by LP Lovell
This thing between us is difficult. I don’t need him for anything other than power. His name holds weight and to be attached to it goes in my favor. Beyond that, I have no feelings towards the man. He left me to Matteo’s heavy fist. I don’t regret it. Una and I are the same in that sense—the pair of us recognize that we grew up in less than ideal conditions, but we also accept that it shaped us and made us strong. If a bad experience makes you stronger, was it really bad or simply educational? He steps towards me and I round the desk to greet him. He loosely embraces me, kissing my cheek. He’s old school, from the homeland. He still speaks with a heavy accent and follows the old customs.
“How can I help?”
Honestly, I don’t have the time for niceties right now, and I don’t want him here while Una is around. He might be an old man, but he’s powerful, and Una did slaughter a lot of his countrymen when she killed Arnaldo. Of course, she doesn’t care about politics, and the second he calls her out, she’s likely to throw a knife at him. That’s all I need.
“I hear whispers, Nero.” He steps back and settles into the chair across from my desk. He crosses one ankle over his knee, picking at a piece of lint on his pant leg.
“I wouldn’t put much stock in whispers.” I take a seat behind the colosal desk and brace my elbows on the wood surface.
“The Kiss of Death,” he says, and I still. “I hear she is your whore.”
I meet his hard gaze unflinchingly. I could lie. But I don’t want to. The mafia will not like Una, but she is what’s best for them, even if they can’t see it. An organization is only as strong as its leaders. Why have a housewife when you can have a queen?
“She is mine.”
His expression shutters, his jaw ticking erratically. “And you know what she has done?”
“I know she played into a plan.” A plan that he was all too aware of.
“I don’t recall any plan that involved twenty-one dead Italians,” he snaps. “Good men.”
“Casualties of war, father, courtesy of Arnaldo. What did he expect when he sent hit men after her?” I laugh. “She’s The Kiss of Death. He was never going to win that fight.”
“Arnaldo was a good man. Loyal.”
Ah, the bitter irony. “Arnaldo was allowing this organization to stagnate. Is that what you want? To become a relic of the past?”
He leans forward, the movement designed to be threatening. If only I could be threatened. “I took a chance on you.”
“And I took a chance on her. She’s loyal to me.” Sometimes I doubt Una, but when it really comes to it, when it’s all on the line, I trust her. She may pretend she’s a lone wolf, but I know I have her loyalty just as she has mine.
“She is Russian. And she is one of the Elite.” He spits the word. “Ultimately her loyalty will be with Nicholai Ivanov. Always. She is a very dangerous risk at best. And even if you had her loyalty, you cannot marry her.”
“I’m aware of the customs.”
“You are of age. If you are to lead, you must find a good Italian woman.”
I laugh. “With all due respect, I wouldn’t know what to do with a good woman.”
“Play with your whore, but do not forget your duty, Nero.” Because he did his duty so well, fucking a married woman and leaving her and her asshole husband to bring up the child.
I snap my eyes to his again, all trace of humor leaving me in an instant. “I am not a horse to be put to stud. This isn’t up for debate.” This could cost me everything, but I won’t sit here and act like Una is nothing more than easy pussy. Far from it. I had to work hard for that shit. “It’s time the mafia moved into a new age. A strong woman at my side will serve me far better than a subservient one in my bed.”
His face starts to redden, and even the men he brought with him start to fidget uncomfortably in the impending silence. “These are the sacrifices that must be made,” he says. “I know this more than anyone.”
I stare straight at him. “No.”
“No?” His eyebrows shoot up. “You will jeopardize your position, your respect, your culture, all for this woman?”
I push to my feet and round the desk. “If men respect me for the woman I fuck, they are not men whose loyalty or respect I need. Power is earned through deeds and strategy. They see Una as the enemy, but you and I know better.” I lift a brow at him. He helped orchestrate the entire plan with Una, for him to shun her now for the very deeds he sanctioned…well, it’s very political of him. “If you wanted a puppet, you should have kept Arnaldo.”
I rule with fear, and few are more feared than Una. She is like a fabled myth, a whisper on the wind, a tale told to scare children. Only she scares fully grown men. She strengthens our position, but perhaps he is so blinded by his traditions that he cannot see. This is a new world. Keeping women safe and protected is becoming an option we can no longer hold to because there are far too many bastards out there like me who don’t care for morals. Do I want the mother of my children to cower helplessly when presented with an enemy, waiting for me to save her, or do I want Una to slaughter them where they stand? There is no choice. Let her be the example. Let her change the way the mafia thinks.
“She is not Italian,” he hisses, his face turning an unhealthy shade of red.
“No, she’s not. Find me an Italian girl with her skill, her ferocity, and her loyalty, and I will consider her.” This is my bargain, because I know he cannot do it. The mafia do not permit their women to fight. And again, as much as the traditions hamper me, they also hamper him.
He pushes to his feet, tugging the material of his jacket tight and fastening the button. “I will be in touch.”
I escort him out because I don’t want him running into Una on the way. The second the front door closes, she appears from the functioning kitchen that she didn’t blow up, a tub of Nutella in her hand and a spoon in her mouth. She leans her shoulder against the doorframe and pulls the spoon slowly past her lips. “Didn’t want to introduce me to daddy dearest?” A smile plays over her mouth. A tiny smudge of the chocolate is on her upper lip and it’s driving me insane.
“I don’t think that would be the safest move.”
“Worried he might try to shoot the bastard bearing baby mama?”
She lifts her gaze to mine as I grab the back of her neck and pull her close. Leaning down, I kiss her, swiping my tongue over her top lip and catching the smudge of chocolate.
“Call my baby a bastard again, Morte. See what happens,” I breathe against her lips.
“Touchy,” she murmurs. “Is this technically the child of a bastard, or have you changed that status?” She takes a small step back, biting down on her bottom lip.
“Oh, you just love to fucking push me.” I fist her hair and yank her head back hard. The jar in her hand hits the floor with a smash and she smiles like she just won the game. In a heartbeat, she brings a small knife to my throat, pressing it against my skin.
“Play nice,” she teases.
“We don’t do nice.”
She gets that violent glint in her eye. “No. We don’t,” she whispers as she slices the blade across my skin lightly. I feel the sting, followed by the warm trickle of blood.
“Ah, Morte.” I push her back into the room behind her. “I’m going to break you,” I promise against her lips.
“So break me.”
She shouldn’t tempt fate.
11
Una
It’s been a week, a week of playing nice and behaving. I haven’t even killed a single person. I think I’m getting withdrawals. Nero is still Nero. He’s still an asshole and, luckily for me, it takes very little to piss him off. Without that, god knows what I’d do for entertainment locked in this damn house. He is different though, more careful. I’m no longer the killer he hired, a disposable body. I’m the walking incubator. I’m Una Ivanov and he’s treating me like his baby mama. With each passing day, my anger gets worse and it’s probably not helped by the hormones. And as the weeks pass, I will get b
igger and bigger, less mobile. I have to be in a safe place for the last two months of this pregnancy because at that point, I can’t run. It needs to be now. He’s relaxed around me. Maybe he believes I won’t try anything. I stand in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around me as I stare at my foggy reflection in the mirror. I finally managed to get the brown dye out of my hair, although I’ll probably have to dye it again when I leave.
I watch in the mirror as Nero steps into the bathroom and moves behind me. One hand wraps around my middle, resting over the bump. He’s getting bolder, more obvious in his intentions. I shift away and turn to face him.
“I have to go to a meeting in the city today.” A small frown line mars his otherwise flawless face. Nero is the image of ruthless grace in his tailored suit. A loose curl of dark hair hangs over his forehead as he tilts his face down to me.
“Uh, okay. I’m not your wife, Nero. You don’t have to tell me where you’re going.”
His lips pull up at one side. “I specifically remember a perfectly good jacket suffering a kitchen knife because I went to a meeting and left you in the apartment.”
“That was different.”
“The female mind is a wonder.” His eyes narrow. “Tell me, how so?”
“Well for one, I wasn’t like Moby Dick.” I point at my stomach and he laughs. “See, if I were your wife, you’d be too scared of me to laugh.”
“Oh, I’m scared of you, Morte.” I fold my arms over my chest and he smiles, reaching up and brushing his finger over my bottom lip. “But if you need me to do the romance thing…” He leans in close and skims his lips over my neck, igniting my body. “I want to fuck you so hard.”
I snort and roll my eyes. “Romantic.”
“Your idea of romance is a knife fight.”
“I don’t see any knives.”
“Ah, that reminds me…” He takes his wallet out of his pocket and pulls something from the coin pouch, holding it up.
“My blade.” I take the tiny silver blade from between his fingers, inspecting it.
“I pulled it from some guy’s neck in the foyer after your little rampage.”
I slide it back into the cuff at my wrist. “Thanks.”
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” He eyes me meaningfully—in other words, don’t do anything stupid.
“Try not to kill anyone,” I say. “I’d hate to think of you having fun without me.”
He brushes his lips over mine and my pulse picks up. “Power isn’t bought with mercy, Morte.”
“No, it’s paid for in blood.” I push onto my tiptoes and press my mouth firmly to his, swiping my tongue over his lip. His fingers flinch into my hip.
“A few hours.” Then slips away from me, turning his back and walking out the door.
Pressing my fingers to my tingling lips, I squeeze my eyes shut. Now or never. I grab the bag that’s under the bed and check through it. I’m limited to only a change of clothes and about a thousand dollars in cash that I found tucked into one of the kitchen drawers yesterday. I move quickly around the room, searching the bedside drawers, the bathroom, the closet. Finally, I drop to my knees beside the bed and bingo. There’s a .40 Cal strapped to the bedframe. I pull it away and check the clip before tucking it into the back of my jeans.
The second I step out of the room, Nero’s bus boys are in my face. I swipe the legs out from under the big one and pull my gun, pistol-whipping the second. The first moves to get up, but my gun is in his face before he can clamor to his feet.
“I can shoot you or knock you out.”
He holds his hands up in surrender. With a swift punch to the temple, his eyes roll back before he’s out cold. I shake out my fist, relishing my aching knuckles. It’s been so long since I trained, so long since I felt the stinging limbs of a real fight. I miss it.
It's quiet as I make my way through the house. Suspiciously so. I open Nero’s office door and slip inside, closing the door behind me. George hops up, wagging his little stump at me. Zeus studiously ignores me as usual. I rifle through the desk drawers until I find what I’m looking for: a set of keys. Either he seriously believes I won’t try to leave, or he thinks I’ll go on foot. Granted, taking one of his cars will mean he can track me until I can dump it, but, it has its benefits.
George pricks his ears when I turn to leave, trying to follow me. I drop to a crouch in front of him and kiss the top of his head. “I can’t take you with me. I’m sorry.” He tilts his head to the side and I scratch behind his ear before standing. The garage is at the back of the house, and I manage to avoid Nero’s men as I make my way there. Eventually, I’m standing in front of a row of cars. One of them beeps at me when I press the button on the fob. A Maserati sports car. That sucks, considering what I’m about to do to it.
I get in and throw my bag on the passenger seat before revving the powerful engine. It purrs and snarls, making me smile. I find the control for the garage door and it starts to rise, revealing two guards standing on the other side. They frown into the garage, confusion marring their expressions until they make out who is sitting at the wheel of the flashy car. They pull guns and point them at me, but I simply smile and slam my foot on the accelerator. The simple fact is, they won’t shoot Nero’s pregnant…whatever I am. The car lurches forward and they leap out of the way as tire smoke and gravel kick up in my wake.
The driveway is about two hundred yards long, and as I floor it towards the gate, I see men frantically running around. Guns are raised and bullets ping off the hood. I press my foot harder over the accelerator, ducking behind the wheel as I gun it at the metal gate. I meet it with a jarring impact, the screeching of metal on metal and the squealing of tires. The car comes to a halt against the bank opposite the gate, and then the ping, ping, ping of bullets sound. I look behind me and slam the car in reverse before shoving it into drive and forcing the ruined vehicle as fast as possible down the road. My heart is pounding as I glance in the rear view mirror, but no one follows me. I need to get off this road, stick to the back roads and then ditch the car. The second I round the corner though, my heart sinks. Two SUVs are pulled across the road, blocking it. In front of them stand Gio and Nero and a whole host of other guys. My foot lifts off the accelerator for a second as I assess my options. The SUVs are blocking the road, but there’s a gap between them, probably just big enough to squeeze through…the gap that Nero and Gio are standing in front of. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and slam my foot back down on the gas. Gio raises his gun and I flinch when he fires at the windshield. The glass shatters, but I keep my gaze firmly fixed on Nero. He’s barely a hundred yards away from me now. He lifts a rifle and my eyes widen. I trust none of his men to shoot me, but him? Would he rather kill me than let me go? I don’t hear the bang, but I feel the hard thud and stabbing pain of something hitting my chest. I grit my teeth and glance down for a second. A dart is sticking out of my chest, and my head starts to spin. I slam my foot on the brake and yank the steering wheel to the side. The car skids sideways. The sound of screeching tires fills my ears, swiftly followed by the deafening bang of metal meeting metal. Blinding pain rips across my skull along with one thought; run. Fumbling with the door, I throw it open and fall out of the car. My hands and knees meet the tarmac and glass bites into my skin as I try to crawl away. But it’s no use. My head is swimming, the fog clinging to the edges of my mind, mocking and taunting me with my own freedom. I pitch sideways, clutching at my stomach as everything goes black.
12
Nero
“Fuck. Fuck!” I roar.
I knew she’d try something, but a car? I didn’t expect to have to tranq her behind the wheel of a fucking car. Her head falls back against the tarmac and her arms go limp, falling to her sides. The way she was clutching her stomach scares the shit out of me.
“Get the doctor. Now!” Blood coats her face, pouring from the wound at her hairline and streaking her white-blonde hair red.
I pick her up and climb into the back of the SUV, cradl
ing her against my chest as Gio drives back to the house. I knew she’d try something, so I deliberately left late. Low and behold, I’m barely a couple of miles down the road when I get the call. We pull up to the house. The gate and half my Maserati are all over the road. They’ve cleared enough of a path to allow us through and Gio pulls right up to the front door.
I climb out and walk through the house to my office where I lay her on one of the sofas. Gio follows a minute later and holds out a wad of bandages and dressings to me. I press them against her forehead, trying to stem the bleeding. There’s nothing else I can do.
“She’s crazy,” Gio grumbles, dragging his hand through his hair in agitation.
“Not like I really expected her to do what she was told.”
“Nero, she’s pregnant with your kid! You can’t give her free reign. She’s too unstable.” He shakes his head. “She has no sense of self-preservation. She’ll kill that baby.”
“Enough!” I clench and release my fist before pressing it to my forehead. He doesn’t understand Una. I don’t agree with her. I can’t let her do it, but I see why she honestly believes she’s doing the right thing. I get it. I get that she’s trying to be selfless.
Gio walks out of the room without another word. He sees things differently. He thinks that women should be protected, children even more so. Una confounds all of that. I brush her hair away from her face, staring at unsettlingly innocent features before my gaze drifts to her stomach. I slide my hand beneath the material of her shirt and press my palm to her bare skin. Is he or she okay in there? Are they hurt? I don’t know what I expect, a sign or something. I feel nothing. The doctor said the sedative wouldn’t hurt the baby, but the car crash…There’s a knock at the door, and Gio comes back in followed by the doctor. The older man takes my place and removes the dressing, inspecting her head, “This will need stitches.”
“You need to check the baby first.”