Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 427(@250wpm)___ 356(@300wpm)
“To choose between loved ones is cruel.”
Nino tilted his head with a small frown. “I can’t imagine being given that choice...”
Goose bumps rose on my skin. “It won’t ever come to that.”
“I know.”
The look in Nino’s eyes sent a small shiver down my back. He kissed my forehead then sat up. “I need to set up a death fight for Remo.”
“What?” I blurted, stumbling out of bed after him. “Why?”
Then it dawned on me. Remo couldn’t deal with his emotional turmoil. The only way he knew how to handle it was by causing and receiving pain, by spilling blood and killing. “You can’t allow that.”
Nino pulled a shirt over his head and combed his hair back with his fingers. “He won’t let me talk him out of it. I tried.”
I got dressed in a hurry and followed Nino downstairs and into the kitchen. He talked to Roger on the phone, the man who owned the fight arena, while I prepared breakfast. My stomach was in knots as I listened to Nino discuss the details of the upcoming fight. Remo was going to fight two opponents at once, which was pure insanity even by his standards. “This is madness,” I said, when Nino ended the call.
Nino sighed. “This is Remo.”
In the days that followed Remo’s brutal fight, he acted almost like his old self, but sometimes there was look of longing in his eyes that hadn’t been there before. I couldn’t help but wonder how Serafina was faring back with her family.
I was playing the piano when someone knocked against the French windows. Looking up, I saw Adamo with the hood of his sweater pulled over his head and a cigarette dangling from his mouth. I waved him in. He never took the direct route through the adjoining corridor, always through the garden to get a smoke in. He came inside after having disposed of his cigarette, then shoved down his hood. His hair half covered his eyes but I saw they were red.
“Are you okay?”
“Can I listen to you play?”
“Sure,” I said and started playing the song I was working on. Adamo sank down on the floor right beside the piano and stared down at the Camorra tattoo on his forearm. Questions burned on my tongue but I held them back. He’d tell me what bothered him if he felt like it. Turning away from him, I focused on the song. It was for Remo and almost done. I wanted to write songs for Adamo and Savio as well by Christmas, and give each of them their song as a present. They had everything money could buy, so maybe they’d appreciate the gift.
I’d been playing the song twice when Adamo interrupted me in dark whisper. “Nino talked to me about our mother today.”
I froze.
Adamo looked up, his eyes full of misery. “Did you know?”
I swallowed, got up and made my way over to him before sinking to the floor beside him. “Nino told me what happened. He had to because of his emotional state.”
Adamo nodded. “Why didn’t they tell me sooner?”
“They wanted to protect you. The truth is difficult to stomach.”
“I can’t believe she tried to kill my brothers.”
“And you. She would have killed you by taking her own life.”
Adamo nodded. “I don’t get it. I want to understand.” He looked at me.
“Some things are beyond comprehension.” I covered his hand with mine.
“She’s still alive. I thought she died years ago. I ... I don’t know how I feel knowing she’s somewhere.”
I didn’t know what to say. It was hard to imagine how Adamo felt. How would I feel if I suddenly found out my father wasn’t dead but locked up in a mental institution?
“I said so many shitty things to Remo because I just didn’t understand how he could be that way, but now I get it.”
“Some things change us, and no matter how hard we try to forget the past, some things just stay with us.”
Adamo wrapped his arms loosely around his legs and regarded me with a small smile. “I’m glad you’re part of our family. You never judge me when I talk to you.”
“I have no right to judge you or anyone.”
Adamo laughed. “That doesn’t stop most people from dishing out judgement all the time.”
“I know,” I said quietly, remembering how I’d been judged for my father’s betrayal in the Famiglia, and how many still judged me for being Durant’s victim. Many people tried to make sense of it by blaming the victim. I understood that now.
“You’re part of the Camorra now. Nobody will judge you openly anymore,” Adamo said.
Early December I started decorating our wing and the main areas of the mansion and the garden with Christmas lights, baubles and tinsel. Savio and Adamo had bought a Christmas tree and set it up in the gaming room at my request.