by LP Lovell
"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, publically, 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 honour, 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.
Cesare moves over to his desk, taking a seat on it as he opens a metal box. He takes out a cigar and places it between his lips, lighting it slowly. His lighter snaps shut and the silence that follows is intense.“You would betray me, the family, for this woman?” Cesare asks, his eyes firmly fixed on Nero.
“You may have turned your back on your child and the woman you loved, but I will not do the same.”
Cesare’s eyebrows shoot up before pulling into a deep frown. “And you will risk your position, your name, your life for this?” His eyes flick to me and I know, he already knows the answer.
“If I have to, then yes,” Nero says.
I can’t let him risk everything and I can see Cesare is right on the fine edge. “Nero…” I start.
He flashes me a warning look. “I see why you respect her,” Cesare says, narrowing his eyes at me. “She hones you, like the sharpened edge of a blade. You are more dangerous with her.”
“We can remove the Russians,” Nero says.
“You may not like me, Cesare, but I am invested in ending Nicholai. While he is alive, he will pursue me. I know everything there is to know about him. I am perhaps the only person capable of killing him. You’d do well to view me as an ally.”
He takes another slow inhale of his cigar and the thick smoke winds around the room. “Fine. You do this, Una Ivanov, and the mafia will not accept you, but…” He trails off as though speaking the words pains him. “I will ensure that they tolerate you. Fail…”
“If I fail, I die.”
He nods slowly. I get up and walk towards the door. “Morte, give me a moment,” Nero says.
Wordlessly, I step outside and brace my back against the wall in the hallway. I release a long breath and close my eyes. I miss the days when life was simple. Orders, kills, money. Nothing more, nothing less. There is a certain freedom in having no freedom because you don’t have to think. My only thoughts were my next kill, the execution of it, the getaway. My job, my purpose, consumed every waking hour,
and I lived for it, until this. I glance down at my stomach which looks like I swallowed a melon. Whoever could have predicted this? In a few short months, Nero turned my whole world on its head, and here we are, blackmailing one mob boss and plotting to kill another. This life is harder and yet easier, because Nero bears the burden with me. I’ve never had that, and I’m not sure whether it’s just setting myself up for failure, but for once, I’m going to do something, not because it’s rational or strategically wise. I’m going to do this with Nero despite my brain telling me we can’t possibly win, because my heart hopes that we can. The heart is a fragile and unreliable thing.
He walks out of the office a few minutes later, pulling the door closed behind him. “Well, I didn’t hear any shots.” I study him. “And seeing as you insist on wearing white shirts…no blood.”
His lips twist in a smirk that’s both sexy and unsettling. “The old man’s not dead yet.” We walk along the hall and down the stairs, encountering no one on our way out.
“Shame.” He shakes his head. “Isn’t this place supposed to be well guarded?” I ask.
“Oh, they’re watching. They’re just subtle about it,” he says, placing his hand on the small of my back as he guides me through the front door. We’re in the car before he releases a breath and drags both hands through his hair.
“I don’t know why you don’t just slit his throat and be done with it.” I huff. Cesare does not have what it takes to do what must be done. He is the boss, and I have no doubt he is respected in the mafia, but things need to change. Nicholai has spent years taking and training children all because no one would step in and stop him, and why? Politics. An easy life. No one wants a war. I learned early on that a man can kill in cold blood, and it’s no hardship, but until he does things he doesn’t want to do, crosses lines that should never be crossed, he has not truly been tested. Life is hard and ugly, and it takes hard and ugly men to rule it. Cesare is a strong leader to those who share his values. Nero has the ability to lead even those who would loathe him out of sheer respect and disciplined fear. That is what it takes to be the king of New York. Nero should take the crown from Cesare’s cold, dead body.
“Politics, Morte. All in good time.”
“Fucking Italians.”
He laughs. “Life with you is always interesting, my savage little queen.”
“My life was simple before you dragged me into yours. Kill, eat, sleep, repeat. I meet you and I’m rogue and knocked up within weeks,” I grumble. “I haven’t even killed anyone in weeks, Nero.”
“Okay, but I think that if we work it out to an average, you’re probably over your yearly quota.” He cocks a brow and I glare. “Anyway…we now have what we need from Cesare. We take out Nicholai, come back to New York and we’ll have the political protection. The Slovo can take the fall…”
“And we’ll live happily ever after,” I drawl, snorting.
“Is there such a thing when I’m with a woman who gets death withdrawal?” He grins. I say nothing and he starts the engine, pulling away from the curb. “Look, I have to go and handle something this afternoon. It might involve roughing some Albanians up a little if you want to come?”
I fight a smile. “Are you inviting me along to beat up dodgy drug dealers with you?” His gaze remains fixed on the road as he takes an audible breath, no doubt praying for patience. “How romantic,” I tease.
“Fine. I’ll take you home,” he says.
“As it happens, I’m partial to your romantic gestures, capo. Whose knee caps are we smashing?” His lips pull into a smile, and I wonder if this is what it’s like to be normal. Well, almost. He drops the sports car down a gear and we cruise away from the city, heading towards the Bronx.
18
Nero
I pull up to the old shipping warehouse on the outskirts of the Bronx. The place is rough as fuck, and I have to leave constant security to guard it, but it’s the deal I have with NYPD. I pay them off and, in return, I have to keep the shady shit to the rundown areas of the city. They effectively turn a blind eye, but think of it as the lesser of two evils. The mafia keep their noses clean, have their shit together, and rule with an iron fist. Dodgy blow, street gangs, guns and violence…we keep that shit off our streets, which means the police don’t have to. It’s a simple fact that if you were to eliminate the mafias and the cartels, anarchy would ensue. That’s the corrupt world we live in, the reality of the modern justice system. I’m all too happy to play judge, jury, and executioner.
I pull up to a massive roller door and it slowly lifts, exposing the dingy, dark warehouse beyond. I drive inside, and as my eyes adjust to the light, I see Gio leaning against the hood of his Aston Martin, arms folded across his chest as he watches the scene before him. Two guys stand there, fierce scowls on their faces. Jackson stands behind them, a gun in each hand pointed at their backs. The rest of Jackson’s team are spread out around the empty warehouse, guns in hand.
I get out of the car and go to the trunk, grabbing a metal baseball bat. I close the trunk and throw the bat to Una who snatches it out of the air as she closes the door with her hip. Gio’s eyes narrow when we approach him and Una takes seat on the hood right next to him. “Nice car.”
“Nice bat,” he replies.
She twirls the bat easily. “Thanks. It’s a little more…bludgeon-y than I’m used to.”
Shaking my head, I walk over to the two guys, pausing in front of them. I take my cigarettes from my inside pocket and place one between my lips, slowly lifting the lighter to the end. Silence descends through the warehouse and I love it, that pregnant pause, as if everyone in the room is holding their breath. I snap the lighter shut and inhale a long draw, holding the smoke deep in my lungs as I tip my head back.
“He’s such a drama queen,” Una says under her breath and I release the smoke into the air, twisting my neck towards her. A wry smile pulls at the corner of her lips and she lifts one eyebrow, daring me, challenging. She just loves to fucking push me. Forcing myself to turn away from her, I focus on the two Albanians.
“Do you know who I am?” I say to them. One of them is an older guy, ugly as all fuck with a nasty scar across his throat. Apparently this one had a brush with death. The other is younger. Both are wearing track suits and have heavy gold chains hanging around their necks. God, it’s like something out of a bad seventies crime film.
“V-Verdi,” the young one stammers. His friend scowls at him. I nod at Jackson and he grabs both men by their shoulders, kicking them to their knees. The young one whimpers. His entire body shaking as he stares at the ground.
“Yes, I am Nero Verdi.” I drop to a crouch, resting one arm casually over my thigh as I inhale on my cigarette. I toss it towards the young one and he flinches, making me smile. “And you know what that means, boys?” They both look at me blankly. “That means you’re in serious shit.” I stand up again, walking away from them. My eyes lock with Una’s. “Where did you get the drugs you sold in Poison last night?” I ask. Silence. Sighing I turn back to them, cupping my ear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear an answer.”
The younger guy opens his mouth. “We…I…” His friend barks something in Albanian and I throw my head back on a groan. Checking my watch, I turn to Una, crooking my finger at her. She pushes off the hood and Gio rolls his eyes as she sways her hips, twirling the bat as she walks to my side.
“Gentleman, this is Una. Some call her The Kiss of Death, the Mexicans call her The Angel of Death. You get the point.” She swings the bat in loose circles through the air.
The older guy sneers. “You have your woman do your dirty work.” He spits on the ground, and Una glances at me.
“Well, now, that’s just a filthy habit.” She strides away from me, her heels clicking over the concrete and echoing around the vast warehouse. She barely breaks stride as she swings the bat back and smashes him in the gut. He pitches over on his side, coughing and wheezing as he tries to catch his breath.
“I should mention; she
’s hormonal,” I say, smiling. I back up and take a seat next to Gio, watching Una go to town on the older guy. She doesn’t touch the younger one, but I watch him break with every blow she lays on the other guy as if it were him. She smashes his knee caps, as promised, breaks both his arms, in several places, his cheek bone, but not his jaw. Good girl.
“You know you two are sick?” Gio says beside me, watching.
“Think of it this way, the more hormonal rage she lays into this guy, the less she’ll have for you.”
He releases a heavy breath and there’s a long pause before he speaks. The silence is permeated only by the low grunts of pain coming from the man and the whimpering of his friend. “You can’t pretend that everything is fine, Nero.”
“Do not assume to patronize me on what is coming,” I say quietly.
“You’re distracting her with mafia bullshit.”
I glare at him. “Because if she sits in that apartment and stews on it, she’s going to do something stupid. I am buying time and keeping her under control.”
He nods towards Una and I follow his gaze. She has her knee planted on the man’s chest. He’s howling in pain, no doubt from broken ribs. The baseball bat is pressed across his throat and he’s gasping for breath. “Looks like you have complete control, boss.”
She hisses something at him in what I assume is Albanian. Damn, is there a language that girl doesn’t speak? He says something back and her whole demeanour changes. She smiles sweetly and gets off him. She stands over him, blood-covered baseball bat in hand, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, and the blood-spattered dress covering her baby bump.
“Did he tell you?” I say without moving.
“No.” She slides her skirt up and I bite my lip as she flashes her entire thigh. She grabs a dagger from the inside of her thigh and throws it, lightning fast. The blade embeds between his eyes and she glances over her shoulder. “He called me a Russian whore.” She shrugs.