Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

2

Nero

Rage. It’s my constant companion, driving me to the edge of sanity with each passing day. And Una Ivanov is the fucking cause. I know she can look after herself and she sure as shit doesn’t need my protection, but the price on her head is high. High enough to even the odds against her dramatically. If I know anything about Una—the more Arnaldo backs her into a corner, the worse he’s making it for himself. It seems he’s forgotten who he’s dealing with, and if she doesn’t remind him of it, then Nicholai Ivanov damn well will. The crazy Russian won’t take it well when he hears his favorite pet is being hunted like a dog.

Nothing is playing out the way I planned. She was supposed to be by pawn and instead, she became my queen. My vicious little queen…until she ran from me. What is that saying? You don’t know what you have until it’s gone? Well, I couldn’t possibly have predicted just how much she had gotten under my skin until she left. I should let her go. She’s a weakness I don’t need. Not to mention the amount of heat that’s on her, but every time I think about walking away, about the possibility of her being killed, or worse, surviving…moving on, fucking someone else – I can’t. She can’t. She’s mine and no one else touches her but me.

“Nero,” I turn from my spot at the window and face Gio who’s standing in the doorway to my temporary office in the London apartment.

“Have you found her?” I ask.

He folds his arms over his chest. “Not exactly.”

It looks like something out of a horror film. Five bodies and what looks like the blood of ten. The carpets. The walls. The couch…everything is crimson. I move through the apartment, my eyes skimming over the few possessions Una left behind. There’s nothing personal, nothing that would give her away as ever having been here—except the blood bath in the living room. The entire apartment has that nuetral feel of a rental. The en-suite bathroom has a couple of bottles of shampoo, a razor…I pick up the shampoo and open the lid, inhaling. Vanilla. The smell instantly reminds me of her, though it’s missing the lacing of gun oil that clings to her. I leave the bathroom and pause in the bedroom doorway, my gaze moving from the bed that I know she was just recently sleeping in to the dead man sprawled on the rug. The hilt of a knife protrudes from his forehead, buried so deep, there’s barely any blood. I bend down and yank the knife it free. I inspect the simple yet delicate dagger, smiling as I imagine Arnaldo’s kill team creeping up on Una in the dark only to find themselves the victims of a nightmare.

“The cleaners called it in,” Gio says, his expression pinched as he leans against the window. We’ve paid off every possible underground contact we could find, and the cleaners are a good place to start. They’re impartial, a third party who will clean up anything as long as they get paid. “She didn’t call them though, the Russians did.”

“They’re supporting her?”

“I guess she isn’t leaving them with much choice. They don’t want this kind of heat.” He waves his hand towards the living room. That’s true, but this really was inevitable. Arnaldo keeps sending men after her like she’s a bleeding animal with a damn prize hide. Sooner or later she was going to make a mess she couldn’t clean up alone. And here we are.

“No, this is more than that. These bodies are at least twenty-four hours old. They’re actively helping her. They waited to call it in. They gave her a chance to get clear.” I know Nicholai is fond of her, but to help her now would put himself in the firing line. The Russian is crazy, but enough to risk causing a war?

“This isn’t her style either. She’s clean efficient. This…” he drifts off.

“She’s sending a message.”

“Message received,” he says under his breath. His phone pings in his hand and he glances down at the screen, face draining of color.

“What is it?”

He closes the distance to me and turns the screen. It’s an image of Arnaldo’s severed head sat on his desk, a red lipstick mark on his waxy forehead. A slow smile pulls at my lips. She did it. Months of planning. Her, her sister…all part of the bigger plan. All part of this. But then he put a hit on her and everything went to shit. I never for a second expected her to walk into Arnaldo’s house and take him out. Alone. “She got away?”

“They haven’t caught her if that’s what you mean. She killed eighteen of his men.” I have to laugh.

“We just lost track of her, and she’s probably become even more wanted. Why the hell are you smiling?”

We did lose her, for now, but I will find her. “Because she’s fucking perfect.”

“You’re insane.”

I’m about to get everything I’ve ever wanted, except her. I must find her because without her, all the power in the world wouldn’t be enough to fill the void left by my vicious little butterfly.

“Let’s go back to New York.”

I pull the car up next to a stack of containers at the edge of the shipping yard. The early morning sun glares off the surface of the Hudson River and a boat horn drifts on the wind. Gio is practically bristling with tension beside me. “I don’t like this,” he murmurs. “I don’t trust Russians.”

“Una’s Russian.”

“Exactly.”

I’ll admit that I usually wouldn’t agree to this meeting. One call to my phone, a heavily accented voice simply stating a time and place. Nothing more. The only reason I’m here is because that accent was Russian. The only common factor between me and the Russians is Una.

I cut the engine and, for a second, neither of us move. I stare through the windshield at the tall, lean guy resting against the hood of a Jaguar sports car. His blond hair, catches in the light, and sharp green eyes stare unflinchingly back at us. Him and Una could be siblings with their cold, pale features.

I get out of the car, feeling the weight of my gun strapped to my chest. The Russian pushes away from his car, moving like a predator and dancer wrapped into one; calculated and lethal. Just like Una. He’s one of the Elite. I instantly go for my gun and he tracks the movement like a wolf watching a rabbit with complete indifference and the knowledge that it could end the lesser creature in an instant. Of course, the Elite feel no fear, even when they should.

“Don’t do that,” he says in heavily accented Italian.

I grip the gun and drop my arm at my side, my index finger hovering over the trigger. “Who are you?”

“Sasha, a friend of Una’s.”

“Forgive us if we aren’t too keen on Una’s brand of friend.” Gio comes to stand beside me.

“She is more like my sister.” His brows pull together as his eyes shift from Gio to me. It’s the closest to an expression I’ve seen from him. “So you are the Italian that lead her to destruction.”

“Why are you here?” I ask, quickly running out of patience.

“I do not like you.” He narrows his eyes, “but she is dangerous right now. Nineteen Italians is too many. She is the best I have ever seen, but even the best cannot stand against the entire Italian mafia. And I can only help her so much before Nicholai finds out.”

“It was you,” Gio shifts on his feet. “You called in the cleaners for her.”

Sasha nods. “I will do anything for her, but I cannot betray Nicholai, and he wants her back. She killed Arnaldo Boticelli. She went too far. She could maybe run from our father, but not with the Italians hunting her. I cannot protect her anymore. But you can.”

I take a steadying breath. “She ran from me. What makes you think I can help her?”

He moves closer until he’s standing directly in front of me, those cold, unsettling eyes boring into mine. “We both know that you are not what you seem, Nero Verdi. What is it they say? With great power comes great responsibility. I do not know whether you are friend or enemy,” he looks me up and down, “but she must have trusted you.”

I smirk. “She didn’t trust me.”

His expression remains unmoved. “She needs help.” Yeah, no shit. That ship sailed a long time ago. “Get her, and protect her from both your own people and mine. Arnaldo is dead, but revenge is inevitable. Nicholai wants her back, and you have no idea the lengths he will go to for her.”

“What will he do to her?” She went completely rogue, helped me do something she never should have for a sister she’s supposed to be too cold to care about.

“The human mind is pliant. He can make her forget.” He sounds like a damn robot, and I try to remember if Una was ever like this. “He can fix her.”

“Fix her?” My fists clench and heat simmers just below my skin, even as a cool breeze drifts across the dockside.

The Russian nods once before turning and walking away. He yanks his car door open, pausing. “I can track her burner phone. I will send you co-ordinates for her destination.”

“Wait. Why are you helping her? You’re betraying Nicholai for her.”

Green eyes meet mine and it’s like he’s dissecting me. “Because I love her, Nero Verdi.” And then he slides into the car, the engine snarling before the car pulls away.