Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

Nero

I pull up to the old shipping warehouse on the outskirts of Brooklyn. The place is rough as fuck, and I have to leave constant security to guard it, but it’s the deal I have with NYPD. I pay them off and, in return, I have to keep the shady shit out of the city. They effectively turn a blind eye, but think of it as the lesser of two evils. The mafia keep their noses clean, have their shit together, and rule with an iron fist. Dodgy blow, street gangs, guns and violence…we keep that shit off our streets, which means the police don’t have to. It’s a simple fact that if you were to eliminate the mafias and the cartels, anarchy would ensue. That’s the corrupt world we live in, the reality of the modern justice system. I’m all too happy to play judge, jury, and executioner.

I pull up to a massive roller door and it slowly lifts, exposing the dingy, dark warehouse beyond. It’s empty except for a couple of shipping containers stacked against the wall. My eyes adjust to the dim light cast by a couple of weak strip lights as I pull in. Gio leans against the hood of his Aston Martin, arms folded over his chest as he watches the scene before him. Two guys stand there, fierce scowls on their faces. Jackson is behind them, a gun in each hand pointed at their backs. The rest of Jackson’s team are spread out around the empty warehouse.

I get out of the car and go to the trunk, grabbing a metal baseball bat and throwing to Una. Gio’s eyes narrow when we approach him and Una takes seat on the hood right next to him. “Nice car.”

“Nice bat,” he replies.

She twirls the weapon. “Thanks. It’s a little more…bludgeon-y than I’m used to.”

Shaking my head, I walk over to the two guys, pausing in front of them. I take my cigarettes from my inside pocket and place one between my lips, slowly lifting the lighter to the end. Silence descends through the warehouse and I love it, that pregnant pause, as if everyone in the room is holding their breath. Snapping the lighter shut, I inhale a long draw, holding the smoke deep in my lungs.

“He’s such a drama queen.” Una snorts and I glance at her. A wry smile pulls at the corner of her lips and she lifts one brow, daring me, challenging. She just loves to fucking push me. Forcing myself to turn away from her, I focus on the two Albanians.

“Do you know who I am?” I say to them. One of them is an older guy, ugly as all fuck with a nasty scar across his throat. Apparently this one had a brush with death. The other is younger. Both are wearing track suits and have heavy gold chains hanging around their necks. God, it’s like something out of a bad seventies crime film.

“V-Verdi,” the young one stammers. His friend scowls at him. I nod at Jackson and he grabs both men by their shoulders, kicking them to their knees. The young one whimpers. His entire body shaking as he stares at the ground.

“Yes, I am Nero Verdi.” Dropping to a crouch, I rest one arm casually over my thigh and inhale on my cigarette. I toss it towards the young one and he flinches, making me smile. “And you know that means you’re in serious shit.” I stand again. “Where did you get the drugs you sold in Poison last night?” I ask. Silence. Sighing I turn back to them, cupping my ear. “I’m sorry, I didn’t hear an answer.”

The younger guy opens his mouth. “We…I…” His friend barks something in Albanian and I throw my head back on a groan. Checking my watch, I turn to Una, crooking my finger at her. She pushes off the hood and Gio rolls his eyes as she sways her hips, bat in hand. My very own little Harley Quinn.

“Gentleman, this is Una. Some call her The Kiss of Death, the Mexicans call her The Angel of Death. You get the point.” She swings the bat in loose circles through the air.

The older guy sneers. “You have your woman do your dirty work.” He spits on the ground, and Una glances at me.

“Well, now, that’s a filthy habit.” She strides away from me, heels clicking over the concrete and echoing around the vast warehouse. She barely breaks stride as she swings the bat back and smashes him in the gut. He pitches over on his side, coughing and wheezing as he tries to catch his breath.

“I should mention; she’s hormonal.” I back up and take a seat next to Gio, watching Una go to town on the older guy. She doesn’t touch the younger one, but he breaks a little more with every blow she lays on his friend. She smashes the guys knee caps, as promised, breaks both his arms, his cheek bone, but not his jaw. Good girl.

“You know you two are sick?” Gio comments from his spot beside me.

“Think of it this way, the more hormonal rage she lays into this guy, the less she’ll have for you.”

He releases a heavy breath and there’s a long pause, broken only by the low grunts of pain coming from the man and the whimpering of his friend. “You can’t pretend that everything is fine, Nero.”

“Do not assume to patronize me on what is coming.”

“You’re distracting her with mafia bullshit.”

I glare at him. “Because if she sits in that apartment and stews on it, she’s going to do something stupid. I am buying time and keeping her under control.”

He nods towards Una who has her knee planted on the man’s chest. He’s howling in pain, no doubt from broken ribs. The baseball bat is pressed across his throat and he’s gasping for breath. “Looks like you have complete control.”

She hisses something at him in what I assume is Albanian. Damn, is there a language that girl doesn’t speak? He says something back and her whole demeanor changes. Smiling, she gets off him. She stands up, blood-covered baseball bat in hand, blonde hair loose around her shoulders, and the blood-spattered dress covering her baby bump.

“Did he tell you?” I ask.

“No.” She inches her skirt up, then grabs a dagger from the inside of her thigh and throws it, lightning fast. The blade embeds between his eyes and she glances over her shoulder. “He called me a Russian whore.”

“Cesare should consider himself lucky then,” I say under my breath.

“Fucking hell,” Gio swipes a hand over his face, ever the cautious, diplomatic one. He’s averse to ‘unnecessary blood shed’ as he calls it. As though all death should have purpose.

Jackson strolls over and stands beside me. “I think I might need a Russian woman.”

I laugh. “They do have a certain….finesse.”

“Look, if you two are done getting a hard on for this shit, can we get this over with?” Gio pushes off the hood, waving an arm in the direction of the remaining guy. Una is crouching in front of him, and he’s crying.

“Fucking hell, they don’t make gang members the way they used to,” Jackson grumbles, looking wholly uncomfortable with the entire situation.

I narrow my eyes when Una starts whispering something to him in Albanian again, and then, she strokes his face and its almost intimate. My fists clench and red-hot heat fires up my back.

“Morte,” I growl through gritted teeth. She flashes me a wry smile over her shoulder.

“Damn, you two are fucked up,” Jackson says.

“Thank you,” Gio adds.

A few seconds later and Una stands and turns, walking over to me. “A guy called Camilo Juan.”

“That fucking Columbian,” Jackson spits. “Rat bastard. What are we going to do with him?” he asks, pointing at the Albanian.

“Let him live,” Una says.

I lift a brow, firstly because she’s commanding my men, and secondly because she’s showing mercy. “Are you going soft, Morte?”

“Oh, for fucks sake, Nero.” Gio walks off with a shake of his head before getting in his car.

Una steps between my legs, her hand gliding over my chest, beneath my jacket. “Never.” The scent of blood dances along her skin as she presses her lips to mine. Her teeth scrape my lip, and I barely even acknowledge that she’s taken my gun until I hear the bang. I pull away from her, and her gaze is firmly locked on me, though the smoking gun in her hand is aimed behind her. The Albanian falls forward, a gaping bullet hole right between his eyes.

“Damn. Una, you have a sister, right?” Jackson asks. I glance at him and he’s readjusting himself, a stupid grin on his face.

“A death wish is what you have,” I say.

He laughs as he walks towards the Range Rover parked at the back of the empty warehouse.

As soon as I push off the hood of his car, Gio starts the engine and I lead Una to my own vehicle, opening the door for her. That cold brutality of hers brings out the animal in me. I want to fuck her and hurt her, break her and tame her, and I know she’ll always take everything I give her and hand it back tenfold. She is perfect and unique and mine. The more time I spend with her, the more I feel the weight of that, as if she’s imprinting herself on my dark soul, making herself a vital part of me. I’m not sure whether to fight it or embrace it, but in the end, it doesn’t feel like I have a lot of choice. I love her, and for all the power in the world, there are some things you just can’t fight.

As soon as I get in the car Una hands me my gun and I tuck it back in the holster. “Feeling better?” I ask.

She leans over the center console, placing a kiss on my cheek. “Much. Thank you. Who knew you were so good at first dates?”

“Technically killing my brother was our first date.”

“Yes, because I’m sure that’s how they start every great love story, Nero.”

“And they say romance is dead.”