Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

We watch her back as she hurries out of the venue. Francesco grins when he turns back to us. “Cute girl.”

  “Mind out of the gutter, boy.” Salvatore slaps him on his back. “Is he tender yet, our dear Rusty?”

  We walk through the dimly lit restaurant. In a couple of hours this place will be bustling with people. Right now it’s silent, almost ghostly with its empty chairs and tables.

  “His face had an interesting color last time I checked.”

  Pulling open the door to the small room, we all stop and cock our heads, taking in the sight of Rusty’s swollen blue face.

  “Rust—” begins Salvatore, then he shrugs and pulls out his gun from under his suit jacket. “Never mind.”

  Rusty’s body jerks when Salvatore plants five bullets in his chest. The young man never regains consciousness.

  “Cut him down and clean this shit up. I’ll come around to the back with the car.”

  Salvatore disappears as Francesco and I look at each other and then at the blood that’s pooling on the floor, then we spring into action and do what we’ve done so many times before in our lives.

  I pant way too heavily when we throw Rusty’s limp, plastic-wrapped body in the trunk, and I’m drenched in sweat. Fuck! If I can’t do this, I don’t know what to do with myself. I don’t know anything else for fuck’s sake.

  Salvatore side-eyes me as I hop in next to him in the front, but he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t need to. I know what he’s thinking. He’s said it before. This isn’t the life for me anymore.

  “Mr. Linden is home alone. Johnny and Adrian are making sure he isn’t leaving.”

  “Good,” I growl. “Let’s get to it.”

  “Are you up for it, Christiano?”

  I give my uncle a dark glare. Even if it’s the last thing I do, I’ll make sure to annihilate the one who threatened my woman. Even if it means she doesn’t want to see me again.

  As the car speeds through the darkening streets, the thought gives me pause. Images of Kerry’s pale, determined face flash by before my eyes.

  Don’t kill him.

  Why the fuck not? I don’t understand. I’m not jealous. I know she’s not romantically interested in the little shit. Someone wrongs you, you end him. That’s what you do. That’s how I grew up. Revenge. Blood. Hate.

  We come to an abrupt stop outside an apartment complex in one of the shadier parts of the city. Johnny and Adrian join us and the five of us travel in silence the thirteen floors up to the home of Evan Thomas Linden.

  Cecilia’s innocent face haunts me. Kerry’s agony twists my guts. I kick the door open with ease and raise my gun.

  “Evan!” I roar.

  Two remain by the door as the rest of us advance through the dank two-bedroom apartment. The sound from a TV guides us toward the living room. It’s a mess. Beer cans everywhere, cartons from fast food covering the table, clothes strewn across every surface.

  It’s more a sixth sense than an actual sound, or movement. I kick the couch, making it slide several feet to the side, and behind it crouches the fucker who hurt Kerry more than I ever did. Who hurt my offspring. My daughter.

  I raise my gun. “Evan Linden.”

  He screams, high-pitched, and holds his hands over his head. “Don’t shoot! Who— What is this? Who are you?”

  I kick his chest. He falls on his back, gasping, clutching his side. “Dude!”

  Putting a foot over his throat, I press until his eyes bulge. He flails, and tries to escape. I lean in and put the gun to his forehead, making him go completely still.

  “You made the single biggest mistake of your life today, Evan, when you fucked Kerry over, when you let Richter’s men take her little baby. You see, you were right. She did fuck a Russo. Me. Cecilia is my daughter, and a Russo. You don’t hurt a Russo without consequences and I’m not the forgiving type.”

  His eyes widen. “Please,” he hollers, saliva spraying from his mouth as tears begin to fall along his cheeks. “I had no choice. Please!”

  “There’s always a choice,” I roar and press the gun harder into his flesh as his face contorts in pain.

  My own words give me a stab of a flashback to what will soon be three years ago. There’s always a choice. I didn’t give Kerry a choice.

  Kerry’s words ring in my ears as I stare down at the pathetic existence under my boot. A dark haze washes over me. Pure hate, today’s agony, Kerry from three years ago, Kerry fighting for her life in my hands, Kerry the mother of my child whom she had to birth alone in a foreign city, Kerry pleading for me to change. I glance over my shoulder, at my uncle who stands passive, watching the scene, then I remove the gun and slam my fist into Evan’s face. Blood sprays as I hit him again and again. I crush his nose, split his lips. His thick blond beard is soon streaked with red. When he stops screaming and his head lolls to the side, I force myself to stand, my knuckles sore, painted with his blood.

  “Call. The. Cops,” I manage to grit out, still fighting the urge to beat him until he stops breathing.

  “Christiano?” Salvatore sounds surprised.

  “Don’t!” I snarl. “Ivan. Just do it.” I turn to the two men. “This is my call, and this is how it’s gonna be. We’ll make sure he never sets foot outside prison again. Pin the deaths of Richter’s men on him, whatever.”

  Salvatore studies me a few more moments, then he nods at Ivan. “Do it.”

  As I wash off my hands in a dirty little bathroom, my uncle regards me, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his chest. “You must really love her.”

  His words find their way straight into the deepest recesses of my heart. I do. I really do love her.

  Chapter 24

  Kerry

  I wake and have no idea where I am or what time it is. Cecilia is sleeping, snuggled up between my arm and my chest, and seeing her it all comes rushing back. From somewhere comes voices, hushed but upset. I free myself of Cecilia and pat the sideboard to find my phone.

  1:03 a.m.

  I stand and tiptoe to the door that’s slightly ajar. A sliver of light comes through the opening and I push the door a little more open to hear better.

  “You shouldn’t be here, Christian.” Carmen’s voice is both pleading and upset.

  “I can’t stay away.”

  Christian’s low growl, the despair in his voice, sends a shiver running down my back.

  “You’re drunk. Go home.”

  “I’ve done… things. I can’t… She’ll never forgive me.”

  “Ay Dios mio! Hombres! You’re impossible! Sleep it off. Stop wallowing in what has been and look forward instead. Kerry is confused and hurt, and it will take her some time to come around. Give her that time. Now shoo, get out of here.”

  There’s a rustle, a shuffle of feet.

  “Christian, I can’t move you. It’s like trying to lift a montaña. Do you want me to call Ivan?”

  “No, fuck.” He groans.

  More shuffling.

  A door slams. Silence.

  I lay awake for a long time, hugging Cecilia to me, reliving the moment over and over when they took her from me. I don’t know if I care what they did to Evan anymore. I hold her little body and I can’t help thinking that it really was him, and him alone, who did this to us. I hope he rots, wherever he is.

  I don’t see Christian the next day. Lucas drives us home.

  “Did you work for Salvatore, Lucas?”

  The tall man, sporting a giant beard, and a thick mane of blond hair tied back in a ponytail gives me a quick glance. “That was a long time ago.”

  “What was it like? What’s he like? Did you work with Christian?”

  Lucas sighs. “Look, Kerry, I understand that you wanna know, but I have put that behind me, and I’m never opening that lid again.” He’s silent for a while, then he adds, “I did work with Christian. He was one of the worst.”

  It hits me hard, like a punch to my chest.

  He was one of the worst.

  I fight
to breathe, fight to hold back the tears.

  Lucas shoots me a glance again, and doesn’t speak until we pull up outside my house. As he closes the car door after Cecilia and I have climbed out, he looks at me with such a serious expression that my gut clenches. “These are dangerous people, Kerry. Take care of yourself. Take a stance, try to stay away. For her.” He nods at Cecilia, then he raises his hand, hops in the car and leaves us on the sidewalk, my heart shattered.

  Stay away.

  I don’t have the luxury of a choice.

  I know I should, but I don’t know if I have the strength to even try.

  I spend the day at Mom’s. I’ll never tell her what happened. There’s no need to worry her. I have secrets that have piled up for years. This is just another one. I end up spending the night too, twisting and turning on her sofa bed, unable to sleep, wondering if Christian has come by my house and found it empty.

  The next day I read in the paper about Evan Linden arrested on a no bail warrant for involvement in seven murders in what appears to be a war between criminals. I quickly push the newspaper into the garbage bin, hoping Mom will never learn of it. Christian didn’t kill him! A shudder runs through me. Has he really changed?

  Then I remember Chloe.

  He can change, but some things can’t be undone.

  With my heart in my throat, I text him.

  ‘Thank you.’

  I stare at the screen as it sends, is delivered, and read. I hold my breath as I watch the little dots indicating that an answer is being written. It takes forever. Typing. Then nothing. Typing. Finally:

  ‘I’ll stay away, Ker. It’s for the best. Take care of yourself.’

  My stomach plummets as I stare at the message. No.

  I’m just about to answer, I don’t know what – something, when Lucas’ words ring in my ears.

  He was one of the worst.

  My knuckles whiten as I clutch the phone. This is for the best. I recognize the gift he’s giving me after all the pain and drama. He just wants us to live and be happy. And happy for me has to be without him.

  Right?

  I end up staying with Mom two more days. I can’t attend my classes at the university. I can’t let Cece out of my sight. I just can’t.

  My house feels so empty. At night I keep listening for a knock, and Christian’s absence follows me into my dreams. There’s a hole where my heart should be, as if he’s taken it.

  After a week, I come to the realization that I need to work if we’re gonna eat, I need to attend school if I’m ever going to get my exam, and one sleepless night I come up with the perfect solution. The next day, I call Carmen.

  Carmen’s response has me crying with relief. Of course she’ll look after Cece.

  The only place on earth that would feel safer would be with her locked up in Salvatore’s mansion and in Christian’s care. But that’s not happening.

  One afternoon when I come to pick up my daughter Carmen looks different, stiff, her jaw clenched. She tosses back her long curly hair and gestures for me to follow.

  “There’s someone here who wants to see you.”

  My heart leaps to my throat. Christian?

  In the living room, with Cecilia by his feet and David next to him sits Salvatore. I take in the scene. It’s surreal seeing this dark and dangerous man surrounded by children in the bright afternoon sun that shines in through impeccably cleaned windows. He belongs in the shadows, not here.

  When he sees me, he stands and spreads his arms. “Kerry Jackson, my favorite person on earth.”

  I curl my lips as I cross my arms over my chest. “What do you want?”

  He tsks. “Can’t I just come by on a friendly visit?”

  “No,” say both Carmen and I at the same time.

  Salvatore rolls his eyes and throws up his hands. “What have I done to deserve these women in my life? Anyway. Business, then. This little treasure,” he strokes Cecilia’s head, “will be having her second birthday on Friday, and you’re invited to my house for a birthday party.”

  I stiffen. I was going to my Mom’s. “That’s… very kind, but no thanks.” I swallow nervously, someone once told me that you don’t say no to Salvatore.

  His eyes darken a shade. “I wasn’t asking. Four p.m. Good day.” He nods to Carmen, gives David a quick kiss on the head and whispers in his ear, then he brushes past me and leaves.

  Carmen and I stand in silence until we hear the front door slam closed. I spin around, about to ask her what to do.

  “You go,” she says before I have a chance to get a word out. “You don’t say no to Salvatore.”

  Fuck.

  The days pass too fast. Cecilia is getting increasingly excited about gifts, about cake and balloons. I’m also getting increasingly excited, or rather, terrified.

  Friday, 3:55 p.m. finds me standing on the gravel, clutching a bouncing Cecilia’s hand, more for my sake than hers. The parking area to the side is half-filled with exclusive cars but not a sound is heard except for birds chirping.

  The doorbell clings softly when I push it, and the door opens almost immediately. Before me stands a tall, broad blond man, his face neutral as he nods for us to come inside. Ivan, if I recall correctly.

  “Happy birthday, little one,” he says and goes down on one knee to be level with her.

  “Thank you, sir,” says my little daughter to my great surprise. Sir? Wow. Who taught her that?

  Ivan stands and a ghost of a smile passes his lips. “You’ve raised her well. This way.”

  My legs are heavy with trepidation as I follow the giant through the house. The sound of people talking, of laughter and music increases. Suddenly I feel so alone, and I surprise myself by wishing I had Christian by my side, holding me tight.

  We enter a large bright room with a whole wall of sliding glass doors pushed to the side, a large patio outside, people everywhere and children running around the legs of the adults. Cecilia bounces and pulls my hand as she sees the balloons, the serpentines, and the table with beautifully wrapped gifts.

  Everyone turns as we enter. I hold my breath, my eyes darting over the crowd. There’s only one person I want to see, and by God, I really do want to see him. It’s been weeks. Salvatore spreads his arms as he walks up to us, grabs my shoulders and kisses my cheeks. Then he crouches and does the same with Cecilia.

  “The young lady of the hour!” He sweeps her up in his strong arms, and spins around. My cheeks burn hot from his surprisingly gentle greeting. “Everybody, let me present young Cecilia Russo!”

  I widen my eyes. “Jackson,” I hiss in his ear.

  He laughs. “Jackson. For now.” He smacks Cecilia’s butt. “Now go play. There are kids everywhere.” He puts her down and she runs toward the garden, toward the colorful flags and begins to chase a stray balloon.

  I inhale to protest.

  “And a whole slew of people looking after them,” he tells me. “She’s safe.”

  A tingling sensation of being watched makes me spin on my heels. To the far right stands Christian, his face guarded, tall, beautiful, dressed in a dark gray suit that fits like it was sewn directly on his body. He looks more buff than when I saw him the last time. My eyes look to his powerful hands, his thighs, and my body reacts with no connection to my brain whatsoever. I forget Salvatore, the people around me, whether it’s day or night, as I take a step toward him. He seems to hesitate a moment, then he moves too, and we meet halfway.

  “Hey,” we say with one mouth.

  “How’ve you been?” he asks.

  “Okay,” I say.

  “I heard Cecilia is with Carmen. That was a clever move.”

  “Did you visit her?”

  He shakes his head.

  “Why?”

  “I told you I’d stay away.”

  “But you’re here.”

  “I’m not very good at keeping my promises,” he says darkly.

  My eyes dart between his. “You confuse me so much, Christian.”

>   He licks his lips and I can’t help that my gaze is drawn to his tongue. “Is that a good or a bad thing?” he asks.

  The air between us thickens, ignites. I stagger back. “We should—”

  He swallows audibly. “Yeah, let’s go— The party.” Sliding up next to me he puts a palm to the small of my back, electrifying my whole body, then he removes it. “Sorry,” he mumbles.

  Don’t be, I want to say. But I don’t.

  We walk up to a group of people. A woman in her sixties with steel gray hair, neatly curled in an old-fashioned look, turns and regards me, giving me a once-over, then she lifts an eyebrow and turns to Christian.

  “Bianca,” he says to her. “I want you to meet Kerry Jackson, the mother of Cecilia. Kerry, this is my mother, Bianca Russo.”

  I give her my hand. A few moments pass when she doesn’t take it, awkwardness mounting, the whole conversation around us dying.

  “Miss Jackson,” she finally says and gives me a too-hard handshake. “I have heard a lot about you.”

  It doesn’t sound one bit like she has heard good things about me. Do they blame me for Christian nearly dying? I realize I also almost killed him once before. I have to force my legs not to tremble under her scrutiny.

  “Mrs. Russo. So nice to meet you.”

  Her black eyes pierce mine, and it’s easy to see the similarities between her and her brother Salvatore, both in looks as well as manner. “I have a grandchild I have yet to see.” She turns to Christian, while still holding my hand.

  “Bianca,” he says, his voice cold and hard.

  She narrows her eyes, then she lets go and blood returns to my hand. I’m suddenly extremely self-conscious about being here. My eyes move to the other men and women around me. Do they all hate me? Does everyone here know about Christian and me? How much exactly do they know?

  In rapid succession I’m introduced to Matteo, Luca, Eric, Anna, Nathan, and Sydney. It’s less tense. There are smiles, and greetings, and congratulations on Cecilia’s behalf, and a lot of ‘we can’t wait to meet her’. I’m trying to remember all the names. It’s overwhelming. The two women greet me a little more heartily. Nathan is polite, but I sense an underlying tension. Eric radiates danger. Much like Christian does when he turns dark. I shrink back and glance at the woman by his side, Anna. She looks so timid, but she’s gotta have balls of steel if she’s chosen to be with him.