Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

6

Nero

She’s so fierce. So beautiful. Her once white-blonde hair is dyed a dull brown and I don’t like it. It makes her seem so much less than what she really is: extraordinary. She looks tired and thin. Her face is drawn with dark circles lingering below her eyes. And, of course, she’s pregnant. I thought nothing could shock me these days. I was wrong. A thousand questions are still running through my mind like a goddamn marching band, and yet, I’m strangely numb, disconnected from it.

She’s been locked in the basement for the last three days because I don’t know what the fuck to say to her. I’m pissed off that she ran, leaving with nothing more than a note as an explanation. She didn’t trust me to protect her from Arnaldo, or at least that’s what I thought. Only now I find her, and she’s knocked up. It has to be mine. Is that why she left, because she didn’t want to tell me? And then, a whole new channel of questions starts. Round and round it goes, but always accompanied by this constant anger.

She follows me into one of the living rooms of the mansion and I go to the corner, pouring out a glass of scotch. I’m about to hand it to her when I hesitate. Pregnant. I drink the whole thing myself. I need it.

Una glances around the room nervously, still clutching both guns in her hands. She looks like she’s ready to kill everyone and bolt in the blink of an eye. I’m not letting her go anywhere.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” The question comes out sounding like an accusation. She takes a seat on the couch and crosses one leg over the other. She’s still wearing only a tank top and a pair of shorts, and my eyes follow the length of her long legs before pausing on her stomach. “I had a right to know.”

“Why? So you could tell me to get rid of it? Or perhaps you’d like to play daddy of the year?” She tilts her head to the side, her expression irritatingly blank.

She’s right. This was never part of any plan. What would I have said to her? “So instead, you just up and run? You thought: ‘Fuck it! I’m wanted by some of the most powerful people in the world, but I’ll leave myself completely unprotected while fucking pregnant?’” I don’t even realize I’m shouting at her until I stop. The silence echoes around the room, interrupted only by the sound of my own heavy breaths. I never would have wanted this if she’d told me, but now it’s not an option. The idea of Arnaldo trying to kill her is bad enough, but I know Una can handle herself. Throw this into the situation though, and it’s very different.

“I’m always protected. Do not forget who I am.” She glares at me.

Her defiance pisses me off. I close the space between us, leaning over and gripping the back of the couch beside her head. She lifts her chin, the corner of her lips curling. Those strange violet eyes of hers meet mine, and the threat of violence swirls in the air like an impending storm. Fuck, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed her. After all, what is power without someone to constantly challenge it? My fingers wind around her throat, where they belong.

“I’m not the one who forgets.”

She grips my wrist, her nails biting into my skin, and it’s here, with this unspoken war raging between us that I always want her the most. I want her brutality and hate, her pain and weakness, but most of all I want her heart, her body, her soul. I want everything that she has to give, and I always will. Time and distance make no difference. She can’t outrun me. We are perfect in a way that only two people as volatile as us can be.

I’m angry, but I can’t deny the hold she has on me. I never know whether I want to kill her or kiss her or both. I slam my lips over hers, craving her taste. She bites my bottom lip and thrusts her palm into the center of my chest hard enough to push me away. Climbing to her feet, I watch as she circles behind me, her eyes surveying my body like an enemy commander looking for a weakness.

“I don’t trust you, Nero.”

“I’m not the one that’s proven untrustworthy.”

She squares up to me. “Tell me…how does one go from a simple enforcer to the underboss in only a few short months?” She raises a brow. “Even if someone were to blackmail an assassin, have her remove all competition and, in turn, have a price placed on her head… Even then, you still couldn’t make it to underboss.” She tilts her head to the side. “So tell me, capo, who did you blackmail to get this gig?”

I slide my hand to the small of her back, pulling her closer. Her round stomach presses against me and I shouldn’t care, I certainly shouldn’t like it, but there’s something incredibly hot about her having my baby inside her. My vicious little butterfly being maternal? It doesn’t fit. “Tell me you trust me, and I’ll tell you how I got here,” I whisper against her ear.

“I don’t trust you.”

“Well then, we’re at an impasse because in order to explain I must tell you something that very few people know. I have to trust you, and that goes both ways.”

She pulls away from me slightly, her brows pinched together. “You want me to lie to you?” The last few months have made her wary. Even more so than normal.

“Why do it, Morte? Why run and hide, even after you killed Arnaldo? Why run from me? Why not trust me? Was I not there when shit hit the fan?”

“You caused most of that shit to hit the fan. You don’t get to declare yourself a hero just because you tidied up your own mess.” She pulls away from me and paces in front of the sofa the same way she always does when she’s agitated. “I’ll tell you if you tell me why you’re the boss,” she offers.

Always with the negotiating. “My father—my real father—is the boss.”

Her eyes go wide and she halts. “The big boss? Your father is Cesare Ugoli?” I nod and she shakes her head. “Should have known,” she mumbles. “And you knew this whole time?”

“Yeah.”

Realization blankets her features. “This was the plan. This was always the plan. Anna…it was all for this.”

“From the very first moment we met it was all orchestrated for this exact point, for you to kill Arnaldo. For me to become the underboss.” Her features harden and I know her well enough to see the precise moment when she locks down her emotions. “But I never expected to want you. By the time you were in danger, I thought I could protect you, but you ran.”

She snorts and turns to face me. “I knew what I was getting into. I knew you were an asshole and that you were using me. I agreed to it.”

I move closer, forcing myself into her space. She moves away until the wall is at her back and I brace my hand beside her head. “Your turn. Why run?”

Her warm breath caresses my throat. “Because I had a five-million-dollar hit on me and no idea who sanctioned it.”

I lean closer, brushing my lips over her cheek. She smells of vanilla and gun oil, and that scent alone makes my dick hard for her. She tries to twist away from me, but I press my body against hers. “If that were it, then why jump out a window after you killed Arnaldo?”

“I…” she stammers, her mouth opening and then closing. Who would have thought the kiss of death would ever be lost for words?

“You are mine, Morte. I would have protected you.”

“I need to do this on my own,” she breathes, and it might be the most vulnerable I’d ever heard her.

“Do what on your own?” I ask through gritted teeth.

Her eyes squeeze shut and her lips part. She looks so fragile, so innocent, though I know she’s not. “I need to leave here, Nero,” she almost pleads. A breath hisses through my teeth and my hand slams around her throat again, squeezing the delicate skin. Opening her eyes, she pushes forward into my hold. Her lips caress mine, warm breath washing over my tongue and making my pulse hammers through my veins. “Let me leave, and in a few months, I’ll come back to you.” I narrow my eyes, trying to decipher her thoughts. “I promise. Queen protects king, remember?”

“Not anymore.”

She throws her head back against the wall and bites down on her bottom lip. I’ve never seen Una look so beaten down, as though she’s fought off the world and is somehow still standing. “Please.”

“Why? What do you have to do that will take months?” And then it all clicks into place like the gaping hole in an otherwise complete jigsaw. “No.” My grip on her throat tightens, until I’m pushing her back against the wall. “No!”

Her fist slams into my stomach. I grunt and press my body flush against hers until our lips are almost touching. “Let me go and have the baby, and I’ll come back afterwards.”

“Is this what you were planning? To have my kid in some foreign country and just abandon it?” My voice is rising, my temper bordering on rage.

She shoves me. “No, I’m putting it up for adoption! That is not abandoning it.”

“Fuck!” My whole body is bristling with rage, and I want to step away from her, but, at the same time, I never want to let her go again. How could she do this?

“What would you suggest?”

“If you didn’t fucking want it, then why not just get rid of it?” I snarl in her face.

Una stills, her gaze dropping to the floor. “I couldn’t. But I won’t do this either.” She gestures between the two of us. “Look at us, Nero. I can’t have a baby. Children need…I don’t know…not us.”

My anger dissipates and I release my hold on her. Ah, my vicious butterfly. She’s so strong, yet so irreparably damaged, so set in her ways. She thinks of herself as a weapon, something trained and unleashed. Nothing more. But she’s so much more. She gave up everything to save her sister, a sister she hadn’t seen in thirteen years. A sister who, through rigorous training and conditioning, should have become inconsequential. What she doesn’t realize is that Nicholai wants her to feel nothing, but she does, and that means he couldn’t break her. What Una sees as weakness is proof of just how strong she is. She’s right. We are and always will be ruthless and brutal. It’s engrained. Instinctual. I know what she’s saying is right, and yet, I want something that has never even been a factor until right now. Until it’s right in front of me and growing inside her; my dangerous queen.

“You may be damaged, Morte, you may be a killer, but you are not heartless.” I cup her cheek, and when she opens her eyes, a single tear skates down her cheek. In the time I have known this woman I have watched her kill without blinking, threaten people without remorse. I have heard her scream such gut-wrenching cries of anguish in her sleep, and witnessed her cry for her sister. I have watched her slowly crack, shattering piece by piece, and with each new splintered part of her I’m pulled further in, drawn to her. But we are who we are. Una must always be my strength, and I hers, because if not we will quickly become each other’s weakness. We are equals, but my next words will change that dynamic. “You’re staying here. Don’t make me force you,” I say, before I turn from her and stride out of the room.

“Nero!”

I just made Una my biggest weakness, and myself—I just made myself a father. Poor kid doesn’t stand a chance, but I will not leave it to be raised by a stranger the way I was.