Kiss of Death Boxset

by LP Lovell

  Nero stands in the doorway, his arms folded over his chest as he watches me strip down my rifle. My baby, my pride and joy. Actually, that’s a lie, because I have twelve exact replicas of the same gun stored in various places around the globe. It’s a custom .25 calibre assault rifle. I clean and oil the pieces, going through it methodically, like a ritual. I need this, like the calm before a storm, especially now. This…being here with Nero, it’s throwing me off. Now more than ever I need to cling to my cool indifference, the training that’s so ingrained. I always clean my guns before a hit, even if I don’t need a gun. There’s something about the compulsive routine of it that centres my mind and allows me to find the cool focus I need.

  I don’t look up at Nero but I hear him move closer, the wooden flooring squeaking beneath his shoes. “Nice gun.”

  I spare him a brief glance. “Thanks.” He’s wearing a black suit with a white shirt and black tie. The jacket is draped casually over his shoulder. His hair is tidier than usual and the confidence he wears so easily looks strained, even masked behind the intimidating stance that he can’t turn off. If I’m a chameleon then Nero is a big cat, roaring and baring his teeth, unapologetic about exactly what he is. The irony is, he doesn’t even need the teeth. He only has to say the word and someone dies. His power is growing, even in the short time I’ve been here. Sasha has his ear to the ground for me. I’ve told him I’m working a job for the Italians. Nothing else. But he keeps me informed, tells me about the whisperings of the New York capo so ruthless the rest of the mafia fear him. Marco Fiore has been heard to call Nero a rabid dog, and talk like that will get him killed.

  “Nervous?” I smirk.

  He tilts his head and whatever lack of confidence I saw a second ago disappears. He circles around behind me, and I fight the urge to turn around and keep him in my eye line. I steel my spine and focus on taking a bullet from the ammo box, placing it on the table in front of me. A tremor works over my skin, an awareness of the dangerous presence so close, lingering right behind me. I may fuck him, and to a certain degree trust him, but not completely. Dealing with Nero is like walking on a knife’s edge, feeling the cold bite of the blade on the soles of my feet and finding a sick satisfaction in it. He’s a dangerous and twisted adrenaline rush, not unlike the same thrill I get when I kill. His fingers brush my neck, making my breath hitch as he scoops my hair up in one hand. He yanks my head to the side so hard my scalp burns, but the pain is lost as hot breath blows over my neck, followed by the scrape of his teeth. “Don’t miss,” he says quietly.

  I click a bullet into the chamber loudly. “I never miss.” I promise. He bites my neck hard enough to send my pulse skittering and have my stomach tightening, before he steps away.

  Calm. Focus. The icy anticipation of the kill. That’s what I need. The images running through my mind at this second are anything but…

  25

  Nero

  Marco is already here when I arrive. He sits at the table, a smoking cigar in an ashtray in front of him. He’s in his mid-forties, and his dark hair is streaked with grey. Marco is one of those guys in the mafia without an official role, yet influential. He’s involved in our legitimate businesses, has the ear of Arnaldo…that kind of shit. The mob consists of made men, soldiers, and the capo controls the soldiers. There are two New York capos and I’m one of them. I manage the family’s interests, ensure that the people who pay us are protected, manage the influx of drugs and weapons in and out of my area of the city. Or at least that’s what most people think. The men I’ve invited to this meeting, the men I want dead, they’re the ones who see me for what I really am. I’m someone who can’t be put in a box and neatly labelled. What I want goes beyond that. I want power. Absolute power. I will kill whomever I need to, buy the ones I can’t and destroy anyone and anything who gets in my way. They see it and it rattles them. As it should. They supported Lorenzo because he was an idiot and idiots are easily controlled. The key to control is to ensure that the people in charge, the people with the supposed power never really have any. Lorenzo may have been the capo but politics are politics, and even the fucking president has to answer to those beneath him. I don’t. I won’t, and they see it. It almost seems a shame to kill the few astute men in my organisation, but if they’re not allies then they’re enemies and a wise enemy makes for an ominous one. Their position makes them disposable, and I’m in need of cannon fodder.

  “Nero.” Marco stands, holding his arms out to the side to embrace me, but it’s also an invitation to check him for weapons. I embrace him and he kisses both my cheeks, smiling wide like I’m his best fucking friend. I keep it brief, eyeing the two men he brought with him. He’s not carrying but I can guarantee they are. Gio shifts behind me, and I can tell he’s thinking the same thing.

  A few seconds later, Bernardo Caro and Gabrielle Lama walk in. Bernardo is the other New York capo and Gabrielle is his savage right-hand with way too much power for my liking. As I said, Bernardo might be the one with the face and title, but it’s Gabrielle who actually holds the respect and the power in their area. Bernardo embraces me as Marco did, but Gabrielle is just an enforcer, so he lingers behind. The three of us take a seat at the table and one of Marco’s guys moves away to a small bar in the corner. A few seconds later, whisky glasses appear in front of us.

  “It is a shame you have not invited us to talk sooner,” Marco says in our native language. This is at the heart of his issue, the fact that as the new capo I didn’t conform to the bullshit customs of paying respect to this fucker. I did it deliberately. If I wanted to make new friends I’d throw a fucking tea party. I’m much more partial to a bloodbath. Of course, to win any game, you need someone to play against. Marco, Bernardo and Gabrielle are merely opposing pawns. Their presence is necessary in order for me to cross the board and take the king. And take him, I will.

  As soon as everyone sits, it starts. I’m staring straight at Marco when the glass window behind him smashes. Two quick fire shots. His eyes go wide and he falls facedown on the table. I barely have a second to catch up before Bernardo goes down, too. Shots are fired inside the room, and bodies hit the floor simultaneously. And then, silence. Gio stands with his gun raised, having shot Marco’s guards. A low gurgled groan sounds from the other side of the table, and I approach Gabrielle where he lies on the floor, clutching a bullet wound in his abdomen.

  He glares up at me, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “You have no honour,” he hisses.

  I smile. “Honour is for people who have a fucking line. I don’t.” I lift my gun and fire one shot at his head. It’s done.

  26

  Una

  Staring down my scope at Nero, I focus on the way his lips press together. He appears the image of sophistication and calm, but I can see the subtle flutter of the muscle in his jaw. He’s pissed off. Well, I guess I had best get this show on the road before Nero loses his shit and tries to take all my fun.

  Focusing on the back of Marco Fiore’s head, I take a steadying breath in then out and squeeze the trigger once to crack the window and again to take him out. The double bang explodes around the alleyway between this building and the one I’m firing on. I’ve marked every target in the room, but I have to be quick. Bernardo dives for the ground but I catch him in the side of the head. Gabrielle is almost out of sight. I panic and hurry the shot, hitting him in the gut. Fuck. I don’t like messy kills, and I certainly don’t like to leave any possibility that they might survive. He’s out of sight now, so if he’s still alive, Nero or Gio are going to have to finish him off. Pausing for a minute, I wait. Nero pops up, because of course, he knows who the shooter is. He’s safe. I allow him to approach Gabrielle’s body and he says something before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger. He stares out the window, and even though I know he can’t see me, when I stare down the scope he’s staring right at me. I line the shot up and smile as I pull the trigger, hitting him in the shoulder. The impact makes his body physically jerk before
he goes down. What can I say? Something to remember me by when I’m gone.

  Smiling, I push up off my stomach, disassembling the gun quickly and putting the pieces back in the case. And my last gift for Nero…plausible deniability. I take the card from my pocket - the queen of aces – and press my lips to the back of the card, leaving a bright red lipstick mark. I throw it on the ground amongst the four spent shell casings. The Italians will come looking, and this is what they’ll find. It will either halt their search right there, or put a price on my head.

  Exiting the abandoned apartment, I pull my hood low over my eyes as I make my way down the fire escape. My black Mercedes lays cloaked in shadow in the alley at the back of the building and I jog to it. The police will be here soon, but no one will say shit other than shots were fired. This is America, shots are always fired. I jump in the car and pull away from the scene of the crime. That’s it, I’m done. I took out Nero’s guys; I fulfilled my end of the bargain. I’ll stay here long enough to make sure he follows through with his end and then… then I’m gone. Anna and I will go somewhere no one can find us.

  Freedom has always seemed like such a sweet and alluring prospect and yet now that I’m faced with it, I’m not sure what it really means. Nero is, in a way, a captor, a villain bribing and coercing me to do his bidding, and yet somewhere along the way he became my dark saviour that I didn’t even know I needed. He makes me feel safe, and in my world, safety is like a rare and coveted gem. For the first time in my life, I feel torn between what I want to do and what I should do, because I’ve never wanted anything before.

  I make my way across town to Nero’s building. His car isn’t in the parking garage, and I guess he had to do some clean-up, maybe pay the doctor a visit.

  Grabbing the gun case, I get out of the car, making my way across the parking garage. I press the button for the elevator and the doors slide open in front of me. Stepping in, I turn to face the garage. I slide the key card Nero gave me into the slot and the doors close. As soon as I step into the apartment, George appears and trots up to me, wagging his little stump. I stroke his head briefly before walking straight up the stairs. I jump in the shower, throwing on one of Nero’s shirts after I’ve dried off. I’ve become unnecessarily fond of wearing them.

  I’m in Nero’s bedroom, sitting on the edge of the bed when they finally get back. The sewing kit is in here, and if he’s already been stitched then he’ll be so out of it on painkillers he’ll have to sleep it off. Gio helps him into the room and glances at me, a calculating look crossing his features.

  “You going to shoot him again?” He eyes the pistol strapped to my thigh, and I smile. Nero scowls at me, but it’s lost on a wince as he leans against the wall next to the door.

  “Would you believe me if I said it was for your own good?” I bite my bottom lip, trying to suppress a grin as I glance at Nero.

  “You can go, Gio,” he says, and the calm in his voice is both unsettling and exciting.

  “Boss, you’re bleeding.”

  “Go!” he says with more bite this time.

  Gio sighs and throws a hard look my way. “If you kill him, I will hunt you down.”

  I roll my eyes. “If I wanted him dead, he’d be dead. The hunt would be fun though.” I blow him a kiss and he just scowls as he walks out of the room. “He is way too serious.”

  Nero stalks towards me. My heart pounds until it’s all I can hear, the beautiful crescendo rising like a wave. He’s a walking promise of pain and retribution right now; the hint of fear that accompanies his approach makes me smile. His black suit jacket hides the blood well, but I can see the damp fibres are saturated over the left side of his chest. His expression is somewhere between pain and fury, but it’s blanketed beneath an ominous amount of restraint. He slowly struggles out of his jacket; the white shirt below covered in a deep red stain that permeates from his left shoulder.

  He approaches me and bends over, forcing me to brace my arms behind me and lean back. His face lingers just inches from mine as he strokes his knuckles over my cheek far too gently. Releasing a trembling breath, I’m poised, waiting. Thump-thump, thump-thump, thump-thump. My heart pounds like the drumbeat in a marching band, sending adrenaline firing through my veins. Cupping the side of my neck, he brushes his thumb across my jaw, leaving a sticky damp trail of blood on my skin. His eyes drop to my mouth as he drags his thumb over my bottom lip, prompting me to part my lips on a shallow breath. I can practically taste his blood on my tongue. He grits his teeth, exhaling a long breath as he touches his forehead to mine and closes his eyes. My entire body is coiled tight like a spring ready to explode, and every single muscle aches with the tension. He tightens his hold on my neck and brushes his lips over mine in the whisper of a kiss. I inhale the familiar spicy scent of him, laced with the metallic twang of his blood. When his tongue caresses mine, I moan. The fingers at my neck trail over my skin until they’re wrapped around my throat, and then he squeezes, and I smile.

  “You fucking shot me,” he growls, his body shaking.

  My lips kick up into a wry smile sparking his eyes to flash dangerously. “Plausible deniability,” I recite his own words back at him.

  “I should just kill you,” he says, a cruel smile twisting his lips. I gasp when his fingers tighten, pulling me up to meet him. His lips hover over mine, and I find myself leaning in, gravitating towards him. He growls and bites my bottom lip hard enough to draw blood.

  “You can’t kill your queen,” I breathe.

  “I no longer need my queen.” I laugh and he throws me back on the bed, discarding me. We both know that he never really needed me. I’m another one of his pawns, but I don’t care.

  “What will it be then, Nero? Kill me or kiss me?”

  Those whisky eyes of his meet mine before dropping to my mouth. My lips part when he brushes a finger over my wounded bottom lip. “Ah, Morte. Both, always both.” He shoves me harder into the mattress and his arm locks, his full weight pressing down on my windpipe, completely cutting off my oxygen. He stares down the length of his arm, his eyes burning into me. And there it is, his fury –pure, unbridled rage. The monster is out of his cage and he’s come to play. This is our natural state. Him, with his hand at my throat, me, fighting him every step of the way, only to succumb eventually.

  I claw at his wrist, gasping for air through my closed throat. He presses even harder and my heartbeat pounds so fast, the fear consuming me, driving the adrenaline through my veins. I want it, I always want it. Reaching for him, I grip his shoulder and push my thumb against the bloody patch on his shirt, trying to feel the torn and damaged tissue through the dressing that Gio has haphazardly applied to it. He roars and rears back. Seizing the opportunity, I manoeuver him against the bed until he falls on his back. He grits his teeth, staring up at me angrily.

  “Play nice,” I say, straddling his body and leaning over him. My lips are so close to his that I can taste his breath on my tongue. Using the heel of my hand, I press against his shoulder causing him to grit his teeth, hissing out a breath. I smile and nip at his bottom lip before releasing him. He explodes upright, catching me by surprise and shredding the material of his own shirt from my body in a fit of rage. I love that in the heat of the moment he’s an unpredictable creature ruled by his violent nature. His bullet wound doesn’t seem to bother him as I wrench the buttons of his shirt open. His lips move over my neck angrily, kissing, biting, sucking down the column of my throat and over my collarbone. He tosses me back on the bed and flips me over onto my front as if I weigh nothing. I hear the clink of his belt buckle, the rustle of material… My body trembles with anticipation, my skin flushing in goose bumps as I wait for the heat of his touch. His fingers grip my hips, dragging me across the bed roughly before he lifts my hips. I push up onto my hands and the hot skin of his chest meets my back, his body folding over mine. The steady drops of blood hit my shoulder blade before they roll down my side, clinging to my ribs and dropping on the bed. The red spots mar the pale grey
of the sheets beneath it, the crimson spreading and staining the fibres. The blood, it does something to me. Blood and sex are such a heady combination, the evidence of violence only feeding the desire I have for him. His hand hits the back of my neck and he forces my face down onto the bed. His palm swipes up my inner thigh before his fingers are pushing inside my pussy, making me gasp and bite down on my own arm to stifle a moan.

  “So fucking wet. Shooting me does it for you, hey?” he says, pulling out and pushing back in again.

  “I like you angry,” I breathe.

  He laughs. “Oh, baby, I’m fucking angry all right.” His fingers leave me, and I barely have time to register any movement before his dick slams inside me so hard it winds me. A strangled sound escapes my throat as I choke on a pained groan. He doesn’t give me a chance to recover before he’s pounding into me like he hates me. I smile, relishing in every single inch of his rage. “I’m going to tear you in two before I’m fucking done.” He growls, and the entire time I can feel the steady dripping of his blood on my back. His fingers dig into my hips so hard that I feel his short nails bite into my skin. I bow my back and he slides further inside me, letting out a feral growl as he hits a point so deep it feels like he’s trying to crawl inside me.