by LP Lovell
“We’re missing something, Nero.”
“I have a plan.”
I sigh and lift my face from his chest, glancing at him. His dark eyes glint in the dim light, and I sweep a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. “Don’t you always?”
“I do.” He rolls me over, settling between my legs as he kisses over my collar bone. I run my hands through his hair, and I want to believe that he has it all in hand. I want to trust that he can stand against Nicholai, that he can win. And I know that I view Nicholai through the eyes of a child, through the eyes of someone who has always bowed to his power and been conditioned to see him that way. But he has not made it to where he is without good reason. Him and Nero is like facing off two monsters and trying to pick the winner. I can’t.
“Tell me,” I breathe.
He kisses my chest, looking up at me through thick, black lashes. “Simple. We can’t get to him, so we lure him out.”
“How?”
“Everyone has a weakness, Morte.” He’s right, Nicholai does have one weakness.
“Use me.”
He sighs, lifting his face from my chest and frowning at me. “No, it’s too risky.” I open my mouth to speak but he silences me, placing a hand over my mouth. “I know who you are, and I do not doubt your capabilities, my love. But it isn’t just you.” His hand glides over my stomach, as if I need the reminder. “Do you trust me?” he asks, releasing my mouth.
“Yes,” I breathe.
He smiles and then his lips work down the center of my chest. He pushes up my shirt, kissing over my stomach. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmurs against my skin and a wave of emotions engulfs me. I trust him, but I feel this hole in my chest, sheer despair and desperation swirling like a vortex. His plans are loosely formed at best and we are running out of time, I can feel it, like Nicholai’s hot breath is skittering across my neck as we speak.
I sit up and wrap my hand around his neck, bringing his mouth to mine because I need to feel him. I need that sense of invincibility that comes with being held by him, being loved by him. His lips part and I brush my tongue against his. The kiss becomes hard and demanding, and then he’s pushing me back down on the bed and sliding inside me. His breaths mix with my own as he fucks me slow and hard, drawing out each and every moan, pushing me higher and higher. And there, in his arms, I find a moment of peace and I know that’s exactly what he wants to give me, so I embrace it, I take it. I allow that serenity to wrap around me for just a few short moments. I cling to him, wishing I never had to let go of this, but knowing I must. I stroke my hands over his muscles as they strain and flex beneath his skin. He’s beauty, power, and raw chaos all wrapped up in one man. And he’s mine.
I fall asleep in his arms, but even Nero can’t keep that empty feeling from filling me.
It’s dark, so dark. I feel disorientated, my senses muted and numbed.
“Ah, little dove, you’re awake.” I turn and Nicholai is standing beside me, his image blurry, but with each blink of my eyes he becomes clearer. His dark gray hair is combed back as always, and his three-piece suit is immaculate, down to the handkerchief in his top pocket that matches his tie. Truly the devil in disguise. “I have a gift for you.”
“What gift?” I ask. He turns, and as he moves, I see a patch of light on the far wall. Chained to the wall is Nero.
“No,” I whisper. I try to go to him, but my feet won’t move. It’s like I’m cemented to the floor. Nero lifts his head, those dark eyes meeting mine. Blood streams down his torso from several neat and precise cuts on his chest and stomach. “Let him go.”
Nicholai laughs. “Ah, but he is your weakness, little dove. Without him you will become everything you were meant to be.” I shake my head and he puts a gun in my hand. I stare down at the gun, and when I look back up, there’s someone else chained to the wall, beside Nero. A boy. About ten years old. His head hangs forward, dark hair messy and dishevelled, his torso also covered in blood. He lifts his head slowly. His violet eyes meet mine—eyes identical to my own, but his face… he’s the image of Nero. I know this is my child. I know it.
“Shoot one of them, little dove.” Nicholai purrs with satisfaction.
“No,” I say through gritted teeth. I feel a hot tear slide down my cheek.
“Pick, or I will pick for you,” he says.
“Morte,” I look at Nero. This isn’t like Alex, his expression doesn’t beg me to kill him, it demands it. Nero doesn’t fear death. I know this, but…but I love him. “Lift the gun,” he says calmly. I do. “Good. Now aim it at my head.” I do as he says, my hand shaking because my heart demands that I stop. I look at the boy again, a boy I don’t know, but I do. In my soul, I know him. “Look at me.” Nero’s voice lulls me back to him. “Pull the trigger, Morte. Be strong.”
“I love you,” I tell him as tears now stream down my cheeks.
“I love you,” he responds, his expression hard and determined. He nods and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. I hear the pounding of my pulse in my ears, the steady inhale and exhale of my own breaths. I place the gun under my chin.
“No!” Nero’s and Nicholai’s combined cries are the last thing I hear. BANG.
I wake up and sit bolt upright, gasping for air. Sweat coats my body and my heart is beating so hard I can feel it jolting against my ribs.
“Morte.” I blink and swing my gaze to Nero who is sitting up next to me. He reaches out and cups my face, swiping his thumb under my eye and catching a stray tear.
“I just…I need a minute.” Climbing out of bed, I go to the bathroom and close the door behind me. I turn on the shower and strip out of Nero’s t-shirt before getting in. The water does very little to wash away the memory of the dream. It feels so real, the idea of having to choose between Nero, my baby, and myself. And I know that in that scenario, I would choose myself. I shot the boy I loved once and it broke something inside of me. If something were to happen to Nero…
When I finally step out of the bathroom, Nero has his back propped against the headboard, waiting for me. He doesn’t say anything, simply opens his arms and allows me to crawl into them. I feel fragile, as if all the pieces that make up Una Ivanov are slowly splintering apart and being split. Part of me is with Nero, another with Anna, and the last with this baby. Divided, I am weak, but if I weren’t divided than I’d have nothing to fight for in the first place, would I? I need to work out a way to be the person I used to be, but with the new motivations I now have. It seems like an impossible task, but I have to do it. I will do it.
I fall asleep to the steady thumping of Nero’s heart beat and the brush of his fingers through my hair. I sleep soundly in the arms of my monster.
20
Nero
I lean against the breakfast bar, clasping a cup of coffee in my hands. It’s early and orange-tinged light pours through the windows of the sky scraper, painting everything in a tranquil hue. I like this time in the morning, before the world stirs awake. It’s as if you’re the only person, embroiled in this serene moment of peace, a pause in time before the world starts spinning again and everything that exists in day-to-day life comes pouring back in. And this morning, I need this moment to think.
I left Una in bed sleeping. She tossed and turned all night. Her nightmares haunted her well into the early hours. It’s been a while since she’s had one, but I guess the stress of Nicholai hunting her is forcing them to the surface again. She’s so fucking strong, but I see how broken she is. He did that to her. He made her lethal, and in many ways, he instilled all the traits I love in her, but for the first time in my life I’m starting to see that strength comes at a price. I want my child to be strong, but I would never want them to pay the price she has. And neither does she. This is what haunts her. I hear her words, I see her fight, but I also catch glimpses of the resignation in her eyes. I will win this war with that bastard one way or the other. He broke Una, but I will keep her. I will make her a queen to be feared by all except me. And he will never
touch my child.
“Boss.” I glance around to see Gio standing in the entrance of the kitchen. It’s not even six-thirty and he’s here, in my apartment, looking as sharp as ever. Doesn’t the guy sleep? Shit. “We have a small problem.”
I jerk my head towards the door and he follows me to the living room. I take a seat on the couch and pick up a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table, placing one between my lips. He sits on the opposite couch and I slide the smokes across the table to him.
“Ziggie,” he says simply.
I frown as I light my cigarette, inhaling the satisfying smoke deep into my lungs. “What about him?”
“Jackson went to pick up last night, and it was twenty grand light. He said he’ll pay it next week, but…” He lifts one eyebrow as he inhales on his smoke. Fucks sake. Ziggie works Brooklyn, runs a gang down there. For the most part, they’re nothing more than ghetto boys and addicts, but they make me good money. Ziggie somehow manages to organize them, a feat that not many could achieve. For that reason, he’s useful to me, but this is the second time he’s taken it upon himself to borrow fucking money. The problem with dogs like Ziggie is the second you take your heel off their throats, they bite you, even if you are the hand that feeds them. “Jackson roughed him up a bit, but well…you know what he did to him the first time.” Yeah, the first time Ziggie stole money Jackson broke both his legs. You’d think that would be an incentive not to have a repeat.
“Okay, go and get him. Call me when you have him. I’ll handle it,” I say.
Gio nods and pushes to his feet, stubbing out his cigarette in the ash tray. Fucking gang bangers. I don’t need this shit right now, but I have to handle it. I’m not about to let my city go to shit while I have the Russian breathing down our necks. Unfortunately, the world does keep turning, no matter what shit is going on.
I go to the bedroom and push the door open. Una is sitting up in the bed, a phone pressed to her ear as she strokes George who’s curled up next to her. He cowers when he sees me and she frowns, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his head. That damn dog is so spoiled. She keeps talking, and I know it’s Anna. She wouldn’t call anyone else, and certainly not for idle chat. I think she’s trying to form a relationship with her, but I know it’s not easy for Una. She’s not someone who talks just for the sake of talking, and let’s be honest, she’s not exactly personable.
I strip out of my t-shirt and workout pants. Her eyes rake over me and with a smirk, I push my boxers down and step out of them. She lifts one eyebrow, and I grin before walking into the bathroom to take a shower.
When I step out of the shower cubicle, Una is leaning against the vanity, facing me with a toothbrush in her mouth. One of my t-shirts is brushing the tops of her thighs and her hair is pulled up into a messy knot. She’s struggling to keep her eyes up. I smile, yanking a towel from the shower door and slowly wrapping it around my hips. I move closer and lean around her, snagging my toothbrush. She turns around and spits in the sink before rinsing her mouth.
“How’s Anna?” I ask, meeting her eyes in the mirror.
She shrugs one shoulder. “Okay, I guess.”
I squeeze toothpaste on the toothbrush and quickly kiss her neck. “Give her time,” I say. She nods, her expression sad, before she leaves the bathroom. I watch her leave, her ass barely covered by a t-shirt and lace underwear. Once I’ve brushed my teeth and trimmed my stubble, I go to the closet and dress in a suit.
“I have to go handle something,” I say, glancing at Una sprawled on the bed.
“Okay. Have fun.”
I cross the room, and lean over the bed, kissing her slow and deep. “Be good.” She scowls and I laugh as I walk out of the room.
Ziggie is on his knee’s in front of me, his hands clasped behind his head. “Look man,” he says. “I’ll pay you back, I promise.” Gio stands to his side, a gun pointed at his head.
I sigh and fold my arms over my chest. “Do I look like a fucking bank, Ziggie?”
“I’m sorry. I’ll get it for you tomorrow. Please, please don’t kill me.” His begging is pissing me off.
“Don’t apologize to me when you aren’t fucking sorry!” I shout. He squeezes his eyes shut, his bottom lip quivering. “You’re begging me not to kill you, so you knew the fucking consequences.” I drop to a crouch in front of him. “Did you just think I’d let it go?”
“Please. Tomorrow.”
My phone starts ringing in the car, but I ignore it. It rings again and I flash an annoyed glare at Tommy who’s sitting in the passenger seat. He scrambles to answer it. I turn back to Ziggie and am about to pass judgement when the car door is thrown open.
“Boss.” Tommy shouts.
“I’m fucking busy, Tommy. I’ll call back.”
“But, boss…”
“God-fucking-damn, Tommy!” I roar, turning on him. He goes quiet and drops his gaze to the floor. I know he wants to step away from me, but he doesn’t. “It’s Rafael.”
I frown and step forward, snatching the phone from his hand. “Gio, shoot him if he moves,” I say before pressing the phone to my ear. “This is not a fucking good time.”
“Anna’s gone,” Rafael says.
“What? How?”
“I had four men on her. They were found dead half an hour ago. I’ve called in scouts from the edges of my territory and put a call out at the border. I’ll get her back, but you told me to keep you in the loop.”
“Shit. Fucking get her back, Rafael or you and I are going to have a mutual problem in the form of Una.”
He hangs up, and I drag a hand through my hair. Once. Just once, I’d like a normal fucking day. The odd drug deal, perhaps a revenge killing, but no. I have to deal with stalker Russians, cartels, sex slave sisters, and last but not least, my pregnant and very temperamental assassin girlfriend. Fuck!
Gio meets my gaze when I turn around. I take my gun from my chest holster and point it at Ziggie’s head. “No…” Bang.
Tommy’s eyes go wide and he rushes back to the car. “Clean this shit up!” I shout. Gio nods and I get back in the car, reversing out of the abandoned warehouse.
“Is Anna okay?” Tommy asks quietly.
“She better fucking be.” Even as I say the words, I know Nicholai has her. It’s just a feeling in my gut, expecting the worst-case scenario. The question now is: how do I restrain Una to stop her from going after her?
When I step into the apartment, Una is nowhere to be found. Zeus comes up to greet me but, of course, George is nowhere to be seen. He’ll be with her. I hear a low thud from somewhere, followed by another. I follow the noise to the dining room.
Una is standing on the dining room table, a crossbow raised in front of her. She squeezes the trigger and looses a bolt straight at a canvas painting hanging on the far wall. It lodges bang in the center with the other four that are already there. I can’t help but smile at her. She’s so tiny but she looks so fierce. Her blonde ponytail falls over her shoulder as she tilts her head to aim again.
“That’s a thirty-grand painting.”
She twists her head to face me. “It’s ugly.”
“It’s art.”
“I could give George a paintbrush and ask him to replicate it if you like?” She smiles, swinging her hips as she glides to the edge of the table. I step forward and grab her hips, lowering her to the ground in front of me.
“I see your aim is as sharp as ever.”
She cocks an eyebrow. “Still better than yours.”
Dropping her gaze to my chest, she traces her finger over my tie. I glance down and see the single drop of blood marring the pale blue silk. “What did I tell you about wearing black?” she says.
“It may not show the blood, but it’s rather uncivilized.”
Her lips twist into an amused smile. “But of course, if the devil didn’t look like an angel he wouldn’t be so good at corrupting the innocent now, would he?”
“Hmm.” I lean in and graze my lips over her neck, bi
ting her earlobe. “You are very far from innocent, Morte.”
“And you are very far from an angel.”
I chuckle. “Come and dance around the fire with me, little butterfly.”
“I thought I was an ugly caterpillar.”
“Never.” I kiss her and she wraps her arms around my neck. “Wings of steel, my love.” She kisses me back. In the back of my mind, I just know there is a storm coming. Unless Rafael finds Anna in the next few hours, I’m going to have to tell Una and she’s going to lose her shit.
21
Una
I’m in bed, cuddling George when my phone buzzes, dancing across the bedside table. I glance at the screen and see a Russian number. I assume it’s Sasha. Swiping the screen, I press it to my ear. “Hello.”
“Little dove.” My stomach drops at the sound of Nicholai’s voice and I sit bolt upright, my eyes instantly surveying every inch of the room. Each and every instinct I have goes on high alert because if Nicholai can get the number to an untracked burner phone, then surely he can get to me.
“Nicholai,” I breathe.
He takes a deep breath. “Did you get my card, and present?” he asks, almost joyfully.
“I did.” Nicholai does things a certain way. You have to play his game and wait for him to tell you what he actually wants.
“And I asked you to come home, little dove.”
“I can’t do that.” I get up and glance out the window, but of course, even Nicholai can’t scale a skyscraper.
“You wound me. But no matter. I told you I would come for you, though, I have had to go to great lengths. I’m not happy with you.”
My whole body goes tense as his words sink in. “What lengths?” Silence. “What lengths?” I repeat, my voice rising. I turn around and Nero is standing in the doorway, his dark eyes glinting like onyx in the dim light from the city below.
“Una?” A small voice comes over the line. My knees go weak and I squeeze my eyes shut as I brace my back against the window.