Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  I smile. “I like the thought of being a queen, and having thousands of men serving me.”

  “Doing nothing but eating and giving birth to thousands of children,” says my mom.

  I turn to her. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

  She grimaces. “I think thousands of grandchildren would be a bit overwhelming. One or two would do. When are you going to settle down and—”

  “Mom—”

  “Margaret!”

  Dad and I have our outburst at the same time, making me laugh.

  “I’m only twenty-six.”

  “Give the kid a break. I, for one, am overjoyed that she got rid of that rodent and has started studying. You should be proud we have such a dedicated child.”

  Mom throws up her hands. “Always ganging up on me. Evan was a fine young man.”

  “Emphasis on ‘was’,” I mutter.

  Dad and I exchange a glance of understanding. He never liked Evan much. My psychologist father saw right through him from the very beginning. I should have listened, but I was so happy for the attention from the opposite sex, and so terribly naive. We were seventeen when we met. We got married at nineteen.

  I thought I had met the love of my life. My judgement sucked.

  Honestly, I’m afraid my judgement still sucks, and I’m a little afraid to get back out there. I haven’t dated since our divorce. No one-night stand, no nothing.

  At eleven, I hug my parents good night with a promise to visit more often, that I know I won’t honor, and head home. I don’t dislike them, not at all, especially not my dad whom I adore, but I live my own life and time flies.

  The next day, David doesn’t show. He should have been with us according to the schedule. And not a word from home, that he’s ill. Just nothing. Filled with trepidation, I call the number that was given to us. A woman answers.

  “Carmen speaking.” She has a hint of an accent, a smooth, delicate sounding voice.

  “Is this David’s mother, by any chance?”

  “Who is this?”

  I present myself and why I’m calling.

  “David has been relocated. His father thought it was for the better.”

  I’m stunned. An ache spreads in my chest and I struggle to find my voice. “Why?”

  “He said there was an incident at the center.” Her voice is slightly accusatory, making my stomach clench. I know exactly what incident we’re talking about. And I no longer believe a word Salvatore said about the ‘accident with the cousin’. Why would he remove David from our care if what I heard was something innocent? A shudder runs through me, a chill I can’t seem to shake.

  “Thank you very much for letting me know.”

  I hang up and stare emptily out the window without seeing anything but little David who must now be confused and worried, his routine torn to pieces. What about his truck?

  The lump in my throat grows.

  I cry for hours. Chloe sits with me on the stairs in the gray, dank backyard with her arms around my shaking shoulders.

  “It’s my fault,” I sob.

  “It’s not, sweetie. His dad’s got every right in the world to move his son to another daycare.”

  “I know but… It was because I said what I said, right? I mean, I asked his dad, and the next day David is removed. What will become of him, Chloe? I can’t—” A new set of sobs wrack my chest, tears and snot mixing on my chin.

  “Ker, you did what you always do. You care. You did what you thought was best. I’m sure it’ll be all right.”

  I snuggle closer to my friend and lean my head on her shoulder. “I wanna go out tonight. I need a drink.”

  “Anything, hon. I’m in. Want me to check with the others too?”

  I nod.

  Somehow, I drag myself through the rest of the day. My eyes are still a bit glossed over and my nose is tinted pink as I put on makeup for the evening. Every time I think of David, my chest clenches in renewed pain. I hurt him. I did that. It would have been better if I had just shut up. Why did I have to be so damn nosy?

  I do wonder why he was moved. Didn’t they trust us anymore? Did I say something that made his dad mistrust our care? Or does he have something to hide? The last thought makes me shudder. It’s too far out. I’m not thinking he witnessed a murder… am I? I try to shake the thought.

  Brushing on a second layer of mascara, I nearly fly through the roof when the doorbell rings and shove the mascara brush right into my eye, squealing with pain.

  “I’m coming!”

  Half blind, and with tears streaming from my aching eye, I open the door to let Chloe in.

  “My God! Kerry!”

  “Just a makeup accident. Have a glass of wine. I’ll go wash it off.”

  She coos and gives me a hug before she disappears to the kitchen. I stare at my messy face in the mirror. Fuck this. I wash it off and decide for no makeup. Who cares anyway?

  “Gimme a glass of that too. I’ll call a cab.”

  Chloe shakes her head as I drain the glass in a few gulps. “You’re a mess, hon. No war paint even?”

  “Meh. Let’s just go. I wanna get drunk.”

  Chapter 3

  San Francisco

  Christian

  I lean against the wall as I study the woman by the bar, this Kerry Jackson that Salvatore sent me for. Corben has been dealt with. He squealed like a pig. It’s bliss to be back home, and this new hit is decidedly easier on the eyes. Sticking a new toothpick between my teeth, I cross my arms over my chest and fight the urge to give this shit up and get a smoke anyway. If someone had told me how miserable I’d feel quitting, I’d have punched the guy who gave me the first cig instead of greedily taking it. For fuck’s sake. Life is never easy.

  She’s on her third shot and is definitely getting tipsy. Her long ringlets of red hair are thick and silky and I’ve been hypnotized the whole night by how it caresses the skin on her lower back where I can just about make out the little dimples. Her ass-hugging jeans are cut low, and the white blouse, that looks so demure and innocent from the front, has a long vertical slit in the back that shows enough for me to want to sneak a hand in there and find out just how smooth that ivory skin is.

  My cock twitches and I grit my teeth. I’m not here for that, for fuck’s sake. My job is to drug the kid and get rid of her. Apparently, she’s seen, or heard something she shouldn’t have. Too bad. She’s totally fuckable. Maybe I can postpone it a day? Or a few hours at least.

  Spitting out the toothpick, I push away from the wall and slide up next to her, in the gap that just opened.

  “Drowning your sorrows, sweetie?”

  She jerks violently. “Jeez, you scared me!”

  The expression in her dark green eyes almost floors me. It twists my guts as if someone has stabbed me. I don’t know when I’ve seen anything so sad, and yet so fiery at the same time. I swallow hard. “So I noticed,” I say softly, suddenly afraid to scare her off. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention.”

  “All right,” she says as her captivating eyes scan my face. She actually leans back a little and takes in the rest of my body as well. “What is your intention then?” Snapping her mouth closed, she suddenly blushes and puts a hand to her cheek. “I’m—I’m sorry, I’m not myself tonight.”

  I can believe it.

  “Can I get you something?” I nod toward the bartender, catching his attention.

  “Gimme two more of these.” She gestures to the shot glasses in front of her. I raise an eyebrow. This will be a walk in the fucking park. Whether I want to fuck her, or kill her. Or both.

  “What will you have, sir?” asks the bartender. A tired man in his fifties who has long since stopped being curious of his guests. Suits me perfectly.

  “Give me a beer. Ale.”

  Our drinks arrive in no time and I raise my bottle. “What’s eating you, then? And cheers.”

  She tilts her head, flips back a few strands of hair, empties the glass with an absolutely adorable grimace, and
wipes her glistening wet, lush lips with the back of her hand. The sight alone makes me semi-hard in an instant. I exhale shakily and grin at her.

  “It’s a thing at work. I can’t… It’s nothing. Or, it’s not nothing, it’s a lot. I shouldn’t think about it. I don’t know if I’m stupid or… But I’ve got this really strange feeling, and I feel so sorry for the boy. It crushes me. I want to die!”

  I blink. I doubt she really wants to die. Sadly, she’s about to get her wish fulfilled. “That’s… You’ve got a lot in there.” I gesture to her chest. “Got someone to talk to?”

  “M’got friends.”

  I look around us without seeing anyone who seems the least attentive to this girl. “Where are your friends then? I don’t see anyone here.”

  She waves in the direction of the dancefloor. “They’re out there somewhere. I think I broke them.”

  That makes me laugh. “What?”

  “I can talk. A lot.”

  “If you need a fresh set of ears…”

  She downs the second glass and sways. I catch her by the elbow and steady her. She’s so light, like a little bird. Her skin is warm and damp. A scent of musk and flowers wafts up as she grabs my arm.

  “Thank you,” she says on an exhale. She studies my face again and squints. “You’ve got such black eyes. They’re… They’re like voids. Have you hypnotized me?”

  I’d say it’s the other way around, but I don’t tell her that. “You shouldn’t have more of those, sweetie. You need buckets of coffee and some fresh air.”

  She shakes her head and looks like she’s trying to gauge the situation. I chew on my lip and wince. Did I lose her there? Too much too fast? I take a light hold of her chin and turn her head toward the street. Right across is a 24-hour cafe. “Not gonna kidnap you, love. Go tell your friends you’re leaving. I’ll be outside. Do as you like. It’s just…” I lean closer, cheek to cheek, reveling in the warmth that radiates from her skin. “It’s a lot easier to talk over there than it is here.” I hope by giving her the choice, and seeming nonchalant about it, will give her enough courage to follow through.

  I have no interest in her friends seeing me, so I sneak out as she makes her way to the deeper recesses of the venue. Murderous thoughts race through my head as I glare at a kid with a smoke, standing on the sidewalk a few steps from me. Why am I quitting again? I can’t remember.

  “Hey, you got—”

  “Heeeeere.”

  Her unmistakable light voice singsongs from behind me. Well, I’ll be damned. I forget the kid with the cigarette in an instant, offer her my arm and look left and right before pulling her with me across the street. This is almost too easy. She stumbles a little in her military-style high-heeled boots and leans heavier on my arm. A thrill runs through me. I don’t mind it. At all.

  The cafe is brightly lit and the fluorescent light casts hard shadows on her face. She’s completely au naturel. No makeup. Her long, naturally wavy hair hangs heavy over her shoulders. She pouts her lower lip and blows a stream of air up along her face. She is flushed and looks a bit unsure, cautious. She also looks very young. If I recall correctly, she’s twenty-six, but right now she looks like she’s not even out of high school yet. Suddenly, I feel old as fuck. I’m only thirty-seven, but I’ve seen things, done things, that make me feel like a hundred. With a twinge to my heart, I also feel oddly protective of her. Which is, of course, a conundrum. I’ve actually, in all my years, never before had a woman as a target. I’ve never even hung with anyone like her for any reason. The women I hook up with are hardened, hot for my body, and if they care about me at all, it’s because they’re intimidated and get off on it. This one is nothing like it. She reminds me a little bit of my sister when she was younger, before she got jaded.

  “Two coffees, please,” I say to the kid waiting to take my order, a gangly teen with a few stray strands of dark hair on his chin. I drop some coins on the counter, grab the sturdy, white cups and turn to Kerry. Who, I have to remind myself, I don’t know the name of yet. She has fallen into a booth at the back and is leaning her head on her arms, taking up half the table. I slide into the booth across from her and sit on the green, worn-down plastic bench as I put down the cups.

  “Coffee for the lady.”

  She jerks up and stares at me, her eyes a little bit unfocused, the whites tinged red. “I think I fell asleep. Didn’t sleep much last night. What time is it even?”

  I pull up the cuff of my shirtsleeve and glance at my watch. “It’s almost one in the morning.”

  “Oh my God,” she groans.

  “Need to be up early?”

  She nods and takes a careful sip of the coffee.

  I reach over the table and give her my hand. “I’m Christian, by the way. Russo. I’m so smitten I didn’t even introduce myself.”

  She takes it and shakes it vigorously. “Kerry. Smitten?” She narrows her eyes, her small hand still holding mine.

  I wrap my other hand around hers as well. She was warm in the club, but now her skin is a bit chilly. I lick my lips and her eyes dart to my mouth. Pushing down the predatory need to pull her little body to me, I smile. “Yeah. Smitten. Now, what’s making you drink the night away and having you talk to strangers because you broke your friends?”

  “Oh… work stuff. I can’t really—” A tear wells up and trickles down her cheek. I reach out and stroke it away.

  “What do you do for work?”

  “I study behavioral science, and I do volunteer work at a center in a less fortunate neighborhood, a center for autistic children. It’s a sort of daycare setup, but most of them aren’t there every day. Some are, but some come by like once a week. We help train them with language, and simple tasks that the rest of us take for granted.”

  “That’s admirable, Kerry.”

  “Well, it’s where my heart lies. I couldn’t do anything else. We also have courses for the parents. Anyone is welcome. If you know anyone, I’ll give you the contact information. I always want people to spread the word. Do you have your phone? I can give you the phone number.”

  I have to force myself not to gape. She met me a few minutes ago, and she’s already letting me know where I can reach her. She doesn’t need to give me her phone number, or address, I know it anyway. I know her home address, and her parents’ address as well. If I was the average Joe, though, and an ass, she’d just have given herself on a plate. Oh, girl. Too naive.

  “I really don’t know anyone who’d need it… but sure.”

  She gives me a phone number and an address I dutifully tap into my contact list. A list stock full of mobsters, and then an address to a community center for autistic children. I shake my head, amused.

  “Thanks. So, do you like your work? Doesn’t it wear you out to study and work?”

  “I have very little free time.”

  “And yet here you are…”

  She sighs. “I should have been in bed. But I had to numb my head. I felt like absolute shit today.”

  “What happened?”

  “I don’t wanna go there. I already nagged holes in my friends’ heads. Please let’s talk about something else.”

  “What do you wanna talk about then?”

  “Well, for instance, who are you, Mr. Mysterious?”

  “I’m just a boring stockbroker who happened to need to numb his head too. Too much shit at work to even begin to describe.”

  “You’re not married?” She glances at my left hand and then smacks her forehead. “I’m sorry. Foot in mouth.”

  I laugh and flex my hand. “Nothing for me.” I nod at her own left hand. “Neither are you.”

  She rolls her eyes. “Let’s move on.”

  I decide to steer the enticing little Miss Curious back to the matter at hand. “Tell me about your studies. Are you gonna work with kids when you grow up?”

  She lets out a sigh and shoots me an embarrassed smile. “Yeah! Better topic. Again, sorry.”

  “Don’t sweat it. Studies?”


  In the next half hour I learn everything there is to know about the center, her studies, autism, and working as a volunteer. She’s passionate, clearly intelligent, loving. I wince, and the heart I’ve considered blackened beyond repair suddenly aches a little. The difference between us couldn’t be greater. I kill people for a living. People run when they hear the name Christian Russo. I kill for the mob. I almost only kill trash, and feel no remorse, but sometimes someone else gets in the way, and I take no pleasure in that. I also can’t back out, or I’ll sooner or later be the one someone comes for. If it stands between me and some chick I don’t know, however sweet she may be, I’ll always choose me. There’s no need to be cruel, though. There can be pain, and there can be no pain. Of course I’ll let her go without pain.

  “Sounds like you love what you do.”

  “Oh, I do, I really do. Most days…”

  “What happened then, that has you so upset?”

  “I don’t know if I should but… Well, one of the boys, he’s one of the children at the center—well was…” Her eyes gloss over. “Anyway, he said something that made the hair at my nape stand up. And I still don’t know what it means. It’s just that it must be something significant because he’s so deep in his autism, he rarely interacts with us.”

  My heart takes a small leap. “What did he say?”

  Kerry hesitates. “I—I shouldn’t.”

  “Don’t mention him by name and you’re good. You clearly need to get this off your chest.”

  She chews on her lip and fiddles with her purse, then she looks up at me, and again I get this electrical feeling when our eyes meet.

  “All right. He, uhm... said he’d seen something red.”

  “What red?”

  “He didn’t specify. I don’t think he’s able to process his impressions.”

  “And what do you think?”

  She swallows visibly. “It could have been paint, right?”

  I cock my head and regard her. “But that’s not really what you think, is it?”