Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  “Over a drink,” I say.

  “Tonight?”

  “Weren’t you going out with whatshisname?” I ask.

  She leans forward, supporting her elbows on the counter. “I’ll cancel. This is too good to postpone. You might change your mind. Has it got something to do with that wistful look you’ve had since you came back?”

  “I haven’t—” I start saying. “Hey. What look? My look is perfectly fine.”

  “Mm-hmm.” She raises her eyebrows and gives me a look telling me I’m not fooling her.

  “Fine. Maybe.”

  She claps her hands together and squeals. “I knew it!”

  I groan.

  “Is it a man?”

  “Tonight, Jayna.”

  “Wasska Lounge,” she says determinedly. “They’ve got the best Mojitos and that’s what we need.”

  I laugh. “It’s a nice enough spot. Also, don’t you know someone working there?” Now it’s my turn to give her a look.

  Jayna has the decency to blush. “Maybe.” She looks down, fiddling with a pen that lays in front of her, then she looks back up with a grin. I give her a meaningful glance and wiggle my eyebrows. She sticks her tongue out at me. I slap a hand over my mouth to stifle a laugh as I glance at an elderly couple who’s seen our not so appropriate interaction.

  We agree on a time and I return to my office for a few more hours of work. I sit at the white corner desk in the small room that is my workspace, juggling a large cup of coffee, with my laptop open before me. There are so many things I need to do, but my mind is blank. Despite living in the digital era there are still piles upon piles of paper on the desk. I shove them to the side and fall forward, laying my cheek on the cold, hard surface staring emptily in front of me. My heart pounds a heavy rhythm of loss. Thud. Thud. Thud.

  Wasska Lounge is dimly lit with multicolored lights hanging from the high ceiling. It’s happy hour and fairly crowded. I hesitate but Jayna plows through the throng of people and finds us seats. I sink down on the couch and move a bunch of colorful pillows out of the way. Jayna doesn’t even have to wave for a waiter, when they see her one of them comes right up.

  “Two of your strongest Mojitos, babe.” Jayna knows all the right people. She’s got self-confidence, a row of admirers, a body to die for, and that zest to her personality you can’t learn, either you have it, or you don’t. She seems superficial, but once you’re in her circle she’s a fiercely loyal friend.

  I open my mouth to protest against the drink but think better of it. I’m going to need it.

  She focuses her attention back at me, tents her fingers and drums the fingertips against each other. “Now tell me everything. You met a man.”

  I purse my lips and look at her. How much can I tell? Why not all of it? Maybe leaving out the explicit details, they are for my own nightly fantasies. It’s been a week. A week of torture. I’m so unsatisfied I’m about to implode. Not only did I get used to the most amazing sex of my life, but there was also his attention, how he so obviously wanted me. It’s not fair it had to end.

  “It began on the plane.”

  She gasps. “You slut.” Her eyes go wide with mock surprise.

  “No. It began when I’d just entered the airport. Or actually, the night before, at a club in New York.” I stick out my tongue at her and immediately think of him catching it in his mouth. I squirm. This is going to be a pain.

  I tell Jayna almost everything. I even tell her that I think he didn’t exactly do normal legal business. Her eyes grow wide. From her reaction I hesitate to tell her about the battered body of James Fintan. My heart pounds as I think about it.

  “I think—” I lick my lips nervously. “I don’t think he was ever going to hurt me. But I think he was a dangerous man.” That’s the understatement of the year. But I hesitate to let it all out.

  “Do you miss him?” she asks and frowns. She looks so serious that something inside me twists with worry. I open my mouth to respond, but she interrupts me. “It’s obvious you do. I’ve never seen you so tormented before. You have this weird aura of happiness and misery at the same time.” She gestures, forming an invisible circle around me.

  I ponder how to answer, but she interrupts me again.

  “Want me to be blunt?”

  I frown and nod.

  “I think you dodged a bullet, Sydney. Sure, he was fun those few days, but a man like that—it wouldn’t last.” She grimaces and hesitates before she continues. “He’d break your heart. If he didn’t break your neck first.”

  “What?”

  “Don’t fool yourself, babes. If he’s what you think he is, there’s no way he’d have kept the facade up in the long run. He’d be dangerous to you too.”

  I swallow to get rid of the lump in my throat. I want to object. I want to tell her she’s wrong. But I’ve skirted the thought myself, haven’t I? Our eyes are locked for a long time. “We had something,” I whisper. “We had good moments.”

  She sighs a little, her eyes softening. Reaching for me across the table she takes my hand in hers. “Of course you had something. You had more passion between you than many people get to experience in their lifetime. And all that crammed into a few days on a romantic island where you had time off and could just relax and let it engulf you. Nothing came in between. No nagging friends. No work demanding your attention. No car that needs service. Nothing. It is huge. It wreaks havoc with a woman’s emotions. It feels like love.” She squeezes my hand. “I know. But Syd, it isn’t. It’s magic, an illusion, a chimera.”

  I don’t like my friend in this moment. It’s too harsh. Too true.

  Jayna reads me like an open book. “Don’t shoot the messenger, babes. And it’s your life. I just want you to be safe. “

  I wince. “I know.”

  She cocks her head and glances at me from under her fiery red bangs. Her eyes are dark in this light, even though I know they are an unusual shade of golden green. We hold each other’s gazes for a few moments. “We cool?” she asks.

  I stand and walk around the table, taking her in my arms. “Of course we are. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’ll always listen to your advice.”

  “Aww, sweetie.” She gestures to our almost empty glasses. “More?”

  “Definitely.”

  My beautiful friend half-stands and makes eye contact with the bartender. I don’t know what look he gives her, but she blushes, then indicates to our glasses. I follow the interaction with interest, turning to look at the young slender man behind the counter, then back to Jayna.

  “Is that so?”

  “Mmmaybe…” She laughs and I fall in. The rest of the night is spent in a better mood and with a few more Mojitos. They make them very good at Wasska.

  But I can’t drink him away. Nathan burns in me.

  Days pile upon days. Life goes on. I wake up, go to work, eat, sleep. Rinse and repeat. I remember thinking how I’d come home another Sydney, bringing with me all these impressions, the people, food, wine, sand, and sun. It turns out that life eats away at the best intentions and one day I realize I’m the same old me again. I move between my apartment, the hotel, the gym, my father’s, the occasional bar. My life is back to normal. A new normal, with a gaping hole in my heart, but still, it could be worse. I could be dead.

  Chapter 22

  Nathan

  No one’s been in my second home, my condo in Cancun, Mexico since I last set foot here several months ago. It smells of old dust, sweaty socks, rubber, and something rotten. I don’t have anyone taking care of this place when I’m not here. I should probably do something about that. Dropping my meager luggage on the floor inside the front door, I stride through the room and unlock the large glass doors to the patio, pushing them apart, opening up the whole wall. The sound of waves slamming against the cliffs, seagulls shrieking joyously, and the taste of salt in the air immediately permeate my senses. I inhale that sense of peace I always seem to find here.

  The la
st look on Sydney’s face yesterday plays on repeat. In her big green eyes there was nothing but true fear, disgust. She saw the real me, the monster. There’s no coming back from that. I may have saved her, but I probably also scared her almost as much as he did. I push away whatever emotions try to slither to the surface, harden myself, and go back to uncaring. My knuckles are sore, my lip is swollen, but it’s nothing compared to the profound fear I felt when I heard her screams of anguish over the phone.

  I was just about to enter my building when I got the frantic call. That’s the kind of luck you get once in your life. I kicked in her door three minutes later.

  Calling Alexei, telling him I was done, I then left the island on the next flight out. I fled the Heaven and Hell this journey turned out to be, more seriously than ever questioning my future.

  Closing my heart, shoving the memories to the back of my mind, I return to the present. My first mission is to find the source of the rotten smell. Kitchen is the most likely place, so I go explore the brightly lit, already too hot, space. The cupboards are painted in a pale yellow. I did that a few years back when I had a bout of inspiration and some time off. The floors through the whole condo are dark brown wood which goes very well with the white plastered walls and the dark tie beams in the ceiling. The fridge is empty. My stomach growls and reminds me that I haven’t had breakfast. Not even coffee. I check the garbage bin under the sink, recoiling from the foul stench. Guess I found the perpetrator. I tie the plastic bag tightly and carry it out, dropping it in the larger bin on the sidewalk, nodding at an old woman before I disappear back inside. Grabbing my bag, I make my way to the only other room in my little house: the bedroom. The bed is neatly made but the air is stale. I open the window wide and secure it, then I start unpacking, first and foremost putting my two suits on hangers in the closet. The fabric is wrinkled and soiled. Realizing that’s blood from two dead men, I hang them on the door instead. A dry cleaner will need to take care of that

  My head spins. Go buy breakfast, or sleep? The only sleep I’ve had was on the plane. I haven’t eaten since last night. I sigh and decide for the bathroom first, sleep for an hour, then replenish my stores.

  Enrique at the local store greets me happily. His English is good. We’re in a tourist resort after all. “Señor Russo. Long time no seen. How are you? Back to our little village then? Do you plan on diving? I know someone who has been dying to see you. Fridge empty? What can I get you?”

  “Alejandro in the mood for some diving?” I ask.

  Enrique nods eagerly. “Yes, yes. He’s been asking about you, but I keep telling him that no one never knows when Señor Russo shows up. He has to learn patience. He’s like a little kid still.”

  Alejandro is Enrique’s teenaged son. We’ve been diving buds for the last five years. He’s good. With his autism he’s not very talkative which is a blessing. He’s also very clever and I’ll be paying for a scholarship to a university of his choice when it’s time in a little over a year from now.

  “How’s business, Enrique? Tourists still coming?”

  “Ah.” He cocks his head and makes a face. “There’s a war, Señor. A war. It scares the tourists away. It’s no good.”

  “Cartels?” I ask.

  He nods. Then he lowers his voice as he looks around, even though no one’s in the store. “People disappear. People are afraid.”

  I frown. “That’s not good.” We look at each other for a few moments, then I gesture toward the depth of the store and pick up a basket. While I buy what I need to rectify the food situation in my house I think about what implications this might have on my life here. I don’t like complicated. My life can be pretty messed up. When I’m here I want peace. Actually, all I want is peace from now on. Salvatore can go fuck himself. I’m done with this shit.

  I pay and shake hands with the store owner, telling him I’ll go see his kid tomorrow. I can’t wait to get into the deep blue.

  Stuffing the fridge, I cut the bread and a piece of cheese. With a beer in my hand I then go sit on my patio. The sun shade is huge. It takes some effort to pull it all the way out. It shades the whole tiled area on the back of my house, and it’s needed in the relentless sun. If I don’t take care, I’ll look like a beet. Not a pretty sight. I unfold the rattan lounge chairs and fall into one of them.

  The breeze is warm and brings with it scents of flowers. The air is easy to breathe. Life is good here. I think yet again on settling. I’m tired of the violence and the gore, of living in the shadows. The feeling has overwhelmed me the last few days. The fuck-up with the flower girl, the man I beat to death. The contrast between me and the beautiful woman I met couldn’t be greater. She saw me at my worst, and I scared her. All she saw in the end was the blood on my hands.

  I’m not a good man, and she is an innocent.

  I wonder if she would like it here? Would she want to sit here with me, overlooking the ocean, drinking her coffee? Would she want to get to know my neighbors? Have a barbecue with them in the evening and listen to the guitars and the songs? Lie tied up in my bed, breathless with need as I take her body, claim her whole being?

  I don’t know her. I don’t know what kind of life she lives. What makes her happy? What’s her favorite food? All I know is how to make her tremble with want.

  And fear.

  Why would she want to spend time with me? Why do I even think about pulling her into mobster life? I think of all the brutal men in my world, and how women are treated. Why the fuck would I put her through that for my own selfish reasons?

  An image of her floats in my head, sated, naked on my bed, a small smile playing on her lips. I can be selfish, can’t I? Would it be so fucking bad?

  Sydney

  One day I realize it’s been four weeks. It hits me hard. We have a cheery young couple at the front desk, waiting for us to finish up their booking. She’s my age, blonde. He’s a head taller than her, dark, slim and very handsome. There’s something about them that reminds me of me and Nathan. Except there never was a ‘me and Nathan’. Jealousy strikes me when I look at them. I wish I had what they have. Why does life do this to me?

  After work that day I don’t walk to my car. I walk in the opposite direction. To the long Miami beach. When I reach the broad stretch of rich, fine-grain sand, I take off my high heeled work shoes, hold them in one hand and start walking. I have to steer between children with balloons, strolling couples, joggers, teens selling ice cream and soda. I buy a bottle of water from one of them, and then I keep walking. I don’t have a goal. This beach ends somewhere up at Fort Lauderdale, or probably even further north. I’ll have to turn around before I reach that, or I’ll be walking until tomorrow.

  Thinking about it, it suddenly doesn’t sound too bad. But it isn’t safe for a woman to be out alone late. Unfortunately. I wonder how safe I would be with Nathan by my side. Probably very safe. At least from other predators. Other? Am I thinking of him as a predator?

  Is Jayna right that I dodged a bullet? Or is my heart right that tells me that deep inside he is a decent human being despite what I saw? I’ll never know.

  The thought makes me suddenly double over from a stab of pain. I can’t change the past. He’s gone and there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it. I tried his phone number, but it was no longer in use, and I never thought it would be that easy. I tried to look up the name Nathan Russo. But I found no one. Of course, finding people somewhere in the US isn’t easy and the systems aren’t very reliable. I dismissed the project, until the itch got too bad. Jayna knows a detective. Of course she does. Someone she dated at some point. One of the magical things about my friend is that she stays friends with her exes, and somehow, they keep worshipping the ground beneath her feet. So she asked her contact for me. We laughed at her actually getting to use the cliché ‘asking for a friend’. He came up with seventeen Nathan Russos across the States, but none of them fit the description even in the slightest. Then there was one Nathaniel Russo, born in Chicago, addresses in New
York, San Francisco, and Las Vegas. There was a lot of other information as well, that I couldn’t bear to look at. It scared me. As if he would know somehow that I was snooping. I shook my head and said it wasn’t him either. I barely remember how I got home, my stomach clenched up, short of breath. He’s filthy rich. How does he make that kind of money?

  I don’t want to know. Not my problem.

  I drop my shoes and sit, hugging my legs. The sand is hot. The sky is clear, but there’s a heaviness to the atmosphere like before a thunderstorm, a vague scent of ozone in the salty air. Staring at the never-ending ocean before me I wonder if he sees it too in this very moment. Or is he in some crowded dusty city somewhere? Is he here or abroad?

  I pick up my phone, burning to talk to someone, but I don’t know who to call. My fingers find Jesse on the contact list, almost on their own accord. I don’t know him that well. Not well enough to pour my pain over him. I don’t even know why I’m calling.

  “Yeah?”

  “Jesse? It’s me, Sydney.”

  “Bebe! Again? I feel popular. What brings me the honor? Wanna go for another round?”

  I laugh, loving his carefree tone. “I’m in Miami.”

  “Oh my fucking God, get out of that hell hole.”

  “Jesse. What made you dare to… let go?” I wince. That sounds so wrong.

  “What? I was never in the closet, love.”

  “No, I don’t mean that, I mean, you dress like no one else, you go-go dance, you study freaking law in the daytime. What makes you dare to let loose?”

  “Aha. Not sure I can help you there. I was never like the other kids in school.”

  Yeah, I know this. The hope that he was carrying some secret is squashed. “Jesse… what would you do if you were me?”

  “Sydney! I thought you’d never ask. All right. You need to stop trying to please everybody, especially them crazy-ass parents of yours. You’re nothing like ‘em, you know it. You were never meant for that kind of stuck-up life. There’s a fire in you. Don’t put it out, pour some gasoline on it instead.”