Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

by LP Lovell

Fucking Lorenzo. He’s an idiot with his dick in his hand. She’d only have to look at him and he’d blindly follow her to a slit throat.

  Arnaldo grins like a shark and picks up the half smoked cigar from the ashtray on his desk. He takes a lighter from his pocket and flips the top, allowing the flame to kiss the blackened end of the cigar. He puffs on it a couple of times and exhales a heavy cloud of smoke.

  “Getting close won’t be a problem. That’s what Nero here is for.” He jerks the cigar towards me and ash falls on the desk, scattering across the wood. Una’s eyes lock with mine, focused, studying. “Santos is throwing an engagement party in two week’s time and you will be his date.” The boss adds.

  She knows just as well as I do that security that night will be even tighter than normal. She might get in, but she sure as shit won’t be getting out. It’s a suicide mission. And a test. Arnaldo thinks that our interests are one and the same, that this is a simple takeover. It’s not, but for now, I need him on my side. More importantly, I needed him to put me in contact with the best hitman money can buy…or hitwoman. Una Ivanov. She’s elusive and completely impossible to contact unless you’re in the know. Arnaldo is in the know. The pieces are on the chessboard, I just need to put them into play.

  She inhales deeply, her nostrils flaring. “Fine, but it’s still three mil.”

  She hops off the desk and walks towards me. Her hips sway delicately, her body moving like liquid art. Coming to a halt in front of me, she lifts a hand, trailing perfectly manicured nails over my jaw. I wrap a hand around her wrist, halting her movement. I don’t trust her for shit. A smile curls the corners of her blood red lips, and I squeeze her wrist hard enough to bruise her porcelain skin, hard enough that I know with a tiny bit more pressure I could break the delicate bones. Her eyes flash with something, but she never flinches, never moves, never stops smiling. We simply stare at each other.

  “What was your name again?” Her expression shifts, interest shining in her eyes.

  “Nero.”

  “Nero…?” I hesitate and her smirk widens into a full grin. “I will find out, so save me the time and the addition to Arnie’s bill.”

  I have no doubt she will have my life story in a matter of hours. “Verdi,” I say. She gives no reaction, no response at all.

  “A nobody,” she says quietly. “Curious.”

  “A nobody.” I agree. I plaster a smirk on my face and release her wrist, trailing my fingers over her arm. She stiffens for the briefest second, but I catch it.

  She presses her body against mine and her breath blows over my jaw, her eyes dropping to my lips as she tilts her head to the side. I’m sure many a man has been lured to his death by that tight body and those full lips. I’m not one of them. I keep my eyes on hers, waiting.

  “And yet here you are, cosied up to the boss,” she whispers, cocking an eyebrow. “High stakes for a nobody.” Clever girl. She bites down on one side of her bottom lip. “I like you, Nero.” She smoothes her palm over the front of my jacket, before slipping away from me. “I think you’d be hard to kill, and I do so love a challenge.” She smiles and winks before she walks to the door leisurely, as though she has all the time in the world. Pausing, she pulls her hood up again, until only her white-blonde hair spills over her shoulder, and then she’s gone.

  The game is officially in play.

  Inhaling the smoke, I hold it, allowing it to burn my lungs before I release it. I’m about a mile away from Lorenzo’s house, parked in the driveway of an empty house with a real estate sign outside. Una is precisely three minutes late.

  I look up when a black Mercedes comes hurtling down the street. It slows and pulls into the drive beside my car before the engine cuts out. It takes me a second to realise who it is, because her long, white-blonde hair is now dark brown and skimming her jaw line. The door opens and Una’s lithe frame unfolds from the car. Her body is covered in a red dress that masks any trace of her skin and yet clings to every single curve she has. If her aim is to distract and seduce then I can’t imagine she’ll have a problem. The woman is a siren. Death wrapped in a bow.

  “Nice dress.” I push off the hood of my car, throwing the cigarette on the ground.

  She barely even spares me a glance. “Smoking will kill you,” she says, moving to the passenger side.

  “I’d say it’s the least of our worries right now.” I open the driver’s door and slide into the leather seat.

  She gets in and closes the door behind her. “Speak for yourself. Risk is calculated and directly related to your level of skill.”

  “Arrogance will get you killed.” I reverse out of the drive, fishtailing the car onto the road with a flick of the steering wheel.

  She lets out a short laugh. “I’m the best, Mr Verdi. It’s not arrogance, simply fact.” She takes a small mirror out of her bag and checks her lipstick. The red matches her dress and contrasts dramatically with her pale skin. “I don’t take jobs that will get me killed.”

  “So you have a plan to get out?” Arnaldo told me before not to ask questions and let her do what he hired her for, but this isn’t Arnaldo’s show, no matter how much he might think himself the puppeteer. I wish I could be the one to end Lorenzo, so I could smile over his dying body and watch his worthless life drain from him. But I need to remain distanced from this.

  “You read the file I sent?”

  “Yeah, but there wasn’t much to go on.” She sent me a file detailing her fake identity as well as vague details about said identity. That’s it. “You’re aware of the heightened security?”

  I glance at her when she doesn’t respond and see the corner of her lips curled up, sinking a small dimple into her cheek. “There was as much as you need to play your part. Don’t question my methods, and I won’t question why you want your brother dead.” I turn my attention back to the road, tightening my grip on the steering wheel and clenching my jaw. Of course she would find out that Lorenzo is my brother. I feel her gaze touch the side of my face, but deliberately refuse to look her way.

  “Half-brother,” I say through gritted teeth. “And I have my reasons.”

  “You make the mistake of thinking I actually care.”

  “I need to know how this is going to play out. I can’t be culpable.” My voice lowers until it’s barely above a growl.

  She sighs dramatically. “We walk in together. Shortly after we arrive, I’ll slip away. Your brother will follow me, job done. You won’t see me afterwards so don’t wait around.”

  “You really think you’re going to make it out?”

  She laughs, a light tinkling sound that contradicts her completely. “I know I am. You should worry about yourself. The girl you brought to the party kills your brother…that won’t go down well for you.”

  “I have that under control.” I hate my brother and he hates me, but he’s the capo and I’m a good enforcer. Our feud isn’t publicly known. As far as everyone is concerned, I’m the loyal brother, willing to kill for Lorenzo. The only ones who know any different are my closest guys, Tommy, Gio and Jackson. I suspect Lorenzo has kept it the same; after all, rifts in the family make it look weak. But then, he never was the sharpest, so I could be wrong. By the time anyone is brave enough to voice their suspicions, I’ll be capo. They’re scared of me now; they’ll be terrified of me then.

  When I pull up to the house there are a line of cars waiting to get up the driveway. The parking is on one of the lawns outside the gates, and people are waiting on foot as Lorenzo’s soldiers pat down guests upon entry.

  Una smoothes a hand over her wig and throws the door open. Reaching out, I grab her arm to stop her, but before I can she rips away from my grasp and slams the same arm across my throat. My Adam’s apple hits the back of my throat and I choke for a second, my vision dotting. It takes me a couple of precious seconds without oxygen to move. My instinct is to grab the back of her head and smash it against the dash, but that wouldn’t do much for her face, and I need her intact for this job. Instea
d, I grip her wrist and squeeze, hard enough to shove her an inch away from me. She may be fast, but she’s tiny and I’m infinitely stronger. She pulls her arm away from me, tucking it back against her side. Her nostrils flare, pupils dilated. Her fists clench and release repeatedly as she tries to gather control of herself.

  “I need you right now, but do that again and I’ll put a bullet in that pretty little head of yours,” I growl, trying to leash my temper. I don’t like surprises, and I certainly don’t like being bested. Cracking my neck from side to side in an attempt to dislodge the ache deep in my throat.

  She turns to face me, those indigo eyes locking with mine. Something shifts between us, the threat of violence pulsing like a living thing. “If you value your life, do not ever touch me when I’m unawares.”

  “What I was attempting to do was to warn you that they will frisk you. If they find even your handy blade there, it will fuck everything.” I point at the thick silver cuff around her wrist.

  She turns away, perching on the edge of the seat. “That information really wasn’t worth getting injured for,” she drawls, that hint of a Russian accent creeping in where she usually hides it so well.

  I laugh. “Duly noted.” She thinks she’s bulletproof because she incites fear. She has no power here because she relies on the most basic animal instinct. Survival. People will do whatever they have to in order to survive and so fear becomes a valuable ally. I learned a long time ago that surviving is not living, so I will either get what I want or die trying. I always get what I want.

  3

  Una

  We approach the gate, waiting in line with the other guests. Nero slides his hand around my waist, resting it on my hip. I grit my teeth but make a concerted effort to keep my gaze forward and a smile on my lips. I’m a killer, but above all else, I’m an actress. I can be anyone, assume any role or identity given to me, because killing someone is the easy part. It’s getting close that’s the problem, and trust me, when you go after the kind of people I do, you want to be close before you take a shot at them. They have a habit of dodging bullets and shooting back. His fingers wrap around my hip, gripping me more firmly.

  “You’re brave,” I growl under my breath. His fingers twitch and the heat from his palm seeps through the material of my dress, branding my skin.

  He huffs a laugh. “Maybe I just have complete faith in your ability to be professional.”

  “Hmm.” I smile at one of the guards who glances my way as he’s patting down the woman in front of us. I trail my hand up my body until my fingers cover his, gently wrapping them around his hand. I squeeze and he lets out a low grunt. “How professional do you think you’ll be when I break your hand?” I hiss, smiling sweetly at him for the sake of our audience.

  He leans in, smirking as he brushes a finger over my cheek. “Now, now, Isabelle. You’ll make me hard before my pat-down.” He leans in close until his lips are at my ear. “I do so love a violent streak in a woman.”

  And I do so love making men bleed. On a job I’m focused, in control, and yet, something about him makes everything in me want to rise to the challenge he constantly throws down simply by existing. To anyone looking at us, we must look like a couple that is so in love they can’t keep their hands off each other. Perception is everything. I squeeze his hand harder and watch the strain flash across his face. He pulls back slightly, and I slowly release him, keeping my eyes fixed on him as his fingers trail over my hip, caressing the top of my ass.

  The couple in front of us move away and we step up to the guards.

  “Hold your arms out to the side,” one says robotically to me. I do as told and take a deep breath as his hands sweep over my body. He moves onto Nero while the other guy runs a bug scanner over me. Of course it never goes off. I have all the tools I need to kill Lorenzo on my person, but nothing that could possibly be so easily detected or even so much as suspected. When they’re done, Nero smiles and wishes them a good day in Italian before placing his hand at the small of my back.

  “Before you threaten to dislocate my shoulder, remember we’re a couple, Morte. And trust me, the more I look like I want you, the more my brother will want you.” His voice drops and though nothing this man says should affect me, it strangely does, just enough to draw my attention to the fact.

  “Well, you Italian boys do like to keep it in the family.”

  He ignores me as we pass through the high stone walls that surround the garden courtyard at the back of the house. The property reminds me of a traditional Tuscany villa, with the terracotta tiled roof and the flowers growing up the side of the enormous house. As soon as we walk into the courtyard, people greet Nero. Again, his name doesn’t hold much weight, and I can see that in the way people approach him, and yet that effortless power of his seems to win out. They quickly drop their gaze when he speaks, even older, Made men who owe him no such respect. It’s not respect though, it’s impulse, an instinctual reaction they can’t help. Nicholai would love him. He’d rise in the bratva fast with that kind of ability. The Italians are stupid though. Ability means nothing against bloodlines. The last I checked, the fact that your father fucked your mother wasn’t a reason to garner respect, but that is the Italian way.

  As per the file, he introduces me as Isabelle Jacobs, an all-American girl he’s ‘dating’, just until the family finds a well-bred Italian girl and demand he marry her of course. Traditions again. I’m treated as all women are treated in the mafia, like a pretty ornament whose sole worth is in my ability to spread my legs. In my line of work, I have found that the underestimation and quick dismissal of women works in my favour.

  We’ve been here twenty minutes when I spot Lorenzo, and when I do, I find him already watching me. His fiancée is on his arm. She can be no more than twenty, and she looks terrified. Well, I’m about to save her from an arranged marriage. I hold Lorenzo’s stare for a beat, and when he doesn’t look away, I flash him a small smirk before dropping my gaze as if I’m shy. When I look back up, his attention has shifted slightly to Nero on my left. The look in his eye is pure animosity. Nero has three older guys eating out of the palm of his hand, laughing and talking in Italian, another move to exclude me from the conversation. Of course, I understand every word they’re saying. I pull away from Nero’s side and he offers me a brief glance, a frown marring his features. I make a show of seeming pissed off and storm away. I approach the small open bar, pushing past the cluster of wives that are standing by it, delicately clasping their champagne glasses.

  The waiter behind the bar smiles politely, resembling a little penguin in his tuxedo. “Vodka on ice,” I tell him. He pours the clear liquid into the glass, the ice cracking under the alcohol as he slides it across to me.

  “A woman who likes the hard stuff.”

  A slow smile pulls at my lips as I turn to face the owner of the subtly accented voice. Lorenzo isn’t quite as tall as his brother and he certainly doesn’t carry the air of power, despite the fact that he’s capo. He has the same dark hair and deep brown eyes, the same chiselled cheekbones and jaw line, coupled with a set of lips that I’m sure make most women fall all over themselves. And yet, Nero is somehow just more in every way, speaking from a completely objective standpoint, of course.

  “Always.” I lift the glass to my lips and take a sip, locking eyes with him over the rim of the glass.

  He turns, bracing his back against the bar and allowing his eyes to roam over the guests gathered in the garden. “How do you know my brother?”

  “I fuck him.” Titters erupt from the women behind me, and I smile. Of course he catches it. He was supposed to. “I see you’re more the settling type. Congratulations.” His eyes drop to my lips. “I do love a wedding.” I lower my voice and allow my gaze to roam over his body while biting my bottom lip. The look in his eyes is one I recognize all too well. The pulse point at his neck beats faster and his pupils dilate. His breathing picks up ever so slightly and he shifts on his feet, probably because his pants are becoming
a bit uncomfortable. “Although, you don’t look thrilled at the prospect.” I rest my elbow on the bar and pop my hip, accentuating the curve of my body.

  “Hmm, well, this world is full of so much temptation,” he says each word carefully. “And you deserve a better offer than my brother.” He almost hisses the words, as if the very notion offends him. The more he talks, the more the differences between Nero and he become painfully clear. Admittedly, Nero had the advantage of knowing what I was from the moment he met me. But Lorenzo’s naivety, his assumption that I am exactly what I appear to be…well, it’s disappointing. Or perhaps I’m just that good. After all, I was crafted for this very purpose, to be a chameleon, to blend in and become whatever it is my prey wants me to be. Right now, he wants me to be the hot chick that his brother is sleeping with. He wants to fuck me and stick it to Nero. I step forward, closing the gap between us.

  “So make me a better offer.” I raise an eyebrow and focus on his lips, which slowly curl into a satisfied grin.

  That’s all it takes for him to pick up my glass off the bar and down the remaining vodka before turning and walking away. Glancing across the courtyard garden to where Nero is talking in a small group, I know his attention has been firmly on me this entire time. His eyes lock with mine, narrowing, as his jaw tenses. Ignoring him, I follow Lorenzo out of the courtyard. He slips through a side gate, whispering something to the guard standing there as he passes. The guard nods, and when I approach him with a sensual smile gracing my lips, he steps to the side without a word. I leave some distance between us as I trace Lorenzo’s path up the stone steps that lead to a sunroom attached to the back of the house. Inside, various plants creep over the glass and the scents of different flowers assault me. The sound of running water trickles over my senses. Most people would probably find it soothing, but for me it triggers a short burst of images to flash through my mind. Hands holding me down, panic, choking, drowning, catching a breath only to drown all over again. Snapping my focus back to the task at hand, I crack my neck from side to side and take a deep breath to centre myself again.