Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

7

Una

My heart is hammering, the pulse in my throat pounding so hard I can barely breathe. Nero takes a slow drag of his cigarette, watching me like a hawk, looking for any sign of weakness. Little does he know, he might as well have liver punched me, because I feel paralysed right now. How does he know about Anna? No one knows about the sister I was torn away from when the bratva took me from an orphanage thirteen years ago. I spent years being trained, beaten, broken, only to be rebuilt into the embodiment of the perfect soldier. The bratva made me strong, they made me a warrior, they made me exactly what they wanted. Una Vasiliev died in that place, everything that she was stripped from her. Except Anna, because I could never let her go, even when I wanted to, even when I knew my obsession with her brought me nothing but pain and unanswered questions.

I never mention her, and my silent search for her is my own. Finding Anna is near impossible. All the answers lie within the bratva, a place in which I have status and privilege, but if Nicholai realized I had a weakness, he’d search for her and kill her himself. And he’d genuinely believe he was doing me a favour, setting me free. Maybe he would be, but when I think of my sister, my innocent, sweet sister, a deep ache buries itself into my chest. Anna was never strong. She was sweet and good, and she depended on me. I shielded her innocent eyes from the ugliness of the world, corrupted myself, sold my soul off piece by piece, and I did it willingly, to keep her safe, to keep her pure. And that was just in the orphanage. My greatest failing in life is the inability to protect her. But now I can…if I could find her.

Do I believe Nero? I don’t know. But just hearing her name fall from his lips has something inside of me shifting. A door that I firmly slammed shut when I was fifteen years old is now open a crack. Emotions are seeping out and I’m fighting to shove them back into that dark corner of my mind where Una Vasiliev lives, the young girl crying for her sister, hurting for all that she lost, for all that she had to do to survive. I feel. For the first time in a very long time, I feel something besides the cold detachment that comes with killing. I’d forgotten what anger feels like…to be so consumed, so utterly driven by that sole emotion. I’m angry at myself, but mostly I’m angry at Nero for using her against me, for cornering me, despite the fact that I know I would do far worse to get what I want. I feel threatened, and that’s never good. Rolling my shoulders and closing my eyes, the icy rage locks around me, imprisoning me in its grasp. And the switch flips. I have no more control over it than the instinct to draw breath. When I open my eyes, my senses have sharpened, my vision becomes clearer, and I can sense every single breath he takes. Adrenaline courses through my veins. My mind perceives a threat, and my body is responding automatically. After years of training, it’s no more than a reflex, like someone throwing you a ball and your arm moving to catch it. I’m ready to fight. Ready to kill.

“You found a name. Well done,” I say. Even to my own ears I sound cold, efficient. Nero raises a brow. His eyes lock with mine and I see wariness there, but not fear, never fear from him. Silly. “What did you think, Nero? That you’d dig up a name and have me doing your dirty work like some pet?” A smile pulls at my lips. “I’ve been very nice to you until now, I really have, but do not lie to me. Do not piss me off. I will end you and never think of you again,” I whisper.

His expression remains impassive, almost bored. Something in me delights in his unspoken challenge. He stands there, authority and power pouring off him in waves. The dark lord on the mafia throne. “I’m not lying. And you could kill me, but then you’d never know, would you?” Those deep brown eyes hold my gaze, and doubt starts to take hold of me.

What if he’s telling the truth? Or maybe I just want to believe him. I hate that this is even a subject of discussion. I should just walk away now. I haven’t seen Anna in over thirteen years; she should be nothing more than a ghost to me..

“This isn’t a trap, Una. This is a simple exchange of favours,” he says, his voice deep and melodic.

I move to the desk, bracing my hands against it with my back to him. “Fucking mafia with your favours.” I don’t like this. I’m untouchable, but right now I feel like I’ve torn open my own ribcage and am daring him to thrust a blade into my beating heart.

I glance over my shoulder. “What do you want?” I ask, and he smiles, blowing a long stream of smoke through his lips. I’m the starving lion lingering just outside the confines of a trap. Nero is dangling Anna in front of me like a piece of prime rib, and he knows I’m going to walk inside. I can’t resist. I guess we all have our weaknesses, even me.

“Simple. You help me destroy my enemies.”

Simple, he says. I know all about his antics in the last two weeks since I killed Lorenzo. Turns out, Nero is the bad boy of the mafia, and considering it’s the damn mafia, that’s saying something. Arnaldo appointed him capo in the wake of his brother’s death, and now shit is hitting the fan. The Italians value family and honour above all else. Turns out Nero values neither. He’s a ruthless fuck, but then I already knew that. I had him pegged the moment I met him. Still, decapitating Lorenzo’s second was extreme and probably isn’t in the team building and leadership manual. Nero Verdi has enemies coming out of his asshole. I have no desire to share them with him.

Turning to face him, I square my shoulders and tilt my head to the side. “I hear you have many enemies, Capo. What with killing your own brother for the throne.” I tsk. “Nasty business, especially when you Italians value family so much.”

A twisted smile pulls at his lips and smoke drifts around his face; rising and making him look like the devil himself. “Ah, but the question is, how much do you value your family, Morte?” He emphasises the word, purring it as though it were an endearment.

I grit my teeth. “What’s the job?”

He approaches and pulls a piece of paper from the inside pocket of his jacket, holding it out to me. I take it from him, and he drops into the chair behind his desk. Unfolding the sheet of lined paper, I find four names scrawled one below the other.

Marco Fiore

Bernardo Caro

Franco Lama

Finnegan O’Hara

I recognise three of them and two of them are no street rats. Bernardo Caro is another New York capo, and Finnegan O’Hara…well, he’s into everything and everyone. There are several hits on his head. I’m already thinking of my contacts, how I could get to them, who I should hit first… I slowly lift my eyes to him. He’s watching me, one elbow resting on his desk and his index finger tapping over his bottom lip. I fold the paper and hand it back.

“I can’t hit this many in one network.” Three of those guys are Italian. It would draw too much attention, and in this business, attention is never good.

He shrugs, pursing his lips around his cigarette as he inhales. The end glows a bright cherry red and he flashes me a dark look. “Then good luck finding your sister.” Smoke drifts between his lips as he speaks.

I clench my fists so hard that my nails break the skin on my palm. “You don’t understand,” I growl. “The way I work, I maintain a fine balance. I’m unbiased in my services, and therefore I have somewhat of a diplomatic immunity among the crime organizations. If I do this for you, I’m not leaving my name on it. It’s bad for business.” Not to mention that if someone decides I’m a threat or that I’m taking sides, it’ll be open season on my head. I’ll have no choice but to go back to Russia for protection, and I may never find Anna.

He shakes his head. “I need them to know it was you and not me.”

“Does it matter? Someone has to hire me.”

He smirks. “Plausible deniability.”

This is suicide, but it’s amazing what you’ll do for the thing you want most. I’ve spent my entire life alone, an island surrounded by waters so deep and dark, no one could ever hope to cross them. But Anna…she walks on water. My boundaries don’t apply to her, or the fantasy of her at least. Who knows who or what she’s become now. “If I agree to this, it will take time,” I say reluctantly.

“I’ve got time.” His lips kick up at one side. “I’ll pay you three for each one. Plus your sister. You work no other jobs until this is complete and you stay with me.”

Jeez, I guess he’s wealthier than I thought. Wait, what?

I tilt my head, narrowing my eyes. “Yeah, that’s not going to happen. I’m not good with people.”

He smirks. “No people, just me. I have a penthouse in the city.”

I glare at him. “Why? I have an apartment in the city. Surely you know my sister is enough incentive for you to trust me.”

He moves back to his desk, stubbing out his cigarette in the steel ashtray. His head remains tilted down as he flicks the butt away. “My reasons are my own. Take it or leave it.”

Why would he want me in his house? That’s where he’s most vulnerable.

“I’ll agree if you can give me proof.” I swallow hard, trying hard to hide just how much this means. “I want proof that you have something on Anna.”

“So you can find her yourself and sell me out?” We stare at each other for long moments, those whisky eyes of his, so hard, so calculating. Finally, he pushes his chair back and pulls open the bottom drawer. He takes out a photograph, holding it against his chest until I look up and meet his gaze. “If you betray me, if you cut and run, I will send this photograph to Nicholai Ivanov,” he says coldly.

My expression must give away my fury, because he places the picture on the desk. Ignoring him, I rush forward to look at the photo. It’s blurry and distorted; the image zoomed in from a distance. It’s dark, but there’s a line of girls, all of them bound at the wrists. Two men stand with guns, on either side of the women. In the middle of the image is a girl. She can be no older than eighteen. Her white-blonde hair hangs over her face, and I can barely make out her profile, but it’s a face I would know anywhere. Anna.

“Where did you get this?” I whisper.

“This was taken three years ago in Juarez. A shipment of slaves were sold to the Sinaloa Cartel.”

My blood runs cold and it feels like someone has wrapped a fist around my heart. “A slave? In the cartel?”

His lips press into a flat line. He says nothing, but his silence is answer enough. My fingers tighten on the edge of the desk, and I feel. I feel…everything. Emotion bubbles up my throat, and I bite hard on the inside of my cheek in an attempt to channel it, but I can’t. My long dormant heart feels like it’s breaking, splintering open and bleeding out. My mind flashes through memories, only instead of seeing them as myself, I imagine it’s her. Men holding her down, laughing as they tear her clothing from her body, hands clamping around her delicate throat, nails raking over soft skin as they force her legs apart. Only she wouldn’t fight like I did, and she wouldn’t have a Nicholai to save her. My nails scream in protest as I grip the wood hard enough to bend them back. White-hot rage rips over my skin, and I want nothing more than to make the rivers of Mexico run red until I find her. Images blink behind my eyelids like a faulty film reel, and it makes me want to scream.

“Una!” Fingers brush over my jaw, and I flinch back as Nero tears me from the screaming in my mind. “Look at me.” My heart is hammering, and I can feel the thin layer of sweat coating my skin. “Una, look at me.” He repeats. Hands land on either side of my face, his grip strong and deliberate, forcing me to lift my eyes.

Meeting Nero’s gaze, his perceptive eyes search mine. I’m frozen, stuck in a place between the past and the present, reality and nightmare. His thumb strokes over my cheek and it’s like breaking the surface after being submerged in water for several minutes. I drag in a staggered breath, sucking the oxygen into my lungs. My focus snaps back into place almost instantly and I slam my palm against his chest with enough force that he moves back a step, his hands falling away from me. Backing up, I begin pacing around the desk, putting distance between us. Of all the people to have a relapse in front of…

“Do we have a deal?” His expression shutters once again.

My jaw hurts from gritting my teeth so hard. “I’ll kill your people, but I want more than just your information on Anna.” He lifts his chin. “I want you to help me get her back.” It’s a small price to pay. For her.

Whatever his plan, it must be important because he nods quickly. “Done.” He puts the photo back in the drawer and slides it shut. “I have to handle something, and then I’ll take you home.” Great. I’d almost forgotten that I’m going to have to live with him.

Fifteen minutes pass, and when Nero doesn’t come back I get annoyed and bored. I’m not some staff member he can just keep at his beck and call. Screw this. I leave the office and make my way through the house, ducking into doorways whenever I see any of his men. I manage to make it into the sunroom where I slip outside unnoticed. Making my way across the sloping lawns, I inhale the cool night air, allowing it to help calm my racing mind.

When I’m away from the house, I call Sasha. “Hello,” he answers in Russian. I smile. Sasha is one of the few people I trust in this world. We grew up together, were trained together and shaped into what we now are. He’s as close to a brother as I will ever get.

“Sasha, it’s me.” I slip easily into my native tongue, although it feels strangely foreign. I’ve been away for so long now.

“Una. Where are you?”

“On a job in New York.” I don’t say more than that and he doesn’t ask. This is our life, this is what we do. Although, he’d be disappointed if he knew I was selling myself out right now, not to mention he’d tell Nicholai. I went to Nicholai’s facility when I was thirteen after he saved me from being raped and sold as a whore. Sasha was there from the age of nine. I’m loyal to Nicholai because he’s the only father I’ve ever known, but I see his flaws. He would kill Anna, and I know he would do it because he loves me. In many ways, I see his logic, I even agree with it. I just can’t allow it, not when it’s Anna. Sasha, on the other hand, has complete loyalty to Nicholai. He has no weakness such as a long-lost sister. I care for him like a brother and he cares for me too, but ultimately, he would betray me before he would breach Nicholai’s trust. I have to be careful. “I need a favour.”

“Oh?”

“But you have to promise me you won’t breathe a word of this to anyone.” The pleading tone in my voice is pathetic really.

“Fine,” he says, reluctantly.

“I need you to locate where the Sinaloa Cartel keep their sex slaves.”

He goes silent. “You do realise they keep thousands of slaves?”

I sigh and pinch the bridge of my nose.

“Are you looking for someone specific?”

“Yes.”

He says nothing for long seconds and then releases a long breath. “Well, are you going to tell me who?”

"She won’t be under the same name now. You’re looking for a girl sold into the Sinaloa about three years ago. White-blonde hair, blue eyes.”

He clears his throat. “Okay, I can’t promise anything, but I’ll have a look.” The other thing Sasha specializes in is hacking. The dark web, bank accounts, emails, even CCTV footage. If there is a trace of Anna to be found, he’ll find it. I admit, it’s a long shot.

“Thank you.” I hang up and drag a hand through my hair. We now live in an online world, and even the criminals have moved into a new era. Weapons dealers, sex traffickers, drug dealers…you can buy rocket launchers on the dark web. Gun traffickers have their own version of eBay. Just as they always have done, they have a dark and sordid underground, even within our own Internet. It’s here that Sasha and I often find our prey. Don’t mistake us for some kind of good Samaritan’s though. We take them out for someone else who probably wants to take their place or whose own illicit trade is threatened. That’s the way the world keeps turning, with those who have power garnering more on the backs of someone else. People like Anna are sold and traded like cattle, and for the most part, no one can touch the men who do it. Every so often though, someone like me crawls out of the woodwork. In many ways, I’ve been equally robbed of my life, but I have a purpose. When I find Anna, and I will find her one way or another, I’m going to slaughter anyone who had a hand in taking her.

Nero may know roughly where Anna is but I’m not about to sit back and let him take his sweet time in finding her, just so he can get what he wants from me. I’m no one’s pawn. I need more information though. If Sasha can’t find anything, then I’m left with Nero as my only hope of ever finding her. That doesn’t sit well. I want to kill him and smile as I watch him bleed out, but I can’t and I won’t. He found Anna. Despite the unlimited resources at my disposal and a reputation that tends to make people talk, I couldn’t find her. He succeeded where I failed. How? I’ve looked, but I guess I never really thought I would find her, and now that I’m faced with the possibility, now that I’ve seen her, she’s suddenly more than just a fading memory.

My thoughts are interrupted when I hear footsteps brushing over the grass. The distraction is a welcome reprieve from my thoughts, and part of me hopes it’s an attacker. I need a fight right now. I need the violence and bloodshed to remind me what I am. Listening, I blow out a breath that fogs around my face. Despite the days being warm in April, the nights are still cold here in New York. Of course, compared to Russia it’s positively sweltering. I don’t miss those freezing cold winters in that concrete fortress.

Turning as the footsteps get closer, I see one of Nero’s guys approaching, the quiet one. His black suit blends into the darkness as though he were a part of it. His eyes scan the night as he approaches me, as though looking for any hidden threats. I keep my face tilted down, shielding it from his view.

“I’m Gio, Nero’s second,” he says, his voice a little too cultured for New York. He has all the traditional Italian features except for his deep blue eyes, and he’s almost as handsome as Nero, but he lacks that ruthless edge that makes the capo more somehow.

“Does that mean I’m supposed to trust you?”

A humorless smirk cuts over his face. “It means he has my loyalty. And for now, so do you.”

“You know I’m a threat to him.”

“Nero doesn’t need my protection. Trust me.” I believe him. “Why are you out here?”

On a sigh, I scoop my hood off my face. He’s Nero’s second. I can’t hide my face from him for the extended period of time this job is likely to take. “I’m not running if that’s what you’re worried about. I made a deal.”

“A deal you’re not happy with,” he counters.

I tilt my head to the side and smirk. “Whatever gave you that idea?” I startle when two black shapes come barrelling down the sloped gardens towards us. My muscles tense but Gio doesn’t move. When they’re a few feet away I see they’re dogs. Two black Dobermans circle his legs excitedly until he barks a command at them and they drop to a sit, one on each side.

“Nice dogs,” I remark, watching the way they study me intently.

“They’re Nero’s. This is Zeus.” He places his hand on the one on his right. “And George.” He points to the one on the left. It’s George who breaks his vigil, as though he can’t contain himself. He jumps up and rushes towards me, his ears back and his little stump of a tail wagging. Smiling, I lean over and run my hands over his slick, black coat. “Real smooth, George,” Gio huffs. “Some guard dog you are.” Zeus stays where he is while George leans against my legs, begging me for attention.

“He called his dog George?” I look up at him, cocking a brow.

He shrugs. “Come on. I’ll show you around.”

I glance back at the ugly house sitting just above us on the hill. “I’m good. Where’s Nero?”

“He’s unexpectedly pre-occupied.”

“Okay, either you take me to him or I’m leaving. And you can tell him that I don’t wait around for anyone.”

He turns and starts walking towards the house with a low chuckle. “This is going to be good.”

Falling in beside him, we walk in silence. The smell of night lilies assaults me as we pass through the gardens. Roses adorn the flowerbeds, their crimson petals bleeding against the night. The dogs break away, running ahead of us into the sunroom at the back of the house. I pull my hood up as we enter. It makes me uneasy being around all these people, being seen. Gio leads me along a corridor until we come to a door that opens onto a set of concrete stairs. A burst of cool air drift up them as we descend into the basement, like icy fingers, reaching for us. At the bottom, he approaches an old, rusted metal door, then presses a code into a keypad, eliciting a loud click. With a rough shove he pushes the old door open, its hinges screaming in protest.

“Here you go.” He stands back, gesturing me to move ahead of him. I don’t like it, but I steel my spine and step inside, keeping my focus on him. Gio is the worst kind of dangerous. The first impression is that he’s nice, intelligent, smiles easily and has an air of kindness to him. Everything about him makes you forget that he would put a bullet in your head quick as look at you if the situation called for it. I don’t forget though. He didn’t make it to Nero’s second by being soft.

As I step through the door, a gruesome scene unfolds before me. The room is nothing more than a large, empty space with concrete walls and floor. A drain is set into the middle of the floor, which gently slopes in towards it. The entire room smells of blood and death, and the floor is stained with evidence of the acts committed within these walls. It reminds me of the facility I grew up in, concrete and blood. Directly above the drain is a body, suspended by the ankles via thick metal chains that hang from a hook in the ceiling. The man is barely more than pulverised flesh, his face completely unrecognisable. The big guy that was in Nero’s office earlier stands in front of him, his shirtsleeves rolled up and a set of brass knuckles clutched in his hand. Blood coats his fingers, spreading up his forearms and catching the edge of his shirtsleeves. Nero and the other guy that were in the office are off to the side. Nero leans against the wall, a cigarette hanging between his lips. He almost seems casual, but I know better.

“This is Tommy.” Gio points to the guy straddling a chair right next to Nero and he lifts a hand, waving at me as he grins. He’s the only one here who doesn’t have the dark hair and olive skin. His green eyes, pale skin and chestnut hair give him away as something other than Italian. “And Jackson.” He waves a hand dismissively towards the big guy. This is Nero’s inner circle, I realise. Every capo, boss or leader has one. You have to. I have people I use for certain things. No one can stand completely alone. It’s impossible.

Sighing, I move over to the wall where Nero’s standing, prepared to watch them flex their muscles and treat the guy on the chain like a piñata. Nero’s arm is a couple of feet away from mine where I brace against the cold concrete, but I’m abnormally aware of him. He stands in his silent vigil, king of all he surveys, and it’s everything that he doesn’t say or do that makes him so formidable. Nicholai always said that a man’s weight is all in how he is perceived, and perception can always be altered. A man who makes threats, a man who is seen to commit violence is doing so because he feels he has to make a point. Nero wants me to take out his enemies. He’s not making a point, far from it, he’s deliberately trying to remove himself from it. He doesn’t need to make threats or kill people, because he knows what he is and he’s confident in his abilities. I can feel his eyes on my face but I ignore it, crossing my arms over my chest as I school my features into a bored expression. Truthfully, once you’ve seen one interrogation, you’ve seen them all.

Gio approaches the suspended man, circling him with his hands buried deep in his pockets. “Is he dead?”

Jackson cracks his neck to the side impatiently. He’s the muscle, the most reckless of the three, the most easily riled or baited, I note. “It can be arranged.”

“If we wanted him dead, I’d have used a bullet and saved your shirt,” Gio lilts, his voice like velvet as he says the words quietly. “Wake him up.”

Jackson picks up a bucket from beside him and throws water over the unconscious man. He gasps and jerks awake, thrashing against the chain like a fish on a line. Out of the corner of my eye I see Nero drop the cigarette and crush it under his shoe, driving a black mark into the concrete floor. He steps forward, the atmosphere in the room changing, as though the beating so far was just a warm-up and it’s all about to kick off.

Tommy chuckles under his breath and twists his head towards me. “Hope you’re not squeamish.”

I say nothing. The only reason I’m even standing here is because I have to wait for Nero to give me his royal decree. I don’t like to be kept waiting, and especially not when I’m waiting to go to his apartment…something I don’t even want to do. So, I stand on the side lines, watching the boys’ club strut around, weighing each other’s balls. Although, I will say I’m curious. I want to see what Nero does that has them all waiting on baited breath, or perhaps even they don’t know.

Nero stands in front of the man. His silence might as well be a gunshot in the room. Reaching inside his jacket pocket, he removes a pack of cigarettes, taking one to replace the one he just stubbed out. His movements are slow, methodical, deliberately unhurried as he puts the packet back in his pocket and takes out the lighter. The low click gives way to the bright orange flame dancing over the end of the cigarette until it glows a bright red. I notice every tiny, inconsequential detail, because he demands it, without ever speaking a word. He has a gift, and when he finally does speak, everyone listens.

“You should know, Mr Chang, that I always get what I want.” He straightens the collar of his jacket, brushing away a non-existent piece of lint.

“Not this time!” the hanging guy rasps, though it’s lost on a choked cough.

Nero smiles; it’s almost charming and certainly disarming. “You aren’t walking out of here alive,” he tells the man. Well, he’s not going to tell him shit now. Don’t get me wrong, he knows he’s going to die, I’m sure, but hope will play tricks on the human mind. It’s that fragile hope that has them spilling their guts, not a guaranteed death penalty.

“Fuck you!” The guy spits through swollen lips and broken teeth. He sways slightly as his weight shifts, and the chain lets out an ominous creak as the links grind together.

Nero sighs and then inhales on his cigarette. For the first time, I notice the way his full lips purse around it, his defined jawline flexing beneath a layer of dark stubble as he draws the breath. He turns away, giving a slight jerk of his chin to Gio, who immediately leaves the room. “One of my guys was killed in your ambush,” he says, his tone completely neutral. “I think you sold me out.” This time, the guy says nothing, and the only sound is the rasping of his breath. Sounds like a punctured lung to me. Nero shrugs. “Okay.”

I’ll admit I’m intrigued when Gio comes back in the room carrying a metal bucket. He places it at Nero’s feet, where he leans down and takes out a bottle. Nero nods and steps back as Gio opens the bottle and pours it over the suspended man. It only takes a second for the smell to hit me. Gasoline. The liquid soaks the material of his jeans, cascading down his mangled body until he’s coughing and choking, trying not to inhale it.

“What are you doing?” he asks, panicked.

Nero drops to a crouch, until he’s almost eye level with him. “Getting what I want.” He takes one final drag of the cigarette and throws it, straight at the guy’s face. The ember catches and the flames tear over his body. His screams echo around the concrete room, accompanied only by the sound of the fire tearing over his skin. I’m no stranger to violence, but that’s a nasty way to go. Gio moves and pulls something else from the bucket, but I can’t clearly see past Nero who stands calmly, watching the burning, screaming man as if he were observing a bonfire. A hissing sound fills the room, and the flames die instantly. Gio stands to the other side of the smoking body, fire extinguisher in hand. They put him out? They set him on fire and then they put it out. Why? All I can smell is singed hair and burnt flesh, and the odour has me swallowing back bile.

Another bucket of water is thrown on him and again he jerks awake, only this time it must feel like he’s imprisoned in the inner circle of hell. The scream that tears from his lips would have even the hardest of men recoiling. His skin is raw and mangled, literally as though it melted in the fire. He’s completely unrecognisable, not that the round with the brass knuckles had done him many favours. Nero stares down at him.

“Painful, isn’t it?” The man’s unbroken moans continue. “Your lungs are incinerated from the inside, which means you’re going to die. You have hours, maybe days, depending on how strong you are.” He pauses, and still all the guy can do is moan.

Damn, I’d feel sorry for him if I could, but honestly, I’m simply enamored by Nero right now.

“Give me a name and I’ll give you a bullet. If not, I hope you enjoy your last few hours on this earth.”

“Abbiati,” he sobs, the word barely comprehensible.

“Thank you.” Nero removes his gun and shoots the guy in the head. The body goes limp and blood gushes into the drain. It reminds me of an animal carcass hanging in a slaughterhouse.

“Gio, Jackson, I think Bruce Abbiati needs a little visit.” Nero says darkly. “Be sure to send a message.” He tucks his gun back into the holster at his chest and approaches me. “Apologies for the delay.” Then he walks out of the room without a backwards glance.

Nero Verdi, for all of his refinement, is a monster; one with no boundaries. To watch a man burn, to hear his screams and not even flinch…well, that puts him on my level. As if he wasn’t dangerous enough to me. He’s every bit as unfeeling and ruthless as I am. But he’s also smart and cunning, and intelligence is the most lethal weapon a man can possess.