by Lovell, LP
“Break for me, Morte,” I say through clenched teeth.
And she does, moaning and clenching around me, her body contorting erotically. “Nero,” she breathes.
My name leaving her lips in a moment of weakness is so right, so absolute. I growl, driving into her harder. I come, biting down on her shoulder as a wave of pleasure drowns me. “Fuck!”
I still, my chest heaving and my muscles numb. I rest my forehead against her throat, inhaling the smell of sweat and sex, mixing with her familiar vanilla scent. She grips my hair, tipping my head back before she kisses me and shoves me off her.
“Now we can go and see your dad,” she says, climbing to her feet.
“See, now you just make that sound wrong.”
She grabs her tank and underwear, putting them back on before she heads for the door. “Una, put your fucking jeans on,” I growl as she opens the door.
She glances over her shoulder and winks before she walks straight out. “Fucks sake.” I yank my pants up and storm after her. She walks right through the lounge where five of my guys are sitting with Gio. I glare at them, daring them to fucking so much as glance her way. They all look away sheepishly, keeping their gazes locked on the floor.
I catch up to her on the stairs and throw her over my shoulder. “Put me down!”
I slap her ass hard enough that she’ll be feeling it when she sits down. “You just love to fucking push me.”
I walk into the bedroom and drop her in the walk-in closet. “I like you angry,” she says with a slight lift of her eyebrow.
I shake my head. God, how was I not bored senseless before she came along? “Get dressed.”
“I need to shower,” she says, cocking her head to the side and folding her arms over her chest.
“Oh no.” I back her into the chest of drawers, wrapping my fingers around her delicate throat as I bring my lips to her ear. I can feel her pulse racing in anticipation. “You don’t get to wash my come off you after that little stunt.”
Her eyes meet mine and she bites her bottom lip on a smile. “Now who’s dirty? I thought you wanted innocent, contrite, pure…” she trails off, a wry smile pulling at her lips.
“Never.” I swipe my thumb over her bottom lip roughly and lean in. “Play the part, but we’ll know better, Morte.”
She grazes her teeth over the pad of my thumb and my dick stirs again. “Watch and learn, capo.” I smirk and step away from her, grabbing a shirt and my gun holster. I walk away before I decide to fuck her again.
When I get to the bottom of the stairs Gio clears his throat. “Did you get anywhere with the plans?” he asks. Plans? Oh, the plans.
“We’re going to try a different approach.” He raises his eyebrows. “We’re going to Cesare.”
“We?”
I nod. “I’m taking Una. See if she can’t appeal to his strategic side.”
He inhales a deep breath. “With all due respect, I think that might aggravate the situation.”
“We don’t have a lot of choice. I need numbers and political support, Gio.” I sigh, pulling him to the corner of the room. “Nicholai is going to make a play soon. He won’t come directly at us, and we can’t go to him, not at the base. It’s suicide. I think we need to catch him away from his home turf.”
“Una could lure him out,” he says quietly.
“Suggest that again, Gio,” I glare at him, “and I’ll kill you, friend or not.”
He places his hands on his hips. “Nero, you are facing the impossible. We have to draw him out, and the only thing he’s guaranteed to come out for is Una.”
“Gio, are you loyal to me or not?”
“You know I am.”
“Then you are loyal to her and my fucking baby.” He stares at me for a beat and then releases a long breath, nodding. His gaze flicks over my shoulder before he turns away, going back to the few men he has gathered. I turn around just as Una is coming down the stairs. I watch her as she approaches with a smug smile on her lips.
“Innocent enough for you?” she asks.
“I’m not sure that’s quite the word I’d use,” I mumble. She’s wearing a gray dress that clings to every fucking thing. That bump couldn’t be any clearer if she put a flashing neon sign on it. The material follows the line of her curves and stops just above her knee. She’s wearing a pair of high heels and her hair falls down her back in a silver-white sheet. Her infamous red lipstick is firmly in place making her look sexy although it is a blinding reminder of exactly who she is. I’m not sure my father needs any reminders on that front.
She walks up to me and smooths her hand down the front of my jacket. “Come now. You wouldn’t want to keep daddy dearest waiting.”
17
Una
“I need to know everything,” I say as we sit in yet more New York traffic.
He sighs, pushing back into his seat and bracing his hand against the steering wheel. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”
“Cesare.”
He glances at me, releasing a long breath as his dark eyes fix on mine. “He’s a strong leader, ruling with a combination of fear and respect. He’s of the old ways.”
“The mafia do love their traditions,” I mumble.
He smirks. “The traditions hamper him.”
“Women and children?”
He nods. “Amongst other things. When he came to me at the Hamptons house, he expressed his… distaste for you.”
I laugh. “Nero, I’m Russian. I might as well be the antichrist.”
He drums his fingers over the steering wheel, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “He wants me to marry a good Italian woman.”
I wasn’t ready for that. My chest tightens slightly and I glance out the window, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling. “You’ll have to at some point,” I say quietly. I’d never really thought about it until now, but of course he would. The mafia are all about keeping the bloodlines pure, extending their legacy and protecting their women, their Italian women. A good marriage would be strategically and politically wise. I know this. It’s the rational, strong thing to do, so why am I annoyed at the idea?
“Morte.” His fingers brush over my thigh and I close my eyes, swallowing heavily before I turn to face him. He’s pulled over on the side of the busy street and is staring straight at me. His gaze is so intense, so captivating. “I’m Nero Verdi,” he says arrogantly. “I take what I want.” He grips my jaw, his hold hard and unrelenting. “And I sure as shit don’t want a fucking good woman. I want you, my vicious little butterfly.”
His expression is hard and almost angry as we stare at each other. “Nero, you are the underboss. There are rules and customs you cannot simply walk away from.” I whisper.
“I can and I will.”
I choke. “Be serious.” He lives for power, pursues it with a bloodlust like no other. To go against the mafia on this… “You can’t give up everything you worked for just because I’m having your baby.” I sigh. “This isn’t…we’re just us, okay? No promises. No attachment. We can’t—”
“Morte.” His eyes drop to my lips as his hold softens, his thumb stroking over my jaw. “I love you.”
All the breath leaves my lungs and I can’t speak. Love. Weakness. Vulnerability. I don’t want to weaken Nero, but I think I love him in as much capacity as I have, and as much as it terrifies me, it doesn’t make me feel weak. The complete opposite. I’m never stronger than when I’m standing next to him. I feel the power in his words almost instantly. I feel the sheer exhilaration of being loved by a man like Nero. It wraps around me like a steel blanket, impenetrable and warm, and I feel invincible under the weight of it. I realize that I want his love, perhaps even need it. After all, isn’t it love that makes us human? Nero’s love goes hand in hand with the very humanity that Nicholai tried so hard to strip me of. He tilts his head to the side, eyes narrowed as he waits for me to say something.
“Does love trump power?” I ask, my voice barely above a whispe
r.
His lips curl into a smile. “Ah, Morte, when it comes to you, love bolsters power.” His fingers wind into my hair, pulling me towards him. I go to him, and when his lips meet mine it feels like more than just a kiss, it’s a promise, a vow of something bigger than just me or him. It’s us against everything and everyone that would hurt us. I feel the weight of everything he doesn’t say simply in the reverent brush of his lips, his demanding and possessive hold on my hair. It’s a kiss that says he is in my corner, unconditionally. He breaks the kiss and touches his forehead to mine, his breath blowing over my lips. “King protects Queen now,” he breathes.
And of course, reality comes crashing in like a dam breaking. He makes me hope, he makes me want. I wish Nero could protect me, and although I know he can’t, for some reason, I want to allow him to think he can. It’s stupid, but I guess I’m living in my warped version of a dream. Most little girls dream of getting married and living in a nice house. I dreamt of blood and torture. Nero is my version of a fairy tale, blood soaked and ruthless as we are, this is what we have. And soon it will probably be gone. I told him there is no happily ever after here, that we are the monsters in this story. That’s true. Nothing good ever lasts in our world of chaos and death. I wonder if he knows that, or if he truly does think that everything will be okay because he’s Nero Verdi and he wills it so.
We pull up outside a townhouse on the Upper Eastside and I get out of the car, staring up at the four-story home on a totally inconspicuous looking street. Flower boxes line the windows and small trees are dotted along the sidewalk. How very upper-middle class family living.
I follow Nero up the three steps that lead to the front door. He pushes the bell and it echoes, booming through the house on the other side of the thick wood. The door almost immediately opens and a guy stands there. His black hair is slicked back, his suit immaculate. He lifts his chin at Nero before his gaze shifts to me. The scar on his forehead pinches his skin when he frowns.
“She’s with me,” Nero says before he can speak. The guy lets us in, closing the door behind us. Wordlessly, the man leads us straight up the stairs. We're shown to an office at the top of the house. Nero and Cesare couldn't be further apart in their tastes. Nero is minimalistic and modern where Cesare is classic. His office is made up of wooden flooring, leather couches and thick rugs. A book shelf covers one wall, filled with old books. The room smells of cigar smoke and leather. But where it seems like it should be dark and dingy in here, it's not. Behind the desk is a wall of glass that opens out onto a terrace. Garden furniture sits out there overlooking the city sprawled before it.
Nero takes a seat and I browse the book shelves, spotting some first edition Hemingway nestled in the stacks. I haven't met Cesare in person yet, but simply being inside someone's home can tell you a lot about them.
The door clicks open and Cesare strides in, his face set in a frown. "Nero," he says shortly, barely even glancing my way.
"Cesare," Nero greets him icily.
“This wasn’t expected.”
“I called ahead.”
“Yes, you did. You didn’t say you were bringing Una Ivanov with you, though,” he says, spitting my name as if it offends him. “I’d rather you didn’t invite Russian soldiers into my home.”
Nero flashes me a warning look. You could cut the tension in the room with a knife. Rolling my eyes, I walk over to Cesare, placing myself in front of him. "I don’t believe we’ve met." I hold out my hand, but he just stares at me, his eyes slowly drifting over my body in the form fitting dress. His eyebrows inch up and he glances at Nero, his lips pressing into a tight line. "I tell you to do your duty and you present me with this?"
"If it's any consolation, this happened before you decided to claim your son,” I say. I know I'm poking a bear with a big stick, but seriously? “Oh and uh, I’m not Elite anymore. Although…I don’t recall that being a problem when you needed my services.” His eye twitches slightly, but other than that his expression doesn’t change. He’s good. I smirk and move away from him.
Nero fixes me with a cool look. "I told you, Una isn't going anywhere." I move to his side. His hands are thrust casually in his pockets, and I loop my arm through his, staring Cesare down. I know I’m intimidating, and Nero’s terrifying at the best of times. Together we’re formidable, even to someone as well versed in power as Cesare. I know it, and so does Nero.
"What you did not say is that she is with child."
I lift an eyebrow. “Surprise?”
He glares at me. “Well done, Nero. You’ve managed to create an illegitimate bastard with a Russian whore.” I hear the low hiss of breath from Nero and feel every muscle in his body tense.
Releasing him, I step back. “That’s a touchy subject,” I say, trying to hide my delight because I know Nero’s about three seconds from nuclear, and well…I like fireworks and blood.
“You will marry an Italian woman and do your duty. I have allowed this to go on long enough.” Cesare sneers. “This organization is built on years of tradition, and you shit on it.” Nero remains strangely calm, seemingly reining in his temper while I wrestle my own anger simmering just below the surface. My fingers twitch with the urge to reach for the blade strapped to the inside of my thigh.
I move away from Nero and circle Cesare, my eyes assessing him like an enemy, spotting every weakness he has. The way he carries himself suggests that he’s had an injury to his right leg. Old, because he’s compensated for it. If I were to attack him he’d have less range of movement on his right side because of it. I glance at Nero and he offers me the smallest shake of his head. “He shits on it?” I tap my index finger over my bottom lip and Cesare twists his head to look at me.
“You know nothing of our ways. You have no honor, no mercy.”
Nero sighs. “She’s Russian, she kills people. Yes, yes, I’m aware. Now, you are going to accept her as the mother of my child, publicly, to the family.”
Cesare laughs, clutching at his stomach before he coughs loudly. “A Russian, with my son. I’d sooner disown you,” he snarls. “I will never acknowledge that whore.” He stabs a finger in my direction. “And neither will the men. She killed your brothers and you fuck her like her pussy is made of gold. If you marry her, you will lose everything, Nero. Consider that carefully.”
Nero’s body tenses and his fists clench tightly. This time it’s me shaking my head at him. He can’t bite. We must always be in control of the old man, maintain the upper hand. “See, this is where we’re a little unclear.” I take a seat on one of the couches and slowly cross one leg over the other. “Those traditions you were talking about, that honor…” I trail off, smiling slightly. “Do your remaining men know that you orchestrated a hit on your own guys just to get your son in power?” I pretend to inspect my nails. “Do they know that you sanctioned the death of Nero’s own brother?”
He snorts. “No one would believe your word, Bacio Della Morte,” he spits.
“No, but they’d believe mine,” Nero says, circling around the back of the couch and standing behind me.
“Don’t waste my time. You implicate yourself as much as anything.”
Nero shrugs. “And?”
“You see, Cesare, the difference between us and you, is we don’t don a white hat and pretend to be anything other than what we are.”
“I wasn’t quite raised the Italian way. You can thank Matteo for that. I don’t give a fuck about your traditions, and I sure as shit don’t care for honor,” Nero says, his voice low and deadly. “And everyone knows it. I don’t have to pretend. You on the other hand…” He trails off, letting out a small laugh. “You are the great Cesare Ugoli, a man of honor, a man of the old country.”
“The way I see it, you have two choices, Cesare,” I say. “You can make me your enemy or you can make me your ally. I intend to remove Nicholai. I have the skills, the connections, and the simple fact that he wants me back more than anything. And of course, I can bring the Russian gun trade to Nero
. Or…”
“Or,” Nero growls, “I can make it known that you set up your own men, hired Una and then hung her out to dry, allowing Arnaldo to hunt her like a fucking dog while she was pregnant with your own grandchild.”
“And failing that, Nicholai is very welcoming when it comes to men of Nero’s skill. He’d do well in the bratva.” This time, Cesare’s eye notably twitches. I’m bluffing, of course. If he knew the situation with Nicholai he’d have us over a barrel because handing me to Nicholai would fix all his problems. “Of course, now you’ve publically claimed Nero, it would look terrible if he were to work for the enemy.”
“You would be lured to that Russian prick by this piece of cunt!” Cesare explodes. And so does Nero. In a shot he’s in front of the older man, a gun in hand. I get up and turn my back on Cesare, forcing myself into Nero’s line of sight. Placing my hand on his arm, I wait for him to shift his rage-filled gaze to me. He stares at me for a beat and then he takes a deep breath and slides the gun back inside his chest holster.
Cesare glares at me, then Nero. “What do you propose?” he says through gritted teeth.
Nero moves away from me, trailing his fingers over my shoulder as he does. It’s a small touch, a gesture of support to me, a show of unity to his father. “You will make it known that Una did not kill those men, that it was Arnaldo, and he set her up as a cover. The hit placed on her was unsanctioned by yourself. The retribution of a lone, pregnant woman will seem fair, and given that he killed his own, it’s justice don’t you think?” The implication is right there. Cesare sanctioned Nero blackmailing me. He essentially signed the death warrants for the three men Nero had me kill.