by LP Lovell
“Fuck. Fuck!” I roar.
I knew she’d try something, but a car? I didn’t expect to have to tranq her behind the wheel of a fucking car. Her head falls back against the tarmac and her arms go limp, falling to her sides. The way she was clutching her stomach scares the shit out of me.
“Get the fucking doctor. Now!” Blood coats her face, pouring from the wound at her hairline. Her white-blonde hair is streaked in red, and shards of glass cling to the strands.
I pick her up and climb into the back of the SUV, cradling her against my chest as Gio drives back to the house. I knew she’d try something, so I deliberately left late. Low and behold, I’m barely a couple of miles down the road when I get the call. We pull up to the house. The gate and half my Maserati are all over the road. They’ve cleared enough of a path to allow us through and Gio pulls right up to the front door.
I climb out and walk through the house to my office where I lay her on one of the sofas. Gio follows a minute later and holds out a wad of bandages and dressings to me. I press them against her forehead, trying to stem the bleeding. There’s nothing else I can do.
“She’s crazy,” Gio grumbles, dragging his hand through his hair in agitation.
“Not like I really expected her to do what she’s fucking told.”
“Nero, she’s pregnant with your kid! You can’t give her free reign. She’s too unstable.” He shakes his head. “She has no sense of self-preservation. She’ll kill that baby.”
“Enough!” I shout. I clench and release my fist before pressing it to my forehead. He doesn’t understand Una. I don’t agree with her. I can’t let her do it, but I see why she honestly believes she’s doing the right thing. I get it. I get that she’s trying to be selfless.
Gio nods and walks out of the room without another word. Gio just sees things differently. He thinks that women should be protected, that their sole job is to breed children. Una confounds all of that. I brush her hair away from her face, staring at her for a moment before my gaze drifts to her stomach. I slide my hand beneath the material of her shirt and press my palm to her bare skin. Is he or she okay in there? Are they hurt? I don’t know what I expect, a sign or something. I feel nothing. The doctor said the sedative wouldn’t hurt the baby, but the car crash…There’s a knock at the door, and Gio comes back in followed by the doctor. He takes my place and removes the dressing, inspecting her head, “This will need stitches,” he says.
“You need to check the baby first,” I say. He looks up at me, his eyebrows raised.
He opens his mouth to argue but thinks better of it. He sets up a machine and squeezes some gel onto Una’s stomach, before rolling the hand held device over her skin. The little screen shows a black and white image, but that sound… the thwap, thwap, thwap of a heart beat fills my ears and I relax. “Everything looks fine,” he says.
I release the breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. How can something that was never on my radar suddenly feel so crucial? How can this tiny thing I’ve never even met, seem like the most important thing in the world? Nothing scares me, but this terrifies me.
I sit on the couch across from Una, my elbows propped on my spread thighs as I watch the doc stitch her up. She’s so still. Too still. Even in her sleep, Una is always restless, haunted by nightmares and expecting a strike at any time. The longer I watch her, the more hopeless this situation seems. How do you cage something like her? Wild, deadly, savage. How do you keep a butterfly in a jar without suffocating it?
I want her and I want that baby, but she doesn’t want it, so where does that leave us? Will I be forced to choose? Will I have to let her go in order to keep my child? I drag my hand down my face and stand, pacing as the doctor tapes a dressing over her head and stands up. “Keep an eye on her. She should wake up in an hour or so. If she’s asleep much longer than that, call me.”
13
Una
Oh, my god. My head. I groan as I blink my eyes open. My mind is foggy and disjointed. I panic, trying to pull my fragmented memories together. Nero shot me. I swipe my hand over my chest, trying to feel for a bullet whole, a bandage. Nothing. There’s nothing there. I sit up and the room spins in a whirl of colors.
“Careful.” Nero’s deep voice comes from somewhere in the room. I squeeze my eyes shut and grip the back of the couch, waiting for my surroundings to calm and still.
“You shot me,” I accuse.
“You ran,” he replies.
My head is throbbing and I reach up, touching my fingers to a dressing at my hairline. I drop my head into my hands and groan. “Why can’t you understand this, Nero?”
“I understand. But I don’t agree.”
“So, you’re going to imprison me here until I have no choice? You want me to have this baby, and then what? Just keep it here, next in line to the mafia throne?” I snort. “If it makes it that long, of course. We both know you and I have more enemies than bloody North Korea.”
“I’ll protect you both.”
I laugh bitterly and turn my gaze on him. He’s sitting with his thighs spread, his elbows braced on them. Dark eyes meet mine, determined, and I know I’ll never sway him. “This is the most selfish thing you will ever do, Verdi.”
His eyes darken, his expression becoming volatile before he explodes off the couch and strides towards me. He leans over, grabbing my jaw in his hand and pulling me closer to him. “Do not fucking push me right now, Una,” he says through clenched teeth.
“You don’t like the truth, Nero, but this is not one of your power games. This is not a job. This is a child.” My child. Our child.
I can feel him shaking as his fingertips dig into my cheeks. “It is not a kindness to take a child from its parents, to leave it, never really knowing who they are. What would you have given to stay with your parents, Morte?” He spits the words venomously.
I tear my face away from him and he straightens, turning his back on me. I’ve hit a nerve, but so has he. “My parents were good people!” I shout at his back. “And they died. How many families do you think we’ve torn apart between us, Nero? How many children have we deprived of parents? We are the monsters in this story. We don’t get happily ever afters.”
He turns to face me. “Even monsters breed, my love,” he says mockingly, his eyes glinting with that feral edge.
“I won’t let you do this just to fulfil your male ego.”
“And I won’t let you leave just because a kid doesn’t fit into your plan,” he says. I grind my teeth together and tighten my fists. “If you want to leave after it’s born, I won’t stop you.” The muscles in his jaw flutter beneath his skin. Leave? Would I leave? If this were my only option…if him keeping this baby were the only option, then perhaps I would. Nicholai can never know that I had a child, because he will never stop wanting it. So you see, my options are limited. How did something that was supposed to be simple become so complicated?
The best-case scenario is the baby be completely free of us, but if there were a second option…Nero has enemies, but he can protect himself. My enemies are infinitely more powerful.
“I’ll have to,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “Does your job mean so much to you?”
I lock eyes with him. Buried beneath the anger and the resentment is a trace of hurt that no one but me will ever see in him. But, then again, I’ve always been able to read Nero, the same way he can read me. Maybe this is what he needs to think—that I would choose a job over him. I know better than anyone that in the face of dangerous and overwhelming circumstances it’s easy to believe that there will be a fix, a way out. Nero isn’t used to losing, and, in his eyes, he’ll think he can defeat Nicholai. He can’t. I could explain it to him, effectively lay out the fact that he is making a choice between me or our child. But I don’t want to because I want him to choose this baby. It proves to me that he deserves to be a father. He will protect this legacy with his life, and Nero’s protection is fierce and absolute. Meanwhile, I can fall back into
the fold of the Bratva and Nicholai will be content because he has me. He’ll never even know there was a baby. So, I say what he needs to hear. “I told you, I couldn’t bring myself to kill it, but I am what I am, Nero. I do not want to be a mother,” I tell him. It’s partly true. In another world, another time, perhaps I could have been a mother. But in this world, it simply isn’t possible. We walk the path in front of us and we can deviate to a degree. We can wish it were different, but eventually we must accept what is.
Nero’s hard eyes bore into me. I can practically feel his disgust, his hatred. “Gio,” he calls. Gio appears in the room, his usual rigid stance in place. “Take Una to the basement. She is not to be released. If she makes any move to get out, you have my permission to sedate her.”
Gio approaches me and reaches to take my arm. “Don’t.” I hold my hand up and he pauses. I push to my feet and my head spins, I guess from the sedatives in my blood still. My eyes lock with Nero’s once more before I turn and leave the office. This is for the best. I’ve broken his trust and rubbed salt in the wound. When the time comes, he’ll let me go to Nicholai without an argument.
Patience is not my virtue. I’m going stir-crazy in this room, and I think it’s only been two days. I’m doing press-ups on the ground when the door opens. I ignore whoever just walked in…seventy-two, seventy-three, seventy-four.
“Are you supposed to do that when you’re knocked up?”
I glance up and watch Tommy take a seat on the edge of the bed, a wry smile on his lips. I carry on, and he waits patiently until I reach one hundred. I sit, bracing my back against the wall and stretching my legs out in front of me. My chest heaves, and my skin is slick with sweat. “I’m pregnant, Tommy, not disabled.”
Chuckling, he drags a hand through his chestnut hair. He smirks and throws a paper bag at me. I look inside and find a sandwich, bought, of course. “Thanks.” I take a bite out of it and catch the bottle of water that he chucks next. A scratching comes from the other side of the door. He rolls his eyes, standing up and opening the door a few inches. George slinks through the gap and bounds over to me, his whole body wiggling as he whines excitedly. “Oh, hey you.” I smile, patting him.
“That dog’s obsessed with you.” His voice is tinged with just the hint of an Irish accent and it makes me smile. Tommy has always been the one that doesn’t fit in with the mafia, but Nero is attached to him, so he protects him where any other Italians would kill him simply for being a half-breed.
“Nero’s mean to you. Isn’t he?” I kiss the side of Georges nose and he squints like an idiot, making me laugh. Zeus is the loyal one, the guard dog. And I wonder for a second whether in the same way, Nero would be disappointed in his child if it didn’t live up to his expectations. No, I can’t think about it. “So, what’s going on in the free world?” I ask, needing Tommy to just talk about something. Anything.
“Not a lot,” he says. “I mean, it’s been two days, Una. Not like World War III has started.”
I take a mouthful of my sandwich before breaking a piece off and giving it to George. “If you came in here to entertain me, you’re doing a shit job.”
He lies back on the bed and folds his hands behind his head. “Actually, I’m just supposed to be guarding the door, but I feel bad for ya.”
“You going soft on me, Irish?”
He twists his head to face me. “Never, killer.” He grins.
George pricks his ears and glances at the door a few seconds before it opens. Gio peers inside, his gaze shifting from me to Tommy to the dog before he rolls his eyes. “Boss wants to see you.”
“Me?” I ask. He nods and stands back, holding the door open. The second I step past him, Gio presses a gun against my back. “Always such a gentleman, Gio.”
“You lost all rights to any nice treatment the second you put that baby at risk,” he growls. I’m not one to get angry, but it makes me snap. I spin, planting my boot firmly against the inside of his ankle in a firm kick. He goes down. I land on top of him with my fingers wrapped around his Adam’s apple. It won’t kill him, but it’s certainly not comfortable. He presses the barrel of the gun into the side of my neck as we stare at each other. “You know nothing of my motives, carogna. Assume to again, and I will kill you. I don’t give a shit how loyal you are to Nero.” I get up, swiping a gun from his chest holster as I push away from him. I tuck the weapon into the front of my jeans before he’s even standing, and I start walking again.
Tommy lets out a low whistle and whispers to Gio. “Are you fucking crazy? She’s Una…and she’s hormonal. You, my friend, are suicidal.”
“Fuck off, Tommy,” Gio snaps at him.
I walk down the hallway and into Nero’s office, Arnaldo’s office. He’s sitting behind that desk and two of his men are standing in front of it, looking at something. The second his eyes lock with mine, something in me hardens, walls erecting themselves, blocking him out. He no longer factors into what must be done. I grab hold of that cold efficiency, embracing the heartless killer within me and holding onto her. I need her right now. The two men move aside and I see a parcel on the desk.
“What is this?” I ask.
“It’s addressed to you,” Nero says, his words icy. And now I see why they all look so concerned. Who knows I’m here? Not many people.
I peer at the package, and then my blood runs cold. My name, is written in Russian. “It could be Sasha.”
He tilts his head to the side and I know his mind is spinning through every possibility, every single angle. “Would Sasha send you something?”
I brace my hands on my hips and squeeze my eyes shut. “No.” Of course he wouldn’t. Sasha and I don’t hold to meaningless sentiment. If he wants to give me something, it’s inevitably important. You don’t mail anything important.
“Open it,” Nero says and my gaze snaps to his. Tommy gently pulls me backwards. Nero gets up and moves around the desk, standing to the side of me and a few feet away. One of his men picks up the package, and I suddenly realize through my fog that they think it might be a bomb. The guy opening it has a steely expression, but I can see the sweat dotting his brow. The paper tears and everyone seems to hold their breath as he peers inside.
“It’s okay,” he says, removing a small cuddly toy from the package. I frown as he passes me an envelope. It’s plain white with no writing on it. Entirely inconspicuous. I open it and take out a card that reads: Congratulations, in Russian. A picture of a stork is beneath the writing, and it makes my stomach drop. I’m shaking before I even open the card, but the second I see the words, my entire body goes numb.
Little dove,
I hear congratulations are in order.
You have always made me so proud, and now you give me a grandchild, fathered by none other than Nero Verdi.
He will be strong. He will be the perfect soldier.
You must come home now though. Do not make me come for you.
I will see you soon, little dove.
Nicholai.
14
Nero
I watch as her face goes completely blank and the card slips from her fingers to the floor. I narrow my eyes and wait for her to say something, but instead she just turns and walks out of the room.
“Una?” I go after her. When I round the doorway I see her walking down the hall, her hand reaching for the gun in the back of her jeans. Where the fuck did she get a gun from? She gets to the front door, and my men scramble to stop her, but there’s something about the way she’s moving, like a predator on the hunt, that has me lifting my hand and waving them away. I can’t afford to lose good men to her temper.
“Boss?” Gio asks from behind me.
“I’ve got this. Try and find out where that package came from. I want to know who delivered it,” I say without stopping.
I follow Una out the front door and she stalks towards the gate just replaced this morning, after her attempted escape. Again, I wave off my guys and they open the gate, allowing her out. She never breaks
stride, never so much as acknowledges them as she walks out the gate and hooks left into the woods.
“Put the entire property on lock down. No one gets within a hundred yards of the gate,” I say to the guard.
“Yes, boss. Do you need help?” he asks, glancing after Una.
“No. Give me your gun.” He quickly places his gun in my waiting palm and I follow her into the woods.
Losing sight of her for a moment, I panic, thinking that she’s run again, but then I hear a gun shot ahead of me. I take off at a sprint towards the sound of the shot and stop when I reach a small clearing in the woodland. Una stands in the middle, gun raised as she fires at a tree. What the fuck is she doing?
Slowly, I approach her as she fires off round after round, emptying the clip. Her hand drops to her side and silence descends, falling over us like a blanket. I move in front of her. She’s standing as still as a statue, even her breaths are barely distinguishable. Her eyes are closed and her expression almost serene.
“Morte,” I whisper.
Her eyes flash open and there’s nothing there. She looks exactly as she did all those months ago: dead, inhuman, emotionless. She tilts her head to the side and it only adds to her animalistic quality. I’ve always had a healthy respect for this side of her, even as I’m attracted to it. This is the part of her that will sever a man’s head without blinking, and if that isn’t hot, then I don’t know what is. I reach out and stroke her cheek gently. Again, her eyes close and she leans into my touch, releasing a long breath. I move closer to her and she surprises me by tilting her head back and pressing her lips to mine. I grasp her waist, holding her close as she strokes her tongue over my bottom lip, and that’s when I feel the barrel of her gun press into my stomach. I pull back and lock eyes with her, our faces barely an inch apart.
“Are you going to shoot me, Morte?”
Her expression is blank again, completely indifferent. Damn, she’s good. “He’s coming,” she says, her eyes going distant.