Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

Una

I strip out of my workout pants, throwing them in the corner angrily. He’s jealous. When the hell did we get into any kind of territory where jealousy was a factor? What is this, the middle ages? And Tommy, really? Shit. I go into the bathroom and start the shower. Gripping the edge of the sink I lean over it, trying to calm my erratic pulse as I wait for the water to become red hot. When I look up, I make out a dark figure in the foggy reflection of the mirror and turn around. Nero leans against the doorframe, his thick arms folded over his chest and a scowl on his face.

“Get out.”

He completely ignores me, moving closer. “No.” His body presses against mine, backing me into the counter. He towers over me, the soft material of his shirt brushing against my bare stomach as his fingers wrap around my jaw. His eyes are dark and turbulent, the threat lurking just beneath the surface. Tension radiates off him in waves that has my heart skittering in my chest like a startled animal. His mood is pitch-black tonight and I’d be lying if I said it didn’t scare me.

“You don’t let Tommy touch you.” The low rumble of his chest vibrates against me.

I shove at him but he doesn’t budge. “You’re seriously jealous? You realize that’s totally irrational?” He says nothing, and I shake my head. “Fuck you, Nero.”

“Gladly, but I don’t share, Morte.”

“I’m not yours to share.”

“You don’t think so? Too bad.”

His hand slips from my face, wrapping around the back of my neck before he slams his lips over mine. I rake my nails down the side of his neck and attempt to bring my knee up between his legs, but it does nothing. A low laugh rumbles against my lips before his teeth skim my bottom lip and his tongue demands entrance. My lips part and his tongue lashing against mine is nothing short of an assault. This isn’t a kiss, it’s a statement. I don’t know how he can make me want to fuck him and slit his throat all in the same breath. That fog descends until all I can think of, feel, smell is him. He’s toxic in the most addictive way. Releasing my jaw, he trails his fingers up my back, reaching for the clasp of my bra. With the briefest flick of his wrist, it comes loose and he drops his face to my chest. I gasp when his teeth clamp around my nipple, my fingers flying to his hair, needing more of his warm mouth on me. He works a burning trail down my sides until he’s grabbing the material of my panties and sliding them over my thighs. A small voice in my head screams at me to stop this, but he renders me so weak. Gripping my waist, he lifts me onto the counter, and teeth sink into my neck as he wrenches my thighs apart. Tremors rip over my skin as I watch him watching me, those dark eyes igniting as he drags them over my naked body. He’s still fully clothed, and I reach for the buttons of his shirt but he grips my wrist, pushing it away.

“I want to watch you shatter, Morte.” I can see his dick tenting his pants from here, and yet he still makes no move to get undressed. Lips brush over my cheek before he pinches my jaw between his teeth. “I want to taste your tight little pussy.” And then he drops to his knees in front of me, spreading my legs wide until my pussy is completely on display for him. A pained groan escapes his throat before he buries his face between my legs. My mouth falls open on a silent scream, and I grip his hair, pulling him closer. His hot tongue lashes across my clit; every nerve feeling like it’s being electrocuted. His fingers dig into my thighs, holding me open to him, exposed. I can’t feel anything but that exact pinpoint of pressure where his tongue meets me, and the hard scratch of his stubble against the soft skin of my inner thighs. Within seconds he has me moaning and writhing, rolling my hips against his face and begging him for something, anything. And then he stops.

“Look at me,” he rumbles.

I drop my eyes to his, panting heavily as I watch him drag his tongue slowly up the length of my pussy. Oh god.

“Now tell me you’re mine.” A twisted grin lights his expression before he pushes his tongue inside me. It’s too much and yet, not enough. Teeth clamp down on my clit, and I whimper, my body trembling, right on the edge. “Say it.” He blows warm breath over my sensitive flesh. I clench my jaw, refusing to say the words he wants to hear. I haven’t fallen so far from grace that I’ll give him that.

He huffs a laugh and pushes to his feet, gripping my face in both hands. His lips are covered in my pussy and he slams them over mine so hard that his teeth click against mine. The salty taste of myself dances along my tongue as it meets his. And then he breaks away, taking a clear step away from me. “Like I said, too bad.” He narrows his eyes and feigns a smile, but I can see the tension around his eyes. It mimics my own. I refuse to renege, even if my pussy is throbbing and my entire body feels like it might explode. He turns and walks out of the bathroom. Asshole.

I make a clear attempt to avoid Nero for the rest of the evening. Not that it’s hard; he’s been in his office ever since I got out of the shower. This situation has flipped in what feels like the blink of an eye. I went from the girl he was blackmailing to the girl he fucked and now, apparently, he thinks he has some kind of claim on me. Perhaps he does. I know I could never feel this unhinged for anyone but him. Nero Verdi is a rule unto himself, a complete anomaly to everything. He doesn’t need to know that though. I’ve already exposed too many weaknesses to him; I won’t give him any more.

I steal one of his shirts because I’ve run out of clean clothes and apparently he has no washing machine. Figures. Not like he’s going to wash his own clothes. I hope it pisses him off, and then I hope he does something about it. Oh, how I’d love to make him bleed right now. Grabbing my laptop, I go to the living room, taking a seat on the uncomfortable couch. I throw myself into work, devising my plan to take out the three Italians on his list in the space of just one week. This situation with Nero is hurtling into dangerous territory very quickly. I’m losing control and I need to get this done and get out before I completely lose all semblance of sanity. I’m staring at my laptop screen when my phone rings. Not my normal phone, my burner.

I answer it. “Hello.”

“Isabelle.” That Irish lilt practically sings my false name.

“Darren. I thought you’d never call.”

“Ah, but ya know, good things come to those who wait.” I force a girly giggle.

“I’d rather you didn’t make me wait. I’m free Friday night, take me out.” It’s forward, and normally I’d wait for him to make the moves but I’m winging it big time, and I set a precedent when I left him my number. I can only hope he appreciates forward.

He laughs. “Friday night isn’t good, sweetheart.”

I tut at the same time Nero walks in the room, leaning against the doorframe with his arms folded over his chest. A deep frown line is carved between his eyebrows making his expression hard and threatening. I stare him straight in the eye and smile smugly. “Shame. I’m not the kind of girl who likes to wait,” I purr way too seductively.

He pauses. “I have this thing, but I could swing something before. Drinks?”

Good enough. “Perfect. I can’t wait.” I hang up.

“Who was that?” His voice is tight, layered with restraint. My eyes brush over his bare chest, and I have no doubt that’s a deliberate move.

I glance back at my laptop and shrug. “A job.”

“My job is the only one you need to worry about.”

I slowly lift my gaze to him and cock a brow. “Your job is temporary, and once it’s done, I will move on, and I will go back to doing exactly what I did before I ever heard your name, Nero Verdi.” I say the words coldly, driving home the fact that he doesn’t own me, and he never will. “But I do have a plan that will get it done.”

He slowly moves across the room and halts in front me, his legs slightly spread and his shoulders squared as he stares down at me sitting on the couch. He’s wearing only a pair of workout pants, his hands shoved deep within the pockets, making him seem deceptively casual, despite his intimidating stance. He really needs to give up on that shit with me.

Smiling, I lean back into the sofa cushions, crossing one leg over the other. His eyes tighten ever so slightly and the muscle in his jaw pulses as he traces the length of my bare legs, stopping where his over-sized T-shirt sits at mid-thigh.

“Well, you said you have a plan,” he says, his voice demanding and impatient.

I sigh and make a deliberate effort to check my nail polish. “I do.”

After a few seconds he growls, actually growls. “I don’t have time for bullshit, Morte.”

I glare at him. “Well, I’ve got nothing but time, seeing as I’m locked in this apartment.” The truth is, I just like him angry. It’s when Nero’s at his best, his most exciting.

A breath hisses through his teeth, and I know I’m walking a fine line. Good. He removes his hands from his pockets and leans forward, gripping the back of the couch either side of me. Those dark eyes of his meet mine, his face barely an inch away. “Fucking talk.” Pressing my fingers against his mouth, I push him away from me. His lips twitch under my touch and he nips at my fingertips. I yank my hand away and his teeth snap together. “Talk.”

“I told you, I can’t hit them all. Even if I take Finnegan separately, three kills in one network is too much. I can’t do it.”

His brows pull together and his face moves even closer to mine. “We had a deal,” he barely breathes against my lips.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t hold up my end,” I snap. “But these guys aren’t just any soldiers, Nero. Capos, enforcers, they travel in herds, armed herds.”

“You’re bacio della morte.” His tongue caresses the words eloquently. “I wouldn’t have sought the best if it was an easy job.”

“Think about it, we’ll get away with one. Two? Possibly, but the third is going to get spooked. Each one I hit makes the next harder. Surprise is my forte. I’ll lose it.”

He finally pushes away from me and sits on the edge of the coffee table opposite me, his thighs spread and elbows resting on them. Absently, he swipes his thumb back and forth over his bottom lip. “What do you suggest?”

“Call a truce.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “A truce?” He laughs incredulously.

“Call a meeting. Get them all in one room. I’ll do the rest.”

He laughs again and shakes his head. “They won’t fall for it.”

“Why not?”

“Ah, Morte. Anyone in the mafia, anyone who knows me, or has even heard my name will know…” He tilts his head to the side and a wicked streak flashes across his eyes. “I don’t make peace, I make war. I don’t call truces when I can spill blood instead.” A small tremor works over my skin and my stomach tightens at his words. I’ve known men like him my whole life and yet, there is no one like him. He’s so utterly feral, so merciless. His arrogance annoys me; his manipulation infuriates me, even though I’d do exactly the same if I were him. His savagery excites me, and his blood lust sings to me. The monster that he is calls to the one that I keep chained up, released only when I kill, but even then, leashed, restricted to clean kills and professional pride. Nero would paint this city red and set a throne from which to survey his blood-stained empire on the mountain of bodies. He wants power and he doesn’t care how he gets it. He’s right; no one would believe he wants peace, but of course there are two sides to Nero. There’s the feral side that wants to bathe in blood, and then there’s the sophisticated front he wears so easily. If faced with that side of him, they may just believe he’s stepping up to his newfound responsibilities.

“Go to them as the capo. Pretend you have the collective interests at heart and that you’re prepared to put aside differences for the greater good.” He scowls at me as if the words offend him, and I roll my eyes. “Throw a few threats in there if you feel the need to get your dick out. You’re Nero Verdi.” I raise a pointed eyebrow. “You want power? Take. It.”

“Ah, Morte, you should know better than anyone, I always take what I want.” His eyes drop to my mouth as though pointing out that is what he wants right now. “And what will you do if I get them there?”

“Kill them all, of course. But first, we go after Finnegan.”

He shakes his head. “We can’t hit Finnegan tomorrow. The situation’s changed.”

“Changed how? We aren’t going to get another chance any time soon.”

He stares me down. “I said no.”

“If he leaves the country, I’m not waiting weeks to hit him again, sitting here while you find every excuse not to get Anna.”

“Not. Tomorrow,” he growls.

Biting back a retort, I stand, needing to walk away from him. He might not be going after Finnegan but he doesn’t know that I already have an in. I need this to happen. I need to finish this job and get Anna. What Nero does, I don’t care.