by LP Lovell
“I’d rather cut you,” I say, smiling sweetly.
He releases me and takes my hand. A strange tingle buzzes up my arm, almost like electricity humming over my skin. I frown down at our intertwined fingers. He leads me to the small clearance in the middle of the patio where a string quartet are seated playing the kind of music that Nicholai listens to.
He spins me into him and I pivot on my toe gracefully. I can dance. Dancing and fighting are one and the same, a pattern, the meeting of bodies, a liaison in which you must read your partner and either follow them or counter them. His hand presses into the small of my back, wrenching me against his hard body so abruptly that I lose my breath on a gasp. His full lips curve on one side and that shadow of a dimple sinks into his stubble-covered cheek. His eyes lock with mine, watching my reactions closely as he spins me. I go with him, following every movement he lays down. Our bodies move together like hot and cold water, fluid, different and yet exactly the same.
“I’m impressed,” he rumbles against my ear.
“I’m offended,” I reply. He huffs a low laugh and his warm breath blows against the skin of my throat. “Nero, I really need to get out of here.”
He pulls back and looks in my eyes, his expression so hard, so resolved that he looks as though he would tear down entire countries in this moment. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” His hold on me tightens, and I suddenly realize that I don’t mind. Any touch is enough to make me want to kill, but…silence. The pounding need is just absent.
“I’m a big girl.” Swallowing down the feeling of unease in my gut, I attempt to brush off his comment.
“You are, Morte.” He spins me again, his grip firm and unrelenting as he moves me across the dance floor.
The worrying thing is that I believe him. I trust him when he says he’ll protect me, even though I don’t need his protection. His touch doesn’t feel invasive or threatening to me, despite the fact that I’ve already registered exactly how dangerous he is. Nero Verdi is the most dangerous man I’ve ever encountered, and yet, there’s something about him. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m certainly not as guarded as I should be around a man like him. He throws me off and it’s unsettling. After all, complacency will get you killed. I know that all too well.
6
Nero
She relaxes in my arms and her fingers tighten, clinging to my bicep. When I walked into that room she was hovering over my brother like a beautiful avenger, a walking angel of death bearing down on her victim with the strangest expression, somewhere between blissful relief and anguish. The way she moves, the way she looks at me even now is that of a predator, a killer, a demon in a dress, and I’d be lying if I said she doesn’t make my blood heat.
I glance over her head and see two guards jog up to a couple more on the gate, speaking into radios. I told them to handle it, whilst assuring them that I should go back to the party to give the illusion of normalcy. Of course, the guests will be told what actually happened, but right now, revealing the truth will not only incite panic but also look weak. The fact that the Italian Mafia sustained a hit within their own walls at an engagement party…well, that’s just embarrassing, but Arnaldo planned for this. And really, if the truth comes out, Lorenzo will look like the weak one, killed because he was trying to fuck another woman at his own engagement party. I can’t help but smile. His father would be rolling in his grave. But it’s this very fact that will keep this entire thing quiet. People might whisper that it was my date who killed him, but no one will ever confirm it. Other than his direct security, I guarantee no one will ever know. Reputation means far more than justice in our world.
“They’re searching the guests,” Una breathes against my throat, her voice strained. I spin her, switching our positions. Sure enough, the guards are looking at the guests, searching bags, and I’m sure looking for a mysterious brunette. I doubt they’ll look at Una, but they might. After all, she technically never came through the gate. If they check, we’re fucked.
I spin her again and smile, hoping we look like the perfect couple. Keeping my eyes trained on the approaching guards, I watch them draw closer. The people around us start to slow, paying more attention to the guards as they fan out into the dancers. A flash of panic crosses Una’s eyes, and I worry that she’ll do something rash, like turn this party into a bloodbath.
“Sir,” someone says behind me.
Shit. I grab the back of Una’s neck and wrench her to me, slamming my lips over hers. She freezes, her nails digging into my shoulder. Trailing my hand down her back, I brush her ass as I caress my tongue over her bottom lip. This needs to look good, good enough to make people uncomfortable. She stiffens and tries to shove away from me, putting up a fight. Damn it. Right now, our fates are intertwined. If she gets caught then so do I.
Taking control, I thrust my hand into her hair and grab a handful of it, pulling the strands roughly. The second I do, she releases a sharp breath, her lips parting and breath dancing over my tongue. She softens, the ice cracking inch by inch until she’s soft and pliant in my arms. Her fingers trail from my shoulder to the back of my neck, her nails raking over my skin in a burning trail that has me hissing against her lips. In response, I pull her tighter against my body and drag my teeth over her bottom lip. Her tongue lashes against mine and I moan into her mouth. She tastes of champagne and danger, and everything about her has my heart pounding, adrenaline slamming through my veins like a drug. The kiss becomes a battleground, the rougher I am, the more bruising my grip, the deeper into the kiss she falls. There’s nothing sweet or gentle in it, just brutal passion. She bites my lip hard enough to draw blood, and then swipes her tongue over the wound, making me groan. My cock is plastered against my zipper like road kill and heat rips over my skin in a wave. Finally releasing my grip on her hair, she staggers away from me, gasping for breath. Her wide eyes meet mine, those lilac-tinged irises swirling with confusion and lust. She looks horrified.
We stand in a sea of people, but all I feel is her. My skin prickles and I grit my jaw as need and desire pulse through my veins. Una is a tool, an assassin, the enemy. Anything. She is anything but what I’m seeing her as right now – someone I want to sink balls deep inside. The personal and the professional must always be kept separate in this business, especially when you’re dealing with the kiss of death. Squeezing my eyes shut for a few seconds, I take a deep breath before turning and walking away from her. That kiss saved us, for now. I need to get us out of here.
I approach Romero, Lorenzo’s second. He folds his arms over his chest and squares his shoulders, glaring at me in a way that promises retribution. To the outside world, Lorenzo and I were brothers. Only Lorenzo and I, along with our closest friends, knew the truth. We were bitter enemies, and I just won.
“We need to start moving guests out of here.”
Jet-black eyebrows drop over equally dark eyes as he assesses me. “I’m going to kill you,” he growls. I smile, noticing the vein at his temple throb.
I huff a laugh. “Would that you could. Your fearless leader is dead, Romero. Who do you think will take his place?”
He snarls, getting in my face. “You’re a bastard. The family will never back you.”
I laugh. “You’re right, I am a bastard.”
I bask in the knowledge that Lorenzo – my father’s first born, his heir, his son, his greatest accomplishment – was fucking weak. And I, the unwanted bastard son, the result of my mother’s infidelity, have won. I’d truly hate him if I weren’t actually grateful. You see, Lorenzo had his love, and it did him no favours. No, Matteo Santos made me. His hatred made me strong. His constant reminders of what I am made me smart. His physical blows made me a fighter. I learned from him that respect and power are not a birthright. He had the power of his name, but no matter how many times he beat me, I never felt an ounce of respect towards him. My sole purpose is to destroy his empire, piece by piece. I killed him, and now his son is gone. Sometimes, I wish I’d stayed my h
and, so he could have been here to watch his son fall, so he could have died knowing that I would take over. I’m a bastard, but it means nothing because I will take everything and more.
“Move the fucking guests out. Now,” I growl.
Romero clenches his jaw, the muscles in his shoulders tightening dangerously. I want him to, I really do. Instead, he turns and walks away. A few minutes later the guests start to leave, and I don’t see Una again. She disappeared like an apparition, a ghost on the wind.
7
Una
This is not how I planned this. I’m pinned behind the upturned dining room table, taking fire from three bodyguards. Joseph Leng is currently being ushered into one of the emergency elevators and no doubt taken to the chopper on the roof. A loud crack rings out, and when I glance to my left there’s a splintered hole in the thick mahogany, approximately two inches from my face. I was frisked before I came in here, so I don’t have a gun. The only weapon I have is the small blade stowed in my wrist cuff. It’ll do. Dropping it into my hand, I roll to the side, throwing it at the neck of the nearest shooter before rolling back behind the table. Another round of gunfire hits the wood like hailstones. Now I have to wait them out.
I remain quiet, tucking myself into a tight ball and waiting patiently for them to come and see if I’m alive. When the barrel of the gun just grazes over the top of the table, I leap up, grabbing hold of it and forcing it out to the side, even as it fires into the window. I use the heel of my hand to smash his nose upward. He staggers for a second and I spin him, allowing his body to take the next round of fire that comes from his friend. A bullet manages to tear through his shoulder and graze my arm. Well, fuck. Swinging the gun under the guy’s arm, I pull the trigger, downing the second guy. I shove the dying man away from me and step over his body on my way to the door. Picking up the second gun, I swing the strap over my shoulder. I leave my shoes in the hotel room and I break into a jog, forcing open the fire exit door and taking the stairs up to the roof two at a time.
When I push open the emergency exit that opens onto the roof, the wind from the chopper blades hits me, blowing my hair back until it whips around my face. Leng is four feet from the helicopter, covered by four guards. It’s now or never. Dropping to one knee to lend more support to my body, I pull the gun up in front of me. I close one eye and stare down the sights. One of the guards bobs in front of Leng before giving me a small gap. If I don’t make this shot then I’ll have to take them all out. That’s messy, and I don’t do messy. I take a steady breath in then out, waiting for the gap. When I have it, I squeeze the trigger. It’s not the cleanest of shots, but it hits him in the neck, a kill shot. Hurriedly, I push to my feet and step back through the door, using the spare gun to jam the release bar in place. I take off running down the stairs, exiting on the floor below the blood-bathed hotel room I walked out of. I have to get to another stairwell fast. A woman in a blood-stained dress, toting a semi-automatic is going to raise the alarm. My phone rings just as I slip into the stairwell on the opposite corner of the building. I touch my earpiece.
“Not a good time,” I growl.
“I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for the last week. So tell me, when is a good time?”
Nero.
“I’ve been off the grid.”
“No shit.”
There’s something about him that manages to elicit a certain level of irritation, dare I say, anger. It’s a skill; really it is, because I don’t do angry. Anger is a useless emotion and only serves to blind reason.
“Look, is there a reason for this call?” I pant, running down flight after flight of stairs.
“Of course. I have a job for you.”
“Have Arnie contact me.”
He huffs a laugh. “Oh, Una. I think we’re past that.”
Really? “I don’t,” I say bluntly. The door at the top of the stairs crashes open, the sound echoing around the empty concrete stairwell. “Shit!” I have a good lead but I’d still rather get out clean. Someone fires a couple of rounds and they ping off the metal bannister next to me.
“You sound busy.” I can hear the amusement in his voice.
“No shit,” I growl. “Text me a location. I’ll be there tomorrow.” I hang up and pick up the pace, throwing myself through a door that I know should lead to the parking deck. Sprinting up the ramp to the next level, I check over my shoulder for any possible contact. I jump in the Porsche parked under a broken light and slam my hand over the start button. The engine purrs to life and I ram my foot on the accelerator, making it spit and snarl as the tires shriek against the tarmac.
I pull out of the parking garage, leaving smoking rubber behind me. Leng’s men burst onto the street on foot, only to watch me drive away. That was close. Too close.
Pressing speed dial, I listen to the earpiece ring out with a dial tone. “Una.” Olov answers on the first ring.
“I’m twenty minutes away. Be ready to leave immediately,” I tell him, speaking in quick-fire Russian. He hangs up and I speed towards the private airfield on the outskirts of the city of Singapore.
8
Nero
Flipping open the top of my cigarette packet, I take one out, placing it between my lips. I sit behind the very desk my father used to sit at, the desk Lorenzo sat at until just two weeks ago. I’m the capo of New York. These are dangerous times though. I’m keeping my inner circle tight, only dealing directly with the three guys in this room. Jackson is pacing in front of my desk, clenching and unclenching his fists repeatedly while wearing a hole in the floorboards. Gio is leaning against the far wall with his arms crossed over his chest and a scowl fixed on his face. Tommy’s sitting on one of the sofas, a drink in one hand and a cigarette in the other as he stares blankly at the opposite wall. His sleeves are rolled up, his forearms and the material of his white shirt painted in blood. The telltale splatter of a slit throat sprayed across his neck. He and Jackson were involved in a deal that went south earlier tonight, and one of his guys was taken out. It got messy. It was expected though. Any takeover will be met with a certain amount of resistance. People think they can move the goal posts, demand new terms, more territory, better prices. It’s my job to make it clear that the only one who will be renegotiating here is me. Power is all about perception and fear. If I have to paint the streets with their blood to get my point across, I will.
“We should go back there and kill every fucking one of them.” Jackson spits, whirling around and bracing his fists against my desk. His eyes meet mine as he leans over, every muscle tense with the need for retribution. He’s a big guy, broad-shouldered and lethal if you’re on his bad side. I lean back in my chair as I lift the lighter to my face. The heavy click of the silver zippo is the only sound in the room aside from his ragged breaths. I inhale, drawing the smoke into my lungs, letting it fill me, burning me from the inside out. Then finally releasing it on a long breath.
“No.”
“Fuck!” he shouts, pushing away from the desk. “Levi is dead because of those chink motherfuckers!” I still, tilting my head to the side as I look up at him. He stares back at me for a long moment before swallowing nervously. Holding the cigarette between my fingers, I push up from the desk and slowly move around it, keeping my gaze locked on him. Everyone in the room seems to hold their breath as my shoes slowly click across the wooden floor. He takes a small step back when I get close, and I stop only when I’m standing nose to nose with him. There’s a pause, a tense moment where we just stare each other down. He’s like a brother to me, but brother or not, no one questions me.
“You don’t get to think, Jackson. You don’t get an opinion,” I growl under my breath. A muscle in his jaw ticks and it’s enough to piss me off. Slamming a hand around his throat, I squeeze hard enough to make him choke. “You are a fucking soldier!” He visibly flinches as I shout in his face. “Get out.” Releasing him, he staggers away from me, heading straight for the door.
He pauses when a loud click sounds be
hind me, turning around with his hand already reaching for his gun. Gio moves away from the wall, his gun trained on the glass French doors that lead to the balcony. I turn around, squinting to see into the darkness on the other side of the glass. I can just make out someone in black, crouched down. The handle pushes down and the tiny figure waltzes into the room like she owns the place. A black hood is pulled over her head, covering her eyes, but I’d know those red painted lips anywhere.
“Boys.” Una smiles and then in the blink of an eye her gun is pointing at me, one bright red fingertip lingering over the trigger. She turns her gaze towards me and lifts her head enough that I can just make her eyes out. “Nero. Power looks good on you.” She winks. “Send them out,” she orders, jerking her head towards the three guys in the room.
You could cut the tension in the room with a knife, that is until Tommy laughs. “I like her,” he mumbles around his cigarette, as though she didn’t have a loaded gun pointed at me, and absolutely no fucking conscience to stop her from pulling the trigger.
I step forward, closing the distance between us. “Sociable as ever, I see.” I say. Her smile widens and she cocks a brow. I’m pretty sure she’s not going to shoot me, but truthfully, I can’t predict what she’ll do because she plays by her own set of rules.
“I don’t play well with others,” she says, a little pout forming on her lips. I keep closing in on her until the barrel of her gun presses against my forehead.
“You’re not going to shoot me. A capo is worth, what? A couple of million?” Her head tilts, her eyes tracing over me predatorily. “You don’t work for free.” I smirk.