Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  “Si?”

  “Mamá?”

  “Mija!”

  I burst into tears.

  We speak for a long time. Papá comes as well. I tell them everything I can, protecting them from everything they can’t know. I ask them about what my uncle said, and it turns out they never said anything like it. I can’t understand why he lied. Was it to prevent me from leaving when I got homesick? My heart hurts so much at the thought that I nearly choke. All this pain. All the hurt and loss, theirs, mine.

  Finally, I tell them about the little one.

  “Mamá. I have a son.”

  I have to hold the phone at some distance not to get my ear damaged from her shriek.

  “I want to call him David.”

  She goes quiet.

  “After Papá,” I add.

  “Will you come home?”

  “As soon as I can.”

  My father comes to the phone. “I would be honored, Carmen.”

  I have to wipe tears off my eyes. I have a family again. I hug my boy closer, pushing away the thoughts of the future. The thing I must focus on now is Lucas. I don’t know if I can ever see him again, but at least I can save his life.

  Chapter 23

  Lucas

  The barred gate slams shut behind me with a very final sound. I’ll never set foot outside again.

  The cuffs are off. I’m dressed in an orange jumpsuit, the legs and sleeves too short, and carry a towel and a toothbrush.

  I don’t move as I take in everyone in the room. There are ten cells lined up next to each other on each side, stairs, and more cells on the upper floor. In the center of the room are tables, couches and chairs. Everybody goes silent and stares at me for a few moments before they seem to lose interest and go back to whatever they were doing.

  No one appears to be a threat, but I guess I won’t see it coming.

  As I keep my eyes on the crowd, I make my way to cell seven. On the lower cot lies a fat old man with a gray mustache and only dirty strips of white hair on his head. He reeks of old sweat. Terrific.

  I cock my head in a greeting, then I toss my towel and toothbrush on the upper cot before I hop up and fall on my back. With my arms under my head, I stare at the chipped ceiling and wonder how many hours I have. Or will it be days? Weeks? I can’t help hoping for hours. Better to just get it over with than having to look over my shoulder every single moment, never knowing when the strike will fall.

  “What’re ya in for, son?”

  I jerk when I hear the raspy voice from below.

  “I thought you didn’t talk about that on the inside. Some code, or something.”

  He scoffs. “Indulge me.”

  Murder scene after murder scene run through my mind, all ending up with me prone on the floor with a gun to my head.

  “For being incredibly stupid.”

  He laughs. It sounds like his throat is trying to remember how. “Aren’t we all?”

  The first day nothing happens. I don’t get to go out on the yard. I’ve missed lunch and my stomach is in uproar when it’s time for dinner, which proves to be infamously disgusting. I always thought people were exaggerating. Maybe the food is better in prison, but I’ll never reach prison, so I won’t know.

  My body aches to exercise, but I hesitate to seek out the so-called gym. Lots of death traps in there. Instead I do hundreds of push-ups and sit-ups, and everything I can where I use only my bodyweight as leverage.

  The second day, I crawl all over. My cellmate doesn’t shower. He really fucking doesn’t shower. I can’t stay in here, so I make my way to the gym anyway. I grab the towel. Shower afterwards. Maybe it’ll be fast? I won’t go down without a fight, though. No fucking way in hell.

  I’m not alone. Three men are pumping away furiously, muscles bulging under extensive tattoos, wife beaters drenched in sweat, their jumpsuits tied around their waists. There’s not a lot of equipment. No fancy machines. A punching bag. Free weights. dumbbells, a couple of barbells and a pile of plates, all of them heavy. Nothing in here for newbies. The walls are discolored and could do with some new paint on the chipped pale-yellow shades.

  I grab a barbell and begin to load it as I study the three men out of the corner of my eye. None of them seem interested in me. None look Italian. There are two black guys, one with a body to die for, no joke, and one heavy-set, but clearly strong as an ox, and one pale guy with a clean-shaven head and red bushy eyebrows.

  I work hard, pushing myself to the limit, and past it, trying to rid myself of the pent-up energy, the adrenaline spikes that had never had their release, but just piled up in a knot of constant unease.

  I’m punching, and kicking the punching bag, when a draft hits my sweaty back. The remaining guy in the room looks up and begins to back away. Every sense stands on high alert as I spin around and dodge to the side, grabbing a dumbbell in one smooth move.

  I take a passive defensive stand as I take in the guy who has entered. My heart thuds even heavier than the exercise managed. It’s the dude from the holding cell yesterday, and he’s definitely out to get me.

  He gives me a glance, his black eyes flashing, then he cocks his head to the other guy to get lost. He doesn’t have to be told twice and scampers out of the room in a flash.

  I begin to work my biceps, up, down. Up, down, as I keep him in sight. He grabs a barbell. The same heavy one I used a little while ago.

  “You can tell Salvatore to go fuck himself,” I say, switching arms, taking a step to the side, putting the bench between us.

  Beginning a lift, as if he’s gonna pump it, he then swings around, aiming it for me in a slow, but lethal move. I jump back, my reflexes are well practiced.

  “Brave words from a dead man.” He retreats and circles the bench, making a stabbing motion with the barbell. It’s an impressive move because it’s heavy as fuck.

  “You gotta do a hell of a lot better than that, guinea,” I spit, tossing the insult in the hope it’ll piss him off.

  He barks out a laugh. “The fifties called. They want their slang back.”

  He jumps up on the bench and throws himself at me. I dance to the side as he swings the barbell again. Before he can break the momentum of the movement, I dart forward and slam the dumbbell to his temple, hearing a loud crack. Thirty pounds connecting with the thin bone does its job. The barbell slams to the floor and the hit man falls like a log.

  So fucking slow and stupid.

  Blood begins to pool under his head, forming a deep red, slowly growing puddle on the painted gray concrete floor. I don’t bother to check if he’s dead. Even if he survives, this particular guy won’t be a threat to me again.

  I drop the dumbbell, step over the body and leave the gym. I’ve given myself some respite, for better or worse. They’ll come at me again, and the next time there’ll be more than one guy.

  Carmen

  I jerk when my phone rings. It can be only one person. I hope, at least. Filled with suspicion, I tap to connect.

  “Yes?”

  “Carmen?”

  It’s matron’s voice. I sag with relief, but at the same time my blood starts tingling and an uncomfortable jittery feeling spreads through my body. Her calling can mean only one thing.

  “Yes.”

  “He’s open for discussion. I’ve got a number for you to call.”

  My knees nearly fold and I grab a kitchen chair, pulling it to me, slamming down on it as my pulse roars in my ears. I didn’t expect to be the one talking. I don’t want to talk to him!

  “Okay?” I say faintly.

  Matron begins to recite a number. “Wait!” I scramble to find pen and paper. “Go on.”

  “You need to talk to him. You need to sell it, honey. I tried to mediate this, but he only wanted to speak with you directly. I don’t have to tell you to be clever about this, do I?”

  I shake my head and realize she can’t see that. “No,” I croak, “you don’t.”

  “Good. Be careful. I’ll help in any way I
can.”

  “Thank you.”

  I disconnect, then I sit numb, my mouth dry as sandpaper. It feels like ants are crawling all over me. I dart up. I need to talk to someone, or I’ll go insane. Hesitating just a moment, I knock on Jane’s door. I always seem to wake her up these days, one drama after the other.

  There’s a drowsy mumble from inside, and I push the door open. “Can I come in? Please?”

  “Sure? Need me to open a door again?”

  “No, I need to talk, or I’ll implode.”

  “Get us some tea, sweetie, then you tell me what’s eating you.”

  When I get back with one steaming cup of hot and sweet coffee for me, and one cup of tea for Jane, I climb up in bed opposite her, cross my legs and grab a pillow, clutching it to my chest.

  “I haven’t told you everything. Have you heard of Luciano Salvatore?”

  After I’ve spilled everything to Jane, she’s horrified, but my heart is lighter. That afternoon, after having gathered as much courage as I possibly can, sniffed a little at the baby, and downed half a glass of wine, I take a bus to the other end of town.

  The old bar is nothing more than a hole in a wall, located a few steps down from street level. It’s dimly lit, dank, a smell of smoke lingering despite smoking being prohibited indoors since several years back. A couple of wizened old men, nurturing a bottle of beer each, sit by the bar and look up as I enter. I get the impression they’ve been here for so long they’ve merged with the stools.

  I have a hood over my head, pulled forward as far as I can to hide at least parts of my face. Catching the gaze of the bartender, I ask, “Got a phone?”

  He cocks his head. “Payphone in the back.”

  Perfect.

  “Thanks.”

  My nervousness spikes as I stand by the phone. It’s grimy, layers of dirt covering it where thousands of filthy hands have held it, and not something I would touch with a ten-foot pole under normal circumstances.

  But these aren’t normal circumstances.

  My hands tremble as I pull up the coins and put them on the little shelf next to me. Then I find the note and unfold it, inhaling deeply.

  This is killing me. I don’t want to talk to him. But then I think of Lucas and lift the receiver.

  “Yes?” A deep baritone, commanding.

  My throat clenches up. Oh fuck. I tremble so hard I can barely keep my grip on the phone. Come on, you silly girl, you’ve practiced this!

  “This is Carmen Moreno. I have a proposition for you.”

  “Young Carmen! My favorite girl! I’ve missed you. Where are you?” His voice is smooth as velvet, filled with honey and that underlying threat that he always oozes of.

  Wouldn’t you like to know, you piece of shit?

  “That’s irrelevant. I have something you want. You have something I want.”

  “So I was told. Now, how the fuck did that happen?”

  “Do I really have to educate you on the birds and the bees? You’re a grown-ass man, you figure it out.”

  “Still got that cocky mouth of yours.”

  I don’t answer.

  “So, Carmen, what makes you think I want what you have?”

  “We can hang up now, and I’ll find a nice family somewhere far away for your son.”

  It’s his turn to go quiet. I don’t speak either. My heart pounds in my throat. Please, please, please.

  Finally he speaks. “How do I know it’s mine? How do I know it’s not that puppy’s?”

  I scoff. “You’ll know. Trust me. He’s all yours. I think Elena can vouch for that.”

  “Oh, she did. She didn’t hesitate.”

  “Besides, you can do a paternity test. But I know, because you’re the only one who’s…”

  I swallow hard. I don’t want to talk about our interactions. I’ve tried to put the memories behind me.

  “Who’s what?”

  “Fuck it. You know.”

  He laughs his too-pleasant laugh. It’s not reasonable that a man like him should have such an attractive exterior, how he looks, sounds, smells, all of it, when he’s nothing but a monster.

  A monster I’m selling my son to.

  A boy that is his, I remind myself, a boy that will save Lucas. I nearly double over in pain.

  “Come to me, Carmen, and we will sort this.”

  “Dream on,” I spit. “We’re meeting on neutral ground, and you’re giving me Lucas. Get him off your hit list and get him out of jail.”

  “You know I can’t do that. He has committed murder. It’s out of my hands.”

  I scoff. “All right. Baby’s off for adoption then.” I’m not so sure anymore. But he doesn't know that.

  I hang up. I’m taking a huge risk. My palms are sweaty and I’m nauseous as I walk over to the bar.

  “Tequila. Three shots.”

  I grab the tray with the little glasses and go sit in a corner where no one needs to see my tears. I cry and try to numb the pain that spreads through my chest.

  Later that night five quick raps on the door announces a visitor. I’m not entirely surprised. I’m scared to death, though, that Salvatore will have learned of my whereabouts. Jane is out on the streets, so I force Alex to leave her customer hanging, causing a string of curses from both of them. I grab David and climb out on the fire escape, my heart in my throat.

  When Elena sticks out her head through the window, I exhale with relief.

  “Tell me you’re alone,” I whisper.

  She reaches for me. “I’ll die keeping your secret. I’m so fed up with his behavior.”

  “Gabriela?”

  “He doesn’t know that she knows. Come inside, girl, before the two of you catch a cold.”

  Alex has gone back to her john. I make coffee for Elena and myself, putting the deeply sleeping baby back on the bed.

  “You’ve got some nerve, girl. He was furious.”

  I can’t help grinning. “He was being an ass.”

  “Anything else would have surprised me.”

  “What’s he saying?”

  “He wants to talk with you again. He wants to see the baby.”

  “Oh fuck no. There’s no way I can protect myself. He can kill me, grab David and then kill Lucas.”

  “I know.” She grimaces and stands, pacing the little kitchen. Stopping, she regards me. “It’s David now? You named him?”

  The dull ache in my chest that seems to be near-constant increases. “Got old calling him ‘it’,” I mutter, not daring to meet her clever gaze. When she doesn't say anything I look up.

  She nods slowly, her eyes unreadable. “All right. Let’s set up a call. Skype.”

  “I’m not using my phone,” I say quickly.

  She picks up her own. “No problem.”

  “Now?” I nearly shriek. “I’m not ready.”

  “Go get the boy. You’ll never be ready.”

  I swallow against the lump in my throat as I, filled with dread, go to get him.

  “Here she comes.”

  I freeze. She’s already on the phone with him. His all too well-known face fills the little screen. I stare at him in horror.

  “Pregnancy has treated you well. You look radiant.”

  “Stop with the compliments,” I sneer. “You have no idea how fake you sound.”

  Out of sight from Salvatore, Elena grins, then she walks closer, holding the phone closer to David. I pull the blanket to the side, revealing the chubby little Salvatore copy.

  No one speaks for a long time.

  “Kudos for a clever cunt,” he finally says. His crude words fitting him much better than the sugary ones from before.

  I stay quiet and Elena takes back the call. “Convinced?”

  “Enough.”

  “And?”

  “Payne out of jail?”

  “And out of the organization. You let Carmen and Lucas go.”

  He’s silent. I shift, trying to quell my shaking.

  “All right.”

  I exhal
e and nearly slump to the floor. On unsteady feet, I find a chair out of sight from him, and fall down on it, clutching the little one to my chest, reveling in his warmth, his little snores.

  “How do we arrange the exchange?” asks the clever matron. “It has to be on neutral ground, and you need to have Lucas with you.”

  A thought strikes me, making me jolt with excitement. Nowhere is truly safe, but I have something that might work. I pinch Elena’s blouse to catch her attention and motion for her to disconnect.

  “I’ll get back to you shortly,” she says, and ends the call before he has the chance to answer.

  “What are you thinking?”

  I can barely speak, I’m so wound up. “I get plane tickets, for me and the baby. They need to get tickets as well, and we meet on the other side of security. They won’t be able to bring weapons, and we meet right by security, where we’ll be in sight of the guards as well as hundreds of people.”

  Swallowing, my throat completely void of moisture, I look pleadingly at her. It’s a good plan. It’s a fantastic plan.

  She regards me for a long time, then she says slowly. “That is one complex plan… But it’s brilliant. The little one’s gonna need a passport, though.”

  I feel the blood drain from my cheeks. Oh no.

  Elena shakes her head. “Don’t worry about it, I can arrange that. You have one, though?”

  I nod eagerly, my mind already processing the steps of what I need to do. Elena calls Salvatore again, a normal voice call this time and explains. I can’t hear him, but from her reactions, it seems he protests wildly. Finally, she looks at me and mouths ‘when’?

  “We’ll call him as soon as we know. Tell him to arrange his part of the deal, and we’ll get back to him.”

  “Elena!” I stop her as she’s about to leave. “His last name is Moreno… David Moreno. For the passport, I mean.”

  She gives me an odd gaze I can’t quite interpret, looking between the little one and me.

  “Okay,” she says and frowns, before she turns and leaves.

  Chapter 24

  Lucas

  I keep looking over my shoulder the rest of the day, filled to the brim with adrenaline, slowly coming down from the high of the fight.