Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

by LP Lovell

  “Good.”

  “Is this one of those things where I don’t tell him and he kicks my ass?”

  “No.” I turn my attention to the window, watching the New York city skyline pass in the distance.

  “I’m not even going to ask,” he grumbles.

  My stomach clenches with nerves as we creep toward The Hamptons. Nero and I are supposed to be getting married in three days. We’re happy, we know who and what we are. We have Dante. And I’m about to throw a huge wrench in the works because Nero only likes his own child. He hasn’t softened at all where anyone else’s are concerned.

  After half an hour of driving through the darkness, Tommy pulls through the guarded front gate of the mansion that was once Arnaldo’s. The house we now call home. Light spills through the windows, illuminating the perfectly manicured lawn.

  The baby is still sound asleep as I remove the carrier from the backseat and make my way inside. I don’t generally feel fear, but as approach Nero’s office, it’s very real. It’s fear of the unknown, of potentially having to make a choice.

  When I step over the threshold, Nero looks up from his desk, the phone pressed to his ear. His gaze shifts from me to the carrier at my side.

  “That’s fine, Gio,” he says. “Let me know what you decide.” Then he hangs up, tossing the phone on the desk. “Morte. I missed you.”

  I remain near the door, stumbling over the words I should say. When I don’t move or speak, Nero pushes to his feet and approaches, brows tightly knitted together. “What’s wrong?”

  I meet his dark gaze when his fingers brush my cheek. “She’s mine.”

  The words settle on his face before his attention drops to the tiny creature sleeping, so blissfully unaware of how messed up her short life has already been.

  “I won’t abandon her.” My voice is stronger than I expected, despite what feels like a ball of jagged thorns in my gut. I didn’t carry her the way I did Dante, but she’s no less my child. I feel her, like part of my soul. But she’s not Nero’s child, and he’s beyond sentimental charity. “It’s a lot to ask. I understand if—”

  He cuts me off with a kiss, lips lingering over mine. “Don’t you know yet? You could ask me for the world, Morte, and I would hand it to you on a silver platter.”

  “This is different.”

  “I had considered this might happen. Given Nicholai’s obsession with you. He used your own sister to create a child…” Of course he’d thought about it. This was Nero. He had a plan for everything. “So, ask me.”

  “She’s not yours, Nero.” It’s the harsh reality, a brutal truth.

  “What’s yours is mine, and what’s mine is yours. Isn’t that what marriage is all about?”

  Jesus. It’s not like I brought home a stray dog. I brought home a baby with zero warning. “Just like that?”

  “As I said, I’ve considered the possibility for a while. Trust me when I say, a father is not biological. So, ask me, Morte.”

  “Will you be her father, Nero?”

  “Of course.” A smile pulls at one side of his lips. “A wife and two kids. I’m becoming positively civilized.”

  I place the carrier down and grab his face, kissing him hard. I couldn’t love him any more in this moment. He might have been the villain to everyone else, but to me and our children, he was a blood-stained hero. “Just when I think I know you, you surprise me, Capo.”

  “There’s very little I wouldn’t do for you, my vicious butterfly.” He pulls me close. “What are you going to name her?”

  “You don’t want any input?”

  “Well, I did name Dante without you.”

  “You did.” I look down at the little girl’s downy white hair, the same as mine and my mothers. “Tatyana. It was my mother’s name.”

  “A beautiful name. And I’m sure she’ll be just as beautiful and deadly as her mother. God help us all.” He releases me. “Now, put the baby to bed. I missed you, my soon-to-be wife.”

  I snort. “Stop.”

  “Oh, you don’t want to be my wife anymore?”

  My arms wind around his neck, fingers raking through dark hair. “You know how I feel about your bullshit mafia formalities.”

  His lips whisper over my neck. Teeth scrape my skin. “But you make such a ruthless queen of said mafia.”

  A high-pitched cry has him stepping away from me and glancing at the floor.

  I wave a hand toward Tatyana. “Your new princess calls.”[MOU1]

  His brows pull together as he crouches down and scoops Tatyana from the carrier. “Fuck me, I’m not cut out to be a girl dad.” He looks genuinely concerned, and I have to fight a smile. Poor kid has no idea what she’s in for, but he’ll certainly protect her. I stand by the fact that the formidable and violent Nero Verdi is never more attractive than with a baby in his arms. “Come on, Tesoro. Let’s see if we can get you some formula.”

  “Nero.”

  He pauses at the door. “Yeah?

  “I love you.”

  “I fucking love you, Morte.” He leaves the room. Tatyana’s cries rise over the sound of his footsteps as he retreats down the hall.

  It’s a strange thing, to have had your life mapped out before you, only to have someone step into your path and divert it so violently you can’t remember what it was ever like to be without them. Nero is a dark and twisted reflection of myself. My soul mate if there is such a thing, the father of my children. My monster. Forever.

  Thank you so much for reading Una and Nero’s story. I hope you loved them! If you’d like to read Una’s back story, keep reading for Make Me, Kiss of Death #0.5

  If you’d like to read Anna and Rafael’s story, HATE ME is available HERE. Free in KU.

  Make Me

  Kiss of Death 0.5

  Author note: This book is set in Russia. All characters are Russian and therefore they would be speaking Russian, however, for obvious reasons, the book is written in English.

  Warning: The characters in this book are between the ages of thirteen and sixteen. Some scenes are violent and dark in nature. Please be aware.

  1

  13 years old

  “She has fire in her soul and grace in her heart.”- Unknown

  Life has this way of dealing you a crap hand. You might be born into a loving family, you might have a shot at being something, and then it all falls apart. Your parents die in an accident with no living family to look after you and you end up in a place like this, an orphanage. It’s just me and my little sister, Anna, now. In the blink of an eye, I was no longer protected and loved. I became the protector at the tender age of eight. Five years we’ve been in this place, and I’ve learned how to survive, because as much as this is supposed to be a place that takes care of children, that definition is apparently open to interpretation. I’ve learned though…the only person who will ever look out for you, is you.

  Sitting on the floor of the cupboard, I wait for the kitchen staff to leave. I hear to clanging of pots and pans being put away before the lights power down, depriving me of the tiny sliver of light I had to see by. Waiting until I hear the clicking of the lock, I leave my hiding place. My stomach growls at the thought of food as I tip toe across the kitchen and open the pantry door. Spotting a loaf of bread, I swipe a couple of slices and two apples, before quietly closing the door again. The trick is to not take too much and risk them noticing. Getting in here isn’t hard, it’s the getting out that’s difficult. The kitchens are in the basement and with the door locked the only way out is through a tiny window that leads above ground. I find a spare cloth and use it to wrap my stash up like a parcel. Jumping up on one of the steel work units, I reach for the window and jerk the old latch hard enough to get it loose. It opens with a loud creak and I wince, hoping that the matron isn’t lurking around. I’ve been stealing food from the kitchens for months. I know she knows, but she just hasn’t caught me yet.

  The Russian government pay orphanages such as this a basic rate per child, for their foo
d and clothing and general care. I guess the matron saw an opportunity. Like I said, the only person you can rely on is you, and she’s definitely looking out for herself. She likes to think of us as cattle, if you can cut the cost of keeping each child, then you increase profit. Our food is rationed to just one meal per day, and clothing is passed down from older children to younger ones until the material is so thread bare that it’s disintegrating. Anna gets stomach cramps and feels dizzy due from lack of food sometimes, so I steal some for her. Not enough that it would be noticed in theory, but around here, everything is noticed.

  I push up on my hands and drag myself through the window. My shirt catches on the rusted metal frame and I hear the material tear. Shit.

  I wriggle my body, and the irony of the fact that my starvation has made me skinny enough to steal food and escape through the kitchen window is not lost on me. As soon as I’m clear, I reach in and swing the window back in place. The groaning of the hinges and click of the latch is loud, and I freeze, pressing myself against the wall of the building as I hold my breath. My heart pounds in my chest, the danger of being caught giving me an adrenaline rush. I start running again, making it across the small courtyard before I push up the window that leads to mine and Anna’s room. We share it with two other girls, but they don’t really talk to us. One of them made Anna cry when they arrived a few months ago, so I told her I’d cut her hair off in her sleep if she ever looked at her again. They both refuse to even look at me or my sister now. It’s not like I threatened to kill her or anything. They’re not the only ones. The other children steer clear of us. We don’t make friends. We don’t have to, because we have each other and that’s all we need.

  I throw my leg over the windowsill and drop down on the other side. Anna sits bolt upright, pressing herself against the wall.

  “Shh,” I whisper, placing my hand on her leg.

  “You scared me,” she breathes.

  “Who else is going to come through the window?” I keep my voice low as I turn around and slowly slide the old sash window back down. I know it must have woken the other girls up, and that they see me disappear some nights, but they say nothing.

  I kick off my shoes and pull back the covers of Anna’s bed, climbing in. She shuffles closer to the wall, making more room. I’m supposed to sleep on the top bunk, but I can’t remember ever actually sleeping up there for an entire night. Anna has nightmares and if I don’t sleep with her, she wakes up screaming.

  “Here you go.” I place the small package on the bed and unwrap it, revealing the two slices of bread and two apples. Anna picks apart a piece of bread, placing small pieces in her mouth. It saddens me to see my little sister take her time, savoring a piece of bread. A piece of bread. It wasn’t always like this. Our parents were good people. They took care of us, loved us. Anna was only five when they died, and she can’t remember them at all. I’m left alone with the memories of a life that could have been, the ghosts of a better time, and the horror of how they were torn away. I don’t see things the way I used to. I learned quickly that tears don’t help anything and wishing things were different doesn’t make it so. I prayed and begged, and soon I also realized that if there was a god, surely he would help me, help us. No one will help us. It’s up to me. I will get us out of here one day. I will protect Anna and make a better life for us.

  “I’ll save the apple.” Anna smiles brightly and puts one apple under her pillow before she lays down. I lay beside her and stroke golden hair behind her ear. Those sapphire blue eyes of hers stare at me, so wide and innocent. I wish I could protect her from everything, but it’s getting harder and harder. The matron already hates me because I defy her, and now she has it out for me. I just hope she doesn’t manage to catch me stealing food.

  I kiss Anna’s forehead. “I love you, bug.”

  “Love you.” Her eyelids grow heavy and her breathing evens out. I let the sound of her soft breaths lull me to sleep.

  I wake up when something collides with my face, the sound of skin meeting skin ricocheting around my skull. My eyes shoot open and I immediately flinch away from the matron. She stands with one hand on her hip and an apple in the other.

  “Come with me,” she says with a sickly sweet smile on her face. Anna huddles against the wall and I can feel her shaking.

  “It’s okay,” I tell her.

  I know what’s coming and I don’t want Anna to see it, so I get up and follow the matron out of the room. She leads me to her office on the other side of the orphanage and opens the door, stepping inside. I close the door and stand there, gaze fixed on the worn brown carpet.

  She whirls around and back hands me across the face so hard that the blow sends me to my knees. Spitting a mouthful of blood onto the floor, I bring my hand to my split lip. She towers over me, her face set into a cold mask. The matron looks like a school teacher with her grey hair pulled into a twist and her knee length skirt, topped off with a cardigan. Yeah, she looks like a nice older lady, except she’s not. This isn’t the first time my face has had a run in with her hand.

  “Stealing food!” she shouts. “Ungrateful. You are ungrateful and spoilt. I’ve been too lenient on you, Una Vasiliev.” I say nothing and she points at a chair. “Sit.” I sit and she shouts for someone to come in. I hear the door open but don’t take my eyes off her. Whoever just walked in comes up behind me and binds my wrists to the arms of the chair, then they move away. I start to panic, tugging against the restraints.

  “What are you doing?” I ask, my voice hitching.

  “Teaching you discipline.” She places a cigarette to her lips, lighting it. I’ve never seen her smoke before. The look on her face as she approaches me is full of venom.

  “You will learn your place, Una. You are nothing and no one, an unwanted orphan. Say it!” She shouts in my face, spit flying from those thin, cruel lips. That cigarette hangs between her fingers and the smell of tobacco wafts around the room. I stare back at her defiantly, refusing to break, refusing to acknowledge what she wants from me. The rough wood of the chair bites against my bare thighs, exposed by the shorts I’m wearing. The leather belts that secure my wrists to the arms of the chair are worn, but they still chaff against my skin, leaving my skin raw when I fight against them. The matron likes the children here to be well behaved and easy. I’m not. I know what they have planned. I refuse to accept this fate and above all I refuse to accept it for my sister.

  “I will teach you your place, girl. Remember that you deserve this.” She takes the cigarette and stamps it into my shoulder. It hurts, really hurts. I grit my teeth, biting back the scream that’s trying to work its way up my throat. The scent of burning flesh fills my nostrils and I gag against the smell of my own melting skin. A twisted grin forms on her lips. She enjoys my pain, so I fight against my own instincts. I lock my jaw and steel my spine, staring her right in the eye. This isn’t my first time taking her abuse, and it won’t be the last. Her punishments went from a few pink stripes with a belt across the backs of my thighs, to crimson bleeding stripes across my back and several punches to the face that involved a chipped tooth or two. Of course the more she’s given out over the years, the more resilient I’ve become. So resilient that I can pretend that this doesn’t make me want to scream and cry. It’s not even the pain that makes it horrible, it’s the fact that every time she hurts me, I’m reminded that I really am alone, that no one will come and protect me. She stares me down and I stare right back, spitting another mouthful of blood at her feet. One day, I will kill her for every horrible deed that she has ever done. But I have to survive long enough to do it.

  2

  “Everything in life is temporary.” – Unknown.

  I stare at the crack that runs across the old tile floor. My heart is beating fast and I cling to Anna’s hand in an attempt to stop myself from shaking. The other children are lined up either side of us, each one wishing a hole in the ground would open up and swallow them. Anything to escape notice. Their shallow, panicked breat
hs only remind me that I’m not safe, that we’re not safe. Anna’s nails bite into my palm, and sweat slicks her skin, making her tighten her hold on my hand. I try to block out the sound of heavy footsteps as a pair of boots slowly cut into view, disrupting the small patch of tile I’m focused on. I swallow heavily and squeeze my eyes shut, praying to any god that might listen that he’ll keep walking. As always, my prayers are met with a mocking silence. I flinch when cool fingers touch my chin.

  “Open your eyes, girl.” I bite back the whimper trying to make its way up my throat and open my eyes. The face in front of me is one that is branded into my mind, the nightmare that every child here at the home wakes up screaming to in the middle of the night. I know him only as volynshchik, it’s from a children’s story. The Volynshcik is a man who would lure children from their parents using a magical pipe. Only this man doesn’t lure children from their parents and he needs no pipe. He takes the children who have no parents, the abandoned and the unwanted, the desperate and the neglected. But no amount of neglect could possibly be more frightening than the whispers of his name, the tales of what happens to the children he takes…well, buys. Because the matron not only starves and beats children, she also sells them.

  On the outside The Volynshcik looks like any other man, short cropped hair, slightly greying, a face that isn’t particularly memorable, but it’s his eyes that have me shaking in fear. His eyes are completely void of life, more animal than human.

  “This one’s pretty.” He says with a sick smile, never taking those icy eyes off me. “How much?”

  The matron steps forward, her hands folded behind her back. She narrows her eyes at me before addressing him. “She’s no good as a whore.”