Twisted CravingsCora Reilly (The Camorra Chronicles #6) - Cora Reilly Page 0,5

guys probably even thought they’d have a chance with her afterward.

Dinara pushed away from the car and stalked toward me, tossing her cigarette stub in her path and stomping it out. I smoked occasionally, but this girl was a chimney in comparison to me. I waited for her, pushing my phone back into my pocket. She was stunning with her high cheekbones, plump lips and long legs. The fire in her eyes and that confident smile curling her lips made her look like a fierce goddess, especially with that red hair flaming up in the sinking sun.

She stopped right in front of me. “And? Did we pass the inspection? Are we allowed to participate in your race circus?”

I smirked. “You’re allowed to participate in the qualification race today. If you make it into our racing camp that’s up to you and your driving skills.”

Dinara tilted her head. “I’m not worried about my driving skills, Falcone. What about yours? When was the last time you did a qualification race? You’re set in the main races, aren’t you?”

She had quite a mouth on her and bravado, I had to give it to her. Most people, even in the racing camp, either kissed the ground I walked on or tried to stay clear of my path from fear.

“I’m a part of the camp, because I’m one of the best drivers, Dinara. If I’d join the qualification race, that would only mean that fewer new drivers would get a chance to qualify.” The racers who participated in all the main races in the season were part of our racing camp, which was what the name promised: a camp where we all lived in the months of the races.

She leaned closer, giving me the chance to really admire the blue-green of her eyes, a shade I’d never seen. “Then why don’t you join the race today? Show off your amazing driving skills. Let’s see what you got, Falcone.”

I usually wasn’t easily baited but Dinara had me on her hook. I wanted to impress her, and I wanted to know why she was here. What her endgame was. “All right,” I said, grinning. “I’ll race today but don’t come crying to me afterward because your brother didn’t make the cut.”

“Dima’s a big boy. He can handle himself. Don’t underestimate him.”

“I don’t underestimate either of you. But you better not underestimate me either. I’m a Falcone, winning runs in my blood.”

“Arrogance too?”

I smiled. “I think you and I both don’t lack confidence when it comes to racing. Now let’s stop the chitchat and prove we aren’t just words.”

Dinara stood on her tiptoes, leaning even closer and bringing her lips close to my ear. “Yes, let’s do that, Adamo.”

She stepped back and turned around, walking away, giving me a perfect look at her ass in her tight pants. I ran a hand through my hair. She was a hot piece of ass, but I preferred less trouble in my sex life. Hooking up with grid girls or the rare racer girl had proven a hassle in the past, so I’d stopped reacting to advances. Business and pleasure better stayed separated.

I hadn’t participated in a qualification race in forever. Twenty-five drivers were set in the racing camp and five more could qualify to be part of it through a qualification race, but only the racers with the best positions throughout the year stayed in the camp for the next season. I was always among the best racers, had been for years, so qualifications hadn’t been necessary. Yet, I had to admit I felt a giddy kind of excitement about being part of a qualification again. The atmosphere was different, less dominated by money and bets, more free-spirited.

I grinned. This would be fun.

Dima’s face flashed with disapproval. His go-to mood lately. “We’re good to go,” I said.

“So, we got the official blessing of the Falcone clan?” he scoffed in Russian.

“Don’t know about their blessing but they don’t mind us racing. Or rather Remo Falcone doesn’t mind because he’s the one pulling the strings.”

“He’ll have his little brother keep taps on us. They have to suspect there’s more behind this than playing racers.”

“Of course, they do. I’m sure Adamo will do his best to extract information from me.”

Dima regarded me, gray eyes slanting to slits. “Don’t let his charm lower your guards.”

I burst out laughing. “What charm? Only because you have the sunny-boy persona of frozen bread doesn’t mean any guy capable of smiling is a Casanova on the hunt.”

Dima didn’t

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