Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

by LP Lovell

  She shifts on the bed and lies down beside me. “Anna is my one weakness,” she says simply. “But you already know that. I will do anything I have to for her, even if it means standing against Nicholai,” she says fiercely. Yes, Nicholai has created a little monster but when you make one so strong, you often lose control, and I have a feeling that Nicholai’s prize dog is about to bite him.

  Anna maybe Una’s weakness but Una is fast becoming mine. I would say it bothers me, but what’s the point? She’s like a disease that can’t be cured, infecting me, spreading and consuming everything until I’m driven mad for her. She’s slowly fracturing me, forcing her way inside me until my very cells are forced to evolve and accommodate her, acclimating to this newfound need. She’s so much more than just a warm body to stick my dick in. She’s the kiss of death, and when I look at her, I see something I’ve never seen in anyone else; my equal. She’s the only one who challenges me, and I find myself waiting for her defiance, craving it even.

  For the first time in a long time, I want something other than just power. I want her. She will be my jewel in my crown. My broken queen.

  I wake up to the scent of vanilla and the subtle hint of gun oil. My dick is rock hard and presses against something warm and soft. I open my eyes and tighten my arm around Una’s small body. My chest is plastered to her back and her ass is just right there, cupping my cock like it was made for it. I frown because I like the feeling of waking up with her and that bothers me. We fight and fuck, and ultimately, Una is mine whether she likes it or not, but this…this is too…normal. This isn’t blurring the line, it’s wiping it the fuck away. No matter how I feel about her, I still need her to do a job. We are still Una and Nero, the assassin and the capo. People like us don’t get normal, and I don’t want it. I pull my arm away from her slowly, torn between needing to step away and wanting to sink my dick between her legs. I get out of bed and get in the shower. The warm spray washes over me and I wrap my hand around my rock-hard dick, stroking over the length and picturing Una’s naked body, that look of violence she gets in her eyes when I fuck her. My muscles lock and pleasure tears through me so hard my knees go weak and I have to throw my hand out against the shower wall. This is what she does; she almost brings me to my knees. Almost.

  When I get out of the shower, Una’s gone. I answer a couple of emails, before going downstairs. I find her sitting at the breakfast bar sipping on coffee. She’s wearing yoga pants and her sports bra, and her body is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, I assume from working out.

  “I need your help with something this morning.” I move over to the coffee machine.

  “Oh, you’re letting me out?” She snorts.

  I move behind her, placing my hands either side of her body and gripping the breakfast bar. My face is level with her neck and I can smell the subtle scent of her sweat mixing with her shampoo. I skim my lips over her skin and she shivers. “I’d happily tie you to the bed and leave you there, but we were set up, and payback’s a bitch.” I nip at her skin and when I pull away, a twisted smile is on her lips.

  “Yes, she is.”

  I drop Una off and take the long drive to the Hamptons house. I haven’t been here much in the last couple of weeks. I’ve left Gio running the place while I play out my game of strategy. Gio greets me outside the front door the second I get out of the car.

  “Any problems?” I ask.

  “None.” He falls in step beside me as I make my way inside the house which is alive with activity. We called in a lot of guys after last night’s shitshow. I’m just waiting for an Irish show of retribution.

  We go straight down to the basement and I shove open the old steel door that leads into the main room, the same room that Una watched me set fire to someone in. It’s a prison cell for all intents and purposes and a torture chamber when we need it to be. The walls are three feet thick; there are no windows, no escape, and no one to hear the screams. In the center sits a lone figure. His head is dropped forwards against his chest, arms pulled behind his back, wrists and ankles bound to the plastic chair beneath him.

  I take the packet of cigarettes from my inside jacket pocket and pluck one out, placing it between my lips and lighting it. Moving slowly towards the prone figure in the middle of the room, I inhale a deep lungful of smoke and hold it.

  “Have you enjoyed your stay with us, Gerard?” I smirk, coming to a halt in front of him.

  The Port Authority Chief lifts his head, squinting against the bright fluorescent lights. Deep shadows have taken up residence beneath his eyes but other than that his face is unmarked. When dealing with public figures, it’s wise not to mark their face. The body…well, that’s fair game. He sways backwards and forwards in his seat but says nothing. “You fucked me over, Gerard.” I hand in my pocket.

  He shakes his head weakly. “I didn’t.”

  “Don’t fucking lie to me!” I flick the cigarette towards his feet. “I know you had my shipment seized. I know you spoke to O’Hara and tipped him off. You’re not in my good graces, Mr Brown.”

  “I had no choice!” he wails, voice cracking.

  Tilting my head to the side, I release a long breath. “There’s always a choice. Now, I’m going to give you the opportunity to make the right one.”

  “I can’t help you,” he says, gritting his teeth. “You can’t just kidnap me. Someone will notice I’m gone. I have a wife. She’ll report me missing,” he says desperately, and I smile.

  “Like I said, we all have a choice.” I take my phone from my pocket and dial Una’s number, putting the call on loudspeaker. The ring tone echoes off the concrete walls, resonating around the room.

  The line clicks and the sound of a woman sobbing fills the room. “Gerard?” Her breath hitches.

  “Hannah!” he shouts, but the sound of her cries cut off.

  “Hello, Gerard,” Una purrs. “You remember me, don’t you?” I can hear the amusement in her voice as she toys with him like a cat with a mouse.

  Gerard’s terrified gaze meets mine, and I cock a brow. “She’s the hot psycho blonde who threatened to take your eye out, in case you forgot. Time to make a choice, Gerard. I want control over all of the docks that Finnegan O’Hara has.” I turn my back on him, pacing a few steps away. “And you want your wife safe. I get what I want, and you get what you want. Everyone’s a winner.”

  A bead of sweat rolls over his forehead. “Please don’t hurt her.”

  “Una isn’t known for her patience, are you, Morte?”

  “I’m feeling generous. I’ll count to three.” The whimpering in the background escalates to desperate screams.

  “One. Two –”

  “No!” Gerard cries. “Please, please. I’ll do it.”

  I smile. “That’s a good choice Mr. Brown, and I’ll remind you now that if you betray me, if you let me down, don’t think that I won’t go to little Gracie’s school or pay your wife another visit.”

  He drops his head forward and sniffs pathetically. “Please don’t hurt them.”

  “That’s all on you, Gerard. I want everything O’Hara had before his unfortunate demise.” I pat his shoulder.

  “He…he’s dead?”

  “Guess I forgot to mention that. I thought you needed the proper encouragement to remain loyal. After all, loyalties are so frivolous nowadays.” I turn to Gio. “Cut him loose and have him taken back to his wife.” I leave the room, placing the phone to my ear. “Okay, you can leave now,” I tell Una.

  “I was hoping that would be more exciting.”

  “You can try and make me bleed later if you’re feeling that violent.”

  “Remember you said that.” She hangs up and my dick’s hard just at the thought of it. The woman has me by the balls.

  “Nero.” I turn around halfway up the stairs. Gio is standing in the doorway and pulls the heavy metal door closed behind him. “Andre came through.” Andre Paro is the guy to know in Mexico, he’s somewhat of a broker, liaising between cartels and cutting deals th
at no one wants to make in person. “I wired a hundred grand to him this morning. He’s overseeing the girl’s transfer to Rafael as we speak.” Rafael D’Cruze is at the top of the Juarez Cartel, and my supplier. I don’t fully trust him, but the likelihood of the Sinaloa selling Anna to me is slim. The fact that an Italian is interested in an unknown Mexican sex slave would raise suspicion, whereas Rafael has more weight and respect in South America. If the sale comes from him, they almost can’t reject it. Of course, originally, I planned for her to stay with him until Una completed the job, almost like a pay half now half later deal, but well, this is no longer a simple exchange of favors. The lines are blurred, and motivations are called into question. I don’t believe for a second that Una would still be here without the leverage of her sister, and I have no intention of giving her Anna just yet, but as each day passes, the plan I had set out seems less and less important. In order to get to the end game though I have to let it play out. I have to let the chips fall and give Una the chance to do the very thing I sought her out for. The plan is what matters, all that can matter, which means Una is still the queen, and valuable as she is, she’s still only a piece on the board.

  22

  Una

  It’s been a week since Nero killed O’Hara and now here we are, ready to take out the rest of his list. He called a truce and of course they agreed to it, because they’re mafia and they believe there’s honor among thieves, but they don’t know Nero, or they just aren’t paying attention, because I had him pegged in one look. For Nero, boundaries don’t exist and ethics are laughable. I think that’s what makes me want him. I haven’t felt truly safe in a very long time, but Nero manages to make me feel protected in a world where I’m the predator, because sometimes, in order to fight the monsters under the bed, you need a monster of your own.

  Nero stands in the doorway of the dining room, his arms folded over his chest as he watches me strip down my rifle. My baby, my pride and joy. Actually, that’s a lie, because I have twelve exact replicas of the same gun stored in various places around the globe. It’s a custom .25 calibre assault rifle. I clean and oil the pieces, going through it methodically, like a ritual. I need this; the calm before the storm. This…being here with Nero; it’s throwing me off. Now more than ever I need to cling to my cool indifference, the training that’s so ingrained.

  I don’t look up at Nero, but I hear him move closer. “Nice gun.”

  I spare him a brief glance. “Thanks.” He’s wearing a black suit with a white shirt. The jacket is draped casually over his shoulder. His hair is tidier than usual and the confidence he wears so easily looks strained, even masked behind the intimidating stance that he can’t turn off. If I’m a chameleon then Nero is a big cat, roaring and baring his teeth, unapologetic about exactly what he is. The irony is, he doesn’t even need the teeth. His power is growing, even in the short time I’ve been here. Sasha has his ear to the ground for me. I’ve told him I’m working a job for the Italians. Nothing else. But he keeps me informed, tells me about the whisperings of the New York capo so ruthless the rest of the mafia fear him. Marco Fiore has been heard to call Nero a rabid dog, and talk like that will get him killed.

  “Nervous?” I smirk.

  He tilts his head and whatever lack of confidence I saw a second ago disappears. He circles around behind me, and I fight the urge to turn and keep him in my eye line. I steel my spine and focus on taking a bullet from the ammo box, placing it on the table in front of me. A tremor works over my skin, an awareness of the dangerous presence so close, lingering right behind me. I may fuck him, and to a certain degree trust him, but not completely. Dealing with Nero is like walking on a knife’s edge, feeling the cold bite of the blade on the soles of my feet and finding a sick satisfaction in it. He’s a dangerous and twisted adrenaline rush, not unlike the same thrill I get when I kill. His fingers brush my neck and my breath hitches as he scoops my hair up in one hand. He yanks my head to the side so hard my scalp burns, but the pain is lost as hot breath blows over my skin, followed by the scrape of his teeth. “Don’t miss.”

  I click a bullet into the chamber. “I never miss.”

  “Good.” He steps away.

  Calm. Focus. The icy anticipation of the kill. That’s what I need. The images running through my mind at this second are anything but…

  23

  Nero

  Marco is already here when I arrive. He sits at the table, a smoking cigar in the ashtray in front of him. He’s in his mid-forties, his dark hair is streaked with grey. Marco is one of those guys in the mafia without an official role, yet influential. He’s involved in our legitimate businesses, has the ear of Arnaldo…that kind of shit. The mob consists of Made men, soldiers, and the capo controls the soldiers. There are two New York capos and I’m one of them. I manage the family’s interests, ensure that the people who pay us are protected, manage the influx of drugs and weapons in and out of my area of the city. Or at least that’s what most people think. The men I’ve invited to this meeting, the men I want dead, they’re the ones who see me for what I really am. I’m someone who can’t be put in a box and neatly labelled. What I want goes beyond that. I want power. Absolute power. I will kill whomever I need to, buy the ones I can’t and destroy anyone and anything who gets in my way. They see it and it rattles them. As it should. They supported Lorenzo because he was an idiot and idiots are easily controlled. The key to control is to ensure that the people in charge, the people with the supposed power never really have any. Lorenzo may have been the capo, but politics are politics, and even the president has to answer to those beneath him. I don’t. I won’t, and they see it. It almost seems a shame to kill the few astute men in my organization, but if they’re not allies then they’re enemies and a wise enemy makes for an ominous one.

  “Nero.” Marco stands, holding his arms out to the side to embrace me, but it’s also an invitation to check him for weapons. I embrace him and he kisses both my cheeks, smiling wide like I’m his best friend. I keep it brief, eyeing the two men he brought with him. He’s not carrying but I can guarantee they are. Gio shifts behind me, and I can tell he’s thinking the same thing. I brought him instead of Jackson because he’s intelligent and calculated. Not rash.

  A few seconds later, Bernardo Caro and Franco Lama walk in. Bernardo is the other New York capo and Franco is his savage right-hand with way too much power for my liking. Bernardo embraces me as Marco did, but Franco lingers behind. The three of us take a seat at the table.

  “It is a shame you have not invited us to talk sooner,” Marco says in our native language. This is at the heart of his issue, the fact that as the new capo I didn’t conform to the bullshit customs of paying respect to this fucker. I did it deliberately. If I wanted to make new friends, I’d throw a tea party. I’m much more partial to a bloodbath. Of course, to win any game, you need someone to play against. Marco, Bernardo and Franco are merely opposing pawns. Their presence is necessary in order for me to cross the board and take the king. And take him, I will.

  I’m staring straight at Marco when the glass window behind him smashes. Two quick fire shots. His eyes go wide, and he falls face down on the table. I barely have a second to catch up before Bernardo goes down, too. Shots are fired inside the room, and bodies hit the floor simultaneously. And then, silence. Gio stands with his gun raised, having killed Marco’s guards. A low gurgled groan sounds from the other side of the table, and I approach Franco where he lies on the floor, clutching a bullet wound in his abdomen.

  He glares up at me, blood leaking from the corner of his mouth. “You have no honor,” he hisses.

  I smile. “Honor is for people who have a line. I don’t.” I lift my gun and fire one shot at his head. It’s done.

  24

  Una

  Staring down my scope at Nero, I focus on the way his lips press together. He appears the image of sophistication and calm, but I can see the subtle flutter of the muscle in his jaw. He’s pissed off. Well, I guess I had best ge
t this show on the road before he loses his shit and tries to take all my fun.

  Focusing on the back of Marco Fiore’s head, I take a steadying breath in then out and squeeze the trigger once to crack the window and again to take him out. The double bang explodes around the alleyway between this building and the one I’m firing on. I’ve marked every target in the room, but I have to be quick. Bernardo dives for the ground but I catch him in the side of the head. Franco is almost out of sight. I panic and hurry the shot, hitting him in the gut. Fuck. I don’t like messy kills, and I certainly don’t like to leave any possibility that they might survive. He’s out of sight now, so if he’s still alive, Nero or Gio are going to have to finish him off. Pausing for a minute, I wait. Nero pops up, because of course, he knows who the shooter is. He’s safe. I allow him to approach Franco’s body and he says something before pointing a gun at him and pulling the trigger. He stares out the window, and even though I know he can’t see me, when I stare down the scope he’s staring right at me. I line the shot up and smile as I pull the trigger, hitting him in the shoulder. The impact makes his body jerk before he goes down. What can I say? Something to remember me by when I’m gone.