by LP Lovell
“What’s funny?”
“You look like a teenage boy that doesn’t want to get caught in a girl’s bed.”
He blushes, his pale skin turning a bright tomato red. “No, I’m fine.”
I pat the bed next to me. “Come on.” I need something normal. Or maybe I’m just so lonely that I’ve latched onto the first semi-decent human being I’ve come across since I got here.
He tentatively walks over and takes off his jacket and tie before sitting on the bed. He leaves several feet of space between us, and I try hard not to laugh at his awkwardness.
“Pick a film.” I pull up Netflix, and he chooses something. Truthfully, I don’t care what it is. I just need to escape for a while. The credits start as the introduction plays to the start of some sci-fi action flick. I shuffle closer to Tommy, and he stiffens. “What’s wrong?”
He sighs. “You’re trying to get me killed; that’s what’s wrong.”
I frown. “What?”
“Sasha will break every bone in my body until I fit into a feckin’ shoe box. That’s what.”
This time I do laugh. “Pretty sure he’s only protecting me from my would be kidnappers. Not you.”
He snorts. “You think? He just looked at me like he wanted to reach down my throat and tug out my intestines.”
“You like to graphically picture your own death, don’t you?”
He shrugs. “Best to be prepared for the worst.”
I laugh harder, and it feels so good. We watch the film, and at some point, I must have fallen asleep. I wake up to a low rumbling before the bed lurches, and there’s a pained cry. Sitting up, I wince against the bright rays of early dawn that pour through the glass windows. Tommy is sprawled on the floor with Sasha looming over him. The Russian’s entire body is strung tight, his fists clenched and muscles corded, though his expression is a cool mask, as always.
“Shit, I’m sorry, okay? I fell asleep,” Tommy says in a rush.
“She is a job. Not for your pleasure,” Sasha says, that cold disconnect coming through. This is mortifying.
“I didn’t touch her! Jesus.” Only when Tommy sits up, do I see the blood pouring from his nose.
The look on Sasha’s face stops me from going to Tommy. “Get out,” he snaps.
Tommy jumps to his feet and hurries from the room, leaving me alone with the scary killer. His shoulders remain rigid and tense, and he appears even bigger than normal. Slowly, those clear blue eyes move over me. “You are not here to play sleepover.”
“So, I can’t talk to anyone?” Jesus, it’s like I’ve travelled back in time to my teenage years, but instead of arguing with my father, it’s Sasha.
“I did not think you naïve.” He lifts a brow, and I glare at him. “Do not distract Nero’s men again.”
My cheeks flame, and my fists ball at my sides. “You’re a dick.” The words bubble over, spewing from my mouth.
The corner of his lip curls up in a condescending smile. “Unlike him, I don’t care to be your friend.” With that he walks out, leaving me feeling like a scorned teenager caught with a boy in her room.
“Asshole,” I mumble under my breath.
As predicted, the rest of the day is shit. I run on the treadmill, and then I go to my room, avoiding the horrible tension that circulates around Sasha. I finally fall asleep, hoping tomorrow will be less miserable.
I wake from a dead sleep, instantly alert. My pulse thrums until I can feel it in my temples. The essence of a nightmare lingers in the back of my mind, but I can’t grasp hold of the memory. No matter how hard I try to fall back asleep, I’m wide awake. My stomach rumbles, reminding me that my self-imposed imprisonment yesterday means I haven’t eaten in nearly twenty-four hours. The rare lack of light tells me it’s the early hours of the day. It’s true that New York never truly sleeps, but she takes a light nap between one and five in the morning.
Getting out of bed, I head downstairs to the kitchen. I jump when something brushes my leg, and it takes my eyes a second to distinguish Zeus’s black coat from the darkness that surrounds him.
“Hey, you.” I run my fingers over his sleek fur as I make my way to the glass cabinet.
Filling a glass of water, I chug it before washing it and placing the cup on the draining board. My stomach grumbles again, and I sigh, opening the fridge. I grab a tub of yogurt and a spoon. Shoving some in my mouth, I nudge the refrigerator shut with my hip, plunging myself into darkness once more. For a moment, everything goes black as my eyes adjust. Zeus lets out a low growl, and awareness prickles my skin, making me still. Holding my breath, I listen intently. There’s the faintest sound, like a scratching, or…tapping. Zeus growls louder before creeping forward into the darkness.
“Zeus,” I hiss under my breath.
He ignores me, stalking toward the elevator, which isn’t reassuring in the least. The tiny light above it casts enough light over him that I can see him staring at a fire exit beside the elevator. The tapping starts again, but it sounds more like a rodent than a human.
There’s a flash of blinding light coupled with an ear splitting bang that throws me back against something hard and unmoving. I slide to the floor. My ears ring, and my vision swims. Smoke fills the room, leaving me disorientated and unable to think clearly. Crawling on my hands and knees, I manage to press my back to the breakfast bar, but the room spins around me. My fingertips press into the cool marble beneath me, as though I could grip it and hold on to ground myself.
Past the ringing in my ears, I can’t tell if the series of bangs is my heart pounding or the popping of bullets, but when something cracks right above me, my mind clears enough to answer my own question. The edge of the granite has split only inches above my head.
My heart hammers, and ragged breaths slip from desperately squeezed lungs. I hunker down, unable to do anything else in my confusion and wish to God I had a gun.
Fingers wrap around my bicep hard, and I’m dragged to my feet, expecting some kind of rescue. Instead, I find a stranger close enough to wrap his forearm around my neck and wrench my back to his chest. My feet scramble for purchase on the sleek marble, and my nails rake over the thick limb threatening to cut off my air supply. As my vision clears, two people stand in the doorway, guns raised with muzzles flashing in quick succession.
Then as quickly as it began, it all stops. It’s just me, the man restraining me, and the two figures. Without the light behind them, they’re nothing more than genderless shadows yielding weapons. The arm tightens around my throat, and black dots float in front of my eyes.
No, this is not happening.
I will not die, and they will not take me. And deep down in my gut, I know Sasha won’t let them.
He’ll keep me safe.
6
Sasha
“Do you think you’ll escape alive?” Una asks in Russian, casually lowering her gun as she takes a few steps to the right.
The man stands alone, his dead comrades littering the floor of the lobby and kitchen. Everything about him screams Elite from the issued uniform to the way he moves, but that won’t help him now. He has nowhere to run, and he isn’t making it out of here alive.
Adeline remains still, his forearm braced across her throat, threatening to choke her out. I expect her to panic, but she doesn’t. She pushes up onto her tiptoes in an almost imperceptible movement to relieve the pressure on her esophogus. It’s the only sign of her discomfort.
The soldier swings his gun from me to Una and back. How very…non-Elite. He’s young and likely new, which means either the Russians sent him here to die, or they severely underestimate us.
“I’m taking her,” he responds.
My finger presses against the trigger. “You will die.”
His eyes meet mine, and even in the faint light, the panic is visible. He’s out of his league. Una shifts a step to the right, distracting him. It’s all I need. His attention splits for a fraction of a second. But, his gun doesn’t follow Una; it presses to the s
ide of Adeline’s head. Smart, use what you have to your advantage.
I’ve never failed a job in my life. I’m not about to start now and let her either die or get taken. My focus shifts, and I look at Adelina. Her eyes lock with mine fearlessly. She’s rational, calm, and completely trusting. Time slows, and something passes between us. Ducking her chin, she sinks her teeth into his arm, and he lurches away, releasing her. I take the shot; the gun explodes in my hand, and the bullet finds its mark between his eyes. His head snaps back, and his body hits the ground, leaving Adelina. She stands there in silence with her chest heaving and a hint of blood tainting her lips.
“I’ll check the stairs,” Una says, walking past the girl without a word. She’s angry, and I understand why. The Elite came here, to her home.
The reinforced exit door is blown off its hinges, and debris is scattered across the foyer Adelina glances around and darts behind the breakfast bar.
“What are you—”
Zeus lays on the floor, his back to the bar as though he’s slid across the marble and stopped against it. She places her hand on his side and lets out an audible sigh. “I think he’s okay. He was near the door when it blew.”
“Stay here.” I sweep the rest of the house, but there are no more.
Six badly trained Elite. That’s all we’re worth now. That doesn’t explain why they came after Adelina though. The Bratva used to hire out their Elite for paid hits since they didn’t need an army of trained assassins on call permanently. But ever since Una and I defeated and killed Nicholai, they’ve closed ranks. The new leaders have kept their soldiers close, and we haven’t heard so much as a whisper from them in months. Until now.
I knock on Dante’s door. “It’s clear.” A heavy bolt slides back before the hinges groan.
This reinforced steel cracks open, revealing the barrel of a gun. When Nero finally lowers the pistol, his expression severe, and his jaw set.
“Elite,” I explain.
“Why?”
“Trying to take Adelina.” I witness the same confusion I felt pass over Nero’s expression until he opens the door completely and steps out with Dante clutched to his chest.
A twisted smile forms over his lips. “The Russians haven’t had enough? They want more?” Nero’s rage is a subtle and worrying thing.
I can see the cogs whirring through his mind, plotting all the ways to exact a bloody revenge because they dared to come here. Nero Verdi is nothing if not ruthless. I descend the stairs, and he follows, placing his phone to his ear as he barks instructions in Italian. Una has found her way to the kitchen, standing amongst the carnage. Adelina is still on her knees next to the dog.
“Gio and Tommy are on their way. Tommy will take Zeus to the vet,” Nero says.
Una paces back and forth, her body strung tight like a bow, though her eyes remain fixed on Dante. “She can’t stay here.”
My eyes narrow, and I furrow my brow. “We agreed to protect her. We can’t cast her out.”
“It’s one attack, Morte. We can handle—”
“They stormed the apartment with my child here!” Her voice reaches a breaking point, and her chest rises and falls on ragged breaths. “They wanted her!”
I’ve rarely seen her lose control, but Dante is the one thing that causes her to crack.
“Una.” I watch as her fierce glare shifts to me. “We have a contract.” If we agree to a contract, we never renege on it. Ever.
She closes the distance between us, stalking toward me like an angry cat. “You have a contract, Sasha. I will always help you.” Her expression softens as she lowers her voice. “We’re family, but she’s not. Don’t ask me to risk my child for a job.”
“She’s right.” We all turn at the sound of Adelina’s quiet voice. Despite her small size, she stands proud, her shoulders squared, and her chin held high. “I won’t put Dante at risk. Nero and Una were kind enough to try to help me, but I have to leave.”
She ducks her head once more and slides past me, heading for the stairs. Her footfalls ascend to the landing before I glance from Una to Nero and back. Neither says anything, so I follow her, jogging up the stairs.
I stop at her room and lean my head in. “Pack your stuff. Be ready to leave in ten minutes.”
“Sasha, you don’t—”
I close the door and carry on to my own room. Grabbing a rucksack, I throw several sets of clothes inside before opening the top drawer of my dresser. I pick out two pistols and two knives and thrust them in with my clothes. The gun I prefer to carry sits inside the waistband of my jeans, the barrel still warm. An American passport. Cash. That’s it. All I need to leave.
I find Una in the kitchen, Dante propped on her hip. She eyes the bag in my hand. “You’re leaving?”
“I agreed to protect her.”
“The Elite blow down our door and you’re leaving?”
“They want her. If I take her, the problem disappears.”
Her lips press together. “Her family is powerful. They have men.”
“Yes, they’re powerful; that’s why they hired me.”
Crimson red lips press together into a thin line that leaves her jaw ticking. She’s cornered, and she doesn’t like it. Ever since we left the Elite, Una has tried to keep everyone within close proximity. There’s safety in numbers. I understand her fear, but I won’t cast Adelina out to be hunted by the Elite like a dog while we all hide in our glass tower.
Since Nicholai’s death, we’ve had peace. Una and I have kept killing on contract, but it’s not the same. We weren’t made for peace; we’re soldiers. I hate that Dante was in danger, that Elite broke into Nero and Una’s home, but I admit, I miss that rush that comes from a threat. Bullets rushing past, the icy calm of adrenaline racing through my veins. The complete lack of thought. Life is easier on instinct, the methodical act of aim, fire, repeat.
Adelina moves beside me, her gaze fixed on the floor. “Thank you.” She slowly lifts her face, making eye contact with Una. “For helping me.”
Una offers her a stiff nod before stopping in front of me. “Where are you going to go?”
“Ischia.” I have my reasons, but the concern on her face suggests she can’t predict them.
“Gio is waiting with the car. Nero will call the plane.” Then she simply walks away, carrying Dante farther inside the penthouse. Nero is nowhere to be seen.
“Come on.” I pick up my bag and tug Adelina’s from her grasp. As soon as the elevator doors close, she tenses. I can sense it, the coiling of her muscles, the quickening of her breaths.
“They’re waiting for me, aren’t they?” she whispers. She’s scared, like a lamb being dragged to slaughter.
“I can only assume they want you very badly.”
She swallows heavily, squeezing her eyes closed. “Promise me something.”
I don’t make promises. “If they get me… If they get me and you can’t save me…” She inhales a sharp breath. “Shoot me.”
“That will not happen.” It wounds my pride that she thinks so little of me that I should have to shoot her to keep her from them capturing her.
“I’d rather die than be forced to…” she drifts off, and her teeth sink into her bottom lip, a nervous tick she possesses.
“That will not happen,” I repeat.
She nods, but her body language remains stiffs. The elevator reaches the bottom, and the doors glide open. She starts to step out, and I grab her arm, halting her. My eyes track around the lobby, logging and judging every possible threat. The doorman. A woman crossing to the front desk. The valet outside. A passing cyclist. The weight of my gun presses into my back, an encouraging reminder.
“Stay close,” I instruct.
I step out of the elevator, constantly searching the street as we cross the sidewalk to the waiting car. Gio stands at the open back door, his entire frame strung tight, his gaze focused on anything but Adelina and me.
I guide her into the back before closing the door. “All clear?”<
br />
He nods, dark brows knitting tightly together. “For now.”
As soon as we’re inside, the car pulls away from the curb. My gaze flicks from the rearview mirror to the side mirrors and back again. I don’t like to be this exposed. The Elite are organized, militantly so. Them, against me, Gio, and one girl. I eye the heavy traffic moving alongside us at a snail’s pace and consider whether they’d try to make a move in the open. Una and I never would have taken that kind of chance, but then, we wouldn’t be stupid enough to storm an apartment where the odds were so clearly against us.
Gio swerves in and out of the busy New York traffic as car horns blare and taxi drivers lean from windows, shouting obscenities. It would seem as though we are drawing attention in the obnoxious SUV, but it serves a purpose. If anyone is following, it would be obvious. They’d have to swerve and wind through the cars just as well. Soon enough, we’re at the runway at LaGuardia. Nero’s private jet sits ready, his pilot and regular stewardess standing at the bottom of the steps.
Adeline climbs the stairs and disappears inside the small plane. I follow and take the seat across from Adelina.
“Where are we going?” she asks.
“Naples.”
“We’re going to Italy?” she asks.
“Yes.”
“Don’t we want to be a little farther away from Sicily?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
I don’t answer, and she blows a breath through her lips.
“So, what? I don’t need to know?” No, she doesn’t.
My lack of reply has her jaw tensing and her face turning an angry shade of red. Leaning back in my chair, I close my eyes as the plane taxies for takeoff.
“Fine. Just ignore me.”
A slew of Italian words spill past her lips in a tirade, and I find myself amused. She’s like a kitten with its claws out. It’s not until we’re in the air that she finally falls silent, and I try to sleep, knowing I won’t get much rest over the next few days. Here, we’re safe, but the second we land, we’re at risk.
As soon as we land in Naples, we get a taxi from to the port. The ferry crossing is short, and we stand on the deck as the cumbersome boat makes its way through the calm water. Adelina stands a few feet away, her fingers wrapped around the railing and her feet only inches from the edge of the deck. The wild wind tosses her hair around like an angry lover. The distinct scent of the ocean drifts on the breeze, bringing with it a sense of freedom and endless possibility. I inhale deeply, embracing it. I love Una. We freed ourselves from an invisible cage, but at times I feel like I just stepped into another of my own making. New York feels oppressive to me.