by LP Lovell
“He’s such a drama queen.” Una snorts and I glance at her. A wry smile pulls at the corner of her lips and she lifts one brow, daring me, challenging. She just loves to fucking push me. Forcing myself to turn away from her, I focus on the two Albanians.
“Do you know who I am?” I say to them. One of them is an older guy, ugly as all fuck with a nasty scar across his throat. Apparently this one had a brush with death. The other is younger. Both are wearing track suits and have heavy gold chains hanging around their necks. God, it’s like something out of a bad seventies crime film.
“V-Verdi,” the young one stammers. His friend scowls at him. I nod at Jackson and he grabs both men by their shoulders, kicking them to their knees. The young one whimpers. His entire body shaking as he stares at the ground.
“Yes, I am Nero Verdi.” Dropping to a crouch, I rest one arm casually over my thigh and inhale on my cigarette. I toss it towards the young one and he flinches, making me smile. “And you know that means you’re in serious shit.” I stand again. “Where did you get the drugs you sold in Poison last night?” I ask. Silence. Sighing I turn back to them, cupping my ear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear an answer.”
The younger guy opens his mouth. “We…I…” His friend barks something in Albanian and I throw my head back on a groan. Checking my watch, I turn to Una, crooking my finger at her. She pushes off the hood and Gio rolls his eyes as she sways her hips, bat in hand. My very own little Harley Quinn.
“Gentleman, this is Una. Some call her The Kiss of Death, the Mexicans call her The Angel of Death. You get the point.” She swings the bat in loose circles through the air.
The older guy sneers. “You have your woman do your dirty work.” He spits on the ground, and Una glances at me.
“Well, now, that’s a filthy habit.” She strides away from me, heels clicking over the concrete and echoing around the vast warehouse. She barely breaks stride as she swings the bat back and smashes him in the gut. He pitches over on his side, coughing and wheezing as he tries to catch his breath.
“I should mention; she’s hormonal.” I back up and take a seat next to Gio, watching Una go to town on the older guy. She doesn’t touch the younger one, but he breaks a little more with every blow she lays on his friend. She smashes the guys knee caps, as promised, breaks both his arms, his cheek bone, but not his jaw. Good girl.
“You know you two are sick?” Gio comments from his spot beside me.
“Think of it this way, the more hormonal rage she lays into this guy, the less she’ll have for you.”
He releases a heavy breath and there’s a long pause, broken only by the low grunts of pain coming from the man and the whimpering of his friend. “You can’t pretend that everything is fine, Nero.”
“Do not assume to patronize me on what is coming.”
“You’re distracting her with mafia bullshit.”
I glare at him. “Because if she sits in that apartment and stews on it, she’s going to do something stupid. I am buying time and keeping her under control.”
He nods towards Una who has her knee planted on the man’s chest. He’s howling in pain, no doubt from broken ribs. The baseball bat is pressed across his throat and he’s gasping for breath. “Looks like you have complete control.”
She hisses something at him in what I assume is Albanian. Damn, is there a language that girl doesn’t speak? He says something back and her whole demeanor changes. Smiling, she gets off him. She stands up, blood-covered baseball bat in hand, blonde hair loose around her shoulders, and the blood-spattered dress covering her baby bump.
“Did he tell you?” I ask.
“No.” She inches her skirt up, then grabs a dagger from the inside of her thigh and throws it, lightning fast. The blade embeds between his eyes and she glances over her shoulder. “He called me a Russian whore.”
“Cesare should consider himself lucky then,” I say under my breath.
“Fucking hell,” Gio swipes a hand over his face, ever the cautious, diplomatic one. He’s averse to ‘unnecessary blood shed’ as he calls it. As though all death should have purpose.
Jackson strolls over and stands beside me. “I think I might need a Russian woman.”
I laugh. “They do have a certain….finesse.”
“Look, if you two are done getting a hard on for this shit, can we get this over with?” Gio pushes off the hood, waving an arm in the direction of the remaining guy. Una is crouching in front of him, and he’s crying.
“Fucking hell, they don’t make gang members the way they used to,” Jackson grumbles, looking wholly uncomfortable with the entire situation.
I narrow my eyes when Una starts whispering something to him in Albanian again, and then, she strokes his face and its almost intimate. My fists clench and red-hot heat fires up my back.
“Morte,” I growl through gritted teeth. She flashes me a wry smile over her shoulder.
“Damn, you two are fucked up,” Jackson says.
“Thank you,” Gio adds.
A few seconds later and Una stands and turns, walking over to me. “A guy called Camilo Juan.”
“That fucking Columbian,” Jackson spits. “Rat bastard. What are we going to do with him?” he asks, pointing at the Albanian.
“Let him live,” Una says.
I lift a brow, firstly because she’s commanding my men, and secondly because she’s showing mercy. “Are you going soft, Morte?”
“Oh, for fucks sake, Nero.” Gio walks off with a shake of his head before getting in his car.
Una steps between my legs, her hand gliding over my chest, beneath my jacket. “Never.” The scent of blood dances along her skin as she presses her lips to mine. Her teeth scrape my lip, and I barely even acknowledge that she’s taken my gun until I hear the bang. I pull away from her, and her gaze is firmly locked on me, though the smoking gun in her hand is aimed behind her. The Albanian falls forward, a gaping bullet hole right between his eyes.
“Damn. Una, you have a sister, right?” Jackson asks. I glance at him and he’s readjusting himself, a stupid grin on his face.
“A death wish is what you have,” I say.
He laughs as he walks towards the Range Rover parked at the back of the empty warehouse.
As soon as I push off the hood of his car, Gio starts the engine and I lead Una to my own vehicle, opening the door for her. That cold brutality of hers brings out the animal in me. I want to fuck her and hurt her, break her and tame her, and I know she’ll always take everything I give her and hand it back tenfold. She is perfect and unique and mine. The more time I spend with her, the more I feel the weight of that, as if she’s imprinting herself on my dark soul, making herself a vital part of me. I’m not sure whether to fight it or embrace it, but in the end, it doesn’t feel like I have a lot of choice. I love her, and for all the power in the world, there are some things you just can’t fight.
As soon as I get in the car Una hands me my gun and I tuck it back in the holster. “Feeling better?” I ask.
She leans over the center console, placing a kiss on my cheek. “Much. Thank you. Who knew you were so good at first dates?”
“Technically killing my brother was our first date.”
“Yes, because I’m sure that’s how they start every great love story, Nero.”
“And they say romance is dead.”
19
Una
I lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. The lights from the city below illuminate the room in a soft light. Nero always tells me to close the blinds, but I like it. The light reminds me that I’m free, that I’m not in that bunker, buried beneath the earth in the snowy deserted woodland of Russia. The light makes me feel safe and where the sheer amount of people in the city daunted me, it now makes me comfortable. If I were to die here in New York, there would be someone to miss me, people to witness it at the very least. If I were to die in Russia, I would just be another pawn, toppled in a larger game. I never thought anything of it before, never
feared death, but I’m starting to think that a person’s legacy has meaning. The people we leave behind, if any—that matters. And of course, I’m thinking about this because I’m thinking of Nicholai. I’m thinking of my death.
The bedroom door opens silently and light from the hallway cuts across the carpet. I watch Nero’s silhouette as he undresses, throwing clothes on the chair in the corner before he gets into bed. He’s been working late again, and I know he feels it just as keenly as I do; the seconds counting down, ticking away. Rolling over, I reach for him, needing to touch him. Funny that his touch grounds me where all others incite me to kill. He turns on his side and rests his hand over my stomach, stroking his thumb in circles over my skin. Warm lips brush my forehead before he pulls me close, tucking my face against his broad chest. I can feel it in the air, bouncing between us: fear. And Nero and I, this is a place where fear has never existed.
“It’s been too quiet.” My fingers trail up his back, feeling over the hard muscles.
He says nothing for long moments. “Nicholai’s just biding his time, probably waiting to see what we’ll do.”
I know better. I know Nicholai. He waits for nothing, and he always has a plan. He attacks his opponent’s weakness, goes for the jugular. It’s the intelligent strategy with the least amount of hassle. The simple fact is, if you hold a knife to someone’s throat they’ll do what you want. He doesn’t want to kill me, so he’ll try to maneuver me, corral me like a wild horse, backing me into a corner until he has me trapped.
“No, something is coming.” I can’t shake the feeling that we haven’t covered all the bases, that we’ve missed something glaringly obvious.
“Una, we are here, and you know as well as I do that this tower is nigh on impregnable. All my men can look after themselves. Your sister is buried in the Cartel, well-guarded and well hidden.”
“We’re missing something, Nero.”
“I have a plan.”
I sigh and lift my face from his chest, glancing at him. Dark eyes glint in the dim light, and I sweep a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. “Don’t you always?”
“I do.” He rolls me over, settling between my legs as he kisses over my collar bone. I run my hands through his hair, and I want to believe that he has it all in hand. I want to trust that he can stand against Nicholai, that he can win. I know that I view Nicholai through the eyes of a child, through the eyes of someone who has always bowed to his power and been conditioned to see him that way. But he has not made it to where he is without good reason. Him and Nero are like facing off two monsters and trying to pick the winner. I can’t.
“Tell me.”
He kisses my chest, looking up at me through thick, black lashes. “Simple. We can’t get to him, so we lure him out.”
“How?”
“Everyone has a weakness, Morte.” He’s right, Nicholai does have one weakness.
“Use me.”
Any positivity in his expression flees, replaced by a deep frown. “No, it’s too risky.” I open my mouth to speak but he silences me, placing a hand over my mouth. “I know who you are, and I do not doubt your capabilities, my love. But it isn’t just you. Do you trust me?” he asks, releasing my mouth.
“Yes.”
He smiles and then his lips work down the center of my chest. He pushes up my shirt, kissing over my stomach. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmurs against my skin and a wave of emotions engulfs me. I trust him, but I feel this hole in my chest, sheer despair and desperation swirling like a vortex. His plans are loosely formed at best and we are running out of time, I can feel it, like Nicholai’s hot breath is skittering across my neck as we speak.
My hand wraps around his neck, bringing his mouth to mine because I need to feel him. I need that sense of invincibility that comes with being held by him, being loved by him. His lips part and I brush my tongue against his. The kiss becomes hard and demanding, and then he’s pushing me back down on the bed and sliding inside me. His breaths mix with my own as he fucks me slow and hard, drawing out each and every moan, pushing me higher and higher. And there, in his arms, I find a moment of peace and I know that’s exactly what he wants to give me, so I embrace it, I take it. That serenity wraps around me for just a few short moments and I cling to him, wishing I never had to let go of this, but knowing I must. My hands stroke over his muscles as they strain and flex beneath his skin. He’s beauty, power, and raw chaos all wrapped up in one man. And he’s mine.
I fall asleep in his arms, but even Nero can’t keep that empty feeling from filling me.
It’s dark, so dark. I’m disorientated, my senses muted and numbed.
“Ah, little dove, you’re awake.” I turn and Nicholai is standing beside me, his image blurry, but with each blink of my eyes he becomes clearer. His dark gray hair is combed back as always, and his three-piece suit is immaculate, down to the handkerchief in his top pocket that matches his tie. Truly the devil in disguise. “I have a gift for you.”
“What gift?” I ask. He turns, and reveals a patch of light on the far wall, illuminating Nero chained against it.
“No,” I whisper. I try to go to him, but my feet won’t move. It’s like I’m cemented to the floor. Nero lifts his head, those dark eyes meeting mine. Blood streams down his torso from several neat and precise cuts on his chest and stomach. “Please let him go.”
“Ah, but he is your weakness, little dove. Without him you will become everything you were meant to be.” I shake my head and he puts a gun in my hand. I stare down at the weapin, and when I look back up, there’s someone else chained to the wall, beside Nero. A boy. About ten years old. His head hangs forward, dark hair messy and disheveled, his small body also covered in blood. He lifts his head slowly. Violet eyes meet mine—eyes identical to my own, but his face… he’s the image of Nero. I know this is my child. I know it.
“Shoot one of them, little dove.” Nicholai purrs with satisfaction.
“No,” I say through gritted teeth. I feel a hot tear slide down my cheek.
“Pick, or I will pick for you.”
“Morte,” I look at Nero. This isn’t like Alex, his expression doesn’t beg me to kill him, it demands it. Nero doesn’t fear death. I know this, but…but I love him. “Lift the gun,” he says calmly. I do. “Good. Now aim it at my head.” I do as he says, my hand shaking because my heart demands that I stop. I look at the boy again, a boy I don’t know, but I do. In my soul, I know him. “Look at me.” Nero’s voice lulls me back to him. “Pull the trigger, Morte. Be strong.”
“I love you,” I tell him as tears now stream down my cheeks.
“I love you,” he responds, his expression hard and determined. He nods and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. My pulse pounds in my ears, the steady inhale and exhale of my own breaths. I place the gun under my chin.
“No!” Nero’s and Nicholai’s combined cries are the last thing I hear. BANG.
I wake up and bolt upright, gasping for air. Sweat coats my body and my heart is beating so hard I can feel it jolting against my ribs.
“Morte.” I swing my gaze to Nero who sits up next to me. He cups my face, swiping his thumb under my eye and catching a stray tear.
“I just…I need a minute.” Climbing out of bed, I go to the bathroom and close the door behind me. I turn on the shower and strip out of Nero’s t-shirt before getting in. The water does very little to wash away the memory of the dream. It feels so real, the idea of having to choose between Nero, my baby, and myself. And I know that in that scenario, I would choose myself. I shot the boy I loved once, and it broke something inside of me. If something were to happen to Nero…
When I finally step out of the bathroom, Nero has his back propped against the headboard, waiting for me. He doesn’t say anything, simply opens his arms and allows me to crawl into them. I’m fragile, as if all the pieces that make up Una Ivanov are slowly splintering apart and being split. Part of me is with Nero, another with Anna, and the last with this
baby. Divided, I am weak, but if I weren’t divided than I’d have nothing to fight for in the first place, would I? I need to work out a way to be the person I used to be, but with the new motivations I now have. It seems like an impossible task, but I have to do it. I will do it.
I fall asleep to the steady thumping of Nero’s heartbeat and the brush of his fingers through my hair. I sleep soundly in the arms of my monster.
20
Nero
I lean against the breakfast bar and clasping a cup of coffee. It’s early and orange-tinged light of dawn pours through the windows of the skyscraper, painting everything in a tranquil hue. I like this time in the morning, before the world stirs awake. It’s as if you’re the only person, embroiled in this serene moment of peace, a pause in time before the world starts spinning again and everything that exists in day-to-day life comes pouring back in. And this morning, I need that moment to think.
I left Una in bed sleeping. She tossed and turned all night. Nightmares haunted her well into the early hours. It’s been a while since she’s had one, but I guess the stress of Nicholai hunting her is forcing them to the surface again. She’s so strong, but I see how broken she is. He did that to her. He made her lethal, and in many ways, instilled all the traits I love in her, but for the first time in my life I’m starting to see that strength comes at a price. I want my child to be strong, but I would never want them to pay the price she has. I will win this war with that bastard one way or the other. He broke Una, but I will keep her. I will make her a queen to be feared by all except me. And he will never touch my child.
“Nero.” I glance around to see Gio standing in the entrance of the kitchen. It’s not even six-thirty and he’s here, in my apartment, looking as sharp as ever. I swear he doesn’t sleep. “We have a small problem.”
He follows me to the living room and I take a seat on the couch, picking up a pack of cigarettes from the coffee table. He sits on the opposite couch and I slide the smokes across the table to him.