Shadowed: A Hitman Mafia Romance (Team Zero Book 4)

by Rina Kent

  I lift a shoulder. “If you don’t tell him, he won’t know.”

  “Ink is vengeful and will slash me open if he knows I delayed his release from The Pit.”

  “Again, he won’t find out.”

  “I’ll be losing a favour with one of my contacts.”

  “You’ll gain a favour from me.” I clench my fist. Here’s the sorest part of the deal. I’ll owe Flame something and his debts are always paid in double.

  I’m willing to take the risk.

  “Three favours,” he says in a firm tone.

  “Two.” I shoot back. “My final offer.”

  He remains silent for long seconds, to crack me up, I’m sure. He’d love gaining favours from me or any of the Zeroes. I’m sure he’ll send me as a lab mouse to hell just so he can get favours from the devils there. No idea why the fuck he’s stacking them.

  “It will be done.” He tosses his cigarette and heads to the stairs.

  A small breath leaves me.

  I’m only putting a bandage on an infected wound, but I need time to come to terms with admitting to my best mate that he might want me dead.

  I climb down the building and start running again.

  A few days later, after the usual check up in the factory, I drive Lachlan to his old battered neighbourhood.

  He’s fidgeting in the passenger seat and I know he’d rather be driving, but fuck that. He’s not my chauffeur and he certainly won’t be driving my bulletproof Jaguar. This is the sweetest investment I did with the money I got from my killing contracts.

  “Is Natalie coming today?” I ask as I take one turn after another in the twisty, bumpy roads of the neighbourhood.

  “Maybe.” He pretends to be nonchalant. He’s a fucking liar. Two weeks ago, she didn’t come over and he pouted all day like a bloody kid.

  Although he is a kid. Since he acts so responsible, I keep forgetting that.

  We stop in front of the school not far from Lachlan’s parents’ home. His father used to be the school’s director but since his health fell, he had to go into early retirement.

  Small children, kindergarten age mostly, burst from the front door. They cling to mine and Lachlan’s legs like we’re their Jesus. I stare at their smudged clothes and some untidy hairs and imagine myself as them. Abandoned. Lost. A fucking nobody. Rubbish Boy as they used to call me.

  These kids aren’t abandoned, but they’re poorer than poor and I want to murder their parents for bringing them to this world. If they can’t take care of children, why have them?

  Lachlan and I retrieve the treats and toys we bring them every week. Since I found out about Lachlan’s father, I stumbled upon this place and… I search behind the children until an old lady comes through the door. Her white hair is a pixie cut and she’s wearing a knitted sweater and a straight long skirt.

  Once her gaze falls on me, she smiles and her eyes skew shut. “Angelo.”

  I run to her and place my index finger on her mouth. “Don’t call me that, Nonna. People might hear. It’s Shadow, now. Just Shadow.”

  She swats my finger away. “First of all, don’t go on shushing me, boy. I brought you up, not the other way around. Second of all, Shadow is boring.”

  I laugh then lean in to whisper, “You couldn’t think of anything but Angelo at the time? It’s so fucking pussy.”

  She smacks my shoulder, and wouldn’t you know it. Nonna’s age doesn’t measure the strength of her strike. “Language.”

  Her Italian accent faded with time. It’s barely noticeable now.

  I rub my shoulder as the children and another teacher help Lachlan transport the contents of the car inside.

  “Come have a cuppa.” Nonna motions at me to follow her.

  We go into her small office at the back of the kindergarten. She’s the new director after Lachlan’s father’s early retirement. I sit like an obedient kid on the old wooden chair and wait while she pours hot water on the tea bags. The scent of jasmine fills the office. It’s Nonna’s smell.

  Memories of the time I was her Angelo try to barge into my head. I don’t even remember the name. Maybe because it’s really such a pussy name.

  Angel. The fuck. How can someone like me be an angel?

  However, I remember Nonna. She found me in that rubbish can and named me Angelo and worked in the foster facility I was enrolled in. She beat the hell out of anyone who called me Rubbish Boy. ‘His name is Angelo and you’re jealous you don’t have a magnificent name like his.’

  No idea how these patches of memory stayed with me, even after Omega, but they did.

  I forgot about her all these years. However, when I came around here for Lachlan’s father a month or so ago, she was the one who recognised me. All she had to do was say, “Angelo?” with tears in her eyes and I recognised her, too.

  She’s been the reason I’m not a full-blown Omega addict again. I hated the past but never Nonna. She was the brightest thing in it.

  “Here.” She places the steaming cup of tea on the table and sits across from me with her own chipped cup.

  She retrieves a flannel blanket and places it over her knees.

  “You look like hell, boy.” She sips her tea. “Are you eating properly?”

  I grin in my most charming way. “I still look hot, though, right, Nonna?”

  She swats my knee with a magazine. “That mouth of yours is still full of shit.”

  “Language, Nonna!”

  “I’m older I get to say whatever I damn please as long as we’re not in front of the kids.”

  I laugh, and I feel genuinely carefree when I’m with her. That’s perhaps why I sneak here every week. But like Ghost, if Nonna knows that the little Angelo she raised turned into a lethal shadow, she won’t want anything to do with me.

  Once again, I'll be fucking selfish and enjoy this as much as I can.

  “Have you ever looked for your parents?” she asks, her tame brown eyes staring at me from behind the rim of the cup.

  I take a sip of tea. “The ones who threw me in a rubbish can?”

  “They’re still your parents, Angelo.” Her voice softens. “Besides, maybe they’re not the ones who threw you there.”

  “Even if they aren’t, they didn’t do anything to stop it.” My grip tightens around the handle. If I find those fuckers, I'll slaughter them with my own hands. They’re lucky I’m not actively searching for them.

  Nonna stands up and opens a drawer in her desk with a key. Then she retrieves a small wooden box. It appears old but well-taken care of. Nonna has been trying to give me the thing since we reunited.

  It’s a sign to find your parents, she said.

  I shake my head for the thousandth time. If I didn’t know it would hurt her feelings, I would sneak here at night and burn the thing.

  A small rustle sounds behind the door. Not one of the children. Someone is trying to be discreet.

  I place a forefinger in front of my mouth to give Nonna the sign to stay silent.

  I tiptoe to the door, crouch, and retrieve a knife from my calf – to not startle Nonna with a gun. I yank the door open and point the tip of the knife at the newcomer’s throat.

  Bright green eyes stare at me in pure horror.

  Fuck.

  Fear. The trigger to my dark tendencies. My drug and my aphoristic.

  She should never show me fear.

  One thought remains: kill.

  Chapter Eight

  My breathing hitches and my legs almost fail me.

  There’s no emotion in his washed out eyes. They’ve turned too dark, they almost flicker to black. His face is unreadable lines of doom. I compared him to a storm and a hurricane before, but there’s none of that now. It’s the silent type of darkness that surrounds me like a suffocating, impenetrable smoke. Too silent, but also lethal.

  This is the face of a killer.

  It’s obvious in the steady grip on the knife he’s holding to my neck. No hesitation. No clumsiness. He’s done this before. He held h
is victims to the knife’s edge and probably didn’t blink when he slit their throats open.

  A monster like my father.

  Fear draws on my shoulder blades and causes sweat to trickle down my back.

  I want to swallow the dryness in my mouth, but the risk of being cut open keeps me immobile.

  Saying anything is out of the question, too. I have no doubt that he’ll kill me and not even feel it.

  As I stare deeper in his overcast, robotic eyes, I don’t even see Shadow. At least, I don’t see the infuriatingly playful version. He fully unleashed that dark side that’s been lurking beneath the surface.

  An old, petite woman with a pixie haircut peeks from behind Shadow. She places a frail hand on his tense bicep. His gaze snaps her way. Oh, son of a gun! He’ll hurt her.

  A dose of adrenaline tightens my muscles. I lunge forward and stand between him and the old lady. My chest is heaving, and my knees barely keep me standing.

  I’m scared. No, I’m terrified of this version of him. He has a power that causes me to sweat uncontrollably. But no matter how frightened I am, I won’t watch him hurt an old lady.

  His dark, unfeeling gaze zeroes on my neck. He blinks, once, twice, and then, like a miracle, life shoots back to the overcast grey.

  At least I can recognise this Shadow.

  I release a breath I hadn’t known I’d been holding and with it comes the realisation that something burns in my neck.

  “Fuck.” Shadow runs a tense hand through his hair, messing the already-dishevelled blond curls.

  I touch my fingers to my neck. A sticky liquid coats them. When I bring my hand in front of my face all I see is blood. The sticky liquid is blood. My heart almost stops beating. I think I’m going to faint.

  “Relax, sweetheart.” The old lady guides me to a chair.

  I walk on unsteady legs.

  He sliced my throat.

  I’m going to bleed to death.

  “It’s shallow.” Her voice is soft and soothing. “Just breathe, sweetheart.”

  She retrieves a cloth and wipes the blood from my neck. It isn’t much, but the thought of bleeding to death doesn’t leave me. Uncontrollable shivers break over my limbs and I taste acid.

  Shadow looms over me and the old lady in a second. His eyes are dark, but not unfeeling. There’s even… remorse? Regret? Guilt?

  Or perhaps I’m imagining things.

  Instead of apologising like a human being, he says in a taut voice, “Don’t get in my space. Don’t pull any fucking surprise moves.”

  I want to curse him. No. I want to get up and kick his face, but I’m too shocked to do anything except stare like an idiot.

  The old lady swats him on the shoulder. “Get out.”

  He cuts me a harsh glare, brows knitted together, but he complies. At the threshold, he stops and throws a glance at me over his shoulder. It’s short and fleeting, but the earlier guilt and regret return with full force. Only now, there’s also a sense of rage. Why the hell is he angry at me?

  I continue staring at the door even after he’s out.

  “He didn’t mean to,” the old lady says while she applies a plaster to my wound.

  The shock gradually dissipates, and red hot anger fills my veins. I point a tense finger at my neck. “This would beg to differ. He almost killed me!”

  The old lady trudges to a tea set placed neatly on a side table and retrieves saucers from the cabinet. “Not that it’s excusable, but you did move against his knife, sweetheart.”

  My mouth hangs open. I can’t believe she’s defending him. “Why would he even hold a knife to my throat?”

  She brings a steaming cup of tea and places it in front of me before settling on a chair. The wrinkles in her forehead scrunch. “Because he’s not himself.”

  Wait. She also noticed that Shadow wasn’t his usual self? And by usual, I mean what I’ve been getting used to.

  Despite the trauma minutes ago, my attention perks up. This old lady obviously knows Shadow to some degree. I never took him for someone who follows anyone’s orders, but when she told him to get out, he did.

  This is the reason I came with Natalie to this kindergarten in the first place. I lost all traces of him three nights ago. He disappeared into thin air. So when Natalie said she volunteered here with Lachlan and Shadow, I needed to take part, too.

  I never thought that this would end with a knife to my throat.

  “How do you know him?” I ask, then curse myself. That was too direct.

  “I raised him.” She takes a sip of her tea and stares at the muslin curtain-covered window as if she’s seeing memories. “He had a harsh childhood so he turned into a harsh adult, but I know my Angelo is still there.”

  “Angelo?” I take the cup to accept her hospitality even though I would rather have coffee.

  “That’s his name. Shadow is a tough façade he puts on.”

  “Oh.”

  I would never associate him with the word angel. Ever.

  Unless we’re talking about a fallen angel or something.

  Her inquisitive gaze looms over me as if she seeing me for the first time. I feel a bit self-conscious and itch to cross the jacket over my slightly revealing top. At least I wore jeans today.

  “What are you to my Angelo?”

  “Nothing.” I smile awkwardly. “He’s basically my boss in the club.”

  She hums, the look in her eyes suggestive. “Nothing, huh? Why do I have the feeling that it’s something?”

  “No. Believe me. I’m allergic to arseholes.”

  Her thin lips lift in a smirk. “But they can be infuriatingly handsome, right?”

  I smile. She’s a playful old lady. I don’t know why that reminds me of Shadow. I take a sip of the tea, and its jasmine flavour warms my throat. “Have you known him for long?”

  Her cup suspends halfway to her lips and she goes back to gazing in the distance. “It started three and a half decades ago in an extremely cold winter. My Giovanni and I were heading home after a date because of news of a snow storm. We heard a baby crying and found him in a rubbish can wrapped in a blanket. He was all blue and covered with snow. He was barely a few months old. It’s a miracle he didn’t die, but my Angelo is a fighter. He always was.”

  My heart tugs. The man almost killed me and I feel bad for him. No. I’m hurt for the baby version of him. No one deserves such cruelty.

  She reaches for a wooden box on the desk and opens it. “This is the only thing I found with him.”

  The golden necklace is thin but appears of super high quality with intricate, striking carving. The pendant contains a crest-like design on it with a symbol of a rowan tree.

  “He was taken into the foster system,” she continues. “Mine and Giovanni’s financial situation didn’t allow us to apply for adoption, so I made sure to take care of him even as part of my job. He was frail and skinny when he was a boy so he was constantly bullied and assaulted by other kids. I’d find him all bloodied and bruised, but he’d wipe his snotty nose and rein in the pain. He was always a survivor.”

  I take an absent-minded sip from my tepid tea. That must be why he hates being touched. “Is that why he’s become what he is right now?”

  “What he is?”

  I hesitate. Sure she knows he’s a gangster and most definitely a killer. “You saw the knife.”

  She releases a long, pained sigh. “I don’t know. I lost touch with him for more than twenty years. My mother was sick back then, and I wasn’t there for him as I should. I think he took the wrong road. One day, he wasn’t in the school or in the streets or where he usually hangs out. He just disappeared.” Tears rim her wrinkled eyes. “For a long time, I thought he was killed. I reported it to the police, but since he was eleven, they ruled it as a runaway case. Even when I told them that he wouldn’t have left without telling me goodbye. I’m his Nonna.”

  She sniffs, and my heart breaks for her. A small smile breaks on her thin lips. “Then, like an angel, he showed
up here not so long ago.”

  That means something happened to him in those years he spent away from his Nonna. How did Angelo turn into Shadow?

  And shit. Why am I so invested in this?

  It’s only because I need his arse to approve President Joe, and I have to get to know the enemy for that. Nothing more.

  Absolutely nothing.

  “One minute.” Nonna stands and leaves the room with measured steps.

  I keep staring at the necklace. The only lead to Shadow’s past. What would he be like if he grew up in a normal family? Would he be playing on the line between darkness and playfulness the entire time?

  But I guess I'll never know that just like I can never know what I would’ve grown into if I have been in a normal family. Less vengeful, sure. But that would’ve prevented me from meeting Elle or Liam.

  What ifs are useless.

  I place the necklace in the box, close it, and put it back on the desk.

  The door opens. Nonna trudges inside followed by a grumpy Shadow. The height difference is ridiculous if not comical. Both his hands are stuffed in his trousers’ pockets. The tiger tattoos are taut with tension and something else I can’t pinpoint.

  “Go on.” Nonna stands beside him and pushes him forward so he’s in front of me.

  The gloomy grey in his eyes meet mine, and there’s a genuine honesty as he says, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

  My lips part and heat covers my body. I don’t know why those mere words are making me super aware of him. I never imagined a man like Shadow would apologise. Well, he didn’t say he’s actually sorry, but it’s close enough.

  Silence stretches between us. I clutch the cup of tea harder, not knowing what to say. He did slice my throat, and I’m sure that look he gave me will haunt me in my nightmares. And yet… I peek at his height, and warmth crawls down my back.

  He just tried to kill me, but a few words, and my body is forgetting about it.

  I hate him.

  I glare, irritated that he has this pull on me. He’s a frightening flashback of the monster my father had been. I should bloody loathe him.

  Shadow removes a hand from his pocket and points a finger at me. “But you lunged forward and got in my way – ”