Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

by LP Lovell

  “Well, well. I see ya finally found the balls to come after me yourself.” O’Hara taunts, pulling my hair harder.

  Nero tilts his head to the side slightly. “Oh, no. This one’s all on Una,” he says casually, but the meaning is all too clear, this is my fault.

  “I can see why you’d want her back.” O’Hara presses his face into my hair and sniffs. I scowl and try to shrug him off. “But this is a risk. Isn’t that her job?”

  Nero’s gaze meets mine, dark and turbulent and promising nothing but pain and retribution. Something passes between us, a mutual understanding of necessary violence. Anyone else might hesitate, but I see the minute twitch of the muscle in his shoulder before he pulls the gun up. Grabbing O’Hara’s right wrist, I shove it away from me, digging my finger hard into the nerve that runs through his forearm. I twist my body side-on as I do. Two bangs ring out, and then he’s falling. O’Hara lands flat on his back, gasping desperately for air as a red stain slowly bleeds out across the centre of his chest. Nero comes to stand beside me and fires one shot at the dying man’s head. He wordlessly walks straight out of the room. There is no time to hang around, so I follow him, and Jackson falls in behind me. I can practically see the anger swirling around Nero. For once though, it’s warranted. I’ve always been meticulous and know that mistakes and rash action are what get you caught. Acting out of desperation could have gotten me killed. And Nero…I’m supposed to be taking out his target’s so he’s not associated with it, so why come after me? He’s just implicated himself and for what? To play the white knight?

  We walk a block over before he turns into a dark alleyway. A black SUV and the Maserati are parked under the cover of darkness. “Get in the car,” he says without looking at me. He makes me feel like a chastised child, so on pure principle, I lean against the back of the car and cross my arms over my chest.

  “Take the girl to the hospital,” he says to Jackson. What girl? “And get rid of him.”

  Nero grabs my arm and shoves me towards the passenger side of the car. “Do not fucking push me right now, Una.” His voice is a low rumble, rolling thunder that signals a storm is about to hit. He shoves me in the car and gets in, wheels spinning past the SUV as he pulls out of the alley. The tension in the car wraps around, pressing on my chest until it’s stifling. His anger is a palpable thing, and his silence is ominous to say the least.

  By the time he pulls into the parking garage at the apartment, I can’t wait to get out of the car. I don’t particularly want to be in another confined space with him, but I follow him to the elevator and get in.

  When I can’t take it anymore, I glance sideways at him. “Are you going to say anything?” I ask.

  He cracks his neck to the side and tilts his head back, jaw flexing over and over. “You’re lucky I didn’t shoot you myself.”

  “I thought –”

  He shoves me back into the elevator wall and slams his fists against the metal beside my head with a loud bang. “You don’t get to fucking think,” he hisses, blowing hot angry breath over my face. My heart pounds in my chest so hard it’s all I can hear. I squeeze my eyes shut and swallow heavily. “You disobeyed me.”

  My own temper spikes. “I’m not one of your soldiers, Nero. You asked me to do a job. How I do it was not part of the agreement.”

  He grips my throat the same way he always does when he’s mad. “He knew you were coming, and you better believe he would have killed you.” The elevator pings and the doors open but neither of us move.

  “Those are the risks of the job.”

  His hand physically trembles against my neck before he shoves away from me and turns his back.

  “Damn it, Una.” He drags both hands through his hair. I walk straight past him and feel him following me. “I hired you because you’re the best. This shit…this is not the best.”

  I turn on him, jabbing my finger into the center of his chest. “You didn’t hire me! You blackmailed me. There’s a difference.”

  His head tilts to the side and he looks at me in that way that has me taking a step back. Of course, he follows. “So, what? You feel slighted so you rush headfirst into a bullet between the eyes?”

  “No, I…” I keep moving backwards with him stalking me. “Why do you even care? I didn’t compromise you. He already knew it was you.” My back hits the kitchen island and he places his hands on either side of me, gripping the edge. “Why do you care?” I repeat. I need to know, because right now, I’m freefalling through the unknown and my stupid little heart is hoping he’ll catch me, determined that there must be a reason why he saved me. Meanwhile, my head says he’ll stand and watch me hit the ground and smile as my body breaks and shatters in front of him.

  He leans in until his lips are brushing so close to my face, his breath caressing my lips as he speaks. “I told you, Morte, you’re mine.” Then his lips crash against mine. He kisses me like he wants to crawl inside me and consume me, and I let him, because his possession, his brutal need…I want it. No one has ever risked a damn thing for me before, but I know he risked his life coming for me. In his own warped and depraved way, he cares. No one has truly cared about me since I was eight years old. I never knew I wanted or needed it until this exact second. Nero makes me feel safe and the realization shocks me to my core, because he’s anything but safe. I don’t need protection and I sure as hell don’t need a white knight, but I want this savage creature. I want his complete lack of morals, his violence and his need for power and blood. Kissing him back, I tug at his jacket and push it past his shoulders. He shrugs out of it as his lips tear away from mine and ravage the side of my neck. I tilt my head to the side, allowing him more access.

  “You make me so damn angry. I want to fuck you until you bleed,” he snarls, and I shiver, my breath hitching in my throat. “And this fucking dress.” He roughly grabs the skirt and shoves it up, a low groan escaping his throat when his fingers brush all the way up to my hips. I’m not wearing any underwear because the dress is skin-tight. He grips my thighs and lifts me easily. I wrap my legs around him, clinging to his broad shoulders as he moves. He slams me against the wall and one of the paintings sways dangerously. It’s nothing but hands and teeth and lips as he drives his point home. My fingers thread through his hair, pulling at the thick strands, wanting more, wanting his punishment just as much as his pleasure. He bites down on my neck hard enough that I actually feel his teeth puncture my skin. I and grab the collar of his shirt, wrenching it apart. Buttons scatter, hitting the tile like rain in a storm, an apt backing for the hurricane that is Nero. Lips slam over mine again, fighting, demanding, taking. His hot, bare skin presses against the inside of my thighs and I’m so desperate for him that I reach between us and yank at his belt buckle. I’m consumed with this unexplainably heightened need to feel him inside me, and he gives me what I want, shoving his pants and boxers over his thighs and ramming his cock inside me. It’s like retribution and salvation all at once, pain and pleasure, light and dark, right and wrong…it all blends together until the lines that define us disappear and it’s no longer him and me, just us. We are one and the same, the embodiment of each other, two splintered halves of the fractured whole.

  His forehead presses against mine and his hand wraps around the back of my neck, holding me there, forcing me to share the same air as him. I grasp his face in both my hands and close my eyes, feeling every rough thrust of his hips, the small spike of pain that comes with having him buried so deep inside me. I listen to every feral groan and staggered breath, and I embrace it all, letting him dominate and own me for just a few precious moments.

  The picture on the wall crashes to the floor, the glass smashing and flying across the tile. He only fucks me harder, pounding into me until I don’t know where he ends and I begin. I throw my head back against the wall, my mouth falling open on a long moan. His lips rest against my throat, teeth touching my skin but never biting down as he groans. Everything in me tightens, and I cling to him as my body detonates, s
ending wave after wave of pleasure tearing through my muscles, setting fire to my nerve endings. He growls into my neck, biting down on my shoulder as he thrusts into me harder and stiffens on a long groan.. Bracing his hand against the wall beside my head, he breathes heavily against my neck. My body trembles and my heart thrums in my chest, pounding against my ribs. My fingers drift down the side of his neck as I try to catch my breath, and he pulls back, eyes meeting mine. We stare at each other, saying nothing and everything with one look. His hand grips my neck roughly.

  “The next time you do something like that, I will kill you myself,” he says, and I smile.

  He storms away, leaving me standing there alone.

  My hand shakes, my heart hammering in my chest so hard that my pulse thrums against my eardrums, a symphony of fear and heartbreak.

  “Please,” I beg, lifting my eyes to Nicholai.

  His expression softens as he steps closer to me, reaching out and brushing a tendril of hair away from my face. “Become what you were meant to be, little dove.” His thumb trails over my jaw, and I close my eyes as a tear slips down my cheek. “Put a bullet in his head or put a bullet in your own,” he says harshly. “You cannot live with weakness. Fix it one way or another.” His lips brush over the side of my face.

  I lift my gaze, staring over his arm at the far wall. “Please don’t make me do this,” I beg. Tears blur my vision, and I don’t care that I look weak.

  Nicholai looks at me in disgust. “See what he does to you? You are a weapon and weapons don’t weep. Make a choice.”

  The concrete walls of the room press in on me until I can barely breathe. Nicholai’s hand slips away from my face and he steps back. My trembling finger rests over the trigger of the gun, and I swallow heavily, hating the fact that I’m so weak. I lift my eyes to Alex, chained to the far wall. His torso is bare, covered in slices that bleed over his skin. Sweat mixes with the blood, coating the chiseled muscles of his body in a crimson glow. His dark hair is damp with sweat and a few loose tendrils fall across his face. I stare into his beautiful green eyes, so full of pain, so full of longing. Longing for what can never be. Longing for a fantasy, a dream, but dreams don’t exist in this place. This is where the damned are born and created, shaped and molded until there’s nothing left but the cold urge to kill, to take and destroy. I thought I’d found a brief reprieve in Alex’s arms, an oasis in this warped version of hell, but I was wrong. Because there is no escape from yourself, from what you’ve become. Alex made me forget, for just a second. He makes me feel things that I haven’t felt since I was taken, since Anna. Love. Kindness.

  Meeting his gaze, I tighten the grip on the gun. His eyes are resigned, begging me, but not for reprieve. He’s begging me to shoot him. “Do it, Titch.” My vision blurs with tears and a sharp pain rips through my chest.

  “I love you,” I choke. Tears track down my cheeks and a sharp pain rips through my chest.

  “Shoot him, Una!” Nicholai roars.

  With a ragged cry, I lift the gun, aiming between his eyes.

  “Forgive me,” I whisper as I pull the trigger. His eyes go wide as the bullet rips through his skull. I scream.

  21

  Nero

  The sound of screaming jolts me awake. On a groan, I get out of bed. The second I open my door, Una lets out another scream but it’s not coming from her room, it’s coming from downstairs. Descending the stairs, I find her on the couch, tossing and thrashing in her sleep. George is sitting bolt upright at the end of the couch, watching her like he’s witnessing an exorcism.

  “Alex!” she cries, her voice shrill and staggered. A small whimper leaves her lips and she no longer seems like a lethal killer, more like a scared little girl.

  “Una.” I shove her shoulder but keep my distance because I’m not a fan of what follows when she wakes up. She sits bolt upright, gasping for air as her eyes dart around the room. Her face slowly twists towards me, though I can’t clearly make out her expression in the darkness.

  “Why are you on the couch?” I snap. I’m tired and this exact moment is the culmination of a line of shit events.

  “I…” She stammers over herself and I exhale an impatient breath before reaching for her and yanking her off the couch.

  “What are you…?” Throwing her over my shoulder, she squeaks before going rigid stiff. I don’t care. I carry her up the stairs and along the hallway into my room before tossing her on the bed. She grunts and bounces on the mattress, landing sprawled. She’s still wearing that black dress which is hiked up her thighs, exposing miles of long, toned legs. And of course, I know she’s not wearing any underwear.

  I drag my eyes to her face, but she won’t look at me. She pulls her knees to her chest and wraps her arms around them. I’m waiting for her to bitch and moan at me, but she doesn’t. Instead, she withdraws into herself, as if I’m not even in the room. For long moments, nothing but silence reigns between us, and I can almost feel her turmoil from here. I don’t care that she has nightmares, because any half sane person in her position would. You don’t get to be the kiss of death without seeing and doing horrific things. After a while you’d become numb to it, acts that seemed so monstrous before slowly fade in your mind until they’re just normal. Emotions that were once sharp and colorful become dull and grey. No, the nightmares are no concern of mine, but the fact that she always calls for this Alex…that concerns me. When she calls his name, she sounds so tortured.

  “Who’s Alex?” I ask, staring down at her.

  “I told you, someone I killed.”

  “You’ve killed a lot of people, Morte, and you aren’t screaming their names in your sleep. So, I’ll ask again, who is he?” I don’t know what it is about it that irritates me. Perhaps because this Alex seems to be the only chink in that impenetrable armor of hers besides her sister. Una doesn’t have chinks, and for him to be on any kind of level with Anna, well, he must be important.

  “Was. He was my friend,” she whispers, turning her face towards me. Those indigo eyes hold mine in the darkness, so hard, so sad. “And in a way, I loved him.”

  “I didn’t think you capable.”

  She turns her face away again and knots the sheets between her fingers. When I’m sure she’s going to say no more, she starts talking. “I was fifteen years old and naïve. I thought I loved him, and Nicholai didn’t like it, so I was forced to choose between him and myself. I chose me. Killing Alex made me what I am. Nicholai was right to do it. Alex was a weakness, it made me strong.” She says the words but they’re robotic, as though she’s recited them to herself a hundred times.

  I knew Nicholai was crazy but even by my standards that’s pretty fucked up. When I first bartered her sister in exchange for the job, I threw the threat of Nicholai out there purely on a hunch, having no idea whether or not it would work. But I’d heard stories, had my suspicions.

  “And that’s why you’re here,” I say, as a piece of the cryptic puzzle that makes up Una clicks into place. “That’s why you haven’t found Anna, because Nicholai would kill her.”

  She slowly nods. “He wouldn’t do it out of spite, but he would do it to keep me strong.” I can tell she truly believes that. “The strong survive and the weak die, forgotten and inconsequential.” She shakes her head. “She’d be better off dead anyway.”

  “Probably.” It sounds cruel, but I won’t lie to her. Anna’s situation is a fate worse than death.

  Her gaze snaps to mine. “She’s not like us, Nero. She was good and pure. Promise me you will get her.”

  I move around the bed, slipping beneath the covers. Her gaze follows me. “Technically, our deal is broken. You didn’t kill O’Hara.”

  She drags a hand through her hair. “Promise me,” she pleads. I’ve never seen her look so desperate. So fragile. Her wings of steel are crumpled and broken.

  I sigh. “I intend to buy her. It’s the only way to get a slave out of the Sinaloa.” Her eyes search my face, seeking the trace of a lie. “But you brok
e our deal, so now I propose a new one.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to know why you have such loyalty to a man who would force you to kill a boy you profess love for. Tell me and our deal stands.”

  She drops her chin and a lock of white hair falls over her face, shining brightly in the moonlight. “I’ll tell you why if you tell me why you wanted your own brother dead.”

  I smile and press my finger under her chin, forcing her to look at me. “That’s not the deal though, is it?” She stares at me, waiting. “Fine, Lorenzo was my half-brother. I hated his father and they both hated me.”

  “Why?”

  “Because my mother was a whore and I was a bastard,” I say quickly. “Your turn.”

  She squeezes her eyes closed and takes a deep breath that has her shoulders rising and falling. “My parents died when I was eight and Anna and I were in an orphanage, until my matron sold me to the bratva at thirteen. They tried to rape me, turn me into a whore, but Nicholai saved me. He said I was a fighter.” She sets her jaw, and I can see the bloodlust in her eyes. I can imagine a young Una, small and scared but every bit as unbreakable as she is now. “He saved me. He taught me how to fight, gave me power.” The way she says it makes it sound like some guy teaching a little girl to throw a few punches, but I know better.

  “You were one of the bratva’s child soldiers.” She nods. It all makes so much sense now. The Russian mafia have always ‘adopted’ orphans and turned them into soldiers, but Nicholai Ivanov went one better. He made his own force of elite assassins. They’re feared and spoken of across the world, but Una is the jewel in his crown, the favorite, the one he calls daughter. Because he saved her. Because he created her. But as the pieces fall into place, I suddenly see her for what she really is. The very qualities that make us human have been torn from her and though she is indeed strong, she’s also irrevocably broken. Anna is her exception, the ghost of humanity within Una. It’s her lack of humanity that draws me to her though, because we’re both monsters surrounded by people. The difference between Una and me though is that she’s still fighting herself, otherwise she wouldn’t have nightmares. Anna is the good, the redemption that she’s clinging to, and in that sense, I completely understand why Nicholai would kill her. To do so would break Una so completely that he would unleash a creature like no other. She would be perfect. “If you’re so loyal to him, then where does Anna fit in?” I ask.