Twisted CravingsCora Reilly (The Camorra Chronicles #6) - Cora Reilly Page 0,16

up around it. He was the go-to guy when I wasn’t there and his trailer was often our business home-base.

It was late in the afternoon and tomorrow was the last day to get everything in order before our seven-day-race, especially drill the rules into the participants. I already knew a few people I’d have additional chats with to make sure they really got the message.

A fire burned in the center in preparation for nightfall and the scent of meat smokers and barbecues filled the air. I set up my tent, a small two-person thing that I attached to my car. I preferred to keep a close eye on my BMW. Sometimes strange accidents occurred.

“How was Vegas?” Dinara asked close behind me, just when I’d zipped the tent up. I turned around to find her standing very close with her arms crossed over a cut-off AC/DC T-shirt, revealing that tantalizing piercing again. It was a tiny red and golden egg. For once Dinara wasn’t in boots but flip-flops, revealing dark-red painted nails.“And what happened to your face?”

My lip was slightly swollen from Remo’s punch. “A friendly grapple with my brother. And Vegas is the same it always is. Loud, flashy and dirty,” I said, tearing my eyes away from her body and meeting her knowing gaze. Dinara seemed perceptive, but even if she weren’t, she would have noticed me checking her out by now. It was really difficult not to do so. Her confidence alone drew me in.

Dinara’s brows rose as she leaned against my car and took a sip from a Styrofoam cup. “Someone’s holding a grudge against his hometown.”

I glared off into the distance. She held out the cup to me. “You look like you need it more than I do. Why did you fight with your brother?”

I took it without asking what it was and swallowed a big gulp. The bitter burn of Vodka bloomed in my mouth and traveled down my throat. I hated the stuff. I’d never understood the reason for drinking it pure. Dinara’s lips twitched as if she knew what I was thinking. “Dima brewed it himself.”

I handed the cup back to her, ignoring her previous question. “You sure it’s safe to consume?” My eyes scanned the circuit for her buzz-headed shadow, and of course, I found him beside his car, watching us.

“You don’t seem like someone who shies back from taking risks.”

“I’m not. I’d just rather not die from consuming homemade Vodka. There are far more interesting ways to leave this planet.”

She took a sip before her lips pulled into a teasing smile. “Like dying in a car race or being killed by an enemy bullet?”

“Something like that, yes.”

I reached into the open passenger window and pulled out a clean T-shirt. I’d been wearing this one on the drive from Vegas and while setting up a tent in the burning afternoon sun. I dragged my sweaty shirt over my head and tossed it on the hood beside Dinara. She eyed it briefly but then her gaze moved on to me, definitely checking me out. Her eyes lingered on my abs before she scanned the scars on my body, ending at my marred Camorra tattoo.

“Seems like you aren’t a stranger to dancing with death.”

I shrugged. I didn’t want to talk about the time when most of these scars came to be. I put on a clean white shirt and leaned beside Dinara. Some of the pit girls who shared tents with their respective racer boyfriends or affairs gave us curious looks. A few of them had tried to get it on with me but I hadn’t taken them up on their advances. Dinara followed my gaze. “Got your eye on one of them?”

I chuckled. “No. I don’t mix business and pleasure.”

Dinara tilted her head. “What an un-Falcone-like thing to do. Why limit yourself when you make the rules? You are kings in your territory.”

“Remo is king. The rest of us are his vassals.” I could have kicked myself at the note of bitterness in my voice, making me sound like a fucking sulking teenager, but I was royally pissed at Remo for keeping Dinara’s past a secret from me.

“You are many things but not a vassal. Sounds like you have ambitions to become a regicide to grab the crown for yourself.”

Fury raced through my veins at the accusation. Even when Remo sometimes drove me up the wall, he was my Capo and my brother. I loved him and would rather chop myself to pieces

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