by Lovell, LP
I take a deep breath, clenching my teeth against the pain in my leg. “If you ever felt anything for me, let me run, Nero,” I beg. “I will come back to you.” And then I’m on my feet and running, every step sending white-hot pain lancing up my leg.
I’m so close to the car I can see the hood peeking out from the shadow of the alleyway. I limp forward, clutching my gun when something collides with the side of my head and my vision swirls. I stagger sideways and feel myself falling. Strong arms catch me as my body buckles uselessly. I’m barely able to make out the blurred profile of Gio’s face before everything goes black.
4
Una
I wake up with a groan and a pounding head. When I open my eyes, I flinch away from the blinding light. I try to throw my hand over my face, but I can’t. Glancing to the side, I see my hand is bound beside my head, the leather cuff attached to a chain several inches long. My other arm is the same, and both are attached to the bedframe beneath me. Fucking great. Nero. That’s the last thing I remember. I try to work out where the hell I am. The room has no windows and a pretty sturdy-looking door, so I’m guessing I’m in a basement. There’s another door half ajar across from me, and I can hear the slow drip of a tap coming from it. My yoga pants have been removed and replaced with a pair of sleep shorts. I’m still wearing the same tank top that I fell asleep in back at the apartment in Paris.
The door opens with a heavy groan and I lift my head as Gio walks in. His usual serious expression masks his face. I lay my head back against the pillow and take a deep breath. “How’s your leg?” he asks.
“Fuck you, Gio. Where’s Nero?”
He huffs a small laugh. “He’s busy.” Of course he is. He takes a seat on the edge of the mattress and places his hand on my thigh, inspecting my leg. The second his skin makes contact with mine, I go rigid tense. Kill! Kill! Kill! That sole instinctroars through my head, the impulse so strong and instinctive it hurts not to act on it. I yank against the restraints and the leather bites into my wrists. His hand finally leaves my leg and I sigh in relief, my body going limp.
“How long are you going to keep me tied up like this?” I bite out.
His eyes meet mine. “Until I know you aren’t going to kill everyone in the building.”
I smirk. “Permanently then.”
“Until Nero comes down here and handles you personally,” he murmurs.
“You say that like I won’t kill him.”
His eyes flick to my stomach. “I’d say you currently have the advantage in that fight, wouldn’t you?”
I snort. “You give him too much credit.”
His eyebrows pull together in a frown. “You should have told him.”
I glare at him. “I don’t owe him shit.” Regardless of how I feel about Nero, of what he became to me, the fact is: he blackmailed me. He knowingly put me in a situation that placed me right in the crosshairs. I took the theoretical bullet for him. And somewhere along the line he made me feel something for him. In all the chaos, he managed to earn my loyalty without me ever really realizing I’d given it to him, but this is different. This baby is something that I cannot explain to him because I can’t even explain it to myself.
“We could have helped you.”
“I don’t need your fucking help. You forget who I am,” I snarl, my rage rising like a living, breathing thing. Even the cold killer in me is protective of this child when she should be nothing but detached. I’m confused, but driven by instinct and I will kill anyone who tries to harm us.
Gio gets up and steps away from me. “I do not forget, Bacio Della Morte.” His eyes become hard and unforgiving as he approaches me, pulling a syringe from his pocket. I jerk against the restraints. I snarl as he brings the needle to my skin.
“I’m going to kill you, Gio. Painfully. Slowly.”
A small smile touches his lips before the needle pierces my skin and the plunger depresses. He walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him. And then, everything goes black.
* * *
When I awake, my hands are no longer bound. My top is pushed up and the remnants of something wet is smeared over my stomach. My leg is freshly bandaged. The lack of pain suggests I’ve been dosed with painkillers. I push to my feet and stagger slightly as the effects of the sedative cling to me. My eyes take in every inch of the room as I cross it, desperately planning. I shove the other door open and find a bathroom. It’s basic. A shower, sink, and toilet. I turn the shower on, strip out of my clothes, and step inside. Hot water washes away what feels like weeks of grime and dirt, tinging the water a shade of red as dried blood—both my own and others—leaves my skin. I pull the dressing from my thigh and inspect the wound. It looks better, less angry and swollen. Gio must have given me antibiotics. As I stand under the spray, I start to form a plan in my mind. For now, I will wait and see if Nero makes a move. The problem with him is he’s frighteningly unpredictable, even to me. In a day or two I will have a clearer picture of what’s going on.
Once I’m clean I get out of the shower and wrap the single towel around me. And then it begins. The boredom. The pacing. After a time, the walls start to feel like they’re closing in on me and it’s enough to make me want to tear my hair out.
Eventually I hear the click of the lock on the door, and I ready myself to attack, but the second it opens a crack, a gun is pointed at me. “Didn’t think I’d come in here unarmed, did you?” Gio asks. “You did threaten to kill me.”
I smile coldly. “I don’t threaten.”
He laughs and signals at someone behind him. Tommy steps into the room, carrying a brown paper bag and some folded clothes. I can’t help but smile when I see him.
“Irish,” I say. A shy smile pulls at his lips and he holds the bag out in front of him, stretching as though trying to stay as far away from me as possible. I roll my eyes and snatch the bag. He jumps. “I knocked you out one time, Tommy.”
“Look,” he frowns, “you’re scary on your best day. But pregnant? Hormones will make even a sane woman crazy.” I glare at him.
“I swear you have no self-preservation whatsoever, kid,” Gio sighs.
He offers me a small shrug. “Sorry, Una, but it’s true.”
“If you were anyone else…” I’ve always been fond of Tommy. Maybe it’s because he’s Nero’s soft spot, or perhaps it’s because he’s managed to stay innocent in this world of corruption. Either way, he’s kind of like a puppy that you couldn’t bear to hurt. He puts the clothes on the bed and turns around, walking back towards the door.
“Where’s Nero?” I ask Gio this time.
“He’s still busy,” he says, his mouth pressing into a thin line. And that expression tells me something. Whatever is going on, Gio doesn’t approve of it. He backs away and the door slams shut.
What would Nero be doing that Gio doesn’t like? That’s a stupid question. Everything. Nero is the mafia bad boy, bound by no sense of honor or duty, whereas Gio is the polar opposite. He’s all about duty and loyalty. He just happens to be loyal to Nero.
Option one, Nero is going against the rest of the mafia and Gio doesn’t like it. Option two, Nero is going against me. The mafia are all about their women and children, so it stands to reason, Gio wouldn’t like that either. Fuck, I don’t know. I’m stuck here, trying to analyse the ethics of men who have none and hoping that the most soulless of them all is trying to help me instead of kill me.
5
Una
I don’t know how long I’ve been in this room, but it’s definitely been several days. Every so often Gio and Tommy come in here and give me food—always with a gun pointed in my direction. The longer this goes on, the more suspicious I become. I’m being held like a prisoner. Arnaldo might be out of the picture, but the Italians still want me dead. Probably even more so now, so, it stands to reason that Nero’s loyalties have swayed in their direction. The longer I’m kept here, the more convinced I am that he’s against me. It’s just a matter of time before he hands me o
ver to their new boss. Nicholai might have enough power to get me out of it, but he’s the last person I want to save me for various reasons. I’d sooner take my chances with the Italians. At least they protect children rather than turn them into soldiers.
By the time Gio comes in with food, I’m done. He holds the pistol up and I narrow my eyes at him. One of the guys I don’t know brings food into the room, but instead of standing at a distance like I have done, I charge him. I’m taking a chance here. I don’t think he has it in him to shoot a pregnant woman. He’d shoot me without a second thought, but carrying Nero’s child? I very much doubt it. It’s Gio after all. I fully expect him to have given them ‘no shoot’ orders.
“Una!” Gio shouts at me.
I throat punch the new guy and he chokes, clutching at his throat. I grab him around the neck and pull his body in front of me. “Damn it, Una,” Gio spits, glaring at me over the guy’s shoulder.
“I’m going to make this really easy for you, Gio. You can lead me to Nero, I can snap this guy’s neck, or I can take that gun from you and kill everyone in this house until I find that bastard.”
He inhales heavily, his eyes boring into mine. “Fine.” He turns away from me and walks out into the hallway.
“Walk,” I instruct the guy. He does, following behind Gio. We move up a set of stairs, and then through a door that leads into a hallway. A hallway I know all too well, because I was standing in it only a few days ago. “You have got to be shitting me,” I whisper under my breath. Arnaldo’s house. We’re in Arnaldo’s damn mansion? This is not good.
My eyes dart around the hallway and I notice two guys approaching us warily. Gio says something to them and they step to the side, pressing themselves against the walls on either side as we pass. I glance at one of them. Our eyes meet for the briefest of moments before I spot the gun tucked into a holster at his chest. I shove my body shield forward a step and he staggers, giving me the perfect opportunity to slam my knee between his legs. In the split second that his groans cause a distraction, I launch myself at the other guy, punching him in the temple hard enough that he sways on his feet. I catch him, wrap my arms around him, and yank both his guns from his chest holster. I’ve never felt so relieved to have a weapon in my hand. I feel whole again. Complete. Whirling around, I shove the guy to the ground and bring both guns up to face Gio and the remaining guy, both of who now have guns aimed at me.
I smirk. “We’ve been through this before, Gio. You can’t shoot me before I shoot you.”
His expression is set into a fierce scowl. “Drop the guns, Una.” I start inching back along the corridor.
“I don’t think I will.”
“We are not the enemy.”
I laugh. “Well, I fell an awful lot like a prisoner right now.”
“It’s for your own protection.”
I tilt my head to the side. “Protection from who?”
He huffs a deep breath. “Yourself mainly.”
“Nice try, but I haven’t seen Nero.” My eyebrows inch up. “And you better believe I don’t trust that bastard at the best of times.” Gio’s eyes shift just a fraction of an inch over my left shoulder, and I spin around, keeping one gun on him, while my other arm flies out to the other side at a one hundred and eighty-degree angle. Nero. Of course.
“You haven’t seen me, because I didn’t want to see you.” Nero looks fiercely powerful in a tailored suit. He’s perfect, not one single hair out of place. Those dark eyes meet mine, always swirling with such beautiful promises of blood and pain.My stomach clenches under his gaze. I fight my hammering pulse, forcing myself to focus. He is nothing more than a threat, a potential enemy. I point the gun at his beautiful face, my finger lingering over the trigger poised as though the weapon is a mere extension of myself.
“Trying to keep me prisoner? Big. Fucking. Mistake,” I growl. I hear the shift of footsteps behind me. “I do not need to look at you to shoot you, Gio,” I say quietly.
Nero’s lips twitch and he looks up at Gio. “Go,” he says.
“Boss…”
“Go!” he roars. I hear the shuffling of feet disappearing down the hall before a door closes. And then silence. Only he and I.
Now, I point both guns at him, my teeth clenched as I stare back at him. A strange sense of betrayal is slinking its way around me, squeezing until this horrible splintered feeling settles into my gut. He takes a slow step forward and I press the barrel of the gun against his forehead. I remember standing in this exact same position with him before—me with a gun to his head and him completely fearless. I was drawn to that confidence, fascinated by it. He instilled this wariness in me which I hadn’t felt in such a long time. He stares back at me with a cold indifference, a ruthlessness that makes my heart pound and my breaths shorten. That little fissure of fear calls to me, hypnotizes me. I force it all away, focusing on what needs to be done.
“Who is the new underboss?” I ask, needing this opportunity to gather information. I can no longer trust Nero, and that means getting what I can and getting the hell out of here.
“We need to talk.”
I huff a laugh. “You’ve had several days to talk to me. I’m afraid you’re shit out of luck, so answer my question. Who is coming for me now?” My gaze darts nervously to the doors I can see. This is taking too long. I feel wildly out of control and I don’t like it at all.
“No one is coming for you. You killed Arnaldo.”
“Exactly,” I snap. “The mafia are like rats. Kill one and two more pop up in his place.”
“Una.” His hand slowly rises and covers mine. Some of the iciness shifts from his eyes and is replaced by something familiar yet no less dangerous. I allow him to push my hand down until the gun lingers at my side. I suddenly feel exhausted. Months on the run have taken their toll, and sometimes it feels like it’s never going to end. I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, fighting back the fatigue and the sense of betrayal laced with this strange pain.
“I’m the new underboss,” he says quietly. “No one will hurt you.”
My eyes snap open. “What the fuck?”
6
Nero
She’s so fierce. So fucking beautiful. Her once white-blonde hair is dyed a dull brown and I don’t like it. It makes her seem so much less than what she really is: extraordinary. She looks tired and thin. Her face is drawn with dark circles lingering below her eyes. And, of course, she’s pregnant. I thought nothing could shock me these days. I was wrong. A thousand questions are still running through my mind like a goddamn marching band, and yet, I’m strangely numb, disconnected from it.
She’s been locked in the basement for the last three days because I don’t know what the fuck to say to her. I’m pissed off that she ran, leaving with nothing more than a note as an explanation. She didn’t trust me to protect her from Arnaldo, or at least that’s what I thought. Only now I find her, and she’s knocked up. It has to be mine. Is that why she left, because she didn’t want to tell me? Fuck! And then, a whole new channel of questions starts. Round and round it goes, but always accompanied by this constant anger.
She follows me into one of the living rooms of the mansion and I go to the corner, pouring out a glass of scotch. I’m about to hand it to her when I hesitate. Pregnant. I drink the whole thing myself. I need it.
She glances around the room nervously, still clutching both guns in her hands. She looks like she’s ready to kill everyone and bolt in the blink of an eye. I’m not letting her go anywhere.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” I ask. The question comes out sounding like an accusation. She takes a seat and crosses her legs, leaning back against the sofa cushions. She’s still wearing only a tank top and a pair of shorts, and my eyes follow the length of her long, tanned legs before pausing on her stomach. “I had a right to know.”
She raises an eyebrow, pressing her lips together in a thin line. “Why? So you could tell me to get rid of it? Or perhaps you’d like to play daddy of the year?” She tilts
her head to the side, her eyes narrowing.
She’s right. This was never part of any plan. What would I have said to her? “So instead you just up and run? You thought: ‘Fuck it! I’m wanted by some of the most powerful people in the world, but I’ll leave myself completely unprotected while fucking pregnant!’?” I don’t even realize I’m shouting at her until I stop. The silence echoes around the room, interrupted only by the sound of my own heavy breaths. I never would have wanted this if she’d told me, but now it’s not an option. The idea of Arnaldo trying to kill her is bad enough, but I know Una can handle herself. Throw this into the situation though, and it’s very different.
“I’m always protected. Do not forget who I am,” she says, glaring at me.
Her defiance pisses me off. I close the space between us, leaning over and gripping the back of the couch beside her head. She lifts her chin, the corner of her lips curling. I grab her jaw with my free hand, squeezing hard as I tip her head back. Those strange violet eyes of hers meet mine, and the threat of violence swirls in the air like an impending storm. Fuck, I’ve missed this. I’ve missed her. After all, what is power without someone to constantly challenge it?
“I’m not the one who forgets.”
Her fingers wind around my wrist, her nails biting into my skin, and it’s here, with this unspoken war raging between us that I always want her the most. I want her brutality and her hate, her pain and her weakness, but most of all, I want her heart, her body, her soul. I want everything that she has to give, and I always will. Time and distance make no difference. She can’t outrun me. We are perfect in a way that only two people as volatile as us can be.
