Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

by LP Lovell

  “That’s settled then,” Nero says, done with the conversation.

  “Nero…”

  “They are well connected, and they are motivated to remove Nicholai. If the bratva falls, then they can assume power.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. What the hell is he talking about? He turns back to Igor and pushes to his feet. “I accept your proposal. You may move your gun shipment through the city, but keep it clean. If I have to get involved, you won’t like it.”

  Nero reaches out his hand. Igor shakes it before holding his hand out to me. I grit my teeth and take it, forcing back the inner killer pushing to the surface. Whatever he sees in my eyes, it makes him drop my hand quickly.

  “Pleasure,” Igor purrs, before walking out of the bar.

  As soon as we’re in the car, I turn on Nero. “The bratva will never fall.” The network is enormous, powerful and intertwined into even the government in Russia. It can’t be done. Though Nicholai is one of their key players and his death would be a blow; he will soon be replaced.

  A knowing smile pulls at his lips as he starts the car. “Of course not.” That’s all he says. Damn, the man is so cryptic. He starts the engine, pulling away from the building.

  “‘Of course’ is not an explanation. Care to explain to me what is going through that crazy mind of yours.”

  “My brilliant mind?”

  I roll my eyes. “Nero…"

  “Fine. Of course, the bratva will never fall, but if we kill Nicholai, they will have to retaliate. Someone needs to take that fall, and I can’t bring that back on the family. This has the potential to start a mafia war.”

  “You want to ally so that you have a scape goat.” Damn, he thinks of everything, down the finite details. I can plan a kill to the letter, think of every escape option, every possible thing that could go wrong, but Nero takes that and does it on a massive scale, factoring in key players and entire organizations, gangs, and families. He’s never been more attractive to me than he is in this moment, and I don’t know if it’s a twisted form of bloodlust withdrawal or hormones.

  “There is no point in killing Nicholai only to die a few weeks later.” His hand lands on my thigh, pushing the material of my dress up until he skims my bare thigh. “I intend for us to survive this, Morte. And you will rule this city with me.” The future he speaks of is not one I’ve allowed myself to think on, because tomorrow is so uncertain.

  I laugh. “Not sure your father will approve of that.”

  He pulls up at a traffic light and glances at me with a twisted smile. “I have a plan.”

  “Don’t you always?”

  “Always.”

  16

  Nero

  Planning. That’s all I’ve done for the last three days. I’ve barely seen Una because she’s been calling on her contacts in Russia while I’ve been calling on everyone, anyone who might help our cause. The simple fact is, Nicholai Ivanov is coming for us and we have two choices: hand Una over, or fight. The first isn’t an option, which leaves us gearing for a war with a man who has his own personal army and more money, weapons, and influence than God. Not to mention he’s insane and obsessed with the mother of my child. Of all the women in the world, I had to want her.

  I swipe my hand down my face and look at the blueprints Gio has placed in front of me. I’m sitting on one of the sofas in the penthouse office and he’s sat across from me. Una is pacing backwards and forwards, cracking her neck as though she’s about to go on a rampage. Gio flashes me a nervous glance and I smirk. She’s decided she hates him, and he’s now the target of her rage, of which there’s plenty.

  “So, the only way in is via the vehicle bay?” He points at the blueprint. Turns out Igor was useful. His people managed to give us accurate plans of Nicholai’s military base, not that I think it will do us much good. The only plan we have is to go at him head on.

  Una sighs and turns to face us, bending over the coffee table and bracing her palm against the wood. “The base is guarded well. This is the only road in,” she says, stabbing the paper with her finger. “It’s exposed, with only a tree line on one side. They can see you coming from miles away. There’s a guard tower with a .50 Cal machine gun and armor piercing bullets, as well as RPGs. Any unauthorized vehicles are taken out.” Gio looks at me, his brows pulled tightly together as she continues. “If you get past that gate, you are left with an impregnable, nuclear blast-proof bunker. And yes, it has only one entrance, and that is the vehicle bay which is heavily guarded by Elite. I could take you out right now, Gio. On my own while carting around a football. You don’t stand a chance against one of them, and you are proposing walking into their fucking base, where they live and train, where they will be armed to the hilt.” She turns away and resumes pacing, dragging both hands through her hair.

  “Do you have a better plan?” he asks. She turns and glares at him. The air buzzes with the promise of blood, and I can practically hear her ticking, ready to go off at any minute.

  “Yes! I had a better fucking plan until you two idiots decided to drag me back to New York!” She goes to the window and braces one palm against it, dropping her head forward as she clenches and releases her fist at her side.

  “Gio, give me a minute.” He gets up, and walks out of the room. The door clicks shut, leaving a tense silence in its wake.

  I move over to the window, studying the profile of her rigid back. “Do not make me the enemy, Morte.”

  She rests her head against the glass and it mists with her breath. “I feel like a sitting duck.”

  “Perception, Morte. If you think you are a bird waiting for a bullet, then the bullet is sure to find you. We are strategizing, being smart and forming a plan that will actually work. You cannot fight if you believe the war is already lost.”

  “Nero.” Curling her fist against the glass, she lets out a groan. “Your confidence is not going to win this for us.” She turns, bracing her back against the window. “You have to go to your father.”

  “No.”

  “You are the underboss. We need the backing of the mafia.”

  “We’re talking about a mafia war. And I would be asking him to start it in the name of what? The Russian woman who killed our own.”

  “We have gone backwards and forwards over every conceivable plan. At the very least, we need the mafia’s protection in the aftermath, even if we can pull this off with limited numbers.” She pinches the bridge of her nose. “If we kill Nicholai, pin it on the Slovo, and have the Italians protection, we will be safe. The Russians won’t want a war either. Without it, we are a bird waiting for a bullet.”

  I sigh. “You don’t understand…”

  “You would be asking for his help in removing your biggest competition. Nicholai runs all the guns in North America. That trade is worth millions. Take it.” She steps forward, grabbing my jacket in both hands. Her eyes lock with mine, desperation bleeding through her expression. She’s scared and I hate it. I hate that Nicholai has my vicious killer fearing for her life and the life of our child. I’m going to end Nicholai Ivanov, but as I look at Una, for the first time in my life, I’m questioning exactly what the price of that will be.

  “Morte, there are lines even I cannot cross.”

  “Fuck politics, Nero. Fuck the lines. You didn’t go to such lengths to become underboss, just to simper beneath your father’s will.” Her eyes drop to my mouth and she leans in, trailing her fingers over my jaw as her lips brush against mine. “Show him why you are the future of the mafia. Show him what real power looks like.” She kisses me. “Show him what a man with no lines is willing to do. The Italians may hate me, but they hate the Russians more.”

  I grab her jaw, tilting her head back until she’s looking at me. “They don’t hate you, Morte, they fear you. They fear us because we have no lines.”

  Her hot breath blows over my face and a wicked smile pulls at her lips. “Good.”

  I groan against her mouth, barely a breath away from mine. My vicious que
en, so beautifully merciless. I have grown up in the mafia, surrounded by men who will shoot a man in one moment and then preach about their honor and ethics the next. Una and I are the same, she basks in their fear. She likes it. We understand the power of being feared before you’ve even entered a room, of having your name whispered with both reverence and disgust. I love that about her. We are the new generation, more ruthless, less forgiving, and with a code of ethics that serves us and those loyal to us. Man, woman, or child, if you stand against us, you are the enemy and you will be cut down.

  I twist Una’s face to the side and kiss her throat, inhaling her vanilla and gun oil scent. “Get changed, put on a dress. We’re going to see Cesare.” One way or the other, we will pull him to our cause. I’m not above playing dirty. If this is what Una needs to feel safe, then I’ll give it to her. Cesare means nothing to me, and Una means everything.

  “I hate wearing dresses,” she says, scowling.

  I smirk, my grip slipping from her jaw and resting around her throat. Her pulse thrums against my fingertips, steady and strong. “My father likes to think of women as something delicate, something to be protected. And you play the innocent lamb very well when you have to, my love.” She glares at me and I laugh. “Especially with this.” I rest my free hand over her stomach.

  “This is already making me want to kill somebody.”

  I kiss her forehead. “Enchant him the way you enchanted me.”

  “Nero, I tried to kill you and you got hard for it.” She rolls her eyes. “That is not enchanting, it’s just twisted.”

  “You like twisted.” Grabbing her hips, I lift her, pushing her against the window. Her legs wrap around my waist and my hard dick presses against her.

  “I love twisted,” she breathes.

  I kiss down the side of her neck and she throws her head back against the glass, pushing her breasts towards me. Pregnancy has been good to her, and her chest strains against the confines of her shirt. Sliding the straps down her arms, I suck one nipple into my mouth and she moans, rolling her hips into me. “Fuck,” I groan, my cock swelling. I love how she always responds for me, softening and opening up just like the butterfly she is. Grabbing my shirt, she tears it apart. Buttons scatter everywhere, and then her nails are raking over my skin in a burning trail. I hiss and allow her to slide down the front of my body. She removes my shirt while pushing me back toward the couch like a hungry predator. The look in her eyes skates the fine line of lust and violence, both so close. She strips until she’s completely naked and so fucking beautiful. Her body is hard, honed muscle, littered with a map of scars, but softened by her full breasts and growing stomach. She shoves against my chest and I fall back onto the couch before she’s straddling my thighs. Her movements are aggressive and frantic, and I meet every touch of her lips, every lash of her tongue with the same brutal need, feeding the flames, antagonizing her.

  A ragged gasp slips from her as I push two fingers inside her. She touches her forehead to mine and her entire body tenses and trembles as her shaking breaths intermingle with my own. Gripping her throat, I drive into her harder, watching her become totally exposed for me. Her eyes shutter closed on a moan and her skin flushes a beautiful shade of pink. Silvery hair cascades down her back as her hips meet my hard thrusts eagerly. Fuck, she’s so perfect.

  “Break for me, Morte,” I say through clenched teeth.

  And she does, moaning and clenching around my fingers, her body contorting erotically.

  “Nero,” she breathes.

  My name leaving her lips in a moment of weakness is so right, so absolute. Her forehead meets mine and I inhale the smell of sweat and sex, mixing with her familiar vanilla scent. She grips my hair and kisses me.

  “Now we can go and see your dad,” she says, climbing to her feet.

  “See, now you just make that sound wrong.”

  She grabs her shirt and underwear, putting them back on before she heads for the door. “Una, put your fucking jeans on,” I snap as she opens the door.

  She glances over her shoulder and winks before she walks straight out. “Fucks sake.” I yank my pants up and storm after her. She walks right through the lounge where five of my guys are sitting with Gio. I glare at them, daring them to so much as glance her way. They all look away sheepishly, keeping their gazes locked on the floor.

  Catching up to her on the stairs, I throw her over my shoulder. “Put me down!”

  My palm meets her ass hard enough that she’ll be feeling it when she sits down. “You just love to fucking push me.”

  I drop her in our walk-in closet. “I like you angry.”

  God, how was I not bored senseless before she came along? “Get dressed.”

  “I need to shower.”

  “Oh no.” I back her into the chest of drawers, wrapping my fingers around her delicate throat as I bring my lips to her ear. I can feel her pulse racing in anticipation. “You don’t get to wash my come off you after that little stunt.”

  Her eyes meet mine and she bites her bottom lip on a smile. “Now who’s dirty? I thought you wanted innocent, contrite, pure…”

  “Never.” My thumb swipes over her bottom lip as I lean in. “Play the part, but we’ll know better, Morte.”

  Teeth graze over the pad of my thumb and my dick stirs again. “Watch and learn, capo.” I step away from her, grabbing a shirt and my gun holster. I walk away before I decide to finish what we started and fuck her.

  When I get to the bottom of the stairs Gio clears his throat. “Did you get anywhere with the plans?” he asks. Plans? Oh, the plans.

  “We’re going to try a different approach.” He raises his brows. “We’re going to Cesare.”

  “We?”

  “I’m taking Una. See if she can’t appeal to his strategic side.”

  He inhales a deep breath. “With all due respect, I think that might aggravate the situation.”

  “We don’t have a lot of choice. I need numbers and political support, Gio.” I pull him to the corner of the room. “Nicholai is going to make a play soon. He won’t come directly at us, and we can’t go to him, not at the base. It’s suicide. I think we need to catch him away from his home turf.”

  His dark brows pull together. “Una could lure him out.”

  “Suggest that again, Gio, and I’ll kill you, friend or not.”

  He snorts. “Nero, you are facing the impossible. We have to draw him out, and the only thing he’s guaranteed to come out for is Una.”

  “Are you loyal to me or not?”

  “We’ve been best friends since we were fourteen.” And he gave up nearly everything to support me. “You know I am.”

  “Then you are loyal to her and my baby.” He stares at me for a beat, then releases a long breath, nodding. His gaze flicks over my shoulder before he turns away, going back to the few men he has gathered. I turn around just as Una comes down the stairs.

  “Innocent enough for you?” she asks.

  “I’m not sure that’s quite the word I’d use,” I mumble. She’s wearing a gray dress that clings to every fucking thing. That bump couldn’t be any clearer if she put a flashing neon sign on it. The material follows the line of her curves and stops just above her knee. She’s wearing a pair of high heels and her hair falls down her back in a silver-white sheet. Her infamous red lipstick is firmly in place making her look sexy although it is a blinding reminder of exactly who she is. I’m not sure my father needs any reminders on that front.

  She walks up to me and smooths her hand down the front of my jacket. “Come now. You wouldn’t want to keep daddy dearest waiting.”

  17

  Una

  “I need to know everything,” I say as we sit in yet more New York traffic.

  Nero braces his hands against the steering wheel. “You’re going to have to be more specific.”

  “Cesare.” My knowledge of Nero’s biological father was limited to business acquaintances, political motivations etc. What I needed to know was the min
ute details that make a person tick.

  “He’s a strong leader, ruling with a combination of fear and respect. He’s of the old ways.”

  “The mafia do love their traditions,” I mumble. The car shuffles forward through the heavy traffic and the blare of a horn rang out somewhere behind us.

  “The traditions hamper him.”

  “Women and children?”

  “Amongst other things. When he came to me at the Hamptons house, he expressed his… distaste for you.”

  I let out a snort. “Nero, I’m Russian. I might as well be the antichrist.”

  His fingers drum over the steering wheel, a small smirk pulling at his lips. “He wants me to marry a good Italian woman.”

  I wasn’t ready for that. My chest tightens and I glance out the window, trying to dislodge the uncomfortable feeling. “You’ll have to at some point.” I’d never really thought about it until now, but of course he would. The mafia are all about keeping the bloodlines pure, extending their legacy and protecting their women, their Italian women. A good marriage would be strategically and politically wise. I know this. It’s the rational, strong thing to do, so why am I annoyed at the idea?

  “Morte.” Fingers brush my thigh and I close my eyes, swallowing all trace of emotion before I turn to face him. He’s pulled over on the side of the busy street and is staring straight at me. I was so lost in thought, I hadn’t even noticed the car had stopped moving.

  “I’m Nero Verdi. I take what I want.” He grips my jaw, his hold hard and unrelenting. “And I sure as shit don’t want a good woman. I want you, my vicious little butterfly.”

  His expression is hard and almost angry as we stare at each other. “Nero, you are the underboss. There are rules and customs you cannot simply walk away from.”