by Lovell, LP
Cesare moves over to his desk, taking a seat on it as he opens a metal box. He takes out a cigar and places it between his lips, lighting it slowly. His lighter snaps shut and the silence that follows is intense.“You would betray me, the family, for this woman?” Cesare asks, his eyes firmly fixed on Nero.
“You may have turned your back on your child and the woman you loved, but I will not do the same.”
Cesare’s eyebrows shoot up before pulling into a deep frown. “And you will risk your position, your name, your life for this?” His eyes flick to me and I know, he already knows the answer.
“If I have to, then yes,” Nero says.
I can’t let him risk everything and I can see Cesare is right on the fine edge. “Nero…” I start.
He flashes me a warning look. “I see why you respect her,” Cesare says, narrowing his eyes at me. “She hones you, like the sharpened edge of a blade. You are more dangerous with her.”
“We can remove the Russians,” Nero says.
“You may not like me, Cesare, but I am invested in ending Nicholai. While he is alive, he will pursue me. I know everything there is to know about him. I am perhaps the only person capable of killing him. You’d do well to view me as an ally.”
He takes another slow inhale of his cigar and the thick smoke winds around the room. “Fine. You do this, Una Ivanov, and the mafia will not accept you, but…” He trails off as though speaking the words pains him. “I will ensure that they tolerate you. Fail…”
“If I fail, I die.”
He nods slowly. I get up and walk towards the door. “Morte, give me a moment,” Nero says.
Wordlessly, I step outside and brace my back against the wall in the hallway. I release a long breath and close my eyes. I miss the days when life was simple. Orders, kills, money. Nothing more, nothing less. There is a certain freedom in having no freedom because you don’t have to think. My only thoughts were my next kill, the execution of it, the getaway. My job, my purpose, consumed every waking hour, and I lived for it, until this. I glance down at my stomach which looks like I swallowed a melon. Whoever could have predicted this? In a few short months, Nero turned my whole world on its head, and here we are, blackmailing one mob boss and plotting to kill another. This life is harder and yet easier, because Nero bears the burden with me. I’ve never had that, and I’m not sure whether it’s just setting myself up for failure, but for once, I’m going to do something, not because it’s rational or strategically wise. I’m going to do this with Nero despite my brain telling me we can’t possibly win, because my heart hopes that we can. The heart is a fragile and unreliable thing.
He walks out of the office a few minutes later, pulling the door closed behind him. “Well, I didn’t hear any shots.” I study him. “And seeing as you insist on wearing white shirts…no blood.”
His lips twist in a smirk that’s both sexy and unsettling. “The old man’s not dead yet.” We walk along the hall and down the stairs, encountering no one on our way out.
“Shame.” He shakes his head. “Isn’t this place supposed to be well guarded?” I ask.
“Oh, they’re watching. They’re just subtle about it,” he says, placing his hand on the small of my back as he guides me through the front door. We’re in the car before he releases a breath and drags both hands through his hair.
“I don’t know why you don’t just slit his throat and be done with it.” I huff. Cesare does not have what it takes to do what must be done. He is the boss, and I have no doubt he is respected in the mafia, but things need to change. Nicholai has spent years taking and training children all because no one would step in and stop him, and why? Politics. An easy life. No one wants a war. I learned early on that a man can kill in cold blood, and it’s no hardship, but until he does things he doesn’t want to do, crosses lines that should never be crossed, he has not truly been tested. Life is hard and ugly, and it takes hard and ugly men to rule it. Cesare is a strong leader to those who share his values. Nero has the ability to lead even those who would loathe him out of sheer respect and disciplined fear. That is what it takes to be the king of New York. Nero should take the crown from Cesare’s cold, dead body.
“Politics, Morte. All in good time.”
“Fucking Italians.”
He laughs. “Life with you is always interesting, my savage little queen.”
“My life was simple before you dragged me into yours. Kill, eat, sleep, repeat. I meet you and I’m rogue and knocked up within weeks,” I grumble. “I haven’t even killed anyone in weeks, Nero.”
“Okay, but I think that if we work it out to an average, you’re probably over your yearly quota.” He cocks a brow and I glare. “Anyway…we now have what we need from Cesare. We take out Nicholai, come back to New York and we’ll have the political protection. The Slovo can take the fall…”
“And we’ll live happily ever after,” I drawl, snorting.
“Is there such a thing when I’m with a woman who gets death withdrawal?” He grins. I say nothing and he starts the engine, pulling away from the curb. “Look, I have to go and handle something this afternoon. It might involve roughing some Albanians up a little if you want to come?”
I fight a smile. “Are you inviting me along to beat up dodgy drug dealers with you?” His gaze remains fixed on the road as he takes an audible breath, no doubt praying for patience. “How romantic,” I tease.
“Fine. I’ll take you home,” he says.
“As it happens, I’m partial to your romantic gestures, capo. Whose knee caps are we smashing?” His lips pull into a smile, and I wonder if this is what it’s like to be normal. Well, almost. He drops the sports car down a gear and we cruise away from the city, heading towards the Bronx.
18
Nero
I pull up to the old shipping warehouse on the outskirts of the Bronx. 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 to the rundown areas 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. I drive inside, and as my eyes adjust to the light, I see Gio leaning against the hood of his Aston Martin, arms folded across his chest as he watches the scene before him. Two guys stand there, fierce scowls on their faces. Jackson stands behind them, a gun in each hand pointed at their backs. The rest of Jackson’s team are spread out around the empty warehouse, guns in hand.
I get out of the car and go to the trunk, grabbing a metal baseball bat. I close the trunk and throw the bat to Una who snatches it out of the air as she closes the door with her hip. 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 bat easily. “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. I snap the lighter shut and inhale a long draw, holding the smoke deep in my lungs as I tip my head back.
“He’s such a drama queen,” Una says under her breath and I release the smoke into the air, twisting my neck towards her. A wry smile pulls at the corner of her lips and she lifts one eyebrow, daring me, challenging. She just loves to fu
cking 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.” I drop to a crouch, resting one arm casually over my thigh as I inhale on my cigarette. I toss it towards the young one and he flinches, making me smile. “And you know what that means, boys?” They both look at me blankly. “That means you’re in serious shit.” I stand up again, walking away from them. My eyes lock with Una’s. “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, twirling the bat as she walks to my side.
“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 just a filthy habit.” She strides away from me, her 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 say, smiling. 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 I watch him break with every blow she lays on the other guy as if it were him. She smashes his knee caps, as promised, breaks both his arms, in several places, his cheek bone, but not his jaw. Good girl.
“You know you two are sick?” Gio says beside me, watching.
“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 before he speaks. The silence is permeated 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,” I say quietly.
“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 and I follow his gaze. She 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, boss.”
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 demeanour changes. She smiles sweetly and gets off him. She stands over him, blood-covered baseball bat in hand, her blonde hair loose around her shoulders, and the blood-spattered dress covering her baby bump.
“Did he tell you?” I say without moving.
“No.” She slides her skirt up and I bite my lip as she flashes her entire thigh. She 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.” She shrugs.
“Cesare should consider himself lucky then,” I say under my breath.
“Fucking hell,” Gio says. Jackson strolls over and stands beside me. I barely see him anymore, since I made him capo in my place. His violent disposition makes him perfect for the job, and I know he’s unfailingly loyal to me.
“I think I might need a Russian woman,” he says.
I bob my head to the side. “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 says, pushing off the hood and waving his 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. My fists clench and red hot heat fires up my back.
“Morte,” I growl through gritted teeth. She flashes a look at me 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,” she says.
“That fucking Columbian,” Jackson spits. “What are we doing 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, and I hear his car door open and close.
Una smirks, stepping between my legs. Her hand wraps around the back of my neck and she brings her lips barely an inch from mine. Her other hand glides up my chest, beneath my jacket. Her vanilla and gun oil scent mixes with the metallic tang of blood, dancing along her skin. “Never,” she says, pressing her lips to mine. Her tongue strokes across my lip, and I barely even acknowledge that she’s taken my gun until I hear the bang. I pull away from her, and she’s holding the smoking gun out behind her, even as her gaze is firmly locked on me. 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 car, opening the door for her. My eyes fix on her ass as she moves past me and slides into the smooth leather seat. I always want to fuck her, but damn, 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 back in the car she hands me my gun, I tuck it back in the holster. “Feeling better?” I ask.
She smiles, leaning over the center console and placing a kiss on my cheek. “Much. Thank you. Who knew you were so good at first dates?”
I laugh. “Technically killing my brother was our first date.”
“Yes, because I’m sure that’s how they start every great love story, Nero.”
I smirk. “And they say romance is dead.”
19
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, b
uried feet below the earth in the snowy deserted woodland of Russia. It 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, casting light from the hallway across the carpet. I watch Nero’s silhouette as he undresses, throwing his 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. I roll over, reaching 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.
Leaning in, he kisses my forehead, allowing his lips to linger for a beat and then 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,” I say against his skin. My fingers trail up his back, feeling over the hard muscles.
He says nothing for long moments. “He’s just biding his time, probably waiting to see what we’ll do.”
