Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

Una

It’s been a week, a week of playing nice and behaving. I haven’t even killed a single person. I think I’m getting withdrawals. Nero is still Nero. He’s still an asshole and, luckily for me, it takes very little to piss him off. Without that, god knows what I’d do for entertainment locked in this damn house. He is different though, more careful. I’m no longer the killer he hired, a disposable body. I’m the walking incubator. I’m Una Ivanov and he’s treating me like his baby mama. With each passing day, my anger gets worse and it’s probably not helped by the hormones. And as the weeks pass, I will get bigger and bigger, less mobile. I have to be in a safe place for the last two months of this pregnancy because at that point, I can’t run. It needs to be now. He’s relaxed around me. Maybe he believes I won’t try anything. I stand in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around me as I stare at my foggy reflection in the mirror. I finally managed to get the brown dye out of my hair, although I’ll probably have to dye it again when I leave.

I watch in the mirror as Nero steps into the bathroom and moves behind me. One hand wraps around my middle, resting over the bump. He’s getting bolder, more obvious in his intentions. I shift away and turn to face him.

“I have to go to a meeting in the city today.” A small frown line mars his otherwise flawless face. Nero is the image of ruthless grace in his tailored suit. A loose curl of dark hair hangs over his forehead as he tilts his face down to me.

“Uh, okay. I’m not your wife, Nero. You don’t have to tell me where you’re going.”

His lips pull up at one side. “I specifically remember a perfectly good jacket suffering a kitchen knife because I went to a meeting and left you in the apartment.”

“That was different.”

“The female mind is a wonder.” His eyes narrow. “Tell me, how so?”

“Well for one, I wasn’t like Moby Dick.” I point at my stomach and he laughs. “See, if I were your wife, you’d be too scared of me to laugh.”

“Oh, I’m scared of you, Morte.” I fold my arms over my chest and he smiles, reaching up and brushing his finger over my bottom lip. “But if you need me to do the romance thing…” He leans in close and skims his lips over my neck, igniting my body. “I want to fuck you so hard.”

I snort and roll my eyes. “Romantic.”

“Your idea of romance is a knife fight.”

“I don’t see any knives.”

“Ah, that reminds me…” He takes his wallet out of his pocket and pulls something from the coin pouch, holding it up.

“My blade.” I take the tiny silver blade from between his fingers, inspecting it.

“I pulled it from some guy’s neck in the foyer after your little rampage.”

I slide it back into the cuff at my wrist. “Thanks.”

“I’ll be back in a few hours.” He eyes me meaningfully—in other words, don’t do anything stupid.

“Try not to kill anyone,” I say. “I’d hate to think of you having fun without me.”

He brushes his lips over mine and my pulse picks up. “Power isn’t bought with mercy, Morte.”

“No, it’s paid for in blood.” I push onto my tiptoes and press my mouth firmly to his, swiping my tongue over his lip. His fingers flinch into my hip.

“A few hours.” Then slips away from me, turning his back and walking out the door.

Pressing my fingers to my tingling lips, I squeeze my eyes shut. Now or never. I grab the bag that’s under the bed and check through it. I’m limited to only a change of clothes and about a thousand dollars in cash that I found tucked into one of the kitchen drawers yesterday. I move quickly around the room, searching the bedside drawers, the bathroom, the closet. Finally, I drop to my knees beside the bed and bingo. There’s a .40 Cal strapped to the bedframe. I pull it away and check the clip before tucking it into the back of my jeans.

The second I step out of the room, Nero’s bus boys are in my face. I swipe the legs out from under the big one and pull my gun, pistol-whipping the second. The first moves to get up, but my gun is in his face before he can clamor to his feet.

“I can shoot you or knock you out.”

He holds his hands up in surrender. With a swift punch to the temple, his eyes roll back before he’s out cold. I shake out my fist, relishing my aching knuckles. It’s been so long since I trained, so long since I felt the stinging limbs of a real fight. I miss it.

It's quiet as I make my way through the house. Suspiciously so. I open Nero’s office door and slip inside, closing the door behind me. George hops up, wagging his little stump at me. Zeus studiously ignores me as usual. I rifle through the desk drawers until I find what I’m looking for: a set of keys. Either he seriously believes I won’t try to leave, or he thinks I’ll go on foot. Granted, taking one of his cars will mean he can track me until I can dump it, but, it has its benefits.

George pricks his ears when I turn to leave, trying to follow me. I drop to a crouch in front of him and kiss the top of his head. “I can’t take you with me. I’m sorry.” He tilts his head to the side and I scratch behind his ear before standing. The garage is at the back of the house, and I manage to avoid Nero’s men as I make my way there. Eventually, I’m standing in front of a row of cars. One of them beeps at me when I press the button on the fob. A Maserati sports car. That sucks, considering what I’m about to do to it.

I get in and throw my bag on the passenger seat before revving the powerful engine. It purrs and snarls, making me smile. I find the control for the garage door and it starts to rise, revealing two guards standing on the other side. They frown into the garage, confusion marring their expressions until they make out who is sitting at the wheel of the flashy car. They pull guns and point them at me, but I simply smile and slam my foot on the accelerator. The simple fact is, they won’t shoot Nero’s pregnant…whatever I am. The car lurches forward and they leap out of the way as tire smoke and gravel kick up in my wake.

The driveway is about two hundred yards long, and as I floor it towards the gate, I see men frantically running around. Guns are raised and bullets ping off the hood. I press my foot harder over the accelerator, ducking behind the wheel as I gun it at the metal gate. I meet it with a jarring impact, the screeching of metal on metal and the squealing of tires. The car comes to a halt against the bank opposite the gate, and then the ping, ping, ping of bullets sound. I look behind me and slam the car in reverse before shoving it into drive and forcing the ruined vehicle as fast as possible down the road. My heart is pounding as I glance in the rear view mirror, but no one follows me. I need to get off this road, stick to the back roads and then ditch the car. The second I round the corner though, my heart sinks. Two SUVs are pulled across the road, blocking it. In front of them stand Gio and Nero and a whole host of other guys. My foot lifts off the accelerator for a second as I assess my options. The SUVs are blocking the road, but there’s a gap between them, probably just big enough to squeeze through…the gap that Nero and Gio are standing in front of. I tighten my grip on the steering wheel and slam my foot back down on the gas. Gio raises his gun and I flinch when he fires at the windshield. The glass shatters, but I keep my gaze firmly fixed on Nero. He’s barely a hundred yards away from me now. He lifts a rifle and my eyes widen. I trust none of his men to shoot me, but him? Would he rather kill me than let me go? I don’t hear the bang, but I feel the hard thud and stabbing pain of something hitting my chest. I grit my teeth and glance down for a second. A dart is sticking out of my chest, and my head starts to spin. I slam my foot on the brake and yank the steering wheel to the side. The car skids sideways. The sound of screeching tires fills my ears, swiftly followed by the deafening bang of metal meeting metal. Blinding pain rips across my skull along with one thought; run. Fumbling with the door, I throw it open and fall out of the car. My hands and knees meet the tarmac and glass bites into my skin as I try to crawl away. But it’s no use. My head is swimming, the fog clinging to the edges of my mind, mocking and taunting me with my own freedom. I pitch sideways, clutching at my stomach as everything goes black.