Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

4

Nero

She relaxes in my arms and her fingers tighten, clinging to my bicep. When I walked into that room she was hovering over my brother like a beautiful avenger, a walking angel of death bearing down on her victim with the strangest expression, somewhere between blissful relief and anguish. The way she moves, the way she looks at me even now is that of a predator, a killer, a demon in a dress, and I’d be lying if I said she doesn’t make my blood heat.

I glance over her head and see two guards jog up to a couple more on the gate, speaking into radios. I told them to handle it, whilst assuring them that I should go back to the party to give the illusion of normalcy. Of course, the guests will be told what actually happened, but right now, revealing the truth will not only incite panic but also look weak. The fact that the Italian Mafia sustained a hit within their own walls at an engagement party…well, that’s just embarrassing, but Arnaldo planned for this. And really, if the truth comes out, Lorenzo will look like the weak one, killed because he was trying to fuck another woman at his own engagement party. I can’t help but smile. His father would be rolling in his grave. But it’s this very fact that will keep this entire thing quiet. People might whisper that it was my date who killed him, but no one will ever confirm it. Other than his direct security, I guarantee no one will ever know. Reputation means far more than justice in our world.

“They’re searching the guests,” Una breathes against my throat, her voice strained. I spin her, switching our positions. Sure enough, the guards are looking at the guests, searching bags, and I’m sure looking for a mysterious brunette. I doubt they’ll look at Una, but they might. After all, she technically never came through the gate. If they check, we’re fucked.

I spin her again and smile, hoping we look like the perfect couple. Keeping my eyes trained on the approaching guards, I watch them draw closer. The people around us start to slow, paying more attention to the guards as they fan out into the dancers. A flash of panic crosses Una’s eyes, and I worry that she’ll do something rash, like turn this party into a bloodbath.

“Sir,” someone says behind me.

Shit. I grab the back of Una’s neck and wrench her to me, slamming my lips over hers. She freezes, her nails digging into my shoulder. Trailing my hand down her back, I brush her ass as I caress my tongue over her bottom lip. This needs to look good, good enough to make people uncomfortable. She stiffens and tries to shove away from me, putting up a fight. Damn it. Right now, our fates are intertwined. If she gets caught then so do I.

Taking control, I thrust my hand into her hair and grab a handful of it, pulling the strands roughly. The second I do, she releases a sharp breath. her lips part, and breath dancing over my tongue. The ice cracks inch by inch until she’s soft and pliant in my arms. Her fingers trail from my shoulder to the back of my neck, nails raking over my skin in a burning trail that has me hissing against her lips and pulling her tighter against my body. She tastes of champagne and danger, and everything about her has adrenaline slamming through my veins like a drug. The kiss becomes a battleground, the rougher I am, the more bruising my grip, the deeper she falls. There’s nothing sweet or gentle in it, just brutal passion. She bites my lip hard enough to draw blood, and then swipes her tongue over the wound, making me groan. My cock is plastered against my zipper and heat rips over my skin in a wave. Finally releasing my grip on her hair, she staggers away from me, gasping for breath. Her wide eyes meet mine, those lilac-tinged irises swirling with confusion and lust. She looks horrified.

We stand in a sea of people, but all I feel is her. My skin prickles and I grit my jaw as need and desire pulse through my veins. Una is a tool, an assassin, the enemy. Anything. She is anything but what I’m seeing her as right now – someone I want to sink balls deep inside. The personal and the professional must always be kept separate in this business, especially when you’re dealing with the kiss of death. Squeezing my eyes shut for a few seconds, I take a deep breath before turning and walking away from her. That kiss saved us, for now. I need to get us out of here.

I approach Romero, Lorenzo’s second. He folds his arms over his chest and squares his shoulders, glaring at me in a way that promises retribution. To the outside world, Lorenzo and I were brothers. Only Lorenzo and I, along with our closest friends, knew the truth. We were bitter enemies, and I just won.

“We need to start moving guests out of here.”

Jet-black eyebrows drop over equally dark eyes as he assesses me. “I’m going to kill you,” he growls. I smile, noticing the vein at his temple throb.

I huff a laugh. “Would that you could. Your fearless leader is dead, Romero. Who do you think will take his place?”

He snarls, getting in my face. “You’re a bastard. The family will never back you.”

I laugh. “You’re right, I am a bastard.”

I bask in the knowledge that Lorenzo – my father’s first born, his heir, his son, his greatest accomplishment – was fucking weak. And I, the unwanted bastard son, the result of my mother’s infidelity, have won. I’d truly hate him if I weren’t actually grateful. You see, Lorenzo had his love, and it did him no favours. No, Matteo Santos forged me. His hatred made me strong. His constant reminders of what I am made me smart. His physical blows made me a fighter. I learned from him that respect and power are not a birth right. He had the power of his name, but no matter how many times he beat me, I never felt an ounce of respect towards him. My sole purpose is to destroy his empire, piece by piece. I killed him, and now his son is gone. Sometimes, I wish I’d stayed my hand, so he could have been here to watch his son fall, so he could have died knowing that I would take over. I am a bastard, but it means nothing because I will take everything and more.

“Move the fucking guests out. Now,” I growl.

Romero clenches his jaw, the muscles in his shoulders tightening dangerously. I want him to, I really do. Instead, he turns and walks away. A few minutes later the guests start to leave, and I don’t see Una again. She disappeared like an apparition, a ghost on the wind.