Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

Nero

“You get that shipment here, or I’m going to the Chinese.”

“Nero, you ask the impossible. The border…” Fuck me, is it too much to ask people to keep their word?

“Tonight, Max.” I hang up the phone and lean back in my chair. Being the underboss comes with its own set of responsibilities, namely, lining the cartels pockets. If they don’t get their damn drugs to my city, how the fuck am I supposed to do that? The problem is, they don’t really care. Even when the problem is their end, excuses are unacceptable. Arnaldo played nice with them, but I don’t bend over for anyone. I’ll take my trade elsewhere.

“Boss.” I glance up at Tommy standing in the doorway. “Uh, you have an unexpected meeting.”

I frown. “No, Tommy. Whoever it is, tell them to go away. Why the hell are you letting people past the gate anyway? We’re on lockdown. Get them out of here.”

“Well, now, that’s not a very warm welcome, is it?”

Tommy stumbles out of the way as Cesare Ugoli strides past him into the office. Three guys step into the room with him, positioning themselves in the corners. Cesare is in his late fifties, but he doesn’t look it. Despite his gray hair, there’s an edge to him, a quality that you just know not to fuck with. He unfastens the button on his jacket, revealing a waistcoat beneath.

“Cesare.”

He lifts a brow. “Not, father?”

This thing between us is difficult. I don’t need him for anything other than power. His name holds weight and to be attached to it goes in my favor. Beyond that, I have no feelings towards the man. He left me to Matteo’s heavy fist. I don’t regret it. Una and I are the same in that sense—the pair of us recognize that we grew up in less than ideal conditions, but we also accept that it shaped us and made us strong. If a bad experience makes you stronger, was it really bad or simply educational? He steps towards me and I round the desk to greet him. He loosely embraces me, kissing my cheek. He’s old school, from the homeland. He still speaks with a heavy accent and follows the old customs.

“How can I help?”

Honestly, I don’t have the time for niceties right now, and I don’t want him here while Una is around. He might be an old man, but he’s powerful, and Una did slaughter a lot of his countrymen when she killed Arnaldo. Of course, she doesn’t care about politics, and the second he calls her out, she’s likely to throw a knife at him. That’s all I need.

“I hear whispers, Nero.” He steps back and settles into the chair across from my desk. He crosses one ankle over his knee, picking at a piece of lint on his pant leg.

“I wouldn’t put much stock in whispers.” I take a seat behind the colosal desk and brace my elbows on the wood surface.

“The Kiss of Death,” he says, and I still. “I hear she is your whore.”

I meet his hard gaze unflinchingly. I could lie. But I don’t want to. The mafia will not like Una, but she is what’s best for them, even if they can’t see it. An organization is only as strong as its leaders. Why have a housewife when you can have a queen?

“She is mine.”

His expression shutters, his jaw ticking erratically. “And you know what she has done?”

“I know she played into a plan.” A plan that he was all too aware of.

“I don’t recall any plan that involved twenty-one dead Italians,” he snaps. “Good men.”

“Casualties of war, father, courtesy of Arnaldo. What did he expect when he sent hit men after her?” I laugh. “She’s The Kiss of Death. He was never going to win that fight.”

“Arnaldo was a good man. Loyal.”

Ah, the bitter irony. “Arnaldo was allowing this organization to stagnate. Is that what you want? To become a relic of the past?”

He leans forward, the movement designed to be threatening. If only I could be threatened. “I took a chance on you.”

“And I took a chance on her. She’s loyal to me.” Sometimes I doubt Una, but when it really comes to it, when it’s all on the line, I trust her. She may pretend she’s a lone wolf, but I know I have her loyalty just as she has mine.

“She is Russian. And she is one of the Elite.” He spits the word. “Ultimately her loyalty will be with Nicholai Ivanov. Always. She is a very dangerous risk at best. And even if you had her loyalty, you cannot marry her.”

“I’m aware of the customs.”

“You are of age. If you are to lead, you must find a good Italian woman.”

I laugh. “With all due respect, I wouldn’t know what to do with a good woman.”

“Play with your whore, but do not forget your duty, Nero.” Because he did his duty so well, fucking a married woman and leaving her and her asshole husband to bring up the child.

I snap my eyes to his again, all trace of humor leaving me in an instant. “I am not a horse to be put to stud. This isn’t up for debate.” This could cost me everything, but I won’t sit here and act like Una is nothing more than easy pussy. Far from it. I had to work hard for that shit. “It’s time the mafia moved into a new age. A strong woman at my side will serve me far better than a subservient one in my bed.”

His face starts to redden, and even the men he brought with him start to fidget uncomfortably in the impending silence. “These are the sacrifices that must be made,” he says. “I know this more than anyone.”

I stare straight at him. “No.”

“No?” His eyebrows shoot up. “You will jeopardize your position, your respect, your culture, all for this woman?”

I push to my feet and round the desk. “If men respect me for the woman I fuck, they are not men whose loyalty or respect I need. Power is earned through deeds and strategy. They see Una as the enemy, but you and I know better.” I lift a brow at him. He helped orchestrate the entire plan with Una, for him to shun her now for the very deeds he sanctioned…well, it’s very political of him. “If you wanted a puppet, you should have kept Arnaldo.”

I rule with fear, and few are more feared than Una. She is like a fabled myth, a whisper on the wind, a tale told to scare children. Only she scares fully grown men. She strengthens our position, but perhaps he is so blinded by his traditions that he cannot see. This is a new world. Keeping women safe and protected is becoming an option we can no longer hold to because there are far too many bastards out there like me who don’t care for morals. Do I want the mother of my children to cower helplessly when presented with an enemy, waiting for me to save her, or do I want Una to slaughter them where they stand? There is no choice. Let her be the example. Let her change the way the mafia thinks.

“She is not Italian,” he hisses, his face turning an unhealthy shade of red.

“No, she’s not. Find me an Italian girl with her skill, her ferocity, and her loyalty, and I will consider her.” This is my bargain, because I know he cannot do it. The mafia do not permit their women to fight. And again, as much as the traditions hamper me, they also hamper him.

He pushes to his feet, tugging the material of his jacket tight and fastening the button. “I will be in touch.”

I escort him out because I don’t want him running into Una on the way. The second the front door closes, she appears from the functioning kitchen that she didn’t blow up, a tub of Nutella in her hand and a spoon in her mouth. She leans her shoulder against the doorframe and pulls the spoon slowly past her lips. “Didn’t want to introduce me to daddy dearest?” A smile plays over her mouth. A tiny smudge of the chocolate is on her upper lip and it’s driving me insane.

“I don’t think that would be the safest move.”

“Worried he might try to shoot the bastard bearing baby mama?”

She lifts her gaze to mine as I grab the back of her neck and pull her close. Leaning down, I kiss her, swiping my tongue over her top lip and catching the smudge of chocolate.

“Call my baby a bastard again, Morte. See what happens,” I breathe against her lips.

“Touchy,” she murmurs. “Is this technically the child of a bastard, or have you changed that status?” She takes a small step back, biting down on her bottom lip.

“Oh, you just love to fucking push me.” I fist her hair and yank her head back hard. The jar in her hand hits the floor with a smash and she smiles like she just won the game. In a heartbeat, she brings a small knife to my throat, pressing it against my skin.

“Play nice,” she teases.

“We don’t do nice.”

She gets that violent glint in her eye. “No. We don’t,” she whispers as she slices the blade across my skin lightly. I feel the sting, followed by the warm trickle of blood.

“Ah, Morte.” I push her back into the room behind her. “I’m going to break you,” I promise against her lips.

“So break me.”

She shouldn’t tempt fate.