Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

8

Nero

The second we’re in the car I can feel her unease. She sits in the passenger with her back ramrod straight and her fingers lingering over the knife holstered at her thigh.

“Why?” she asks.

“You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Why are you insisting that I stay with you?”

I stare through the windshield at the headlights cutting through the darkness. “I have my reasons.”

“Well, sharing is caring.”

My lips twitch as I look at her again and find her intense gaze on me. “I know enough about you to know that you’re very capable with some extremely powerful contacts. Right now, we’ve entered into something that mutually benefits us. I get what I want, and you get what you want.”

“Yes, and I agreed to the exchange of services, did I not?”

“Come now, Una, don’t tell me that you wouldn’t look for a way out of it the second you got a chance.” She says nothing. “You might pay Arnaldo a visit, or try and find your sister yourself, not that you’d get far, but still.”

I pull to a stop at a red light. “I fail to see your point.”

Reaching out, I trail a finger down the sharp plane of her cheek, knowing full well that it makes her uncomfortable. I’ve never had women complain about my touch, never met a woman that didn’t beg me for it. They all want a taste of a bad boy, a walk on the wild side. If only they knew exactly what they were climbing into bed with. Una’s different. She’s no normal woman, and she definitely doesn’t see me as the fuckable bad boy. She sees me for exactly what I am and doesn’t even blink. Her skin is like satin beneath my fingertip as I trace a line to the corner of her lip, before gripping her jaw. “You stay with me, then you can’t run around plotting my demise in your spare time.”

A slow smile pulls at her lips, even as her eyes flash with something dangerous. “You really think you can hope to hold me against my will?”

I smirk back at her. “Oh, it won’t be against your will. Because the second you get away from me, I will give Nicholai the information I have on Anna.” Her breath hitches ever so slightly, her pulse throbbing erratically beneath my fingers. I allow a full-blown grin to make its way across my features. “And for all of your bravado, I don’t think you want that, do you, Morte?” I have her, hook, line and sinker. She’s got nowhere to run but straight to me. I will become her saviour and her nightmare. I’ll be whatever the fuck she needs me to be if she plays the role I need her for.

Her facial expression relaxes back into one of passive indifference and outright attitude. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

She pulls her face away from my grasp. “I asked for the why. You gave it. I can appreciate a shrewd manipulator, Verdi.”

Oh, we’re on a surname basis now. I snort as the light turns green and I pull away.

“Of course, if you want me to do my job, then I’ll need my gear. Not to mention clothes. We need to make a stop.”

“Fine. Where do you need to go?”

The headlights glide across the metal roller doors of several storage units. Zeus and George sit bolt upright on the back seat, ears pricked as they stare out the windshield. I cut the engine and get out. We’re in a particularly run-down part of Brooklyn. A chain-link fence surrounds the lot with two security lights on either side of the gate casting an orange glow across the concrete walkway that separates the two rows of units. Una slams the car door and starts walking, her figure casting a long shadow. There’s a single security guard on the gate. This place is about as secure as a garden shed in the Bronx. What the hell is Una possibly using this place for? I scour the shadows, listening. All I can hear is the distant hum of traffic, interrupted by the occasional boat horn. I follow her, feeling the hard outline of my gun against my ribcage. My fingers itch to feel the weight of it in my hand, but I refrain. Call me paranoid but I’ve experienced one too many dodgy deals and subsequent shootouts in locations just like this.

The sound of one of the metal doors rolling up punches through the night air. I catch up to Una as she steps inside the open unit and flicks on a light. The back wall is lined with several metal lockers, not dissimilar to the kind you’d find in an auto shop. She takes a set of keys and unlocks one. Opening drawers, she starts removing various weapons, pulling out the clips on the pistols and checking them before sliding them back in.

“Hand me one of those bags, will you?” She points to the left-hand wall, where a couple of empty black holdalls are hanging. I had one to her and she puts god knows how many different guns in there, and then she moves on to the next drawer. Grenades. The next, knives.

“You done?”

She glances sideways at me before zipping the bag. “You know I have guns. And we’re not taking down the pentagon.”

She glares at me. “I like my guns.”

“And the grenades?”

A small smile touches her lips. “Well, grenades are always handy.” I shake my head as I toss the bag over my shoulder. She picks up a long steel briefcase from the corner, followed by one of the zipped duffels against the wall.

“I need that, too.” She points at a black plastic case, which I pick up. “Okay, let’s go.” She rolls the metal door back down, snapping the padlock back in place.

“You know, you should probably find somewhere more secure to store your shit.”

She walks past me. “Well, no one would store anything of value here, so no one bothers to break in.” She shrugs one shoulder. She says that now.

I pull into the parking garage beneath my building and glance at Una. She hasn’t spoken a word to me since we picked up her supplies, and honestly, I’m good with that. I really don’t care much for her emotional wellbeing past her ability to kill. I get out of the car and open the back door, letting the dogs out. They walk to heel as I make my way to the elevator, sparing only a brief glance over my shoulder just to check she is, in fact, following.

Her footsteps behind me are so quiet it’s almost unnerving. She takes ‘silent as the grave’ into an entirely new context.

The elevator doors open and I step in. She looks like a cornered animal when she slides in beside me, ready to bolt at any minute. She lingers slightly behind me, ever the strategist. I catch her blurred reflection in the brass doors, and even with that limited view I can see the tension in her shoulders. She’s uncomfortable and fight ready.

I inspect the cuff of my jacket, adjusting the edge of my shirt. “I’m not about to jump you, Una.”

“You’d be stupid to,” she replies, her voice tight.

Well, isn’t this going to be fun? Gio thinks I’m crazy bringing her here. He wanted me to leave her at the house, but I know there’s no way she’d stay there. Well…she might, but not without slaughtering every man there who sees her face before we part ways. The tension in this small metal box becomes stifling, until I’m ready to either pry the damn doors open or point a gun at her head and tell her to stop with her shit. Luckily for both of us, the low ping rings out before the doors glide open. The dogs trot ahead, disappearing into the kitchen where Margo, my housekeeper will have left them food.

“The elevator only operates with a key, and the emergency exit has sensors and alarm systems on the door. So, if you run, I’ll know.” I look at her, making sure she sees how deadly serious I am. Honestly, I have no idea how to handle someone like her. I deal with men for whom threats and leverage will undoubtedly work. She’s too calm, too accepting. It makes me suspicious. I’ve never had to supress someone of her skill, nor with her contacts. I’m pretty sure she could call in a favour from any big gun she likes, even Arnaldo. After all, I’m off the grid here, working on my own, and I have no doubt that she knows that. I’m just hoping that her sister is enough. True, she might be able to find Anna on her own, but I’ve had guys buried in the cartels for years. I’m her best bet. She steps away from me, moving to the floor-to-ceiling windows that surround the entire apartment, like a literal glass wall, imprisoning her here, high above New York.

“Your room is this way.” I ascend the stairs to the second floor. The balcony style railing runs along the length of the apartment, overlooking the open-plan living space below. My step falters at the first door, the room furthest from mine, the one I had intended to put her in, but for some reason I keep walking, stopping at the one next to mine. I push the door open and hold my arm out in a sweeping gesture.

“You should have everything you need, but if not then tell me and Margo will get it.”

“Margo?” Suspicion laces her voice.

“My housekeeper. I don’t keep girlfriends.”

She smirks. “You say that as though they’re pets. Butterflies in a jar.” She walks a few steps away and spins on her heel to face me. “You strike me as the sort to pluck the wings off pretty butterflies, Nero.”

Una Ivanov. There’s something about her that constantly taunts, teases and dares. I move further into the room, slowly closing the gap between us until I’m close enough to see her indigo eyes in the darkness. The easiest way to intimidate someone is to get in their personal space. It’s a habit when trying to force someone to back down, but with Una, I find it has the opposite effect. She rises to the threat, making everything in me sit up and take note. I want to be indifferent to her, I need to be, and yet, everything she does captures my attention. How can it not? I’ve never met a woman like her, and I know I never will. There is no one like her. She’s the best, the kiss of death herself. My eyes trace the outline of her full lips, and I suddenly remember exactly how they feel against mine, the lash of her tongue, the violent scrape of her teeth…

“Don’t worry, I’ll leave your wings well alone.”

She smirks and tilts her head back to look at me. “You mistake me for something pretty and fragile, but I assure you, any wings I had were plucked a very long time ago,” she says it casually, but I catch the briefest flash of sadness in her eyes. She doesn’t say it for pity though; she says it because she hates to be seen as anything delicate. I shouldn’t give a shit, but she’s like a puzzle that I can’t resist wasting my time on.

“Fine then, be an ugly caterpillar.” She snorts and the briefest smile flashes over her lips, sinking a dimple into her porcelain cheek. A butterfly indeed, although her wings are made of steel and her touch may very well kill. Forcing myself to move away from her, I step out of the door.

“Nero.” I halt when I hear her voice. “Uh…” she stammers over her words and it has me turning to face her. “You might hear things tonight. Don’t come in here.” Before I can respond, she slams the door shut.