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 before betraying him like that. I masked my first reaction, realizing it gave me the chance to figure out Dinara’s true intentions. If I left the door open to me betraying Remo, she might see me as an alley to confide in her possible revenge plans. I stared off toward the horizon, leaving the question hanging between us. Dinara regarded me closely but her expression was impossible to read.
“Did you give your brothers a report about the Bratva princess while you were in Vegas?” she asked after almost a minute of silence. More and more people were gathering around the firepit, sitting down on logs arranged around it, and the aroma of smoked ribs now drifted unmistakably into my nose. Music was turned up, a colorful mix of hits from the last few years because tastes varied greatly in the group.
“There isn’t much to report, is there?”
She shrugged and fixed me with a look as if she didn’t believe me.
“I don’t know why you’re here. You’re a mystery and so are your reasons for seeking my closeness.”
“Someone’s overconfident. Maybe I just want to enjoy the thrill of racing.”
“Big coincidence that you’re joining the racing camp that’s in the territory of the Camorra. You have history with us and so does your father.”
“What do you know about my history with the Camorra?” she whispered harshly. For the first time a crack in her beautiful mask showed. She hadn’t been overly emotional so far.
I was taken aback by her outburst but I kept my cool. I shrugged. “I know that your mother works as a whore in one of our brothels.”
Dinara froze, slowly lowering the cup from her lips. Blatant disbelief played across her face. “My mother’s dead.” Her voice sounded…terrified and elated at once.
“No, she’s not. She is alive and in Las Vegas, working for us.”
Dinara tore her gaze away, frowning.She emptied the cup and set it down on the hood. I wished she would allow me to see her eyes but she kept them carefully turned away, not willing to let me see her emotions, but the rest of her body gave me an inkling of her turmoil. Her hands shook when she reached into her pocket and took out a joint. She lit it and took a deep, shaky breath. “You sure?”
The familiar sweet aroma of marihuana filtered into my nose and a deep craving settled in my body. I’d given up on harder drugs during my time in New York after Luca broke a few of my ribs when he found me drugged, but giving up joints was harder, especially because many people smoked them at the after-race parties and barbecues.
Maybe I should have backtracked, but Remo wanted me to tell her for whatever insane reason. Was I risking his life or Dinara’s by telling her? But it was too late to back down now.
“Yes. I’ve met her several times over the years.” That was an exaggeration. I’d never actually talked to her, only seen her in passing. I didn’t remember much about her, not even if she’d been as beautiful as her daughter. She was a hazy shadow I couldn’t focus on.
“Fucked her too if she’s one of your whores?”
I grimaced. “No.”
Dinara rolled her eyes. “Don’t play indignant. I know how things work. Mobsters often seek the services of whores and many of them even lose their V-card to one. I’m familiar with the business. The Bratva and the Italian mob aren’t that different when you break it down.” The way she said Bratva, I almost developed an appreciation for the word.
“I didn’t fuck your mother, Dinara. I’m not in the habit of sleeping with every available pussy.”
I couldn’t speak for my brothers though. Remo had definitely fucked her in the past. I wasn’t sure about Nino and Savio, but the latter had dipped his cock into anything before Gemma tied him down.
Dinara nodded but didn’t say anything. She looked upset. Dima had pushed away from his car and was slowly coming closer. A true protector. I wanted to kick his stupid Bratva ass. His expression wasn’t that of a bodyguard, and not a brotherly friend either.
She jerked to her feet and dropped the joint before stomping on it. I felt a pang I tried to ignore.
“I need to leave the camp and return to Chicago.”
I shook my head and stood as well. “Tomorrow evening the first race of the seven-day circuit starts. You need to be present in the afternoon to set up everything. If you miss the first race in the circuit, you can’t join the race at a later point. Every race builds up on the previous. And if you miss seven races, your chances of staying in camp are close to nil.” I didn’t want Dinara to disappear so soon. I wanted to keep her close, to find out more about her history, and her.
“I’ll be back in time,” she clipped and started to move away.
I touched her arm. “We’re almost 1400 miles away from Chicago.”
She gave me a sardonic smile over her shoulder. “Don’t worry. I won’t miss tomorrow’s race. We aren’t done yet, Adamo.”
With that, she walked away and I was left to stare at her back, wondering if her last words were warning or promise.
Dima hurried toward me. “What’s—”
“I need a private jet from Salt Lake City in thirty minutes. Set everything up.”
Dima stared at me. He opened his mouth but I wasn’t in the mood to talk.
“I don’t have time for questions. Get a jet. We need to leave now. We’re taking my car.”
Dima didn’t try to extract more information from me. Instead he picked up his mobile and pulled a few strings with contacts before he gave a terse nod. “Done.”
We settled in my car, and I hit the gas. We’d have to hurry if we wanted to reach the small private airport in time. It sat right outside of Salt Lake City.
It was half-past five, so if everything went to plan, we’d board the jet around six.
“What’s going on Dinara? Are you in danger? Did anything Falcone say upset you?”
Upset didn’t even begin to cover my feelings about the news Adamo had given me. My mother was alive. For years, I’d thought she was dead. Everyone had led me to believe she was.
My fingers around the steering wheel tightened even more until it hurt. I wasn’t in the mood to talk now. My head was a mess full of whirring thoughts, a thunderstorm slowly building up and about to unleash its destructive power. Deep inside of me, my dark craving began its enticing chant, a siren’s call I’d resisted for ten months now.
Dima gave up on talking to me for the rest of the drive and when we pulled up at the airport with only five minutes to spare before the scheduled departure, I breathed a sigh of relief. After Dima and I had boarded the private jet and settled down on seats facing each other, the stewardess served us drinks and snacks. “This could be a bumpy ride. A thunderstorm is brewing over Chicago.”