by LP Lovell
I sense the same feeling in Adelina, a relief of sorts. Everything about her seems content, relaxed even, despite being on the run. Closing her eyes, she tilts her head back, and a hint of a smile touches her lips. Of course, she’s from Mondello along the coast of Sicily. I have researched everything about her, but even without an extensive background check, I’d know this is her home.
She turns her face up to watch the gulls riding the air current above us, and sunshine plays through her hair, turning it from brown to copper to mahogany. “I never want to go back to New York,” she says. “I missed the smell of clean air.”
I felt the same when I first left Russia and followed Una to the concrete city. I can still feel the icy chill of the only home I’ve ever known, the burning air that reaches to the very bottom of my lungs. There was space, always space, and endless snow, stretching for as far as the eye could see. Everything was just void…of color and heat and people. New York is a mess of sensations. A jumbled ball of sounds, smells, people, and buildings. Everywhere. In some ways, that makes it safer. An ant may hide amongst a colony easily. However, if it’s being hunted by another ant…
An hour later, we’re in Ischia, off the coast of Naples. The entire island can be crossed by car in less than an hour. There’s nothing here, absolutely no reason for anyone to think we’d be here, and that makes it the perfect place to hide. Two ants on an island. As soon as we step onto dry land, the locals stare at us, well, me. It’s winter, and tourists aren’t common this time of year.
We traipse over the cobblestone sidewalks that border the winding, narrow roads. Shops selling fruit and vegetable, clothing, and various trinkets all line the streets. The weathered buildings sit close together, their shuttered windows and little iron balconies bearing down on us just like their curious residents. We’re in a vulnerable position. Any one of those balconies would be an ideal vantage point to take a shot. If I wanted to kill us, it’s where I’d go.
“This way.” I duck down a side street, so narrow, it’s impassable to traffic.
We pass under the archway of an old building and step into a cobbled courtyard framed on all sides by the building. I close my eyes, reaching with my senses. Birds call from a nearby tree, water trickles over a water fountain in the middle of the courtyard, and there’s the distant sound of a car engine, the echo of a boat horn bellowing into the wind far out at sea. I sense nothing sinister.
“Sasha.” Adeline’s staring at me when I open my eyes. “Why are we here?”
Ignoring her, I walk toward the front of the building. On the front steps, sits several plastic dishes filled with cat food, and a lone stray taking its fill. It’s covered in battle scars, and its white fur is dirty and bloodied.
“Hey.” Adeline makes kissing noises at the cat, reaching out.
I grab her wrist, tugging it away. “Please don’t get scratched by a filthy alley cat. Taking you to a doctor because you have an infected cut would be inconvenient.”
She jerks her hand away, and her jaw tenses with her glare. Adelina is easy to read, overly expressive. With minimal effort, I can tell what she’s thinking—it’s a weakness…of hers.
I type in the code I committed to memory three years ago. The door opens with a deflated buzz, and I step into a dated lobby. The marble that was once so grand is now dirty and tired. There’s a desk that sits abandoned, a stairwell, and an elevator. Adelina steps toward the elevator.
“This way.” I start toward the stairs. “Never put yourself in a metal box with no escape route unless you absolutely have to.”
She says nothing and follows me. Our footsteps echo off the stairwell until we reach the fourth floor. Digging in my pocket, I find the key and slide it into the lock. The door creaks open, hinges squealing in protest.
“Wow,” Adelina murmurs under her breath.
White dust sheets cover the furniture, and a thick layer of dust adorns every surface. I yank the sheet off the sofa, and it kicks a cloud into the air. She coughs and waves a hand in front of her face as tiny particles dance through a narrow shaft of sunlight cutting between the shutters. “Whose place is this?”
“Mine.”
“Uh, when were you last here?”
“Never.”
She raises a brow. “You just keep a random apartment halfway across the world for absolutely no reason?” I don’t answer, and she frowns. “Who are you?”
I tug another sheet from a chair. “I’m a soldier.”
“That man in the penthouse, he was a soldier. He was Russian. Like you. Did you know him?”
I release a long breath. “No more questions.”
“Oh, of course. I’m sorry. I mean, you’ve been so obliging in answering so many already.”
I ignore her attempt at humor and the way she rolls her eyes. “You do everything I say when I say it. Are we clear?”
“Technically, don’t you work for me?”
“No. I agreed to protect you. How I do that is my own business.”
“You do realize that you don’t have to be a complete dick, right?”
I lift a brow. “Your happiness means little to me.”
“I’m getting that.”
Ignoring her, I move through the apartment, methodically uncovering the furniture. I drop the ball for a fraction of a second, but it’s not until sunlight floods the room that I react. Turning, I drop the cloths and dive for Adelina where she stands in front of the now open window. I grunt as my back hits the cold tile floor. Adelina’s forced breath rushes over my face as she lands on top of me. Her nails dig through my shirt and into my chest as wide eyes meet mine.
I roll her over, forcing just enough space between our bodies to keep her from touching me. “Do not open the windows,” I say on a growl.
Her brows pull together. “It’s dusty.”
“You can survive dust, not a bullet.”
“They don’t want me dead.” Her words are nothing more than a whisper.
“For now. Use your brain. I can’t do all of your thinking for you.” I shove off her and walk away, annoyed. I wasn’t aware for a second, and a second is all it takes for a shooter to take out a mark. I should know. I’m rusty, that’s all. Months of sitting in the lap of luxury in that New York City penthouse have dulled my senses. I’ve lost my touch, and that cuts a lot deeper than it should. This is all I have. This is what I’m good at, and without it, I’m nothing.
That night, I sleep on the sofa, while Adelina takes the only bed in the apartment. My sleep is fitful, plagued with dreams.
Blinding pain ricochets around my skull, and I grit my teeth, trying to dissipate the ringing in my ears.
“No, no, no. Again!” Nicholai. It’s his voice, but I can’t see him. Surrounded by darkness, my senses are muted. A blow lands on my gut, and I gasp for the very air that’s so violently forced from my lungs. “You’ve grown weak, Sasha!”
With a growl, I shove to my feet. Another blow to my face and my head snaps to the side. Blow after blow. Time and time again. I fall. I’m…useless. Nicholai’s laughter echoes around the space, coming from everywhere.
“I knew it. You’re nothing without me. I made you so strong, and now look at you.”
“No. No!”
“You’re no longer a soldier. What are you, Sasha?”
What am I?
I lurch awake. When I open my eyes, I find Adelina leaning over me, her eyes wide and her hands in the air.
“Sasha,” she whispers.
By the time I register my knife at her throat, the edge of the blade has already sliced her smooth skin. Blood wells and beads, sliding down her neck. Lurching away, I drop the knife, and it lands on the coffee table with a clatter.
“You- You were shouting. Having a bad dream.”
Anger rises up unexpectedly. I’m never angry, and the feeling is foreign and uncontrollable, unwelcome. “Never touch me!” I snap.
She stumbles away.
Una and I grew up in a Bratva military facility where w
e were deprived of human touch, prohibited from physically interacting with each other in any way. And once they did start to touch us, it was with an electric glove. Five hundred volts passed through our bodies with each contact. The mind learns quickly, any touch is a threat. It’s ingenious really, using the body’s basic need to survive to turn a subject into a reflexive killer. Una could never stand more than two hundred volts. The therapy made her rabid. It made her the best, and her reactions were faster than any of the other Elite. Still, the lower voltage meant she managed to avoid the burns.
The slamming of a door tears me from my thoughts. I hurt her. Cut her. On a groan, I drag myself off the sofa and go to the kitchen in search of a first aid kit.
I can hear the faucet running in the bathroom, so I knock on the door and wait.
“What?”
“Open the door.”
“Just go away, Sasha. I’m fine.”
“Open the door,” I repeat, my patience quickly evaporating.
The door swings wide, and she stands there, toilet tissue pressed to her neck and a hardened glare etched into her expression. “What do you want?”
I step inside the bathroom, but she doesn’t move. Her chest presses to my stomach, and she tilts her head back, ensuring her glare remains fixed on me. She’s stubborn. I push forward until she’s forced to step back. Her hips bump against the vanity, and I grip her waist, lifting her and placing her on the side. The thin satin of her pajama camisole warms under my hands, as the heat of her skin seeps through. Her breath seizes, and her eyes go wide as she tenses under my touch.
Grabbing her wrist, I tug it away from her neck. Blood still wells at the thin cut, tiny beads collecting along the split. Opening the cabinet over the sink, I take out a wash cloth and run it under the tap before wiping away the blood from her skin.
“You shouldn’t touch me,” I say.
“You already said that.”
“You’ll get hurt.”
“Yeah, I figured that.” Her eyes narrow. “You have PTSD.”
“No.”
“You’re a soldier…”
“Not that kind of soldier.”
Her lips press together, and I can see the questions in her eyes. “You were having a nightmare. I was just trying to wake you up.”
I take the flannel away from her neck and open a couple of Band-Aids, sticking them to the wound.
“I’m sorry.” I don’t know what else to say. No one’s ever woken me from a dream. And I’ve never hurt anyone I didn’t intend to hurt. It bothers me to know that I could respond without truly being in control of my own actions.
“Sasha.”
I meet that blue gaze of hers. She tilts her head to the side and lifts her hand as though to touch me before it drops again. Sadness rises in the depths of her irises, and it makes me uncomfortable.
Clearing my throat, I step back and then walk out of the room, leaving her. She’s a job. I’m an assassin. I don’t need pity.
Five days have passed, and I’m restless. I’ve been known to wait weeks for a kill, biding my time, planning the hit to perfection. This is not a kill. This very much feels like babysitting.
I’ve just turned off all the lights in the apartment and am about to lay down on the sofa when my phone vibrates over the coffee table. Una’s name flashes across the screen.
“Yeah?” I answer.
“Sasha. Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
She’s like an over-protective mother. If I weren’t okay, I wouldn’t answer the phone. I hate to admit it, but I think she’s become soft.
“You need to come home.”
“Why?”
“One of the Elite that attacked us had a phone. Gio managed to recover some encrypted messages on it. They had orders to take Adelina and kill us. They issued a kill against us, Sasha.”
“It may have been a blanket order. It’s not like we were ever tasked with bringing anyone in alive. The parameters of an abduction would—”
“They sent them to our home with an order. To. Kill. Us.”
“The Elite don’t operate on bias.”
“You don’t think that might have changed when we slaughtered their esteemed leader? Fuck, Sasha. Wake up. They are no longer the militant operation you once loved. They took my sister and my child. We fought back, and now they’re gunning for us.”
“Nicholai took Anna and Dante. But we always knew this was a possibility.”
We took a big chance. Nicholai wanted Dante, who he called the perfectly bred soldier. Una refused to accept that, and no one has ever sacrificed more for their child than she did. She took down an entire organization for Dante, and I helped her. Part of me is surprised it’s taken this long for them to come at us. Another part hoped that with Nicholai gone, the Elite would return to what it once was, a rigid fortress of rules and discipline. Given Nicholai’s behavior and their silence since his death, I assumed they had swept it, and us, under the rug of shame.
“I knew they hadn’t just randomly taken a kidnapping job. They’re killers, and we’re the hit. Adelina was just the scapegoat in case they failed.”
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
“If they think we’re weak, they’ll come for us.”
I sigh. “You want to retaliate.” Of course she does. It’s Una.
“We left them alone before. They broke that peace. You need to come home.” I can tell from the tone of her voice that she’s ready for war.
“I’m on a job.”
“Take her to her sister.”
I glance at Adelina’s bedroom door and hesitate. “I can’t.”
She lets out a small growl. “She is just a job, Sasha.”
“I can’t leave her like a sitting duck. The Bianchi’s will come for her, and the Ricci’s will be forced to hand her over.”
“So? Let them. We have bigger issues.”
“Una…” Her sister was a sex slave for years, held against her will. I expect more sympathy from Una on this particular subject.
“Where do your loyalties lie, Sasha?”
A knot forms in my stomach, and an uncomfortable sensation settles in my chest. “I need my brother right now,” she whispers. A rare trace of fear in lingers in her voice. “The last time we went up against them, we had nothing to lose; now everything is at stake.” She has everything to lose; I have nothing. “You know as well as I do that they’ll come back. We are vulnerable.”
“Nero can call in his men. You need to leave the penthouse.”
“We’re already in the house in the Hamptons.” That house is the seat of the New York boss, the true seat. It’s well protected. “But his men are useless, and you know it. You’re worth five of them.”
“Only five?”
She snorts. “Ten.”
I inhale a deep breath and release it slowly. “Let me work out what to do with Adelina. I’ll call you tomorrow.”
“Remember, we’re family Sasha.”
I hear what she doesn’t say, Adelina’s not. I hang up, and my stomach starts to knot uncomfortably. For the first time in my life, I feel torn. I don’t owe Adelina anything, but I agreed to protect her, and I’ve never gone back on my word.
Pushing myself to my feet, I wander across the apartment and peer through the crack in her door. The bedside lamp is on, casting low light over the room. Adelina’s expression is relaxed and peaceful, completely unmarred in her sleep. Perfect. The only movement comes from the gentle breeze that tugs at the white gauze curtains through the open window. Stepping inside, I cross the room and pull it shut. The girl has no fear, and when it comes to her own safety, she has little regard. I don’t know how many times I have to tell her that walls can be climbed. Her only response is always the same, “and windows can be broken.”
She stirs, an incoherent murmur slipping past her lips. A tiny crease sinks between her brows, and I have the urge to smooth it away, restoring her perfection. As I study her, I realize how truly young she is, unblemished b
y the dangers of the world. Despite growing up in the mafia, she’s still pure and innocent. She reminds me of Una before…when she first came to the Elite. Just a girl with a fire that burns inside her. I imagine Adelina’s purity stained and defiled by a man who would take a woman against her will. When I close my eyes, I can picture that sparkle in her eyes fading, withering until it’s snuffed out. I watched it happen to Una. I refuse to let it happen to Adelina. I need to go back to New York, but I can’t leave her without removing the threat.
I will not abandon her. Una is no longer that innocent girl. She can look after herself for a little longer.
The sun creeps over the horizon, turning the sky from a dull grey to bright blue. Sunshine creeps through the slanted gaps in the closed shutters and dust particles catch in the beams of light.
I hear movement from the bedroom before Adelina finally opens the door. She’s wearing a T-shirt and a pair of shorts that expose her long legs.
“Do you want coffee?” she asks.
“No. Thank you.”
My phone vibrates, and I glance at the screen. “I have to take a call,” I inform Adelina. Leaving her in the kitchen, I go to the bedroom and close the door behind me. I take a seat on the made bed and answer.
“Sasha. I got your message. Is my sister okay?” Gabriella says in a rush.
“She’s fine, but I need to speak with you. I have to get back to New York. She isn’t safe there, and we cannot hide indefinitely.” The very notion of hiding at all does not sit well with me.
“I just need some time. I’m trying to make a deal with them.”