Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

One month later

I grip the smooth length of wood, wrapping my fingers around it. Vadim stands across from me, his arms braced wide as he grips his own bo staff. A small smile touches his lips as he watches me. He’s a few years younger than me, but he’s good.

I shift to the left and he does the same, mimicking my movements. Suddenly, he breaks away, coming at me. The two sticks crack against each other, moving so fast that it’s nothing more than a series of clicks. He strikes forward, but reaches too far. I maneuver to the side, slam my stick across his shoulder blades, and step on his foot, sending him crashing to the ground. I move to the side of the improvised ring, cracking my neck to the side. Sasha remains close, his hands clasped tightly behind his back as he watches me. He has grilled me constantly for weeks, and finally, my body is what it once was. To attack and kill is again as instinctual to my muscles as breathing. I hear Vadim get to his feet, and then he’s rushing me. I smile. Stupid boy. Sasha’s eyebrows raise a fraction and I crack the wood over my knee. In a split second I whirl and launch the splintered piece of wood like a spear. It hits Vadim in the shoulder so hard that he ends up on his back on concrete. I stare down at him, clutching at the piece of wood protruding from his mangled shoulder. That familiar sense of satisfaction washes over me, power and the sheer thrill of violence are like a drug.

“That wasn’t a fair fight,” he says, panting.

I offer him nothing as I place my boot on his chest. “There is no such thing as a fair fight. Use the weapons you have. Be smarter than your opponent.” I lift one eyebrow and grab the wood, yanking it out of him. He grunts in pain, squeezing his eyes shut. “And be grateful I aimed for your shoulder and not your throat.”

Sasha comes to stand beside me, waving over someone to help Vadim. “Take him to medical.”

The room fills with the sound of a slow clapping and both Sasha and I turn to see Nicholai walking across the training area, a wide smile on his face. “Ah, little dove, you have become yourself again. So merciless.” He smiles. “I have a job for you both. It seems Rafael D’Cruze would like your sister, little dove.” I give him no reaction. He hasn’t mentioned Anna since I’ve been here, and he hasn’t mentioned the fact that he is no longer in possession of my son. Perhaps he wants me to think that he is. After all, the easiest way to keep the mother’s loyalty is if you hold the child. Or perhaps he thinks he’s rid me of such loyalties. Maybe he has. Truthfully, Nero, the baby…it all seems like some distant lost dream that I can’t quite fully remember, but that feeling of having him for only a brief second is branded on my heart, in my soul, even if my mind forgets. “He offers some much needed trade, now that the Italian has made it very difficult to move anything in and out of America.” His jaw clenches and his eyes flash angrily.

“You are meeting with him?” Sasha asks.

“Yes, and you will both come with me, but first.” A twisted grin pulls at his lips. “He does not believe that Anna is still alive. He wants proof of life. You will go to her, little dove, and you will cut off her little finger. She has a tattoo on it does she not? A slave number.”

“Okay.”

He tilts his head to the side, as though waiting for more of a reaction from me. I know he’s looking for any sign of weakness, but he won’t find it. I have steeled myself and prepared a long time ago for the fact that both Anna and I will probably die in here. Is it a fair sacrifice? No. But I can’t save everyone, and I’m tired of trying to. If taking her finger buys her freedom, then it is a small price to pay.

“Go with her, Sasha.” Nicholai hands me the key to her cell. “I want to trust you, little dove, but I will be watching. Always.” He strokes my cheek and my body locks up, the urge to kill him roaring through my head like a drum beat. It’s worse than ever before. The thought of human touch makes me feel sick now. Bloodlust pumps through my veins like pure adrenaline. I have to fight with every last shred of my restraint not to lash out.

He smiles and drops his hand, signaling us to go. Sasha walks beside me, and we wind down corridors until we come to the elevator. I can feel Sasha’s eyes on my face as we descend, but I refuse to acknowledge him. I remain cool and calm, distanced. It’s just a finger.

When we’re outside her cell, I expect to feel something, a hint of anticipation or fear, but I don’t. I feel nothing. The door opens and I see her huddled in the corner of her bed. Dirty blonde hair hangs in her face. A plain gray hoody and tracksuit bottoms seem to make her look paler, more sickly. Of course, this is the first time I’ve actually met Anna face to face since we were children. Those deep blue eyes slowly meet mine, and I see the slightest spark of hope in them. For a second, I am that thirteen-year old girl, clinging desperately to my eight-year old sister as they try and drag me away from her. I see the tears tracking down her little pink cheeks and it jolts me for a moment. But I force all those thoughts and feelings back. Right here, right now, she is nothing to me.

“Hold her down,” I say.

Sasha goes over to her and pushes her down on the bed. “Una?” her voice is small and broken. I take the knife from my thigh holster and grab her wrist, forcing her palm flat against the thin mattress. “Una, please,” she whispers, tears now pouring down her face.

“Lie still. This will be over soon,” Sasha tells her.

I steel myself and bring the razor-sharp blade down on her finger quickly. The blade bites through bone and she screams. Blood soaks into the mattress beneath her, and I grab the blanket, wadding it up and pressing it against the wound.

“Hold this,” I instruct her. She clutches it with a shaking hand as hysterical tears pour down her cheeks. I pick up the finger and walk out of the room, unable to look at her. “Get someone to stitch that,” I say to Sasha.

I stand to one side of Nicholai and Sasha stands on the other. Across from us, Rafael is flanked by two of his own men. The snow is melting now, and a layer of slush covers everything. We’re on the roof of an abandoned parking deck, and everything around us is bleak and gray, reminiscent of the Russian winter.

Rafael’s eyes meet mine and I stare back at him, giving away absolutely nothing. His expression becomes pinched and his shoulders hunch with tension before he glances back at Nicholai. “I offer you reasonable terms, but I want proof of life.”

Nicholai throws his head back on a laugh. “You are demanding for a nobody,” he says arrogantly. Rafael is a powerful cartel boss, but Nicholai thinks himself a god surrounded by his Elite. “Here.” He reaches into his pocket and throws something to Rafael. A plastic Ziploc bag, and in it, is Anna’s finger.

The Mexican’s dark brows pull into a frown as he stares at the plastic bag in his hand. “Is this a joke?”

“Of course not. See, it is fresh. Just cut this morning.” Nicholai spreads his hands to the side.

“This is not proof of life,” Rafael growls, and there it is, painted all over his face. He loves her. Where it once annoyed me, I now only see it as foolish because he does nothing to hide it. He exposes his weakness and Nicholai will exploit it.

Stepping closer to him, Nicholai grins. “On my honor.” He places his palm to his chest. “Una cut it off herself.”

Rafael’s gaze swings to mine. “You did this?” he asks, his voice laced with clear accusation as he holds up the bag.

I fight with the urge to defend my actions. I can’t seem too invested to Nicholai. “You wanted proof of life. Now you have it. Her finger for her freedom seems like a good trade to me.” I keep my voice completely flat and indifferent. His eyes shift from me to Nicholai and back again. I see him piecing it together, trying to comprehend the woman he sees now with the woman he once met.

“She loves you,” Rafael snarls.

“Love is weakness, Rafael.” I cock a brow and step closer to him. “After all, look at you here, brokering non-advantageous deals, all for my sweet, little sister.”

His lips pull into a small smirk, his expression otherwise shuttering before he looks at Nicholai. “Do we have a deal?”

Nicholai’s head tilts to the side. “We do.” I want to breathe a sigh of relief because Rafael just bought Anna’s freedom. Nicholai’s pieces are slowly being taken off the board, one at a time. With Nero, Anna, and my son out of play, soon it will be just him and me standing toe to toe.