Kiss Me (Kiss of Death Book 2)

by LP Lovell

  “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, buried 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 bidding 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 manoeuvre 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. His 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. And 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 is like facing off two monsters and trying to pick the winner. I can’t.

  “Tell me,” I breathe.

  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.”

  He sighs, lifting his face from my chest and frowning at me. “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.” His hand glides over my stomach, as if I need the reminder. “Do you trust me?” he asks, releasing my mouth.

  “Yes,” I breathe.

  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.

  I sit up and wrap my hand 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. I allow that serenity to wrap around me for just a few short moments. I cling to him, wishing I never had to let go of this, but knowing I must. I stroke my hands 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 feel 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 as he moves, I see a patch of light on the far wall. Chained to the wall is Nero.

  “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. “Let him go.”

  Nicholai laughs. “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 gun, 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 dishevelled, his torso also covered in blood. He lifts his head slowly. His 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,” he says.

  “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. I hear the pounding of my pulse 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 sit 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 blink and swing my gaze to Nero who is sitting up next to me. He reaches out and 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 feel 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 heart beat and the brush of his fingers through my hair. I sleep soundly in the arms of my monster.

  20

  Nero

  I lean against the breakfast bar, clasping a cup of coffee in my hands. It’s early and orange-tinged light pours through the windows of the sky scraper, painting everything in a tranquil hue. I like this time in the morning, before the world stirs awake. It’s as if you’re the only person, embroiled in this serene moment of peace, a pause in time before the world starts spinning again and everything that exists in day-to-day life comes pouring back in. And this morning, I need this moment to think.

  I left Una in bed sleeping. She tossed and turned all night. Her nightmares haunted her well into the early hours. It’s been a while since she’s had one, but I guess the stress of Nicholai hunting her is forcing them to the surface again. She’s so fucking strong, but I see how broken she is. He did that to her. He made her lethal, and in many ways, he instilled all the traits I love in her, but for the first time in my life I’m starting to see that strength comes at a price. I want my child to be strong, but I would never want them to pay the price she has. And neither does she. This is what haunts her. I hear her words, I see her fight, but I also catch glimpses of the resignation in her eyes. I will win this war with that bastard one way or the other. He broke Una, but I will keep her. I will make her a queen to be feared by all except me. And he will never touch my child.

  “Boss.” I glance around to see Gio standing in the entrance of the kitchen. It’s not even six-thirty and he’s here, in my apartment, looking as sharp as ever. Doesn’t the guy sleep? Shit. “We have a small problem.”

  I jerk my head towards the door and he follows me to the living room. I take a seat on the couch and pick up a packet of cigarettes from the coffee table, placing one between my lips. He sits on the opposite couch and I slide the smokes across the table to him.

  “Ziggie,” he says simply.

  I frown as I light my cigarette, inhaling the satisfying smoke deep into my lungs. “What about him?”

  “Jackson went to pick up last night, and it was twenty grand light. He said he’ll pay it next week, but…” He lifts one eyebrow as he inhales on his smoke. Fucks sake. Ziggie works Brooklyn, runs a gang down there. For the most part, they’re nothing more than ghetto boys and addicts, but they make me good money. Ziggie somehow manages to organize them, a feat that not many could achieve. For that reason, he’s useful to me, but this is the second time he’s taken it upon himself to borrow fucking money. The problem with dogs like Ziggie is the second you take your heel off their throats, they bite you, even if you are the hand that feeds them. “Jackson roughed him up a bit, but well…you know what he did to him the first time.” Yeah, the first time Ziggie stole money Jackson broke both his legs. You’d think that would be an incentive not to have a repeat.

  “Okay, go and get him. Call me when you have him. I’ll handle it,” I say.

  Gio nods and pushes to his feet, stubbing out his cigarette in the ash tray. Fucking gang bangers. I don�
��t need this shit right now, but I have to handle it. I’m not about to let my city go to shit while I have the Russian breathing down our necks. Unfortunately, the world does keep turning, no matter what shit is going on.

  I go to the bedroom and push the door open. Una is sitting up in the bed, a phone pressed to her ear as she strokes George who’s curled up next to her. He cowers when he sees me and she frowns, wrapping her arms around his neck and kissing his head. That damn dog is so spoilt. She keeps talking, and I know it’s Anna. She wouldn’t call anyone else, and certainly not for idle chat. I think she’s trying to form a relationship with her, but I know it’s not easy for Una. She’s not someone who talks just for the sake of talking, and let’s be honest, she’s not exactly personable.

  I strip out of my t-shirt and workout pants. Her eyes rake over me and with a smirk, I push my boxers down and step out of them. She lifts one eyebrow, and I grin before walking into the bathroom to take a shower.

  When I step out of the shower cubicle, Una is leaning against the vanity, facing me with a toothbrush in her mouth. One of my t-shirts is brushing the tops of her thighs and her hair is pulled up into a messy knot. She’s struggling to keep her eyes up. I smile, yanking a towel from the shower door and slowly wrapping it around my hips. I move closer and lean around her, snagging my toothbrush. She turns around and spits in the sink before rinsing her mouth.

  “How’s Anna?” I ask, meeting her eyes in the mirror.

  She shrugs one shoulder. “Okay, I guess.”

  I squeeze toothpaste on the toothbrush and quickly kiss her neck. “Give her time,” I say. She nods, her expression sad, before she leaves the bathroom. I watch her leave, her ass barely covered by a t-shirt and lace underwear. Once I’ve brushed my teeth and trimmed my stubble, I go to the closet and dress in a suit.

  “I have to go handle something,” I say, glancing at Una sprawled on the bed.