by LP Lovell
“Simple. You help me destroy my enemies.”
Simple, he says. I know all about his antics in the last two weeks since I killed Lorenzo. Turns out, Nero is the bad boy of the mafia, and considering it’s the damn mafia, that’s saying something. Apparently, he’s implicated in hiring the kiss of death to take out his own brother. Little do they know. Then of course, Arnaldo appointed him capo and now shit is hitting the fan big time. The Italians value family and honour above all else. Turns out Nero values neither. He’s a ruthless fuck, but then I already knew that. I had him pegged the moment I met him. Still, decapitating Lorenzo’s second was extreme and probably isn’t in the team building and leadership manual. Nero Verdi has enemies coming out of his asshole. I have no desire to share them with him.
Turning to face him, I square my shoulders and tilt my head to the side. “I hear you have many enemies, Capo. What with killing your own brother for the throne.” I tsk. “Nasty business, especially when you Italians value family so much.”
A twisted smile pulls at his lips and smoke drifts around his face; rising and making him look like the devil himself. “Ah, but the question is, how much do you value your family, Morte?” He emphasises the word, purring it as though it were an endearment.
I grit my teeth, bristling under his words. “What’s the job?”
He approaches and pulls a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, holding it out to me. I take it from him, and he drops into the chair behind his desk. Unfolding the sheet of lined paper, I find four names scrawled one below the other.
Marco Fiore
Bernardo Caro
Gabrielle Lama
Finnegan O’Hara
I recognise three of them and two of them are no street rats. Bernardo Caro is another New York capo, and Finnegan O’Hara…well, he’s into everything and everyone. There are several hits on his head. I’m already thinking of my contacts, how I could get to them, who I should hit first… I slowly lift my eyes from the paper to him. He’s watching me, one elbow resting on his desk and his index finger tapping over his bottom lip. I fold the paper and hand it back to him.
“I can’t hit this many in one network.” Three of those guys are Italian. It would draw too much attention, and in this business, attention is never good.
He shrugs, pursing his lips around his cigarette as he inhales. The end glows a bright cherry red and he flashes me a dark look. “Then good luck finding your sister.” Smoke drifts between his lips as he speaks.
I clench my fists so hard that my nails break the skin on my palm. “You don’t understand,” I growl. “The way I work, I maintain a fine balance. I’m unbiased in my services, and therefore I have somewhat of a diplomatic immunity among the crime organisations.” He takes a deep breath and rubs a hand over his jaw. “If I do this for you, I’m not leaving my name on it. It’s bad for business.” Not to mention that if someone decides I’m a threat or that I’m taking sides, it’ll be open season on my head. I’ll have no choice but to go back to Russia for protection, and I may never find Anna.
He shakes his head. “I need them to know it was you and not me.”
“Does it matter? Someone has to hire me.”
He smirks. “Plausible deniability.”
This is suicide, but it’s amazing what you’ll do for the thing you want most. I’ve spent my entire life alone, an island surrounded by waters so deep and dark, no one could ever hope to cross them. But Anna…she walks on water. My boundaries don’t apply to her, or the fantasy of her at least. Who knows who or what she’s become now. “If I agree to this, it will take time,” I say reluctantly.
“I’ve got time.” His lips kick up at one side. “I’ll pay you three for each one. Plus your sister. You work no other jobs until this is complete and you stay with me.”
Jeez, I guess he’s wealthier than I thought. Wait, what?
I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I’m not good with people.”
He smirks. “No people, just me. I have a penthouse in the city.”
I glare at him. “Why? I have an apartment in the city. Surely you know my sister is enough incentive for you to trust me.”
He moves back to his desk, stubbing out his cigarette in the steel ashtray. His head remains tilted down as he flicks the butt away. “My reasons are my own. Take it or leave it.” He repeats, accentuating each word. Why would he want me in his house? That’s where he’s most vulnerable.
“I’ll agree if you can give me proof.” I swallow hard, trying hard to hide just how much this means. “I want proof that you have something on Anna.”
He takes a deep breath and tips his head back. “So you can find her yourself and sell me out?” We stare at each other for long moments, those whisky brown eyes of his, so hard, so calculating. Finally, he releases a long breath and pushes his chair back, bending down and pulling open the bottom drawer. He takes out a photograph, holding it against his chest until I look up and meet his gaze. “If you betray me, if you cut and run, I will send this photograph to Nicholai Ivanov,” he says coldly.
Why would he do that? How does he know? Does he know about Alex? My expression must give something away because he places the picture on the desk. Ignoring him, I rush forward to look at the photo. It’s blurry and distorted; the image zoomed in from a distance. It’s dark, but there’s a line of girls, all of them bound at the wrists. Two men stand with guns, on either side of the women. In the middle of the image is a girl. She can be no older than eighteen. Her white-blonde hair hangs over her face, and I can barely make out her profile, but it’s a face I would know anywhere. Anna.
“Where did you get this?” I whisper.
“This was taken three years ago in Juarez. A shipment of slaves were sold to the Sinaloa Cartel.”
My blood runs cold and it feels like someone has wrapped a fist around my heart. “A slave? In the cartel?”
His lips press into a flat line. He says nothing, but his silence is answer enough. My fingers tighten on the edge of the desk, and I feel. I feel…everything. Emotion bubbles up my throat, and I bite hard on the inside of my cheek in an attempt to channel it, but I can’t. My long dormant heart feels like it’s breaking, splintering open and bleeding out. My mind flashes through memories, only instead of seeing them as myself, I imagine it’s her. Men holding her down, laughing as they tear her clothing from her body, hands clamping around her delicate throat, nails raking over soft skin as they force her legs apart. Only she won’t have a Nicholai to save her. My nails scream in protest as I grip the wood hard enough to bend them back. White-hot rage rips over my skin, and I want nothing more than to make the rivers of Mexico run red until I find her. Images blink behind my eyelids like a faulty film reel, and it makes me want to scream.
“Una!” Fingers brush over my jaw, and I flinch back as Nero tears me from the screaming in my mind. He’s standing in front of me, staring at me. “Look at me.” My heart is hammering, and I can feel the thin layer of sweat coating my skin. “Una, look at me.” He repeats. Hands land on either side of my face, his grip strong and deliberate, forcing me to lift my eyes.
Meeting Nero’s gaze, his perceptive eyes search mine. I’m frozen, stuck in a place between the past and the present, reality and nightmare. His thumb strokes over my cheek and it’s like breaking the surface after being submerged in water for several minutes. I drag in a staggered breath, sucking the oxygen into my lungs. My focus snaps back into place almost instantly and I slam my palm against his chest with enough force that he moves back a step, his hands falling away from me. Backing up, I begin pacing around the desk, putting distance between us. Of all the people to have a relapse in front of. We all have our demons; mine are just a little closer to the surface than most.
“Do we have a deal?” His expression shutters once again.
My jaw hurts from gritting my teeth so hard. “I’ll kill your people, but I want more than just your information on Anna.” He lifts his ch
in. “I want you to help me get her back.” It’s a small price to pay. For her.
Whatever his plan, it must be important because he nods quickly. “Done.” He puts the photo back in the drawer and slides it shut. “I have to handle something, and then I’ll take you home.” Great. I’d almost forgotten that I’m going to have to live with him.
Fifteen minutes pass, and when Nero doesn’t come back I get annoyed and bored. I’m not some staff member he can just keep at his beck and call. Screw this. I leave the office and make my way through the house, ducking into doorways whenever I see any of his men. The place is heavily guarded. I manage to make it into the sunroom where I slip outside unnoticed. Making my way across the sloping lawns, I inhale the cool night air, allowing it to help calm my racing mind.
Pulling out my phone, I dial Sasha’s number and wait impatiently, listening to the foreign ring tone. “Hello,” he answers in Russian. I smile. Sasha is one of the few people I trust in this world. We grew up together, were trained together and shaped into what we now are. He’s as close to a brother as I will ever get.
“Sasha, it’s me.” I slip easily into my native tongue, although it feels strangely foreign on my tongue. I’ve been away for so long now.
“Una. Where are you?”
“On a job in New York.” I don’t say more than that and he doesn’t ask. This is our life, this is what we do. Although, he’d be disappointed if he knew I was selling myself out right now, not to mention he’d tell Nicholai. We were trained in the bratva, child soldiers. I went there when I was thirteen after Nicholai saved me from being raped and sold as a whore. Sasha was there since the age of nine. I’m loyal to Nicholai because he’s the only father I’ve ever known, but I see his flaws. He would kill Anna, and I know he would do it because he loves me. In many ways, I see his logic, I even agree with it. I just can’t allow it, not when it’s Anna. Sasha, on the other hand, has complete loyalty to Nicholai. He has no weakness such as a long-lost sister. I care for him like a brother and he cares for me too, but ultimately, he would betray me before he would breach Nicholai’s trust. I have to be careful. “I need a favour.”
“Oh?”
“But you have to promise me you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.” The pleading tone in my voice is pathetic really, but I am pathetic when it comes to Anna. It’s just the way it is.
“Fine,” he says, reluctantly.
“I need you to locate where the Sinaloa Cartel keep their sex slaves.”
He goes silent. “You do realise they keep thousands of slaves?”
I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose.
“Are you looking for someone specific?”
“Yes.”
He says nothing for long seconds and then releases a long breath. “Well, are you going to tell me who?”
"She won’t be under the same name now. You’re looking for a girl sold into the Sinaloa about three years ago. White-blonde hair, blue eyes,” I say.
He clears his throat. “Okay, I can’t promise anything, but I’ll have a look.” The other thing Sasha specializes in is hacking. The dark web, bank accounts, emails, even CCTV footage. If there is a trace of Anna to be found, he’ll find it. I admit, it’s a long shot.
“Thank you.” I hang up and drag a hand through my hair. We now live in an online world, and even the criminals have moved into a new era. Weapons dealers, sex traffickers, drug dealers…you can buy rocket launchers on the dark web. Gun traffickers have their own version of eBay. Just as they always have done, they have a dark and sordid underground, even within our own Internet. It’s here that Sasha and I often find our prey. Don’t mistake us for some kind of martyrs though. We take them out for someone else who probably wants to take their place or whose own illicit trade is threatened by them. That’s the way the world keeps turning, with those who have power garnering more on the backs of someone else. People like Anna are sold and traded like cattle, and for the most part, no one can touch the men who do it. Every so often though, someone like me crawls out of the woodwork. In many ways, I’ve been equally robbed of my life, but I have a purpose. When I find Anna, and I will find her one way or another, I’m going to slaughter anyone who had a hand in taking her.
Nero may know roughly where Anna is but I’m not about to sit back and let him take his sweet time in finding her, just so he can get what he wants from me. He wants to use me, but I’m no one’s pawn. I need more information though. If Sasha can’t find anything, then I’m left with Nero as my only hope of ever finding her. That doesn’t sit well. I want to hate Nero. I want to kill him and smile as I watch him bleed out, but I can’t and I won’t. He found Anna. Despite the unlimited resources at my disposal and a reputation that tends to make people talk, I couldn’t find her. He succeeded where I failed. How? I’ve looked, but I guess I never really thought I would find her, and now that I’m faced with the possibility, now that I’ve seen her, she’s suddenly more than a fading memory.
My thoughts are interrupted when I hear footsteps brushing over the grass. The distraction is a welcome reprieve from my thoughts, and part of me hopes it’s an attacker. I need a fight right now. I need the violence and bloodshed to remind me what I am. Listening, I blow out a breath that fogs around my face. Despite the days being warm in April, the nights are still cold here in New York. Of course, compared to Russia it’s positively sweltering. I don’t miss those freezing cold winters in that concrete fortress.
Turning as the footsteps get closer, I see one of Nero’s guys approaching, the quiet one. His black suit blends into the darkness as though he were a part of it. When he reaches me his face breaks into a small smile. His eyes scan the night as though looking for any hidden threats. I keep my face tilted down, shielding it from his view.
“My name is Gio. I’m Nero’s second,” he says, his voice clear and concise with just a hint of the New York accent, and not a trace of the Italian.
“Does that mean I’m supposed to trust you?”
He laughs. “It means he has my loyalty. And for now, so do you.”
“Pretty words, but you and I both know I’m a threat to him.”
He smiles, and the motion causes the thin lines to set into the corners of his eyes. “Nero doesn’t need my protection. Trust me.” I believe him. “Why are you out here?” he asks, his brows pulling together.
Rolling my eyes and sighing, I scoop my hood off my face. He’s Nero’s second, and if I’m to do this job for him, I have no doubt I’ll be working with him. I can’t hide my face forever. “I’m not running. Yet.” He has all the traditional Italian features but his brown eyes are flecked with green, mixing and swirling into his irises like paints on a palette. “I made a deal.”
“A deal you’re not happy with.” He counters.
Nero’s clearly filled him in. I tilt my head to the side and smirk. “Whatever gave you that idea?” I startle when two black shapes come barrelling down the sloped gardens towards us. My muscles tense but Gio doesn’t move. When they’re a few feet away I see that they’re dogs. Two black Dobermans circle his legs excitedly until he barks a command at them and they drop to a sit, one on each side.
“Nice dogs,” I remark, watching the way they study me intently.
“They’re Nero’s. This is Zeus.” He places his hand on the one on his right. “And George.” He points to the one on the left. It’s George who breaks his vigil, as though he can’t contain himself. He jumps up and rushes towards me, his ears back and his little stump of a tail wagging. Smiling, I lean over and run my hands over his slick, black coat. “Real smooth, George,” Gio huffs. “Some guard dog you are.” Zeus stays where he is while George leans against my legs, begging me for attention.
“He called his dog George?” I look up at him, cocking a brow.
He shrugs. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”
I glance back at the ugly house sitting just above us on the hill. “I’m good. Where’s Nero?”
His gaze skirts over my face. �
��He’s unexpectedly pre-occupied.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, either you take me to him or I’m leaving. And you can tell him that I don’t wait around for anyone.”
He throws his head back on a laugh and starts walking towards the house. “Okay.”
Falling in beside him, we walk in silence. The smell of night lilies assaults me as we pass through the gardens. Roses adorn the flowerbeds, their crimson petals bleeding against the night. The dogs break away, running ahead of us into the sunroom at the back of the house. I pull my hood up as we enter. It makes me uneasy being around all these people, being seen. Gio leads me along a corridor until we come to a door. He opens it, ushering me through. A set of concrete stairs descend downwards into the basement and a burst of cool air seems to drift up them, like fingers, reaching for us. Gio’s footsteps echo around the stairwell, and when we reach the bottom, he passes me, approaching an old, rusted metal door. He presses a code into a keypad and a loud click sounds. With a rough shove he pushes the old door open, its hinges screaming in protest.
“Here you go.” He stands back, gesturing me to move ahead of him. I don’t like it but I steel my spine and step inside, keeping my focus on him. Gio is the worst kind of dangerous. The first impression is that he’s nice, intelligent, smiles easily and has an air of kindness to him. Everything about him makes you forget that he would put a bullet in your head quick as look at you if the situation called for it. I don’t forget though. He didn’t make it to Nero’s second by being soft.
As I step through the door, a gruesome scene unfolds before me. The room is nothing more than a large, empty space with concrete walls and floor. A small metal drain is set into the middle of the floor, which gently slopes in towards it. The entire room smells of blood and death, and the floor is stained with evidence of the acts committed within these walls. It reminds me of the facility I grew up in, concrete and blood. Directly above the drain is a body, suspended by the ankles via thick metal chains that hang from a hook in the ceiling. The man is barely more than pulverised flesh, his face completely unrecognisable. The big guy that was in Nero’s office earlier stands in front of him, his shirtsleeves rolled up and a set of brass knuckles clutched in his hand. Blood coats his fingers, spreading up his forearms and catching the edge of his shirtsleeves. Nero and the other guy that were in the office are off to the side. Nero leans against the wall, a cigarette hanging between his lips. He almost seems casual, but I know better.