Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

Nero

“Stay in the car.” I throw the door open. She gets out and I glare at her over the roof. “Was I speaking a foreign language?”

She cocks a brow. “I didn’t leave your apartment to sit in your car.”

“I didn’t bring you with me for a day trip. I brought you because Tommy is busy –”

“Ah, yes, driving Zeus to his appointment with a tree to take a piss on.”

“– and you can’t be trusted on your own.”

“So now I’m the untrustworthy one? As I recall, I came of my own free will.”

“Fucking women, you’re all the same, don’t listen to shit,” I grumble, turning my back and heading towards the stairwell.

“Careful, capo. I’m the one who brought the gun, remember?” She falls in step beside me, and low and behold, she has her gun strapped to her damn thigh.

“This is a government building.”

“So, take the service entrance.”

Stopping, I grab her arm, turning her to face me. She tenses and I smirk. I’ve learned with her, that it’s the casual touches that make her uncomfortable. Grab her by her throat or grip her arm hard enough to break it and she’s fine. Finger-fuck her, and it’s tentative, but it seems pleasure can tamper her bloodlust. “This is not a tactical assault. I told you, it’s not a gun affair. It’s a meeting.”

“I thought that was mafia code for kill someone.” She raises both eyebrows as though this should be obvious.

“What? No.” I shake my head. “Jesus. Look, lose the gun or wait in the fucking car.” She rolls her eyes and unbuckles the holster from around her thigh, dropping to a crouch and sliding it across the parking garage floor until it comes to a halt beneath the car fifty yards away.

“Happy?” she scowls. I eye the cuff at her wrist. “Don’t even think about it.” She struts past me, hips swaying in a way that I don’t think she’s even aware of. Damn, her ass looks good in those pants.

I have a meeting arranged with Gerard Brown, otherwise known as the current Port Authority Chief. Of course, he doesn’t realize it’s me he’s meeting with, simply the director of Horizon Logistics, a legitimate company that, as it happens, I own. His secretary shows us to his office, eyeing Una the entire time. I don’t blame her. Nothing about Una fits into normal society unless she’s forced to. Give her a job, tell her she has to play the mayor’s wife and she’ll pull that shit off no problem, but in her natural state, people become wary of her. It’s the same way an antelope can sense the presence of a lion. Their instincts tell them she’s dangerous and yet they trust what their eyes see, that she’s just a tiny, pretty little woman.

Gerard Brown is a middle-aged guy with a beer gut, an ill-fitting suit and a moustache that looks like he stole it from the set of a seventies porn film. That said, this is the man that controls all of the docks in New York City. Nothing comes in or out without his say-so, and it just so happens that Finnegan O’Hara has his say-so. Whether he knows about the nature of O’Hara’s dealings, it’s impossible to say.

“Mr Brown. Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.” He holds his hand out and I shake it. His thick eyebrows pull into a frown, and he squints behind his glasses.

“I’m sorry, you’ll have to forgive me, but I don’t know your name. My secretary –”

“Was never told it,” I finish for him, taking a seat in the leather chair across from him. He sits and places his palms flat on the desk, subtly glancing at Una where she stands with her back to the wall, placed exactly between the window and the door. “I am Nero Verdi.”

His face pales and he leans back in his chair, trying to put as much distance between us as possible. “Mr. Verdi.” He tugs at his collar and a thin sheen of sweat blossoms on his skin.

I cross my ankle over my knee and brush my pant leg with a smile. “I see my reputation proceeds me. Good. This should go quickly then.” He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows heavily. “You have a working relationship with Finnegan O’Hara.”

“Please. I don’t want any trouble –”

“You handle his shipments, which means you know when the next one’s coming in…when he’s coming in. No?”

He shakes his head. “No, I don’t know.”

“What kind of chief doesn’t know what’s coming into his own ports?” I fix my gaze on him and he visibly flinches. This will be easy.

“Please, I don’t –”

“You’re boring me.” Una sighs, pushing off the wall. She grabs him around the throat, shoving him back in the chair as she takes a seat on the desk. “When is he coming into the city?” Nothing. “I’m going to count to three,” she says the words so sweetly. “One, two, three.” The blade at her wrist drops into her hand and she grips it, driving it towards his face. He shrieks and braces. There’s a beat of silence, a tense moment before he opens his eyes and finds the point of the blade poised millimeters from his right eye. She wraps her free hand around the back of his neck and pulls him towards her, cradling his head against her chest as if he were a small child. “You don’t need your eyes to talk, Gerard,” she whispers before stroking her fingers down his cheek. She then puts the blade away and hops down off the desk, returning to her spot by the wall.

I glance over my shoulder at her and adjust in my seat because my dick is uncomfortably hard. Damn, it’s the way she handles everything, so calm, yet so psychotic. Turning back to face Gerard, I cock a brow at him. He’s trembling and about to spill his guts, because if he doesn’t, Una will cut his fucking eyes out of his head. I know it and he knows it.

Una bristles with attitude and impatience as I step into the elevator. Accordingly, I’m agitated and pissed off. My skin feels too tight for my body and my dick will not let up. My balls are starting to ache, bringing about a whole new meaning to blue balls.

The second the doors glide shut I turn on her, pressing my hand against the centre of her chest and shoving her against the mirrored wall of the elevator. Her eyes narrow but she makes no other move to stop me. “At any point, did I ask for your help?” I’m not really pissed off about it. I’m pissed off because I want to fuck her, but that’s not rational.

She slaps my hand away from her chest, which just serves to eliminate the only thing between us. Her chest brushes against mine, the tension in this confined metal box becomes stifling. “The civilized bullshit doesn’t suit you.” She smirks, dragging her gaze from my eyes to my lips and back again. “Don’t pretend you’re not every bit as monstrous as I am, Nero.” She strokes her hand down my chest, my stomach, skimming over my crotch. I clench my teeth and suck in a sharp breath. “You’re worse.”

Her lips barely touch mine and I have to bite back a groan. Fuck, fuck, fuck! For a second, I lose track of everything that isn’t her, her tight body, her perfect lips, her lethal words. And then I manage to get a handle on it. Just.

“I am,” I agree, stepping back and smoothing a hand down the front of my jacket. “But cutting people’s eyes out…” I tilt my head to the side. “It’s not the mafia way.”

The elevator pings and the doors slide open. She strides past me. “You know the thing that pisses me off about the mafia?”

“I’m sure you’ll enlighten me.”

She stops next to the car, spinning on her heel to face me. “If you’re bad, just be bad. Why wear a white hat?”

Before I can respond, she drops to her knees on the dirty concrete of the parking garage and I lift a brow. She rolls her eyes. “Not likely,” she grumbles before lowering herself to the ground and reaching underneath the car, coming back out with her gun. She climbs to her feet and fastens it back in place. Huh, I never realized how naked she looked without it until she put it back on. My vicious butterfly. My lethal queen.