by LP Lovell
“I want to talk to her.” She sounds tired, almost hopeless, and it annoys me, because she doesn’t get to give up. She doesn’t get to be anything other than the indestructible force I know her to be.
“Come on.” I walk us out of the kitchen and close the door behind her. A few of my soldiers linger in the hallway. Una drops her face to the ground as we walk past them. Maybe it’s habit, years of hiding her face and not wanting to be recognized, but she can’t hide from them. They’re my men.
The dogs follow us into the office and I close the door, taking a seat behind the desk. Una perches on the edge of the desk, my oversized tracksuit bottoms dangling over her feet. She looks so delicate wearing my clothes, her stomach subtly protruding in front of her, but her body language sings a different song. Her shoulders are tense, her eyes surveying everything and taking in minute details. The way she sits appears casual, but every muscle is rigid, primed. I put the office phone on loud speaker and call Rafael. He picks up on the third ring. “Nero, you crazy motherfucker. How are you?” He greets in his heavy Spanish accent.
My lips twitch. I’m fond of Rafael, but he’s bordering on insane. His loyalties are solid, which is why I sent Anna to him. And despite the fact that he’s unhinged, his reputation is enough to keep others away from him, and in turn, her. “Good. I need to speak to Anna.”
There’s a pause. “Nero, my friend. I love that you slaughter the villagers and kill their dogs,” he rambles in that distracted way of his, “but I’m not sure little Anna is ready to speak to you.”
“It wasn’t a request, Rafael.”
He laughs, long and hard, until Una leans over, growling over the phone. “Listen, you malparido.” Subtle as always. “Put my sister on the line before I come to your shithole town myself and shove my gun down your throat.”
He laughs again. “Is that your way of flirting with me, Ángel de la muerte?”
Una sighs, turning her fierce gaze on me. “Her foreplay tends to involve knives, Rafael. Now, get Anna.”
He laughs, and then, the line goes silent for a few moments. I stand up to leave, but Una’s hand shoots out, grabbing my forearm. We both glance down at the spot where her hand is locked on my wrist, and I don’t know who’s more shocked, me or her.
“What if…what if she doesn’t remember?” she whispers in a rare show of vulnerability.
“She’ll remember, Morte. You’re family.”
She squeezes her eyes shut and swallows heavily. Her hand slips from my arm as she nods her head once. I grip her chin and tilt her face back, placing a hard kiss on her lips before I leave the office. Zeus follows me, but George stays with Una. The second I step out of the office, Gio is next to me. “You know she’s going to run at some point, right?” he says.
“I know. Make sure the men are ready.”
He nods and peels away. Gio organizes everything so I don’t have to. And of course, right now, I’m busy with Una. I know she wants to make sure I never see that baby, and maybe it’s wise, but I don’t fucking care. She’s going to run, and I’ll be ready for her, but I’ve learned never to underestimate Una. You can never have enough men, enough fire power, or enough back up plans when it comes to that woman. Add in the fact that causing her any harm is out of the question, and I’m on edge, terrified she’s going to slip away from me. If I lose her now, she’ll be nothing more than a whisper on the wind. I’ll never find her, and certainly not before she has my baby.
9
Una
“Hello.” The small voice comes over the line, and my heart lets out an awkward, heavy thump. I have imagined so many times what I would say if I ever found her, and yet right now, I’ve got nothing. Not one word. My mouth opens and closes a few more times as I grapple with foreign emotions.
“Hey,” I finally manage.
Silence. I wonder if this is as hard for her as it is for me. But honestly, I hate this because I know what she went through. My life was no cakewalk, but Nicholai was right about one thing. He did make me strong. Anna was relegated to a life where she was continuously made to feel weak, day after day. Month after month.
“Thank you for helping me,” she says.
“I…you’re my sister,” I pause. “I looked for you.”
“I know. Rafael told me.”
Another long pause. “I will get you out of Mexico. I will. It’s just not safe right now.” I hate that I’ve managed to save her, but for what? So she can be a pawn to my enemies.
“I’m safe with Rafael.” There’s a softness to her voice, a fondness. I want to ask her if she’s okay, but of course she’s not. Anna will never be okay. This entire exchange is awkward because in reality we are complete strangers to one another.
“Okay. Well, I love you.” The words feel strange and cold on my tongue. Words I haven’t spoken since I pointed a gun at Alex’s head and pulled the trigger.
She says nothing, and then the line clicks off. I sit at Nero’s desk and grip the arms of his chair hard enough that my fingers start to throb. My emotions bubble over. A single tear tracks down my cheek, and I let it. A single tear for my sister. A single tear for all that we lost, all that was taken from us. A single tear for the fact that sheer fate put me here and her there, and what if our roles had been reversed? The irony is that I would never have survived her fate, and she might have ended up in the exact same place anyway. Because had I not fought that very fate so hard, Nicholai never would have pulled me out for training. I want to scream and cry at the world for being so cruel, for stripping us of family and a sense of belonging and making us nothing more than objects. Anna, a possession for nothing more than pleasure, and me, a weapon. We once were a family. We once had each other, loved each other unconditionally. I look down, resting my hand on my stomach. Unconditional love. What would that feel like? What would it look like? The unwarranted adoration of a child? That blinkered ability for someone so innocent to see you through rose-tinted glasses. Isn’t that the way I used to see Nicholai, as a savior? Until one day, I suddenly realised that my knight in shining armour was in fact the very monster I needed saving from. For a second, I picture Nero with a tiny baby in his arms, and then, in an instant, that image changes to a teenage boy, his father putting a gun in his hand and forcing him to shoot a boy chained to a wall in a cold, concrete room.
“Una.”
I blink and look up at Nero who’s standing right in front of me. I frown. My senses are getting sloppy as my emotions run amuck on me. His eyes drop to my hand on my stomach, and his lips press into a hard line. “You okay?”
I swipe at the tear clinging to my jaw and push to my feet. “Of course.” I’m always okay. I can’t afford not to be. Especially not now.
10
Nero
“You get that shipment here,” I say, “or I’m going to the Chinese.”
“Nero, you ask the impossible. The border…” Fuck me, is it too much to ask people to keep their fucking word?
“Tonight, Max.” I hang up the phone and lean back in my chair. Being the underboss comes with its own set of responsibilities, namely, lining the cartels pockets. If they don’t get their damn drugs to my city, how the fuck am I supposed to do that? The problem is, they don’t really care. Even when the problem is their end, excuses are unacceptable. Arnaldo played nice with them, but I don’t bend over for fucking anyone. I’ll take my trade elsewhere.
“Boss.” I sigh and glance up at Tommy standing in the doorway. “Uh, you have an unexpected meeting.”
I frown. “No, Tommy. Whoever the fuck it is, tell them to go away. Why the hell are you letting people past the gate anyway? We’re on lockdown. Get them out of here.”
“Well, now, that’s not a very warm welcome, is it?”
Tommy staggers out of the way as Cesare Ugoli strides past him. Three guys step into the room with him, positioning themselves in the corners. Cesare is in his late fifties, but he doesn’t look it. Despite his gray hair, there’s an edge to him, a quality that you just
know not to fuck with. He unfastens the button on his jacket, revealing a waistcoat beneath.
“Cesare,” I say.
He smirks. “Not, father?”
This thing between us is difficult. I don’t need him for anything other than power. His name holds weight and to be attached to it goes in my favour. Beyond that, I have no feelings towards the man. He left me to Matteo’s heavy fist. I don’t regret it. Una and I are the same in that sense—the pair of us recognize that we grew up in less than ideal conditions, but we also accept that it shaped us and made us strong. If a bad experience makes you stronger, was it really bad or simply educational? He steps towards me and I round the desk to greet him. He loosely embraces me, kissing my cheek. He’s old school, from the homeland. He still speaks with a heavy accent and follows the old customs.
“How can I help?” My tone is clipped. Honestly, I don’t have the time for niceties right now, and I don’t want him here while Una is around. He might be an old man, but he’s powerful, and Una did slaughter a lot of his countrymen when she killed Arnaldo. Of course, she doesn’t care about politics, and the second he calls her out, she’s likely to throw a knife at him. That’s all I fucking need.
“I hear whispers, Nero.” He steps back and settles into the chair across from my desk. He crosses one ankle over his knee, picking at a piece of lint on his pant leg.
“I wouldn’t put much stock in whispers.”
He smiles and looks up from beneath dark brows. “The Kiss of Death,” he says, and I still. “I hear she is your whore.”
I narrow my eyes and meet his gaze unflinchingly. I could lie. But I don’t want to. The mafia will not like Una, but she is what’s best for them, even if they can’t see it. An organization is only as strong as its leaders. Why have a housewife when you can have a queen? “She is mine,” I say.
His expression shutters but I see his jaw clench. “And you know what she has done?”
“I know she played into a plan.” A plan that he was all too aware of.
“I don’t recall any plan that involved twenty-one dead Italians,” he says. “Good men.”
“Casualties of war, father, courtesy of Arnaldo. What did he expect when he sent hit men after her?” I laugh. “She’s The Kiss of Death. He was never going to win that fight.”
“Arnaldo was a good man. Loyal.”
Ah, the bitter irony. “Arnaldo was allowing this organization to stagnate. Is that what you want? To become a relic of the past?”
He leans forward, the movement designed to be threatening. I meet his gaze unflinchingly. “I took a chance on you,” he says.
“And I took a chance on her. She’s loyal to me.” Sometimes I doubt Una, but when it really comes to it, when it’s all on the line, I trust her. She may pretend she’s a lone ranger, but I know I have her loyalty just as she has mine.
He sighs. “She is Russian. And she is one of the Elite.” He spits the word. “Ultimately her loyalty will be with Nicholai Ivanov. Always. She is a very dangerous risk at best. And even if you had her loyalty, you cannot marry her.”
“I’m aware of the customs.”
“You are of age. If you are to lead, you must find a good Italian woman.”
I throw my head back on a laugh. “With all due respect, I wouldn’t know what to do with a good woman.”
“Play with your whore, but do not forget your duty, Nero.” Because he did his duty so well, fucking a married woman and leaving her and her asshole husband to bring up the child.
I snap my eyes to his again, all trace of humor gone. “I am not a horse to be put to stud. This isn’t up for debate,” I say calmly. This could cost me everything, but I won’t sit here and act like Una is nothing more than easy pussy. Far from it. I had to work hard for that shit. “It’s time the mafia moved into a new age. A strong woman at my side will serve me far better than a subservient one in my bed.”
His face starts to redden, and even the men he brought with him start to fidget uncomfortably in the impending silence. “These are the sacrifices that must be made,” he says. “I know this more than anyone.”
I stare straight at him. “No.”
“No?” His eyebrows shoot up. “You will jeopardize your position, your respect, your culture, all for this woman?”
I push to my feet and round the desk. “If men respect me for the woman I fuck, they are not men whose loyalty or respect I need. Power is earned through deeds and strategy. They see Una as the enemy, but you and I know better.” I lift one eyebrow at him. He helped orchestrate the entire plan with Una, for him to shun her now for the very deeds he sanctioned…well, it’s very political of him. “If you wanted a puppet, you should have kept Arnaldo,” I say, lowering my voice. I rule with fear, and few are more feared than Una. She is like a fabled myth, a whisper on the wind, a tale told to scare children. Only she scares fully grown men. She strengthens our position, but perhaps he is so blinded by his traditions that he cannot see. This is a new world. Keeping women safe and protected is becoming an option we can no longer hold to because there are far too many bastards out there like me who don’t care for morals. Do I want the mother of my children to cower helplessly when presented with an enemy and wait for me to save her, or do I want Una to slaughter them where they stand? There is no choice. Let her be the example. Let her change the way the mafia thinks.
“She is not Italian,” he hisses.
“No, she’s not. Find me an Italian girl with her skill, her ferocity, and her loyalty, and I will consider her.” This is my bargain, because I know he cannot do it. The mafia do not permit their women to fight. And again, as much as the traditions hamper me, they also hamper him.
He pushes to his feet, tugging the material of his jacket tight and fastening the button. “I will be in touch.”
I escort him out because I don’t want him running into Una on the way out. The second the front door closes, she appears from the functioning kitchen, a tub of Nutella in her hand and a spoon sticking out of her mouth. She leans her shoulder against the doorframe and pulls the spoon from her mouth slowly, dragging her tongue over it. “Didn’t want to introduce me to daddy dearest?” she says sarcastically.
I struggle to tear my eyes from her mouth. A tiny smudge of the chocolate is on her upper lip and it’s driving me insane. “I don’t think that would be the safest move.”
“Worried he might try to shoot the bastard bearing baby mama?” Her lips tilt up and I go to her. She lifts her gaze to mine as I grab the back of her neck and pull her close. Leaning down, I kiss her, swiping my tongue over her top lip and catching the smudge of chocolate.
“Call my baby a bastard again, Morte. See what happens,” I breathe against her lips.
Her eyes fix mine. “Touchy,” she murmurs, her eyes narrowing. “Is it technically the child of a bastard, or have you changed that status?” She takes a small step back, biting down on her bottom lip.
“Oh, you just love to fucking push me.” I fist her hair and yank her head back hard. The jar in her hand hits the floor with a smash and she smiles like she just won the game. In a heartbeat, she brings a small knife to my throat, pressing it against my skin.
“Play nice,” she teases.
“We don’t do nice.”
She gets that violent glint in her eye. “No. We don’t,” she whispers as she slices the blade across my skin lightly. I feel the sting, followed by the warm trickle of blood.
“Ah, Morte.” I step forward, pushing her back into the room behind her. “I’m going to fucking break you,” I promise against her lips.
“So break me.”
She shouldn’t tempt fate.
11
Una
It’s been a week, a week of playing nice and behaving. I haven’t even killed a single person. I think I’m getting withdrawals. Nero is still Nero. He’s still an asshole and, luckily for me, it takes very little to piss him off. Without that, god knows what I’d do for entertainment locked in this damn house. He is dif
ferent though, more careful. I’m no longer the killer he hired, a disposable body. I’m the walking incubator. I joke, but I’m Una Ivanov and he’s treating me like his baby mama. With each passing day, my anger gets worse and it’s probably not helped by the hormones. And as the weeks pass, I will get bigger and bigger, less mobile. I have to be in a safe place for the last two months of this pregnancy because at that point, I can’t run. It needs to be now. He’s relaxed around me. Maybe he believes I won’t try anything. I stand in the bathroom, a towel wrapped around me as I stare at my foggy reflection in the mirror. I finally managed to get the brown dye out of my hair, although I’ll probably have to dye it again when I leave.
I watch as Nero steps into the bathroom and moves behind me. One hand wraps around my middle, resting over the bump. He’s getting bolder, more obvious in his intentions. I shift away from him and turn to face him.
“I have to go to a meeting in the city today,” he says, a small frown line marring his otherwise flawless face. He looks the image of ruthless grace in his tailored suit. His dark hair is messy, yet somehow styled. A loose curl hangs over his forehead as he tilts his face down to me.
“Uh, okay. I’m not your wife, Nero. You don’t have to tell me where you’re going.”
His lips pull up at one side. “I specifically remember a perfectly good jacket suffering a kitchen knife because I went to a meeting and left you in the apartment.”
“That was different.”
“The female mind is a wonder.” His eyes narrow. “Tell me, how so?”
“Well for one, I wasn’t like Moby Dick.” I point at my stomach and he laughs. “See, if I were your wife, you’d be too scared of me to laugh.”
“Oh, I’m scared of you, Morte.” I fold my arms over my chest and he smiles, reaching up and brushing his finger over my bottom lip. “But if you need me to do the romance thing…” He leans in close and skims his lips over my neck. My body ignites and I squeeze my legs together. “I want to fuck you so hard.”
