by LP Lovell
Lorenzo hooks left, under a small archway that leads into what I assume is the main house. He walks up the stairs and along a corridor before he stops at a door. He glances over his shoulder, flashing me a small smile as the heavy oak door opens with a groan.
The room is small with a couple of leather sofas in the middle and a desk at the back. I’m registering every possible threat, anything I can use as a weapon in the event that something goes wrong, and most importantly, an escape plan. There’s the door I came in through of course, but that leads back into the house, which may be heavily guarded. At the back of the office are two narrow glass doors that lead out onto a stone balcony. That’s my most likely escape route at this point.
The latch of the door clicks shut with a heavy finality and the silence it leaves behind is deafening, as though the world itself is suddenly holding its breath, waiting for death to strike.
Hands brush over the side of my neck, but I don’t flinch this time, because I’m ready. I’m in the place in my mind where the kill, the lust for blood, goes beyond any uncomfortable feelings he may elicit. It’s a side of myself that I hide, that I’m ashamed of, but not because of some misplaced guilt. Do not give me credit that is not due. I’m ashamed because I’m better than that. I was trained to be impassive, the elite, silent warrior. Death is a job, a necessity, we neither like nor dislike it, it just is. But for me, in a world where everything is a map of grey existence, this is my only spike of colour. It’s when I take the ultimate prize from someone else that I am given a gift, a moment of relief, a moment of bliss. And the possibility of that moment excites me.
His lips brush over my skin so lightly that the hairs on the back of my neck prickle to attention. “Would you like a drink?” he murmurs.
I turn to face him, deliberately placing myself barely an inch away from him. I’m careful not to lean in, not to incite anything. Yet. I need him to get that drink first. “I’ll have whatever you’re having.” His eyes flash with lust, and yet he holds his composure as he steps into the corner and starts pouring from the crystal decanter. Keeping my eyes fixed on him, I slide the diamond ring off my right index finger and use my thumbnail to dislodge the stone. Sliding the ring into my clutch bag, I keep the small stone in my hand. When he turns around with the drinks, I’m sitting on the edge of his desk with my legs crossed. His eyes move over my body as he hands me the glass. I place it to my lips and take a swig of the well-aged amber liquor. The sharp, smoky taste dances across my tongue, and I narrow my eyes at him, daring him closer. The second I put the glass down on the desk beside me, he makes a move, stepping towards me and wrapping a hand around the back of my neck.
“You’re a beautiful woman, Isabelle.”
I smile. “So, you know my name.”
He smirks. “Of course.” His lips slam over mine so hard it takes me by surprise for a second, but just a split second. His glass is still clutched in his hand between us, and he’s really making this too easy. I reach across the gap between us, brushing the edge of the glass and dropping the stone in his drink. It makes a small fizzing sound, but I grab the back of his neck and moan into his mouth, covering it easily. His tongue probes against my lips, seeking entrance, but instead I push him away. His eyebrows pull together in confusion.
“I think I need to finish my drink for what you’re offering,” I tease, scraping my teeth over my bottom lip and picking up my glass.
He huffs a low chuckle and lifts his own glass to his lips, taking a heavy gulp. I need him to finish it. Tipping mine back, I down the entire thing. He cocks a brow and takes another heavy gulp that leaves the glass almost empty. Good enough. And the effect is almost instant. He frowns and a soft cough works its way up his throat. I place my hands behind me on the desk and lean back. He coughs again, clutching at his throat.
“What…?” His gaze lifts to mine, and I see the exact moment when he realizes his error. He opens his mouth to shout, probably for a guard, but all that comes out is a choked sound. His chest heaves and a thin sheen of sweat coats his skin. His knees buckle, slamming into the hard tile floor with an unforgiving crack. And there he stays, a powerful man brought to his knees, left gasping and mumbling incoherently. I push off the desk and circle his prone form.
“Cyanide. Nasty stuff. It turns your own body against you, prevents your cells from absorbing oxygen.” I tilt my head to the side, looking down at him. His eyes fix me in a glare that holds absolutely no weight given his current position. Dropping to a crouch in front of him, I grab his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “So while you’re there, gasping for air, your body is suffocating from the inside.” I smile and he stares at me as if he’s going to survive this and hunt me to the ends of the earth. He wouldn’t be the first to think so. The human mind is a strange animal and even at the last minute, when it knows it’s lost, that the body it holds so dear is failing, it still hopes. The truth is, when pushed to the very edge of our survival, human beings are dreamers and fantasists by nature. No matter how much of a realist we are in life, death reveals all, taunting us with our own naïve brand of hope.
“Do you know who I am?” I ask, standing and moving around him slowly, leisurely. He doesn’t answer, of course, what with the effort to breathe. “They call me bacio della morte.” His eyes briefly flick to me before squeezing shut. “Arnaldo sends his regards.” His teeth grit, and I know any minute his heart is going to give out. He pitches backwards and lands, sprawled awkwardly on the carpet. He’s still breathing, but barely. His lungs are nothing more than a desperate quivering reflex of a failing body. Taking my lipstick and compact mirror from my clutch bag I apply a new coat, ensuring his messy kisses haven’t smudged the last layer all over my face. The frantic beat of his lungs slows until only a few gasps remain, like a fish left out in the sun to die. And then it stops. His breath ceases and he slips into cardiac arrest. Dropping to my knees beside his body, I lean over him and wait for the tell-tale hiss of air leaving his lips.
“Prosti menya.” Forgive me. I’m not a pious woman. I’ve seen too much evil in this world to ever believe in a god or anything greater than this hellhole of a life we have. This man did nothing to me; he’s simply a job, a paid contract. He died because he was weak. I continue to survive because I am strong and do what I was trained to do. Kill. I ask forgiveness because although I have to do this, I shouldn’t enjoy it nearly as much as I do.
As always, I press my lips against his waxy forehead. Just then, the door opens and I leap to my feet, widening my stance and crouching like a cat ready to strike. I release a breath when I realize it’s Nero. “Fucking knock!” I snap.
He glances from me to his brother’s lifeless body on the floor. “I’m sorry. They’re coming for you.”
Well, fuck. No sooner has he said the words than I hear the fast approach of several men. The stairs groan under their weight, and I know if I stay here, I’m dead.
I go to yank open the glass doors, but they’re locked. I pick up the heavy leather chair behind the desk with the intent of smashing the glass, but a single gunshot goes off before I can.
“Go! Run!” Nero hisses, glancing down the corridor and clutching Lorenzo’s gun in his hand. He shot the glass out. Throwing myself through the narrow gap, my dress catching on the jagged glass that lines the doorframe. I’m on the first floor, and it’s not that high, but it’s no walk in the park either. I won’t die, but if I break an ankle, then I might as well have, because if I can’t run, I’m dead.
Another gunshot rings out, this one coming so close to me that I hear the sharp crack as it breaks the air next to my ear. I’m all for making this look authentic, but I swear to god, if he shoots me… Springing up onto the balcony, I launch myself into the air. There’s a moment of complete weightlessness before I hit the grass, dropping into a roll of torn red satin. The logical thing would be to make for the treeline and hop the fence over the property line, but that’s exactly why I’m not doing that. Ducking against the building, I press myself into t
he brickwork directly beneath the balcony. The voices above me are shouting orders, baying for my blood. Nero is right there, instructing them to double the patrol on the fence line and not let anyone leave. Ripping off the wig and pulling the pins from my hair, I shake out my long strands. The dress is already ruined, but I grab the material of the bodice and pull it apart, shredding it down the middle until it pools at my waist, revealing a pale blue sleeveless dress beneath. I step out of the first dress and hook around the corner of the building. Balling up the red material and the wig, I make sure to hide them well at the base of a bush that sits against the house. As I make my way towards the gardens, I pull out a pair of sunglasses from my bag and slide them on. My step falters only for a second when six armed men in suits round the corner and start jogging straight towards me.
“Ma’am, this area is off limits,” the first one says, his expression stern and unforgiving.
I glance at the gun in his hand and swallow heavily, taking a shaky step to the side. All for show, of course.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I seem to have lost my boyfriend.” I push a tremor into my voice.
“Please go back to the party with the other guests.” He says dismissively.
I smile sweetly, like the nice, dutiful girlfriend. They suspect nothing, because they’re looking for a sexy, murderous brunette in a red dress, and in this dress, well, I could almost pull off sweet.
Rounding the sunroom at the back of the building, I slip back through the gap in the wall. Keeping my gaze fixed down as I pass the guard; although, this is a different guy from when I passed by earlier. When I step into the courtyard, the guests are visibly tense. The men are all looking on edge, not helped by the fact that none of them have any of their weapons to hand. For men like these, being without a gun is like being naked. The women huddle together nervously like the pathetic sheep they are, and I notice the strategic circle of men that surround them, as if they’re some grand treasure they must protect. Everyone’s attention seems to focus on me. That can’t be good. A throat clears behind me, and I realize that it’s not me they’re focusing on, it’s Nero. He stands behind me at the top of the steps that descend into the garden, the floral archway surrounding him and contrasting with the hard, dark lines of his face and body. I drop down a couple of steps, slipping out of sight of the gathered crowd.
“Ladies and gentlemen.” His voice is a deep boom that I’m sure can be heard clearly by even those furthest away. “There is nothing to be concerned about, merely a small security issue.” He smiles and it’s so genuine, so confident, that even I find it soothing. “Please, let’s enjoy the party while the guards handle it.” He raises his full champagne glass, flashing a wide, perfect smile at the guests. There are a few murmurs, questions, confusion. He ignores it, necking the glass of golden bubbly liquid before descending the steps and wrapping a hand around my waist.
“Don’t. People will ask questions,” I hiss.
He smiles at someone over my shoulder. “No, they won’t. I want them to see. Now smile.” I smile at him.
“I need to get out of here,” I say through clenched teeth.
He pulls me close, wrapping his arms tightly around my waist. “Touch me,” he demands when my arms remain rigid at my sides. Complying with his request, I slide one palm up his chest, and the other around the back of his neck. His mouth drops to my neck, but he never makes contact. “They won’t let guests leave until I say so.” And he can’t clear it too soon as he needs to avoid suspicion. “Dance with me. Act like you want me.” I can hear the smile in his voice and it has me wanting to kidney punch him.
“I’d rather cut you,” I say, smiling sweetly.
He takes my hand and a strange tingle buzzes up my arm, almost like electricity humming over my skin. I frown down at our intertwined fingers. He leads me to the small clearance in the middle of the patio where a string quartet are seated and playing the kind of music that Nicholai listens to.
He spins me and I pivot on my toe. I can dance. Dancing and fighting are one and the same, a pattern, the meeting of bodies, a liaison in which you must read your partner and either follow them or counter them. His hand presses into the small of my back, wrenching me against his hard body so abruptly that I lose my breath on a gasp. His full lips curve on one side and that shadow of a dimple sinks into his stubble-covered cheek. I follow every movement he lays down. Our bodies moving together like hot and cold water, fluid, different and yet exactly the same.
“I’m impressed,” he rumbles against my ear.
“I’m offended,” I reply. He huffs a low laugh and his warm breath blows against the skin of my throat. “Nero, I really need to get out of here.”
He pulls back and looks in my eyes, his expression so hard, so resolved that he looks as though he would tear down entire countries in this moment. “I won’t let anything happen to you.” His hold on me tightens, and I suddenly realize that I don’t mind. Any touch is enough to make me want to kill, but…silence. The pounding need is just absent.
“I’m a big girl.” Swallowing down the feeling of unease in my gut, I attempt to brush off his comment.
“You are, Morte.” He spins me again, his grip firm and unrelenting as he moves me across the dance floor.
The worrying thing is that I believe him. I trust him when he says he’ll protect me, even though I don’t need his protection. Nero Verdi is the most dangerous man I’ve ever encountered, and yet, there’s something about him. I can’t put my finger on it, but I’m certainly not as guarded as I should be around a man like him. He throws me off and it’s unsettling. After all, complacency will get you killed. I know that all too well.
4
Nero
She relaxes in my arms and her fingers tighten, clinging to my bicep. When I walked into that room she was hovering over my brother like a beautiful avenger, a walking angel of death bearing down on her victim with the strangest expression, somewhere between blissful relief and anguish. The way she moves, the way she looks at me even now is that of a predator, a killer, a demon in a dress, and I’d be lying if I said she doesn’t make my blood heat.
I glance over her head and see two guards jog up to a couple more on the gate, speaking into radios. I told them to handle it, whilst assuring them that I should go back to the party to give the illusion of normalcy. Of course, the guests will be told what actually happened, but right now, revealing the truth will not only incite panic but also look weak. The fact that the Italian Mafia sustained a hit within their own walls at an engagement party…well, that’s just embarrassing, but Arnaldo planned for this. And really, if the truth comes out, Lorenzo will look like the weak one, killed because he was trying to fuck another woman at his own engagement party. I can’t help but smile. His father would be rolling in his grave. But it’s this very fact that will keep this entire thing quiet. People might whisper that it was my date who killed him, but no one will ever confirm it. Other than his direct security, I guarantee no one will ever know. Reputation means far more than justice in our world.
“They’re searching the guests,” Una breathes against my throat, her voice strained. I spin her, switching our positions. Sure enough, the guards are looking at the guests, searching bags, and I’m sure looking for a mysterious brunette. I doubt they’ll look at Una, but they might. After all, she technically never came through the gate. If they check, we’re fucked.
I spin her again and smile, hoping we look like the perfect couple. Keeping my eyes trained on the approaching guards, I watch them draw closer. The people around us start to slow, paying more attention to the guards as they fan out into the dancers. A flash of panic crosses Una’s eyes, and I worry that she’ll do something rash, like turn this party into a bloodbath.
“Sir,” someone says behind me.
Shit. I grab the back of Una’s neck and wrench her to me, slamming my lips over hers. She freezes, her nails digging into my shoulder. Trailing my hand down her back, I brush her ass as I caress my tongue over her bo
ttom lip. This needs to look good, good enough to make people uncomfortable. She stiffens and tries to shove away from me, putting up a fight. Damn it. Right now, our fates are intertwined. If she gets caught then so do I.
Taking control, I thrust my hand into her hair and grab a handful of it, pulling the strands roughly. The second I do, she releases a sharp breath. her lips part, and breath dancing over my tongue. The ice cracks inch by inch until she’s soft and pliant in my arms. Her fingers trail from my shoulder to the back of my neck, nails raking over my skin in a burning trail that has me hissing against her lips and pulling her tighter against my body. She tastes of champagne and danger, and everything about her has adrenaline slamming through my veins like a drug. The kiss becomes a battleground, the rougher I am, the more bruising my grip, the deeper she falls. There’s nothing sweet or gentle in it, just brutal passion. She bites my lip hard enough to draw blood, and then swipes her tongue over the wound, making me groan. My cock is plastered against my zipper and heat rips over my skin in a wave. Finally releasing my grip on her hair, she staggers away from me, gasping for breath. Her wide eyes meet mine, those lilac-tinged irises swirling with confusion and lust. She looks horrified.
We stand in a sea of people, but all I feel is her. My skin prickles and I grit my jaw as need and desire pulse through my veins. Una is a tool, an assassin, the enemy. Anything. She is anything but what I’m seeing her as right now – someone I want to sink balls deep inside. The personal and the professional must always be kept separate in this business, especially when you’re dealing with the kiss of death. Squeezing my eyes shut for a few seconds, I take a deep breath before turning and walking away from her. That kiss saved us, for now. I need to get us out of here.