Kiss Of Death: A Dark Mafia Romance

Una

I lay wide awake, staring at the ceiling. The lights from the city below illuminate the room in a soft light. Nero always tells me to close the blinds, but I like it. The light reminds me that I’m free, that I’m not in that bunker, buried beneath the earth in the snowy deserted woodland of Russia. The light makes me feel safe and where the sheer amount of people in the city daunted me, it now makes me comfortable. If I were to die here in New York, there would be someone to miss me, people to witness it at the very least. If I were to die in Russia, I would just be another pawn, toppled in a larger game. I never thought anything of it before, never feared death, but I’m starting to think that a person’s legacy has meaning. The people we leave behind, if any—that matters. And of course, I’m thinking about this because I’m thinking of Nicholai. I’m thinking of my death.

The bedroom door opens silently and light from the hallway cuts across the carpet. I watch Nero’s silhouette as he undresses, throwing clothes on the chair in the corner before he gets into bed. He’s been working late again, and I know he feels it just as keenly as I do; the seconds counting down, ticking away. Rolling over, I reach for him, needing to touch him. Funny that his touch grounds me where all others incite me to kill. He turns on his side and rests his hand over my stomach, stroking his thumb in circles over my skin. Warm lips brush my forehead before he pulls me close, tucking my face against his broad chest. I can feel it in the air, bouncing between us: fear. And Nero and I, this is a place where fear has never existed.

“It’s been too quiet.” My fingers trail up his back, feeling over the hard muscles.

He says nothing for long moments. “Nicholai’s just biding his time, probably waiting to see what we’ll do.”

I know better. I know Nicholai. He waits for nothing, and he always has a plan. He attacks his opponent’s weakness, goes for the jugular. It’s the intelligent strategy with the least amount of hassle. The simple fact is, if you hold a knife to someone’s throat they’ll do what you want. He doesn’t want to kill me, so he’ll try to maneuver me, corral me like a wild horse, backing me into a corner until he has me trapped.

“No, something is coming.” I can’t shake the feeling that we haven’t covered all the bases, that we’ve missed something glaringly obvious.

“Una, we are here, and you know as well as I do that this tower is nigh on impregnable. All my men can look after themselves. Your sister is buried in the Cartel, well-guarded and well hidden.”

“We’re missing something, Nero.”

“I have a plan.”

I sigh and lift my face from his chest, glancing at him. Dark eyes glint in the dim light, and I sweep a stray strand of hair away from his forehead. “Don’t you always?”

“I do.” He rolls me over, settling between my legs as he kisses over my collar bone. I run my hands through his hair, and I want to believe that he has it all in hand. I want to trust that he can stand against Nicholai, that he can win. I know that I view Nicholai through the eyes of a child, through the eyes of someone who has always bowed to his power and been conditioned to see him that way. But he has not made it to where he is without good reason. Him and Nero are like facing off two monsters and trying to pick the winner. I can’t.

“Tell me.”

He kisses my chest, looking up at me through thick, black lashes. “Simple. We can’t get to him, so we lure him out.”

“How?”

“Everyone has a weakness, Morte.” He’s right, Nicholai does have one weakness.

“Use me.”

Any positivity in his expression flees, replaced by a deep frown. “No, it’s too risky.” I open my mouth to speak but he silences me, placing a hand over my mouth. “I know who you are, and I do not doubt your capabilities, my love. But it isn’t just you. Do you trust me?” he asks, releasing my mouth.

“Yes.”

He smiles and then his lips work down the center of my chest. He pushes up my shirt, kissing over my stomach. “I won’t let anything happen to you,” he murmurs against my skin and a wave of emotions engulfs me. I trust him, but I feel this hole in my chest, sheer despair and desperation swirling like a vortex. His plans are loosely formed at best and we are running out of time, I can feel it, like Nicholai’s hot breath is skittering across my neck as we speak.

My hand wraps around his neck, bringing his mouth to mine because I need to feel him. I need that sense of invincibility that comes with being held by him, being loved by him. His lips part and I brush my tongue against his. The kiss becomes hard and demanding, and then he’s pushing me back down on the bed and sliding inside me. His breaths mix with my own as he fucks me slow and hard, drawing out each and every moan, pushing me higher and higher. And there, in his arms, I find a moment of peace and I know that’s exactly what he wants to give me, so I embrace it, I take it. That serenity wraps around me for just a few short moments and I cling to him, wishing I never had to let go of this, but knowing I must. My hands stroke over his muscles as they strain and flex beneath his skin. He’s beauty, power, and raw chaos all wrapped up in one man. And he’s mine.

I fall asleep in his arms, but even Nero can’t keep that empty feeling from filling me.

It’s dark, so dark. I’m disorientated, my senses muted and numbed.

“Ah, little dove, you’re awake.” I turn and Nicholai is standing beside me, his image blurry, but with each blink of my eyes he becomes clearer. His dark gray hair is combed back as always, and his three-piece suit is immaculate, down to the handkerchief in his top pocket that matches his tie. Truly the devil in disguise. “I have a gift for you.”

“What gift?” I ask. He turns, and reveals a patch of light on the far wall, illuminating Nero chained against it.

“No,” I whisper. I try to go to him, but my feet won’t move. It’s like I’m cemented to the floor. Nero lifts his head, those dark eyes meeting mine. Blood streams down his torso from several neat and precise cuts on his chest and stomach. “Please let him go.”

“Ah, but he is your weakness, little dove. Without him you will become everything you were meant to be.” I shake my head and he puts a gun in my hand. I stare down at the weapin, and when I look back up, there’s someone else chained to the wall, beside Nero. A boy. About ten years old. His head hangs forward, dark hair messy and disheveled, his small body also covered in blood. He lifts his head slowly. Violet eyes meet mine—eyes identical to my own, but his face… he’s the image of Nero. I know this is my child. I know it.

“Shoot one of them, little dove.” Nicholai purrs with satisfaction.

“No,” I say through gritted teeth. I feel a hot tear slide down my cheek.

“Pick, or I will pick for you.”

“Morte,” I look at Nero. This isn’t like Alex, his expression doesn’t beg me to kill him, it demands it. Nero doesn’t fear death. I know this, but…but I love him. “Lift the gun,” he says calmly. I do. “Good. Now aim it at my head.” I do as he says, my hand shaking because my heart demands that I stop. I look at the boy again, a boy I don’t know, but I do. In my soul, I know him. “Look at me.” Nero’s voice lulls me back to him. “Pull the trigger, Morte. Be strong.”

“I love you,” I tell him as tears now stream down my cheeks.

“I love you,” he responds, his expression hard and determined. He nods and I close my eyes, taking a deep breath. My pulse pounds in my ears, the steady inhale and exhale of my own breaths. I place the gun under my chin.

“No!” Nero’s and Nicholai’s combined cries are the last thing I hear. BANG.

I wake up and bolt upright, gasping for air. Sweat coats my body and my heart is beating so hard I can feel it jolting against my ribs.

“Morte.” I swing my gaze to Nero who sits up next to me. He cups my face, swiping his thumb under my eye and catching a stray tear.

“I just…I need a minute.” Climbing out of bed, I go to the bathroom and close the door behind me. I turn on the shower and strip out of Nero’s t-shirt before getting in. The water does very little to wash away the memory of the dream. It feels so real, the idea of having to choose between Nero, my baby, and myself. And I know that in that scenario, I would choose myself. I shot the boy I loved once, and it broke something inside of me. If something were to happen to Nero…

When I finally step out of the bathroom, Nero has his back propped against the headboard, waiting for me. He doesn’t say anything, simply opens his arms and allows me to crawl into them. I’m fragile, as if all the pieces that make up Una Ivanov are slowly splintering apart and being split. Part of me is with Nero, another with Anna, and the last with this baby. Divided, I am weak, but if I weren’t divided than I’d have nothing to fight for in the first place, would I? I need to work out a way to be the person I used to be, but with the new motivations I now have. It seems like an impossible task, but I have to do it. I will do it.

I fall asleep to the steady thumping of Nero’s heartbeat and the brush of his fingers through my hair. I sleep soundly in the arms of my monster.