Twisted Pride: A Dark Mafia Romance (The Camorra Chronicles Book 3)
Twisted Pride: Chapter 30

Christmas rolled around. The first Christmas for Nevio and Greta. The first Christmas as a part of the Falcone clan. After wishing Samuel a merry Christmas and not hearing anything in return, I went downstairs with Nevio and Greta. Remo was already in the living room with his brothers, discussing their plans for future races. After the Outfit attack, safety measures would have to be doubled. I was supposed to help Kiara in the kitchen but still needed to figure out what to do with the kids.

Remo looked up when I entered. As usual, his expression stilled when he saw me with our twins, almost as if he still had a hard time trusting his eyes. “Can you watch them?” I asked as I headed toward them.

Nino sat beside Remo. Adamo and Savio were on the couch across from them. “Will you take Nevio?” I asked Nino who rose at once and took my son from me. Nevio didn’t mind, too fascinated by the tattoos on Nino’s arms. I moved closer to Remo. Greta was clinging to me, still shy around others. Remo gave me a questioning look. He hadn’t held his daughter yet. The only person except for me who didn’t make Greta wail was Kiara.

He gently stroked her black tuft of hair then ran his hand down her back. His voice was low and soft as he spoke to her. “Greta, mia cara.”

My heart seemed to skip a beat. It was the first time I heard Remo speak Italian. My family and I had only ever spoken Italian when we were surrounded by outsiders, and I knew many families handled it the same way. I carefully untangled her from my neck and gave her to Remo. Her big dark eyes blinked up at him, and her face began to twist. Remo rocked her gently in the crook of his arm then lowered his face and kissed the top of her head. She let out a hesitant cry, as if she wasn’t sure if she wanted to wail or not. I handed him her favorite rattle, and he showed it to her.

She reached for it, eyes already brightening, and he helped her shake it. I took a step back then another as Remo rocked her. Remo sank down, still rattling and whispering words of consolation. Greta’s expression made it clear that she wasn’t convinced yet but that she wasn’t wailing was a good sign.

Savio and Adamo looked as if they were having a stroke. I got it. Remo was one of the most feared men of the country, and here he cradled his baby girl in his arms, patient and careful. Nino was rocking Nevio on his thigh, and my son let out delighted screeches.

“I suppose that’s the end of my whoring days in the house,” Savio muttered.

Remo looked up from Greta, his eyes narrowing. “I don’t want a fucking whore anywhere near my children.”

Greta cried at the harshness in his voice, and Remo’s lips tightened. He shook her gently then murmured something I didn’t catch. The moment she stopped crying, I turned and left. My babies were cared for.

I finally went to help Kiara in the kitchen. Kiara was taking care of the vegetarian appetizers and the vegetarian main course, while I tried my hand at a roast beef and a chocolate cake. I didn’t have much experience preparing any kind of food except for the occasional baby puree, so this proved to be a challenge.

Later we all settled around the table with a well-done roast beef, not medium rare as intended, and a slightly burnt chocolate cake, but nobody minded. During my captivity I’d only caught glimpses of the brotherly bond Remo and his brothers shared, but now as I became a part of their family, I realized just how strongly they cared for each other. Remo had traded himself for Adamo, had signed his death sentence so Adamo could live. There was no greater sign of love than that. It gave me hope that Remo was capable of that kind of emotion.

When Remo and I returned to our bedroom that night, I risked another glance at my phone, and my shoulders slumped. No messages.

Remo came up behind me, his hands on my waist, his lips hot on my throat. “Do you regret leaving the Outfit?”

I leaned back against him. His chest was bare and he’d removed most of the bandages despite Nino’s protests. “No. Greta and Nevio will be happier here.”

He bit down on my throat gently. “And you?”

I turned in his hold and kissed him. “I think I’ll be happy too.”

Remo pulled my dress over my head before he backed me up toward the bed, and we both fell down. We kissed for a long time until I was desperate and hot. Remo moved down my body and removed my panties then stretched out between my legs. His lips and tongue pushed me over the edge within a couple of minutes, then he climbed back up, his body covering mine, his weight braced on his forearms. His eyes held mine when he slammed into me, claiming me fully for the first time in fourteen months. “Remo,” I gasped out.

Despite the flashes of pain on his face, Remo’s thrusts didn’t falter. He hit deep and hard, his eyes owning me. When he reached between us and stroked my clit, I cried out, clenching around him and gripping his shoulders tightly. Remo growled in pain and pleasure but kept thrusting as I rode out my orgasm. He kissed me fiercely, possessively, then pulled out.

He turned me on my stomach before he kissed my ear as he settled between my thighs. I felt a firm presence at my ass and stiffened in surprise and fear. Remo stroked my back, massaged my butt.

“I want to own every part of you,” he murmured, kissing my shoulder. He turned my head so I met his gaze and kissed me slowly. Remo had put his fingers into me a couple of times, but his erection was so much bigger.

“Say something,” he urged.

I swallowed, nervous. “I’m yours. All of me.”

Remo’s eyes softened. “Relax, Angel. I’ll be careful.”

For a moment his weight lifted, and I heard him take something from the drawer. Over my shoulder I saw him covering his cock with lube then he was back over me. He bit down on my shoulder blade lightly as he pushed forward, and I arched up when the stretching got too bad. Remo stopped, kissed my shoulder, my cheek. His hands slid under my body, found my nipple and my clit. He tugged at my nipple while his fingers stroked my clit and opening. Soon, I loosened around him as pain and pleasure mixed. He pushed two fingers into me and groaned roughly, the sound so primal and erotic my core clenched with arousal. “I feel my cock inside you. It’s perfect.”

I moaned as he moved his fingers slowly while his other hand kept twisting my nipple. Despite the pain, I felt a release approaching. My lips parted and my muscles tightened as pleasure overcame me. Remo pushed his cock into me all the way, and I moaned and whimpered, caught up between pain and pleasure. I’d never felt more stretched, teetering on the edge of overwhelming pain and yet happy that Remo had claimed this part of me as well.

I shivered, overcome with sensations.

Remo kissed my cheek. “Can I?”

I gave a nod and he pulled almost all the way out. I trembled as he pushed back in. He kept working my pussy as he thrust into me slowly.

“It’ll get better, Angel,” he murmured.

His movements became faster, and I bit down on my lip. Pain and pleasure mingled, almost becoming one. Remo’s body pressed me into the mattress as his cock and fingers claimed me.

With a guttural groan, Remo slammed into me one more time, and I felt his release. I shuddered desperately under him. Remo stayed inside of me for a couple of heartbeats, his breath hot on my shoulder, his fingers gentle, almost soothing on my clit.

He pulled out of me carefully then turned me on my side and pressed up behind me, kissing my shoulder. I couldn’t move, overwhelmed, stunned. Every time I thought Remo had taken everything, he took another part of me.

“Angel?” he asked in a low voice.

I turned around in his embrace and nestled close to him, my nose buried in the crook of his neck. Remo tensed and gripped my chin, nudging my face up. I could see a hint of hesitation on his face as he evaluated my expression.

“You will never surrender to my will because you think I want you to. Was it too painful?”

I glanced up, swallowing hard. Remo was concerned for me. Cruel, merciless, brutal to the very core, and yet concerned for me. “I wanted to surrender to you, to give myself to you like that. You already own every other part of me.”

His brows pulled together even further. He traced my face with his finger. “I don’t enjoy hurting you unless it heightens your pleasure.”

I tilted my head. “You sound surprised.”

“I enjoy hurting people, but not you, never you.”

I fell silent, wondering what it meant. Remo pushed up and reached over me and into the drawer of his nightstand. He pulled out a small parcel then set it down between us. “For you,” he said.

My eyebrows rose. He hadn’t given me a present earlier, but I had assumed the gifts for Greta and Nevio had been meant for me as well. It had been difficult enough to get something for Remo. Eventually I’d opted for a guide of running trails of the region as well as a quickly assembled photo book from our twin’s first seven months.

“What is it?”

“Open it,” Remo demanded, fingertips tracing my side and hip.

I lifted the lid and my breath stilled as my eyes registered the necklace with the pendant in the shape of wings. It was a beautiful piece of finely worked gold-smithing. Intricately gorgeous. I took it out carefully.

“Where did you get it? You didn’t leave the house.”

“I had it handcrafted by a local goldsmith shortly after I released you.”

My lips fell open in surprise. Remo helped me put the necklace on, and the cool gold settled in the valley between my breasts. “Ruinously gorgeous,” Remo murmured as he traced my skin.

I gave him a curious look.

“You ruined me for all other women.”

A wave of possessiveness overcame me. Remo was mine.

REMO

I watched Serafina as she stroked the heads of our children, patient, loving, even though they both had been crying on and off for hours. She sang to them, whispered words of sweet nothings to them. She had left her family for them so they would be safe, so they would get the life they deserved, the life they were destined for. I had seen the look in her eyes when she’d said goodbye to her twin. Serafina had given up so much for our children.

Her body was weaker than mine. She wasn’t as harsh or cruel or fearless.

But God she was strong.

When Nevio and Greta had finally fallen asleep, she straightened from where she’d been bent over their crib and when she noticed me, she tensed slightly but came toward me. She’d been oddly quiet today, and I knew something was bothering her, but I didn’t talk emotions if I could help it.

Serafina stopped in the hallway. “I’ve been here for three weeks, but I still don’t know what we are.”

I braced myself beside her shoulders, peering down at her. “You are an angel, and I’m your ruin.” My lips pulled into a wry smile.

She shook her head almost angrily. “What am I to you? Your lover? Your girlfriend? A nice change from your usual whores?”

My own anger spiked. “What do you want me to say?”

“Nothing,” she said quietly. “I want the truth. I need to know what to expect from you.”

“I love death. I love spilling blood and causing pain. I love to see terror in people’s eyes, and that won’t ever change,” I whispered harshly because it was true.

She looked up at me. “You are the cruelest man I know. You took everything from me.”

I nodded because that was true as well. “Few women can bear the darkness. I can’t … I won’t force you to be with me. You are free.”

“Free to do as I please,” she murmured, warm and soft against me. Tantalizing. “Even take another man into my bed?”

A burst of rage filled me. I wanted her for myself, wanted to remain the only man who’d ever tasted those perfect lips, who’d ever claimed her, but more than that I wanted her to want it too. I swallowed my fury. “Even that,” I said then continued in a harsh whisper, “I won’t stop you. I won’t punish you for it.”

She smiled a knowing smile. “But you will kill anyone who touches me.”

I brought our lips close. “Not just kill them, obliterate them in the cruelest way possible for touching something they are unworthy of.”

Challenge flickered in her eyes. “Are you worthy?”

I claimed her mouth, hard and desperate, before pulling back. “Oh no, Angel. From the day I saw you, I knew I was the least worthy of them all.” I should have never laid a hand on her, but I was a fucking bastard and had taken everything she was willing to give.

She tilted her head up, regarding me. She opened my shirt slowly, one button after the other, and it gave way under those elegant fingers. She rested her palm against my chest, over my heart. “Is there something in there capable of love?”

My fucking chest constricted. “Whatever’s in there, it’s yours. Whatever love I’m capable of, it’s yours too.”

She cupped my face, her eyes fierce, almost brutal in their intensity. “You are beyond redemption, Remo,” she whispered, and I smiled bitterly because I knew it.

She shook her head. “But so am I because even free to do as I please, I choose you. I’m no angel. An angel wouldn’t love a man like you, but I do. I love you.” And she kissed me harshly, brutally, all rage and love, and I kissed her back with the same love, the same rage.

This woman had stolen my black heart. From the first moment I saw her, I wanted to own her. At first to destroy the Outfit and Dante then later because it became an irresistible need, a voracious longing. And in the end, Serafina was the one who owned me, black heart, condemned soul, scarred body.

Every fucking part of me was hers, and if she’d let me, I’d be hers till my last day.

SERAFINA

My heart burned with emotions. Fiercely. Remo had declared his love for me. Something I’d never considered a possibility.

This cruel man owned my heart, and I didn’t want it any other way.

Remo’s kiss was violent, harsh. Then he pulled back. “Marry me.”

I froze. It had been an order. Remo wasn’t a man who asked for anything. I leaned back against the wall slowly, searching his eyes.

He didn’t let me retreat. He kissed me again but gentler. “Marry me, Angel.”

It still wasn’t a question, but his voice wasn’t dominant anymore. It was soft, compelling, raw. “Become a Falcone?” I murmured against his lips.

“Become a Falcone. Become mine.”

I smiled. “I have been yours for a long time.”

“Is that a yes?” he asked, his hand sliding over my outer thigh, stroking, distracting me.

“Yes,” I whispered.

“Serafina Falcone,” he murmured. “I like the sound of it.”

I smiled because this name sounded right, more right than Mancini ever had.

Was this love? Was this madness? I didn’t care. It was perfection either way.