Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

Una

I pound over the heavy bag again and again until my arms ache and sweat runs down my back. I half expect Nero to come in here and check up on me, but he doesn’t and I’m grateful. I need some time to think, to go through everything in my mind. Part of me hates that Nero caught me. That part feels like it’s his fault that we’re here because he wouldn’t just let me run. But then I think: what if we can win this? It’s pretty unlikely, but what if we could? And there it is—hope. Nero makes me feel things, want things, and I think I’d rather go down in a blaze of glory with him at my side, rather than give my child to a stranger and go back to Nicholai to play his favorite pet again. He reaches too far, asks for too much, and I will kill him or die trying.

When approaching Nicholai, everything needs to be strategic. He doesn’t think like normal people. He is the embodiment of the ultimate predator; intelligent, persistent, ruthless, wealthy, and insane. Add all of that together and we’re facing an opponent that genuinely frightens me. I’ve been trained to fear nothing, but it’s easy not to fear when the worst case scenario is death. My own death I am not afraid of, but my baby’s… Suddenly fear is a very real, very tangible thing, and I don’t like it. I don’t like the way it settles on my chest and makes the simple act of drawing a breath feel like a chore. I pause and rest my forehead against the bag, drawing deep breaths.

No, I won’t let that happen. Even if I fall, Nero will be there. I have to trust that. The path before me seems so clear and yet impossible. The only way Nicholai will ever stop is if he’s dead, but can it be done? Can such a key player in the Bratva really be taken down? Maybe, if I can get close enough to him. After all, I am his favorite.

I shove away from the bag and leave the gym, unwrapping my hands as I go. George is lying outside the gym door, but leaps up the second he sees me. My fingers trail his sleek coat as he walks beside me. I turn at the sound of pounding footsteps and watch one of Nero’s soldiers go running past me, his hand pressed to his ear piece as he speaks. All I hear is one word: intruder. It’s enough to make my heart rate pick up and have me diverting to the armory, a reinforced panic room hidden behind a panel in the dining room. Nero is nothing if not resourceful. I press the key fob into the slot in the wall and enter a code. The door opens with a hiss and I step inside. There’s a wall of weapons on one side and TV screens on the other, all showing various cameras in the apartment and building. I glance at each of them, pausing on the lobby. I narrow my eyes at the group of men in suits, all surrounding a single man. Tall and lean, with golden blond hair and a lethal stance. Sasha. Two men lie at his feet, either unconscious or dead. The guys surrounding him are wary, though he seems calm. Typical Sasha. Is he friend or foe now? It’s no secret that his loyalty is with Nicholai. But he did approach Nero, and he helped me run. I hesitate for a moment before leaving the room and heading for the elevator. There’s one guy standing guard, and he reaches for his gun as soon as he sees me.

“You guys really need to get the memo that I’m not a prisoner,” I growl.

“Sorry, ma’am. Boss’ orders. No one leaves. No one comes in.” I smile, stepping close enough that my bulging stomach brushes against him. “Firstly, call me ma’am again, and I will cut your tongue out. Secondly, think of me as an extension of Nero, because if you disrespect me again, it’s not going to go well for you.” Shaking, he nods, and I plaster a fake smile on my face. “Now, radio down to those idiots and tell them to let Sasha up.”

“Do not touch your radio,” Nero’s voice comes from behind me, low and commanding.

I turn on him with a glare. “Seriously?”

Nero’s wearing only a pair of workout pants, his hair still damp from the shower. “You trust him?” he asks incredulously.

“Of course. It’s Sasha.” It’s not a complete lie. I trust that he wouldn’t come here to hurt me, but not that he wouldn’t tell Nicholai everything he knows. I don’t judge him for it, the kind of upbringing we had, it warps your mind through both fear and conditioning. I felt that same blind loyalty to Nicholai for years, but I had something to hold onto outside of that facility—my sister. Sasha never had that. The closest thing he has to family is me and Nicholai, and I’m essentially making him choose between his father and his sister.

“What if he’s here to kill you? Wouldn’t he be the perfect pawn? He’s close enough to you that you trust him, skilled enough to take you down, and no doubt dispensable, so if I kill him afterwards, Nicholai won’t care.”

“Sasha’s good, but not better than me, let alone when I’m surrounded by half the mob.” I roll my eyes. “And Nicholai doesn’t want me dead. That’s the last thing he wants.”

“Una…”

“Please, just trust me. He might have information. He’s done nothing but help us so far.”

Dark brows pull together and he folds his arms over his broad chest. “I don’t like it.”

“Acknowledged.”

“Don’t tell him anything. How did he even know you’re here? Does Nicholai know where you are?”

“Capo,” I snort, “you own two properties in New York. It’s not difficult, plus, Sasha can hack any security camera, anywhere. If he wants to find someone, he’ll find them.” I jerk my chin towards the camera in the corner of the room. “He can hack through all your firewalls. He’s good.”

“That’s reassuring,” he grumbles. “Tell them to bring him up,” he says to the guy still standing behind me. He relays the instruction and I wait for the elevator to climb. Nero moves to stand slightly in front of me like my own personal guard dog. On pure principle, I step up beside him, folding my arms over my chest.

The elevator pings and the doors slide open, revealing a wall of suited Italians. Nero’s men still don’t like me, and most of them either glare at me or ignore me altogether. I don’t care, but I worry that their loyalty to Nero might waver since he’s fucking the enemy. He and I know that it was retaliation, but even I’ll admit that twenty-one dead Italians is hard to explain. And well, Italians all seem to be linked. Guaranteed, every guy I killed has a cousin or nephew or brother within Nero’s ranks, which is always comforting.

The suits step out, filing to either side of the doors and revealing Sasha. His face is steely as always, features severe and angular. A small frown line sinks between his brows as his eyes move from my face to my stomach.

“So it’s true,” he says simply. I nod and he glances around the room. I can see his mind processing every detail, looking for threats. He’s assessing everything, from the distance between us to the way each man is holding his gun, spotting weaknesses, planning, strategizing. I know, because it’s exactly what I do when I’m in a hostile situation.

“Why are you here, Sasha?” I ask.

He glances at Nero, and then back to me, his lips pressed in a thin line. “Give us a minute,” I say to Nero.

“No.”

I turn to face him and he simply stares straight at Sasha, his expression giving away nothing.

“Nero…”

Nero looks at the guys either side of the elevator. “Go.” He orders them. “Gio, stay.” The men do as instructed, filing away into the apartment and leaving just Gio, Nero, Sasha and me. Sasha’s eyes meet mine. I know what he’s thinking, that I just thinned out the herd and evened the odds. I step towards him and he closes the distance between us, pulling me into a stiff hug which makes me tense. Sasha and I have never hugged. It’s not something you do when neither of you can stand being touched.

“I’m so sorry I helped them get to you. We have to get you as far away from here as possible,” he whispers in Russian, so quietly it’s barely above a breath. I feel something solid pressing against my stomach and slowly reach down, my fingers brushing over the cool metal of a gun. “Ready?” he asks, body tense and primed for an attack.

“Wait, Sasha.” I pull away from him slightly. “I’m not leaving.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Nero snaps. I hear the click of a safety being flicked by Gio, and I can feel the aggression pouring off Nero like a living thing slithering over my back.

I hold my hand out to Nero because Sasha, though like my brother, is still a lethal killer. He won’t hurt me, but Nero and Gio are simply targets assessed on their threat level. I know this. “I’m not running,” I say, in English this time, taking the clip out of the gun he gave me and handing it back to him.

Those jade green eyes meet mine, concern and confusion swimming in them. “Una, he knows.”

I nod. “I’m aware.”

“Then you know he wants that child.”

“I know.”

He drops to one knee and swipes a hand through his hair in agitation. We used to take a knee when we were training in the field as a way of strategizing, taking a minute to plan. I follow suit in front of him.

“Where could I even go, Sasha? There is nowhere he wouldn’t track me.”

“Then…” He sighs. “Then come home, beg him to forgive you. You know he will. He loves you. This…you’re just making it worse for yourself, Una.” Nero lets out a growl of displeasure behind me and I turn on him.

“Really? Just go to the kitchen.”

He cocks a brow, looking at me as if I am another one of his pawns to be commanded. “Forgive me if I don’t trust your super killer friend here.”

“I swear to god, Nero. Pain, so much pain.”

“I thought stress was bad for babies,” Sasha says flatly.

I turn back to him and can’t help but smile. “Oh, well. Poor kid doesn’t stand a chance then.” He pushes to his feet, glancing at Nero again. I stand up.

“The Italian is volatile and unpredictable,” he says in Russian. “He will get you killed.”

“In our world, volatile and unpredictable wins wars,” I reply in my native tongue. “He is dangerous and I need dangerous.”

“Please come home,” he begs. I can see the hint of fear in his eyes, and I know it’s not for the baby, it’s simply for me because I’m the closest thing to human connection he has. Sasha looks formidable dressed all in black, covered in weapons and wearing the mask of an ice cold killer, but we all have out weaknesses. Just as Anna was mine, I am his, but I don’t wish for him to betray Nicholai the way I have. It would break him.

I sigh. “I’m never going back, Sasha. He will do to this baby what he did to us.” He will break my child as we were broken. Broken things heal stronger, but for the first time in my life I’m disturbed by the concept.

“Was it so bad?” he asks.

What Sasha can’t see is that, despite his many strengths, his life is a sad and pitiful existence. By the time I met him, I was thirteen. He was fourteen, but he had already been in the facility for five years. Maybe Nicholai got me just a little too late, because I never truly let go of the life I had before becoming Elite. Sasha is the living, breathing embodiment of everything Nicholai wanted him to be. His life is whatever Nicholai chooses in that moment because he knows nothing else. He has no freedom, only orders and compliance. And the saddest part of all of this is that he can’t see it. He can’t see what was taken from him, only the strengths he was given, but they come at a high price. “We were children, Sasha.”

“He made us strong, Una. You are the strongest of us, and yet you throw it back in his face.” His voice rising slightly before he composes himself again.

“He broke us and turned us into weapons.” I take a small step back away from him and closer to Nero. “I’ve made my choice.”

Sasha’s eyes flick to Nero, his jaw set in a rigid line. “You think that you are strong enough to protect her from what’s coming?” he asks Nero in English.

“With great power comes great responsibility,” Nero replies cryptically.

Sasha shakes his head. “You have no idea what is coming. He will go for your weaknesses.” His eyes flick to Nero again. “And you have developed many, sister, but I will try to help you.”

“Why? If Nicholai finds out…”

“Because you are my sister, and I love you.”

“I love you, too.” My eyes prickle and I curse these bloody hormones. He turns and gets in the elevator. “But Sasha…” I switch to Russian. “Don’t endanger yourself for me. I do not expect to make it out of this alive.”

Nero doesn’t need to know how low my expectations really are. I throw Sasha the clip in my hand and he snatches it out of the air right before the doors glide shut.

I hold onto those last words between us, because I don’t know if or when I’ll see him again, and really, Sasha is more like a sibling to me than my actual sister. Sasha and I have always been close, but I didn’t think either of us capable of love. Perhaps it’s just our own version of it, a mimicked emotion, a sense of attachment we need to name. After Alex, I shunned and feared love as though it were a plague. Loving Alex cost me dearly, and I would do anything to avoid that pain again. To lose someone you care about so deeply is an agony unlike any other, it wounds you, leaving scars that never heal. And then I think: what if Nicholai were to kill Nero? I care for him, I’m invested in him as an ally, as the father of my child, and perhaps…perhaps I love him in a way. Killing Alex tore out my heart, and I don’t have much left to give, but I think that whatever twisted, blackened part of it remains belongs to Nero. After all, he is my equal. He’s forced me to feel things that I thought long dormant, and I respect him in a way I’ve never respected anyone else. I trust him, and that speaks volumes.

I turn to face Nero. His arms are folded over his chest and his hair is messy like he’s been dragging his hands through it. Gio walks away now that the threat has disappeared.

“You chose to stay,” Nero says simply.

I nod, unable to speak the words that are hanging in the air. I chose you. If I wanted to escape, I was never going to get a better chance than with Sasha here. All the king’s soldiers and all the king’s men could not stop the two of us together. On my own, I’m good, with Sasha…we’re invincible; Nicholai’s best kill team. “Can you trust him?” Nero asks.

“I want to.” I want to believe that Sasha would never sell me out. “But you have to understand, the training, it’s hard to resist. And the punishments for disloyalty are…” I remember them well. Repeated electrocutions, whippings, water boarding, even injections of scorpion venom that would make you hallucinate. And when you’ve seen the things we’ve seen those hallucinations are not pretty. “He’s not the enemy.”

He watches me for a few seconds and then nods. “The second he puts you at risk, he is. Do you understand?” I hesitate. “This isn’t just about you anymore, Morte. Tell me you understand,” he demands, that power he wears so well flexing and rolling like a wave.

“I understand.”

I follow Nero to the bedroom where he steps into the walk-in closet. A few minutes later he’s wearing dress pants and a shirt to which he is fastening the buttons. I miss his shirtless state, but the devil does wear a suit oh so well.

“Going somewhere?”

He lifts a brow, his expression stoic. “I have some business to handle in the city.” Of course he does.

“Don’t you have people for that?”

He fastens his belt. “Sometimes, if you want a job done properly, you have to do it yourself.”

I flop down on the bed and stretch my arms above my head. Nero’s gaze scans over my underwear clad body. “I happen to be very thorough in my jobs.” I smile up at him.

“No.”

I sigh and sit up. “If I don’t get outside soon, I’m likely to maim Gio very badly. I’m sure it’s handy if you’re right hand has...well, a right hand.”

Amusement cracks that implacable mask. “Morte, you are supposed to be laying low.”

“That’s just it, I’m not sure I want to lay low.” I yanks his shirt out of his pants and slide my palm over his abs. “We don’t run and hide. Battle lines need to be drawn, capo.” His hand wraps around my wrist and he pulls it from beneath his shirt.

Bending over me, he pins both of my hands above my head. His lips are barely a whisper from mine. “And as much as I appreciate your loyalty, Morte, you are not leaving here.”

“Equal or prisoner, capo?”

An exasperated breath slips through his lips and, for a moment, we simply stare at each other. “You are the only person in this world that could possibly be my equal,” he says arrogantly.

I smile and press my lips to his. I swipe my tongue over his bottom lip, tasting coffee and violent promises. That does it. Grabbing my hips, he yanks me down the bed until he’s pressing between my thighs. The scent of his cologne tinged with cigarette smoke wraps around me and I inhale deeply as he bites the side of my neck.

“You do not do anything stupid. You stay within three feet of me at all times.” He breathes against my skin.

I smile. “You’re forgetting again.”

He pinches my jaw between his teeth. “Never.” His voice rumbles in my ear before he pulls back and stares at me. “I’m meeting with the leader of the Russkoye Slovo.” I roll my eyes. “And you cannot roll your eyes at him, or shoot him, or cut him…”

“Fine. But if you deal with dogs, people will see you as a kennel.”

“That makes no sense.” He pushes off me.

“It does if you are Russian.” I allow him to pull me to my feet. “What deal do you have with him?”

“We’ll talk in the car.”

“Fine.”

The city thrums outside the car window. Car horns blare as we sit in bumper to bumper traffic. I used to hate the city, the towering skyscrapers, the ignorant commuters, the way the people pour down the sidewalks like a river, the smells that taint the thick, putrid air…It’s a sensory overload, a nightmare for someone like me.

Music blares through the car speakers. I glance at Nero, and he’s pressed into the back of his seat, arm outstretched as he casually drapes his wrist over the steering wheel. He almost looks relaxed, except for the subtle tick of his jaw.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

“Nothing.”

I face the windshield again. “Lies.”

Neither of us says anything else as we wind through the stop-start traffic eventually pulling up outside an older brick building right by the Brooklyn Bridge. Tall windows are adorned with little flower boxes, and wide stone steps lead to a set of heavy-looking double doors. As soon as the car pulls to a stop, the door opens a crack and a young guy in a suit rushes over.

I get out and Nero throws the keys to him before we walk up the steps towards the door.

Apparently this meeting is, is a formal occasion so I’m wearing a dress and heals. There have been plenty of times when I’ve had to seduce targets and dress like a woman they’d happily follow to a secluded room. But I feel fake, a blade pretending to be a flower. In some instances, a flower is a good disguise, but in others, you want to be seen as something dangerous and life threatening. A knee length coat goes some way to hiding the baby bump. I know it’s pointless now, but showing it just feels like I’m pointing right at a soft spot and daring an enemy to stab me there.

Nero’s arm wraps around my waist and he pulls me into his side as we climb the steps. “You look beautiful,” he says, amusement in his voice as he twirls a strand of my hair around his finger.

“I have a gun and two knives on me. I will hurt you.”

He chuckles as he pulls the door open for me. I glare at him as I pass, but he just stares at my cleavage. “Don’t go stabbing anyone. Wouldn’t want to get blood on your dress.” I’m going to get blood on him in a minute.

We walk straight past what looks like a reception desk. The guy behind it stares at me and I can feel his attention even as we round the corner. Another set of double doors open into a bar. It has that Old-world feel about it with wooden flooring and leather wing back chairs everywhere. There aren’t many people in here, but again, everyone stares at me as if I have two heads. Or maybe it’s Nero they’re looking at.

“Why are they staring?” I say under my breath.

He smirks. “They don’t see many women in here.”

I glance around again. There isn’t a single woman here, and all the patrons are…of a certain ilk. “Brilliant, a gentleman’s club. I didn’t even know you could still pull that sexist bullshit anymore.” Then a thought occurs to me. “Wait, are they going to try and kick me out? Don’t they do fencing? Please let me challenge someone to a fight.”

“You’re blood thirsty today.” I snort at that. If he felt like I do right now, entire cities would be on fire.

“You know I’d win.” Maybe that’s what he’s worried about.

“Morte. If anyone pointed a weapon at you, I’d be forced to remove both his arms from his body.” A fluttering sensation erupts in my chest, even though I absolutely do not need his protection. Still…

“You say the sweetest things.”

“Hmm.” He places a kiss on my cheek, before guiding me to a table in the corner.

A small man with a greasy comb over sits there, his expensive pinstripe suit out of place and completely cliché. He looks about mid-forties, with an edge to him. His face is lined with evidence of a hard and violent life. But this man is Slovo, and they are bottom feeders, opportunists by nature, but never the ones to take a risk of their own. He lifts a cigar to his lips, squinting through the rising tendrils of smoke as he stares at Nero.

“Nero Verdi, in the flesh,” he drawls in a heavy Russian accent.

“Igor,” Nero responds.

The man turns his gaze to me. I see the flash of recognition, but he covers it quickly. “And who is this?”

“You know who I am, dog,” I snap in Russian.

He laughs. “Well, now I do. You are distinctive, Una Ivanov.”

Nero pulls out a chair for me, and I sit before he takes the seat beside me. “And you are forgettable in every way.”

“Enough with the insults.” Nero chimes in, clearly bored.

“I was simply complimenting his lovely suit.” I smirk.

Nero’s hand lands on my thigh beneath the table, fingertips brushing over the knife strapped to the inside. “Igor, here, wishes to bring guns into our city. Isn’t that right, Igor?” I don’t miss the ‘our’ and neither does Igor. His eyes flick back and forth between us, narrowing. Nero casually slips his pack of cigarettes from his pocket and slides one between his lips before lighting it. The snap of his lighter closing is the only sound as he waits for Igor to respond.

His hand lands back on my thigh and I glance at him. He raises his eyebrows as he inhales a long drag, as though waiting on me to respond. Is this some kind of test? If so, I’m not about to shy away from it.

“That’s a big ask.” I lean forward, locking eyes with the weasely little man. “But you see, Igor, the lamb does not ask the lion for a favor, when all he offers in return is his own leg to chew on.” He opens his mouth to respond. “And I do not want your leg, so tell me, what do you offer?”

Igor places his cigar down and leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand over his chin. After a few moments, Nero clears his throat. “I’m not a patient man.”

Igor nods and places his palms flat on the table. “I was going to offer you a new drug, but I give you choice,” he says in stilted English. “I can give you drug. Very good, new party drug. All the rage in Moscow. Or…” he lifts one eyebrow, a small smile playing over his lips. “I can become ally.”

There’s a beat of silence before I laugh. “What could an alliance with you possibly offer us?”

He’s the one who laughs this time. “You are with him,” he changes to Russian. “Why? I hear that you are wanted, Kiss of Death. I hear that you killed the Italian under boss, that Nicholai is hunting you. And now I see you here, with him of all people. He seems very…attached to you.” He smooth’s a hand down the front of his jacket. “So, I ask you, are you loyal to the wolf, or your so-called lion?” The wolf. Only the enemies of the bratva call Nicholai the wolf, and it’s been a long time since I’ve heard it.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” I revert back to English.

“I do not like Nicholai’s pets.” Igor’s eyes never leave my face. “But I spit on the bratva, and I spit on Nicholai Ivanov.” The Slovo are enemies of the bratva. My first solo kill was their former leader in fact. “I offer you my help, Una Ivanov. On one condition: your master dies.”

I turn to Nero and he focuses on Igor for a beat longer before his gaze meets mine. “I do not trust him,” I say in Italian this time. “I told you, he is a dog, and he will turn tail the second someone offers him better scraps. He’ll probably sell us out to Nicholai.”

“He will not be close enough or privy to enough information to sell you out, Morte.” His lips tilt up, that easy confidence of his pouring off him in waves. He has this way of making me feel as though everything is possible because he’s Nero Verdi, and the world would stop turning if he willed it so. “A Russian ally could be useful. His father was killed by Nicholai.” I swallow heavily, because Nicholai doesn’t make his own kills. He sends his Elite. And now Igor’s name rings a bell. Igor Dracov, the illegitimate son of Abram Petrov, the former leader. I killed Igor’s father. “He has no love for the man.” Nero believes it’s a low risk for potential reward, and his calm confidence lends me to having an irrational amount of faith in his decision.

I study Igor. Everything about him looks shifty and I don’t trust him. Then again, I don’t trust anyone. Except Nero and Sasha. I glance at Nero, and he looks totally at ease, sitting back and letting me make his deal for him. My fingers thread through his and he brings them to his mouth, brushing his lips over my knuckles.

“The Slovo are small and inconsequential,” I say. More like a band of rebels than anything else. “How much use can you be to us, Igor?”

He picks up the cigar and places it between his lips, inhaling. “No, the bratva think the Slovo is no threat and that is how we want it. Our numbers almost rival theirs, but I have many people buried in the bratva, quiet as mice. They listen. They see.”

“That’s settled then,” Nero says, done with the conversation.

“Nero…”

“They are well connected, and they are motivated to remove Nicholai. If the bratva falls, then they can assume power.”

I narrow my eyes at him. What the hell is he talking about? He turns back to Igor and pushes to his feet. “I accept your proposal. You may move your gun shipment through the city, but keep it clean. If I have to get involved, you won’t like it.”

Nero reaches out his hand. Igor shakes it before holding his hand out to me. I grit my teeth and take it, forcing back the inner killer pushing to the surface. Whatever he sees in my eyes, it makes him drop my hand quickly.

“Pleasure,” Igor purrs, before walking out of the bar.

As soon as we’re in the car, I turn on Nero. “The bratva will never fall.” The network is enormous, powerful and intertwined into even the government in Russia. It can’t be done. Though Nicholai is one of their key players and his death would be a blow; he will soon be replaced.

A knowing smile pulls at his lips as he starts the car. “Of course not.” That’s all he says. Damn, the man is so cryptic. He starts the engine, pulling away from the building.

“‘Of course’ is not an explanation. Care to explain to me what is going through that crazy mind of yours.”

“My brilliant mind?”

I roll my eyes. “Nero…"

“Fine. Of course, the bratva will never fall, but if we kill Nicholai, they will have to retaliate. Someone needs to take that fall, and I can’t bring that back on the family. This has the potential to start a mafia war.”

“You want to ally so that you have a scape goat.” Damn, he thinks of everything, down the finite details. I can plan a kill to the letter, think of every escape option, every possible thing that could go wrong, but Nero takes that and does it on a massive scale, factoring in key players and entire organizations, gangs, and families. He’s never been more attractive to me than he is in this moment, and I don’t know if it’s a twisted form of bloodlust withdrawal or hormones.

“There is no point in killing Nicholai only to die a few weeks later.” His hand lands on my thigh, pushing the material of my dress up until he skims my bare thigh. “I intend for us to survive this, Morte. And you will rule this city with me.” The future he speaks of is not one I’ve allowed myself to think on, because tomorrow is so uncertain.

I laugh. “Not sure your father will approve of that.”

He pulls up at a traffic light and glances at me with a twisted smile. “I have a plan.”

“Don’t you always?”

“Always.”