might only be seeking my closeness to get revenge on my family, or whatever else her pretty head had in mind.

“You’ve read up on my family, I guess,” I said.

She laughed. “As if that’s necessary. Your family’s reputation isn’t really a secret. Even in other parts of the country.”

I narrowed my eyes, trying not to look at her belly again. “Even in Russia?”

She dropped the cigarette and squashed it. “In the according circles, of course, but I spent most of my life in the States.”

I shrugged. “We work hard to keep up our reputation.” It wasn’t long ago when I’d wanted nothing to do with my brothers’ business and the Camorra. I’d even considered refusing the tattoo. Of course, Remo didn’t allow it. Now I was glad. This life was really all I knew, and allowed me to follow my passion: racing.

“And it’s a spectacular reputation,” she said.

“Most of it is thanks to Remo.”

“One of the most fascinating tales about your family came to be thanks to you if I’m not mistaken. You are the mother murderer,” she said. Her teal eyes snapped to mine, arresting me.

Coming from her mouth, she made it sound like I deserved accolades. “I didn’t kill my mother. My brothers did.”

“You stabbed her. You wanted to kill her and you would have if your brothers hadn’t been quicker.”

She made it sound like a race too. It hadn’t been. It had all happened as if in slow motion. I didn’t like to think of that day, but it occasionally visited my dreams.

“You would have killed her, right?”

I searched Dinara’s eyes, wondering why she wanted to know. Most people felt uncomfortable with that particular topic. Killing your mother just wasn’t a good small-talk topic.

I nodded. It hadn’t been a conscious decision to stab my mother. I’d acted on pure instinct and the fierce determination to protect my brothers and their families.

“What about your mother?” I asked.

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-die-for 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.

“Still in a monogamous relationship with a whore?” Savio asked as his way of greeting, keeping his voice low so Greta, and Aurora who sat on Fabiano’s lap, didn’t hear.

Fabiano narrowed his eyes. Savio obviously hadn’t succeeded.

His wife Gemma punched his belly but he only grinned and shrugged.

“C.J. and I are friends. Whatever happens behind closed doors isn’t your business.” I clapped his outstretched hand.

“That means yes,” he said, rolling his eyes as he sank down beside Gemma once more.

“No, it doesn’t but whatever.”

Nino stepped out on the terrace. “Kiara, I think your lasagna is ready to be taken out.” He gave me a nod in greeting.

Kiara quickly rushed back inside, followed by Gemma, who often helped her with cooking for bigger family gatherings. They were the best cooks in the family. Serafina and Fabiano’s wife Leona were usually responsible for keeping the kids in check.

“Cake before lunch? What kind of anarchy is this?” I asked, sinking down on one of the empty chairs between Fabiano and Savio.

“Nevio’s wish. Anarchy is his middle name,” Fina said, rolling her eyes.

“My wish too,” Greta said softly.

Fina gave her daughter a patient smile. “Yours too, but we both know you always say yes to Nevio’s wishes.”

“Not always,” Greta said even quieter.

“Too often, mia cara,” Remo said, kissing her temple.

Kiara and Gemma came back, both carrying casseroles with steaming lasagna.

“One of them is vegetarian with antipasti and lemon-ricotta, and the other is a more traditional lasagna with pancetta and minced beef,” Kiara explained. She and Greta both didn’t eat meat, but the rest of us did, even if we’d gotten used to more vegetarian meals since Kiara had married Nino.

“The food is ready! Sit down!” Fina screamed to be heard over the boys’ rough swordplay.

Alessio was the first to drop his sword and began trotting over to us. Massimo and Nevio kept clanging swords.

“Nevio!” Remo called.

Nevio’s head swiveled around and he lowered his sword. Massimo had already done so and together they rushed over to us. Alessio gave me a smile but like Greta he wasn’t an overly touchy-feely kid, at least with most people. Nino touched his shoulder and the boy sank down beside him. Nevio and Massimo followed shortly after and plopped down in the two remaining vacant chairs.

Massimo smiled broadly at me, sweat glistening on his face. He looked more and more like Nino every day.

We finally dug in. Of course, dinner wasn’t a quiet affair. Even when it had been only my brothers and me many years ago, that hadn’t been the case, but the topics and entertainment had become less explicit and more PG-13.

After dinner, I stepped away to smoke. Remo hated it but I wasn’t a kid anymore. Kiara came over after a moment. “How are you? You look happy.”

I smiled, lowering my cigarette and blowing the smoke in the other direction. “I am, what about you?”

Kiara’s face glowed with happiness. “How could I not be happy being surrounded by family? We miss you.”

I gave her a one-armed hug. “I miss you too. But I belong with the racers.”

“I know.”

Remo stepped up to us. Kiara being the clever woman that she was realized he wanted to talk to me. She excused herself and went over to the girls.

“So how are things going with our Russian princess?”

“She doesn’t act like a princess. Smokes like a chimney, and can drink any man twice her size under the table. She’s a damn good race driver too.”

Dinara and Dima were still mostly on the fringes of camp life but they’d participated in the after-race-party, and Dinara had drank half a bottle of gin by herself without any outward signs of being drunk. I hadn’t talked to her since our conversation about my mother even it had cost me plenty of restraint to stay away.

“You sound fascinated,” Remo said with his twisted smile.

“I’m wary. I don’t need trouble in my races.”

“Trouble can bring us money.”

“Depends on the kind of trouble. Maybe I should talk to Eden. She might be able to give me important information on Dinara.”

Remo’s face hardened. “Stay away from Eden. She won’t be able to tell you anything of worth about Dinara.”

“Because you forbade her to talk? What’s your endgame, Remo? Why are we keeping a Pakhan’s ex in our brothels? And why does Dinara think her mother is dead?”

Something flickered in Remo’s eyes, a hint of realization maybe. I wished he’d share that insight with me. “She talked to you about her mother?”

“She questioned me about the day we killed our mother is more like it. Will her mommy issues come back to bite us in the ass?”

Remo’s expression had shut off even more at the mentioning of our mother. He’d hated her with a fiery passion before we’d killed her, and his feelings hadn’t improved since then, especially now that he was surrounded by good mothers like Fina, Leona and Kiara.

“If she wants to discuss her mommy issues, send her to me.”

That was the last thing I wanted to do before I knew what was going on. If Dinara wanted to save her mother and worse avenge her, she’d be in more danger than she could ever anticipate. Maybe a reasonable Capo would hesitate to hurt a Pakhan’s daughter, but Remo had never shied back from insane maneuvers. After all, he’d kidnapped the niece of the Outfit’s Capo and even made her fall in love with him.

Even if Dinara had ulterior motives for joining the races and for seeking my closeness, I didn’t want her to get hurt. I loved Remo, but I didn’t agree with everything he did, and many of his actions had me worried, especially in the past.