Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

7

Una

I pace backwards and forwards in the bedroom that I was shown to via armed guard. Pulling the curtain back an inch, I glance down at the three men standing watch just below the window. And they’re facing me. We all know they’re here to keep me in, not intruders out, but they could at least pretend. I drop the curtain with a frustrated groan. I will not be held prisoner by Nero. He can go fuck himself. The room smells of him, his cologne subtly clinging to the bed linen. I take a seat on the edge of the mattress and try to think of a way out of this.

I never considered the possibility that Nero would want a baby. I guess I never considered it because he was never supposed to find out. And now, he’s never going to let me out of his sight again.

The longer I’m trapped here, the more panicked I start to feel. I was running from Arnaldo. I was running from Nero, but mainly, I was trying to stay off Nicholai’s radar. The fact is, my child will never be safe as long as it is mine, as long as it is with me. Because of Nicholai. His obsession for designer soldiers started with children of a certain age, around ten years old, like I was. A child is ready to learn how to fight at ten years of age, to be conditioned and honed to a fine blade. He never had any younger than eight, until one of his soldiers impregnated a cook in one of the facilities. I went with him to retrieve the child. I was eighteen then, but I still remember the way he looked at that baby like it was a brand-new weapon in his arsenal. A shiny toy. After that I heard whispers and rumors of babies being bred, of Elite no longer being sterilzed. The younger the child, the more they can be conditioned during their developmental years. Of course, back then I didn’t care for the fate of children. They weren’t my concern. Truth be told, I still don’t. But I care about my child. If Nicholai knew about this baby, he would want it. I am, after all, his favorite. I can just imagine the way his eyes would light up if he got his hands on my child.

We’re not safe here. Nero and I live in a world plagued with enemies and danger where choices are limited, so it’s on me to make sure the only plausible choice is made. When it comes to this, Nero’s opinion is inconsequential because he can’t possibly understand what Nicholai is capable of.

Of course, now I’m here, and Nicholai will find me. I need to speak to Sasha and see what he knows. I also want to talk to Anna, because despite everything that’s going on, I did all this for her, for us. Working with Nero was all so she could be free, but now that she is, I find myself hesitating. I want my sister back but, at the same time, I want to keep her as far from this mess as possible. She’s free which is a luxury I will never have. Nicholai will always own me, always want me. Anger, frustration, and fear mix together and have me permanently on edge. I long for the time not so long ago when emotions were a foreign concept to me. These days, I’m an unstable, hormonal mess.

I get up and open the bedroom door. Two guys in suits step straight into my path, blocking the door. One of them is reaching for his gun, and I smirk.

“Really? Touch that gun and you better be ready to use it.” I’m irritable and tired, and not in the mood for Nero’s wannabe soldiers. The guy’s eyes widen but he says nothing. “I need a phone,” I say. They both stare blankly at me. “Now!”

“Boss hasn’t permitted that.”

I huff a laugh. “I suggest you get me a fucking phone or I’m going to break both your noses, and then I’m going to slit your boss’ throat in his sleep.” I smile sweetly. “Do not test me.”

The one that was reaching for his gun steps back, nervously glancing at the other one. “Go,” his friend says, jerking his head to the side. The guy turns and walks off down the hallway.

“Wise.” I step back into the room and close the door behind me. I do have one ace up my sleeve, and that’s pure fear. His men are scared of me, but the question is: who do they fear more, me or him? They might risk a broken neck from me to avoid being disemboweled by Nero. Choices, choices.

I’m starting to get a headache, so I lie down on the bed while I wait. I must have fallen asleep, because I startle awake when someone touches my shoulder. Nero dodges my reflexive strike aimed at his throat.

“Don’t do that!” I snip.

He laughs and takes a step away from the bed. “Ah, Morte, I’ve missed you. Sleeping is so…restful without you.”

I sit up and drag a hand through my hair. “What time is it?”

“Late.”

I guess I’m not getting that phone. He strips out of his suit jacket and throws it over the back of the chair in the corner of the room. Deft fingers move over the buttons of his shirt and I can’t help but follow their trail, watching as the material slowly parts over tanned skin. When I lift my gaze, his dark eyes spark with something dangerously hypnotic. Forcing myself to get up, I head for the en-suite. But before I’ve even taken a step inside, his hands are on my hips. My body goes rigid for a second, years of engrained conditioning kicking in and demanding that I react before I slowly relax. It’s his touch. Nero, my addictive and lethal exception.

The heat of his chest meets my back, bleeding through the material of my shirt. Lips brush over my shoulder and I tilt my neck to the side as my skin erupts in tingles. His hard cock pushes against my lower back. I turn around and step away from him. He cocks a brow and braces his forearms on either side of the door frame as he watches me back away. He’s shirtless, and every muscle flexes in a show of power. Tattoos wind down his arms, the ink work wrapping around his limbs like snakes. In his suit, you could almost mistake Nero for something sophisticated, civilized, but it’s here, when he’s like this that he can’t hide. Everything about him is honed and lethal, created for the sole purpose of destruction. I’ve always glimpsed beneath Nero’s veneer, but the closer I get, the more I see. Right now, he’s like the devil taking his true form.

My stomach clenches and heat prickles over my skin as he stalks forward, crowding me against the vanity unit. “Don’t run from me, Morte.” His voice is deep and rough as it works over my senses.

“I’m not running.”

He reaches me and lifts me onto the vanity, the icy surface sending a chill over my skin. His broad body presses between my legs until I’m consumed by him, surrounded in every way. With a finger beneath my chin, he forces me to meet his gaze. “You’re always running.” He swipes my bottom lip and I nip at the pad of his thumb. Darkness creeps across his eyes and that one look is enough to make me shiver in need. It’s the promise of something explosive, but I never know which way he’ll go. He could fuck me, or he could choke me. He’s a thrill ride of the most unpredictable nature.

“Not from you,” I whisper. It’s a truth and a lie wrapped in one. I want to run from Nero because I want to run to him, and that terrifies me.

“Lies. How far would you have gone if I hadn’t caught you?” The air crackles with electricity and his anger is almost palpable.

I try to shove him away but it’s impossible. “I don’t have to explain myself to you.” A slow smile pulls at his lips, cold and calculated. My heart thrums in my chest, adrenaline flooding my veins, and I can’t help but smile back at him. He’s like my own personal high. A shot of adrenalin straight to my soul, reminding me of what it is to be alive, to be human. I grab his jaw and lean forward, brushing my lips over his. “I don’t run from you.” I bite his bottom lip, waiting the entire time for him to lash out. Honestly, I want it. I live for it.

“No. Me, you fight.”

“You make me violent.”

His fingers wind into my hair and he wrenches my head to the side, brushing his lips over my jaw. “You make me want to hunt down all who would hurt you and bleed them dry.”

Teeth scrape over the side of my throat and my pulse hammers in response. “You can’t kill everyone, Nero.”

“Fucking watch me,” he says as though it were his solemn vow, and I want to believe that it’s within his power, within our power. His grip on my hair tightens and then his lips crash over mine. I moan as that sweet battle rages between us, the sound of his deep growl like the crashing of steel blades to my ears. Rough stubble scratches over my skin and he thrusts his tongue inside my mouth. Prying his belt open, I slide my hand beneath the elastic of his boxers, wrapping my hand around him. A low breath hisses through his teeth and his body coils tight like a snake waiting to deal a death blow. I work over him, watching him wind tighter and tighter with each stroke. I’m shoved backward until I’m braced on my elbows, my head pressed against the mirror at an awkward angle. He grabs my face, fingers sinking into my skin brutally as he smashes my cheek into the glass. My breaths are nothing more than rapid pants as he brings his lips close to my ear. “You are fucking mine, Morte.” He touches his forehead to the side of my face and trails a hand up the inside of my parted thighs. When he brushes over me, a low whimper leaves my lips. I crave this, his touch, his rage, his utter possession.

Two fingers push inside me and I clench my teeth. “Look at me,” he groans, hot breath washing over the side of my face. He fucks me with his hand, and I feel so exposed to him, so raw. I both love and hate it. He makes me willingly vulnerable, and I’m so desperately weak for him, yet unbreakably strong.

I almost whimper when he pulls away, only to strip out of his remaining clothes. Nero grips my ass and lifts me, crushing his mouth over mine once more. There’s movement and he slides the shower door open before I feel a wall at my back followed by the spray of water hitting my skin. I gasp as the icy cold liquid soaks through my shirt. Nero doesn’t hesitate to thrust into me so hard and fast that all the air leaves my body. I feel both invaded and complete. He’s branding me, claiming me all over again. Nero and I will never trust each other completely because we know what we’re capable of. We are two predators circling each other with a mutual respect. But I want him, and isn’t this the most primal of instincts? A simple factor bred into the DNA of every living creature…to be attracted to the strongest of the species. I am the strong, and Nero is the only one who has ever matched me. I want him because I respect and fear him, and that combination is intoxicating. This is attraction and want and need on such a basic ingrained level—it’s undeniable.

Hungry, open-mouthed kisses land on my neck and he laps at the water as it streams down my body. I break for him, surrendering and shattering apart as I cling to his broad shoulders. Every muscle strains against his skin as he thrusts into me and stiffens. “Fuck!” His fingers bite into my thighs hard enough that I feel the dull sting of his short nails against my skin. Honey eyes lock with mine, and the silence between us is permeated only by our heavy breaths and the water hammering over tile. “Don’t run from me.” There’s an edge to the way he says it, spoken like an order, but the expression on his face is something I’ve never seen on him before, desperation.

“I’m not running.” I cup his jaw and brush my lips over his. The kiss feels foreign, the gentleness of it jolting me. It’s as though we’re standing on a precipice. The predators stopping and staring at each other for a moment and wondering if perhaps there is more in this world than the thrill of the kill.

“You will run, Una. I know you that well.”

I allow my fingers to trail over his warm skin, dropping my eyes to his lips in the hope that he won’t see the truth in them. I’ve never had a problem keeping my cards close to my chest where my thoughts and feelings are concerned, but Nero sees through me like glass. He’s right. It won’t be long before I have to run, and I almost feel bad about that because as much as Nero scares me—as ruthless and unforgiving as he is—I actually believe him when he says he would protect me. When he tells me I’m his, I almost want to be. I crave that sense of belonging I have when I’m with him like this, when nothing outside of us exists. But when we step out of this shower, my enemies will still be there. I know without a doubt that Nero is the biggest monster I’ve ever come across, and I’ve met some despicable people in my time. There are no lengths he will not go to in the pursuit of what he wants. Add into that an unrivalled intellect and the ability to strategize and manipulate those around him, and Nero is formidable. Yes, he could protect me. He makes me feel safe, but safety is only ever an illusion. The feeling of safety is in and of itself a weakness because it makes you sloppy. If I weren’t having his child then it would be the simplest thing in the world to allow myself to want him, to stand shoulder to shoulder with him against all who would harm us. But I am, and I can’t explain how this driving need to protect my baby overrides everything else. Nero, me, it doesn’t matter anymore.

I wrap my arms around his neck and tilt my chin up, pressing my lips to his. Smiling against my mouth, he bites down on my bottom lip hard enough that I taste blood. Then swipes his tongue over the wound. “I’d almost forgotten how sweet you taste.”

He slowly lowers me to my feet, fingers trailing down my body to my stomach. He stills there, closing his eyes as he presses his forehead to mine. I can barely breathe, barely move as he spreads his fingers wide, almost covering the bump. And then, just like that, he steps back and drops his hand.

“I don’t like your hair like this,” he says, picking up a lock of hair.

“Needs must when you’re blending in.”

“I prefer it when you stand out.”

“So you can see me coming?”

“No, so our enemies see you for what you really are; extraordinary.” My stomach clenches at his words. “Dangerous.” His fingertips trail my collarbone. “Viscous.” Drifting lower, he skims the top of my breast. “And mine,” he says, his deep voice drawing the word out. I can’t help but take solace in his words. I have never belonged, never had anyone to rely on but me. And even though I know that’s wise—I know that relying on anyone but yourself is stupid – I can’t help but want the sense of peace that he gave me a taste of before I ran. Even in the midst of chaos, he showed me a glimpse of something that I hadn’t experienced since I was thirteen years old. He had my back, and I want that. It’s sad; the fairy tale lusting of a girl who has never known anything but death. My head tells me he makes me weak, and my heart wants to lie in his arms for just a little while and rest from the never-ending vortex of death and war that seems to orbit around me.

He places a finger under my chin, pulling my gaze to his. “I will protect you,” he vows, almost angrily. “Both of you.” I swear he can read my mind sometimes and it bothers me because I should be unreadable.

“I’m tired.” I can’t think about this right now, and I certainly don’t want to make promises to him that I know I’ll break. He nods and turns the shower off before wrapping a towel around me. “Don’t make me hurt you,” I say, scowling at him.

He laughs and I get out of the shower, snagging his toothbrush from the vanity. I raise an eyebrow at him in the mirror, daring him to say anything. He simply smiles and shakes his head, and the second I’m done, he takes it from me, making a slow show of putting it in his mouth. I roll my eyes and leave the bathroom, changing into one of his shirts before crawling into bed. A few minutes later he turns the lights off and climbs in, snaking an arm around my body and pulling me back against him. “Just so you know, if you slit my throat in my sleep, there are guards outside the door and window,” he rumbles against the back of my neck.

I glare into the darkness. “I have no weapons.”

“You’re inventive.”