Kiss of Death Boxset

by Lovell, LP

  “You guys really need to get the memo that I’m not a prisoner,” I growl.

  “Sorry, ma’am. Boss’ orders. No one leaves. No one comes in.” I smile, stepping close enough that my bulging stomach brushes against him. He swallows heavily and goes rigid stiff. “Firstly, call me ma’am again, and I will cut your tongue out. Secondly, think of me as an extension of Nero, because if you disrespect me again, it’s not going to go well for you.” Shaking, he nods and I plaster a fake smile on my face. “Now, radio down to those idiots and tell them to let Sasha up.”

  “Do not touch your radio,” Nero’s voice comes from behind me, low and commanding.

  I turn on him, glaring. “Seriously?”

  He’s wearing only a pair of workout pants, his hair still damp from the shower. “You trust him?” he asks incredulously.

  “Of course, it’s Sasha.” It’s not a complete lie. I trust that he wouldn’t come here to hurt me, but not that he wouldn’t tell Nicholai everything he knows. I don’t judge him for it, the kind of upbringing we had, it warps your mind through both fear and conditioning. I felt that same blind loyalty to Nicholai for years, but I had something to hold onto outside of that facility—my sister. Sasha never had that. The closest thing he has to family is me and Nicholai, and I’m essentially making him choose between his father and his sister.

  “What if he’s here to kill you? Wouldn’t he be the perfect pawn? He’s close enough to you that you trust him, skilled enough to take you down, and no doubt dispensable, so if I kill him afterwards, Nicholai won’t care.”

  Sighing, I place my hands on my hips. “Sasha’s good, but not better than me, let alone when I’m surrounded by half the mob.” I roll my eyes. “And Nicholai doesn’t want me dead. That’s the last thing he wants.”

  “Una…”

  “Please, just trust me. He might have information. He’s done nothing but help us so far.”

  His dark brows pull together and he folds his arms over his broad chest. “I don’t like it.”

  “Acknowledged.”

  “Don’t tell him anything. How did he even know you’re here? Does Nicholai know where you are?”

  “Capo,” I snort, “you own two properties in New York. It’s not difficult, plus, Sasha can hack any security camera, anywhere. If he wants to find someone, he’ll find them.” I jerk my chin towards the camera in the corner of the room. “He can hack through all your firewalls. He’s good.”

  “That’s reassuring,” he grumbles. “Tell them to bring him up,” he says to the guy still standing behind me. He turns around and disappears up the stairwell. I watch him go, waiting for the elevator to climb to the top of the building. A few seconds later I feel Nero approaching from behind without even looking. He moves to stand slightly in front of me and tugs a shirt over his head before facing the elevator like my own personal guard dog. On pure principle, I step up beside him, folding my arms over my chest.

  The elevator pings and the doors slide open, revealing a wall of suited Italians. Nero’s men still don’t like me, and most of them either glare at me or ignore me altogether. I don’t care, but I worry that their loyalty to Nero might waver since he’s fucking the enemy. He and I know that it was retaliation, but even I’ll admit that twenty-one dead Italians is hard to explain. And well, Italians all seem to be linked. Guaranteed, every guy I killed has a cousin or nephew or brother within Nero’s ranks, which is always comforting.

  The suits step out, filing to either side of the doors and revealing Sasha. His face is steely as always, his features severe and angular. A small frown line sinks between his brows as his eyes move from my face to my stomach.

  “So it’s true,” he says simply. I nod and he glances around the room. I can see his mind processing every detail, looking for threats. He’s assessing everything, from the distance between us to the way each man is holding his gun, spotting weaknesses, planning, strategizing. I know, because it’s exactly what I do when I’m in a hostile situation.

  “Why are you here, Sasha?” I ask.

  He glances at Nero, and then back to me, his lips pressed in a thin line. “Give us a minute,” I say to Nero.

  “No.”

  I turn to face him and he simply stares straight at Sasha, his expression giving away nothing. “Nero…”I say. His jaw clenches, the muscles fluttering beneath tanned skin.

  Nero looks at the guys either side of the elevator. “Go. Gio, stay.” The men do as instructed, filing away into the apartment and leaving just Gio, Nero, Sasha and me. I turn back around and Sasha’s eyes meet mine. I know what he’s thinking, that I just thinned out the herd and evened the odds. I step towards him and he closes the distance between us, pulling me into a hug which makes me tense. Sasha and I have never hugged. It’s not something you do when neither of you can stand being touched.

  “I’m so sorry I helped them get to you. We have to get you as far away from here as possible,” he whispers in Russian, so quietly it’s barely above a breath. I feel something solid pressing against my stomach and slowly reach down, my fingers brushing over the cool metal of a gun. “Ready?” he says, his body tensing, priming for attack.

  “Wait, Sasha.” I pull away from him slightly. “I’m not leaving.”

  “What the fuck is going on?” Nero snaps. I hear the click of a safety being removed by Gio, and I can feel the aggression pouring off Nero like a living thing slithering over my back.

  I hold my hand out to Nero because Sasha, though like my brother, is still a lethal killer. He won’t hurt me, but Nero and Gio are simply targets assessed on their threat level. I know this. “I’m not running,” I say, in English this time, taking the clip out of the gun he gave me and handing it back to him.

  Those jade green eyes meet mine, concern and confusion swimming in them. “Una, he knows.”

  I nod. “I’m aware.”

  “Then you know he wants that child,” he says, his voice rising. He drops to one knee and swipes a hand through his hair in agitation. We used to take a knee when we were training in the field as a way of strategizing, taking a minute to plan.

  “Where could I even go, Sasha? There is nowhere he wouldn’t track me.”

  “Then…” He sighs. “Then come home, beg him to forgive you. You know he will. He loves you. This…you’re just making it worse for yourself, Una.” Nero lets out a low growl behind me and I turn on him.

  “Really? Just go to the kitchen,” I say through clenched teeth. He cocks a brow, looking at me as if I am another one of his pawns to be commanded.

  “Forgive me if I don’t trust your super killer friend here,” Nero says.

  “I swear to fucking god, Nero, pain, so much pain,” I snap.

  “I thought stress was bad for babies,” Sasha says flatly.

  I turn back to him and can’t help but smile. “Oh, well,” I say, “poor fucker doesn’t stand a chance then.” He pushes to his feet, glancing at Nero again.

  “The Italian is volatile and unpredictable,” he says in Russian. “He will get you killed.”

  “In our world, volatile and unpredictable wins wars.” I drop my gaze to the floor and take a deep breath. “He is dangerous and I need dangerous.”

  “Please come home,” he begs. I can see the hint of fear in his eyes, and I know it’s not for the baby, it’s simply for me because I’m the closest thing to human connection he has.

  I sigh, dragging a hand through my hair. “I’m never going back, Sasha. He will do to this baby what he did to us.”

  His expression goes tight, his posture rigid tense the same way it always is, ready for an attack at any second. “Was it so bad?” he asks.

  What Sasha can’t see is that, despite his many strengths, his life is a sad and pitiful existence. By the time I met him, I was thirteen. He was fourteen, but he had already been in the facility for five years. Maybe Nicholai got me just a little too late, because I never truly let go of the life I had before becoming Elite. Sasha is the living, breathing embodim
ent of everything Nicholai wanted him to be. His life is whatever Nicholai chooses in that moment because he knows nothing else. He has no freedom, only orders and compliance. And the saddest part of all of this is that he can’t see it. He can’t see what was taken from him, only the strengths he was given, but they come at a high price. “We were children, Sasha.”

  “He made us strong, Una. You are the strongest of us, and yet you throw it back in his face,” he says, his voice rising slightly before he composes himself again.

  “He broke us and turned us into weapons.” I take a small step back away from him and closer to Nero. “I’ve made my choice.”

  Sasha’s eyes flick to Nero, his jaw set in a rigid line. “You think that you are strong enough to protect her from what’s coming?” he says to Nero in English.

  “With great power comes great responsibility,” Nero replies cryptically.

  Sasha takes a deep breath. “You have no idea what is coming.” He pinches the bridge of his nose. “He will go for your weaknesses.” His eyes flick to Nero again. “And you have developed many, but I will try to help you.”

  “Why?” I frown. “If Nicholai finds out…”

  “Because you are my sister, and I love you.”

  “I love you, too.” My eyes prickle and I curse these bloody hormones. He turns and gets in the elevator. “But Sasha…” He glances at me. “Don’t endanger yourself for me. I do not expect to make it out of this alive,” I say in Russian because Nero doesn’t need to know how low my expectations really are. I throw Sasha the clip in my hand and he snatches it out of the air right before the doors glide shut.

  I hold onto those last words between us, because I don’t know if or when I’ll see him again, and really, Sasha is more like a sibling to me than my actual sister. Sasha and I have always been close, but I didn’t think either of us capable of love. Has he changed, or is it just me? Has he always loved me and I was too emotionless to see it? After Alex, I shunned and feared love as though it were a plague. Loving Alex cost me dearly, and I would do anything to avoid that pain again. To lose someone you care about so deeply is a pain unlike any other, it wounds you, leaving scars that never heal. And then I think: what if Nicholai were to kill Nero? I care for him, I’m invested in him as an ally, as the father of my child, and perhaps…perhaps I love him in a way. Killing Alex tore out my heart, and I don’t have much left to give, but I think that whatever twisted, blackened part of it remains belongs to Nero. After all, he is my equal. He’s forced me to feel things that I thought long dormant, and I respect him in a way I’ve never respected anyone else. I trust him, and that speaks volumes.

  I turn to face him. His arms are folded over his chest and his hair is messy like he’s been dragging his hands through it. “You chose to stay,” he says simply. I nod, unable to speak the words that are hanging in the air. I chose you. If I wanted to escape, I was never going to get a better chance than with Sasha here. All the king’s soldiers and all the king’s men could not stop the two of us together. On my own, I’m good, with Sasha…we’re invincible, Nicholai’s best kill team. “Can you trust him?” Nero asks.

  I chew on my bottom lip. “I want to.” I want to believe that Sasha would never sell me out. “But you have to understand, the training, it’s hard to resist. And the punishments for disloyalty are…” I remember them well. Repeated electrocutions, whippings, water boarding, even injections of scorpion venom that would make you hallucinate. And when you’ve seen the things we’ve seen those hallucinations are not pretty. “He’s not the enemy.”

  He watches me for a few seconds and then nods. “The second he puts you at risk, he is. Do you understand?” I hesitate. “This isn’t just about you anymore, Morte. Tell me you understand,” he demands, that power he wears so well flexing and rolling like a wave.

  I nod slowly and he turns away from me, heading for the stairs. I drag my hand through my hair and let out a long breath before I follow him, because I need to shower. When I’m in the bedroom I strip out of my yoga pants. Nero comes out of the walk-in closet, wearing dress pants and a shirt to which he is fastening the buttons.

  “Going somewhere?” I ask.

  He lifts one brow, his expression stoic. “I have some business to handle in the city.”

  “Don’t you have people for that?”

  He turns to face me, tucking his shirt in and fastening his belt. “Sometimes, if you want a job done properly, you have to do it yourself.”

  I flop down on the bed and stretch my arms above my head. He moves to stand in front of me, his hands casually thrust deep in his pockets as his eyes scan over my underwear clad body. “I’m very thorough in my jobs,” I say, smiling up at him.

  He frowns. “No.”

  I sigh and sit up. “If I don’t get outside soon, I’m likely to maim Gio very badly. I’m sure it’s handy if you’re right hand has...well, a right hand.”

  His lips twitch slightly, amusement cracking that implacable mask. “Morte, you are supposed to be laying low.”

  “That’s just it, I’m not sure I want to lay low.” He says nothing and I reach out, yanking his shirt out of his pants and sliding my palm over his hard, hot stomach. “We don’t run and hide. Battle lines need to be drawn, capo.” His hand wraps around my wrist and he pulls it from beneath his shirt.

  Bending over me, he pins both of my hands above my head. His lips are barely a whisper from mine. “And as much as I appreciate your loyalty, Morte, you are not leaving here.”

  “Equal or prisoner, capo?” He tilts his head back and an exasperated breath slips through his lips.

  He slowly brings his gaze to mine, and, for a moment, we simply stare at each other. “You are the only person in this world that could possibly be my equal,” he says arrogantly.

  I smile and push up the last inch, touching my lips to his. He’s hesitant, his lips restrained and his body tense. I swipe my tongue over his bottom lip, and he releases my hands, grabbing my hips and yanking me down the bed until he’s pressing between my legs. His body hovers over mine, and I grab the front of his shirt, pulling him closer. The scent of his cologne tinged with cigarette smoke wraps around me and I inhale deeply as he bites the side of my neck.

  “You do not do anything stupid. You stay within three feet of me at all times.” He breathes against my skin.

  I narrow my eyes. “You’re forgetting again.”

  He pinches my jaw between his teeth. “Never.” His voice rumbles in my ear before he pulls back and stares at me. “I’m meeting with the leader of the Russkoye Slovo.” I roll my eyes. “And you cannot roll your eyes at him, or shoot him, or cut him…”

  “Fine. But if you deal with dogs, people will see you as a kennel.”

  “That makes no sense,” he says, pushing off me.

  “It does if you are Russian.” I stand up. “What deal do you have with him?”

  His eyes travel over my bare legs. “We’ll talk in the car.”

  “Fine.” I go and get in the shower.

  * * *

  The city thrums outside the car window. Car horns blare as we sit in bumper to bumper traffic. I used to hate the city, the towering sky scrapers, the ignorant commuters, the way the people pour down the sidewalks like a river, the smells, the thick, putrid air. It’s a sensory overload, a nightmare for someone like me.

  Foo Fighters blares through the car speakers. I glance at Nero, and he’s pressed into the back of his seat, his arm outstretched as he casually drapes his wrist over the steering wheel. He almost looks relaxed, except for the subtle tick of his jaw.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask.

  He turns to face me. “Nothing.”

  I face the windshield again. “Lies.”

  Neither of us says anything else as we wind through the stop-start traffic eventually pulling up outside an older brick building right by the Brooklyn Bridge. Tall windows are adorned with little flower boxes, and wide stone steps lead to a set of heavy-looking double doors. As soon as the
car pulls to a stop, the door opens a crack and a younger guy in a smart suit comes rushing over.

  I get out and Nero throws the keys to him before we walk up the steps towards the door.

  I’m wearing a dress and heels, because apparently wherever this meeting is, is a formal occasion. There have been plenty of times when I’ve had to seduce targets and dress like a woman they’d happily follow to a secluded room. But I feel fake, a blade pretending to be a flower. In some instances, a flower is a good disguise, but in others, you want to be seen as something dangerous and life threatening. A knee length coat goes some way to hiding the baby bump. I know it’s pointless now, but showing it just feels like I’m pointing right at a soft spot and daring an enemy to stab me there.

  Nero’s arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me into his side as we climb the steps. “You look beautiful,” he says, amusement in his voice as he twirls a strand of my hair around his finger.

  “I have a gun and two knives on me. I will hurt you.”

  He chuckles as he pulls the door open for me. I glare at him as I pass, but he just stares at my ass. “Don’t go stabbing anyone. Wouldn’t want to get blood on your dress.” I’m going to get blood on him in a minute.

  We walk straight past what looks like a reception desk. The guy behind it stares at me and I can feel his eyes even as we round the corner. Another set of double doors open into a bar. It has that Old-world feel about it with wooden flooring and leather wing back chairs everywhere. There aren’t many people in here, but again, everyone stares at me as if I have two heads. Or maybe it’s Nero they’re looking at.

  “Why are they staring?” I say under my breath.

  He smirks. “They don’t see many women in here.”

  I glance around again. There isn’t a single woman in here, and all the patrons are…of a certain ilk. “Brilliant, a gentleman’s club. I didn’t even know you could still pull that sexist bullshit anymore.” Then a thought occurs to me. “Wait, are they going to try and kick me out? Don’t they do fencing or some shit? Please let me challenge someone to a fight.”