Page 7 of Loathe Me (Touch of Death 1)
Wordlessly. I walk past the three of them and head for the stairs that lead to the bedrooms.
“Sasha,” Nero barks at my back. “I have a job for you.”
I pause. “I don’t work for you.” I work with Una and for myself.
“It’s a contract. Gabriella’s sister, Adelina needs protection.” I turn around and find him looking at Gabriella. “As I’m sure you understand, I cannot directly protect your sister myself.” Of course, he won’t jeopardize his petty politics. I’m not sure how the mafia doesn’t tire of their incessant lines drawn in the sand. “I trust Sasha completely. He saved my son.” His gaze swings to mine, and he gives the slightest of nods. Mutual respect passes between us, but respect or not, I’m not a babysitter. “He comes at a price of course.”
“I can pay you. Anything.” Her voice is controlled, but her eyes plead with me to help her.
“Do you need someone dead?”
Her brow crumples on confusion. “No.”
“Then you have nothing to pay me for.” I walk away, making my way up the stairs. I pass Dante’s room and pause at the sound of his care-free laughter. Through the door, I can see the house-keeper, Margo sitting in the rocking chair, bouncing him on her knee. One of Nero’s Doberman’s, George waits dutifully, watching the child like a hawk.
“Oh, Sasha.” Margo spots me, and the older woman pushes out of the chair with a groan. “Will you watch him for a minute?” She thrusts the child into my arms and leaves the room.
Dante watches me in that uninhibited, fascinated way of his. His eyes are the same strange violet shade as Una’s, but he has Nero’s jet-black hair. Dante and I share a bond of sorts. He forced me to make a choice between my life of duty and what’s right. I chose him. The thought of him growing up the same way Una and I did made me realize that what was done to us was wrong. I don’t regret it. It made me strong. Honestly, I still miss it, but I’m glad Dante isn’t in that. I turned my back on the only life I’d ever known and chose Una. I chose the love I didn’t even realize I possessed for her until that moment. We were trained to be invincible, unwavering, and yet this child broke me free of shackles I couldn’t even see.
A floorboard creaks behind me, and I instinctively press Dante tightly to my chest, reaching for my gun as I whirl around. Nero leans against the doorframe with his hands shoved in his pockets and a smirk on his lips. “Una would have that gun to my head by now.”
“She’s faster.”
His eyes drop to his son, and the hard, implacable man disappears, replaced by a doting father. I lift Dante and hand him over to his father.
“That girl needs protection, Sasha. There’s no one better than you.”
“I’m an assassin, not a babysitter.”
He huffs a laugh. “Semantics. She just needs deadly.”
I frown. “Why do you care so much?” Nero cares about very little. His loyalties are frivolous and easily swayed to whoever benefits him in that exact moment.
“Her father was a dear friend to my mother. A good man,” he says, his gaze focused on his son. “He used to dote on those girls like the very world orbited them.”
“Who is Gabriella to you?” I cross my arms, and Nero meets my eyes as he inhales a deep breath. “She doesn’t look at you like a friend.”
“I loved her once.”
I swipe a hand down my face, blowing out a long breath. “You must not like her very much, anymore,” I say under my breath. If Una finds out… “Does Una know?”
He snorts. “I like my balls attached to my body, Sasha. Una doesn’t need to know everything, but I’m asking you to do this for me. You’ll be paid well. It’s like any other job.”
Except it isn’t, but Una clearly doesn’t tell him everything, either. Otherwise, he’d see the gaping conflict here. For once, Nero seems sincere, as though this actually means something to him. It’s rare for him to be invested in anyone other than the people under this roof or himself. He’s done a lot for me, given me a home, a family. It’s not as simple as just saying no. I owe him everything. And if I tell him why I shouldn’t do it, I might be dropping Una in it. She’s like a sister to me. I owe her even more than I do him. Shit.
“I owe you a debt,” I admit.
He shakes his head. “No, my friend. I owe you for bringing my son back. I can never repay that, but my position with the Sicilians is difficult. Italians can’t directly interfere in Sicilian affairs. To do so puts me in the crosshairs, and in turn, puts my family in jeopardy.”
