Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

I narrow my eyes as I take in one of the men at the far end. Roberto. He’s got a hooker on his lap and a hand inside her blouse, kneading her breast. He’s been seen talking to the competition in a club in Las Vegas. My guess is he thought it was safe to meet up out of San Francisco, but he’ll be aware before the dawn breaks that this is not the case. I’ve got eyes and ears everywhere. The Salvatore network is vast, and I haven’t spent twenty years building it by being lenient.

  “Antoine can be reasoned with,” I say. “I’ve dealt with him before. With the gambling club on the west side.”

  Christian shrugs. “Yeah, but he’s not the one making the ultimate decision.”

  I gesture to the girl who sits by my feet, a dark-skinned beauty Elena found me in the brothel. She’s got a red lacy bra and matching thong. “Take off your bra.” She shuffles closer, still on her knees. The tiled floor must be a bitch to sit on for a long period of time, and I’ve had her sit there for forty minutes. Slowly she reaches behind her back and unclasps the thing, letting it drop next to her, keeping her deep brown eyes trained on me. I pinch one of her nipples, squeezing it between my thumb and index finger, not breaking eye contact with her. Eric clears his throat. “Go on,” I say without looking up. “You think he’ll budge?”

  “Fuck, Boss. No, I don’t think he’ll budge to us. He’s loyal to Andrew.”

  The girl’s eyelids flutter as she fights the pain, fights to not flinch and pull back. She knows there’ll be more hurt if she doesn’t do what I tell her. They all know this.

  “Good old Andy. He’s been a pain in my ass ever since he came here, starting up his clubs.” I glance up at Eric as I grab the girl’s thick curly hair and push her toward my groin. “I’m tired of his antics.”

  “So let’s just do a fucking takeover,” growls Eric.

  The girl pulls down my zipper and takes out my cock, wrapping her fingers around it as she puts her lush lips where they should have been a long time ago.

  I snort. “You wanna kill off thirty men?”

  “Andrew and some of his closest will do fine. I’m sure the others can be convinced.”

  “We won’t be able to trust ‘em for shit,” says Christian.

  “We don’t need to trust them. I won’t fucking employ them.”

  Eric throws up his hands. “Where will you find staff for five clubs?”

  My cock is growing hard in the girl’s skilled mouth. I clutch her hair even rougher and thrust her head toward me, burying myself to the hilt, a shudder running through me. She’s fucking good. I gotta remember to thank Elena.

  “That might be an issue.” I have to fight to focus on the conversation because right now all I want to do is pull this girl by her hair over to my private wing of the house, tie her up and fuck her until Tuesday. I pull out and tilt up her head. “Hey, wanna earn some extra cash? Work in a club?”

  She widens her eyes. “Yes, sir,” she says breathlessly, “I would.”

  I smirk and force her back to her duties for the night, then I look up at Christian and Eric. “We’ll solve it. Takeover it is.”

  Ivan, who’s clearly been listening, throws one last glance at Roberto, then he puts down his beer and leans over toward our side of the table. “When are we doing this?”

  I nod toward Eric. “You organize it and get back to me.”

  He nods. Christian opens his mouth to speak. I interrupt him.

  “Can you stay sober long enough?”

  “What the fuck, man? I—”

  “Language,” I snarl.

  Christian glances over toward the other half of the table where a couple of men have taken an interest in our conversation, then back at me, his black eyes flashing. He oozes lethality. Just how I want him. His lips curl, then he stands.

  “Sit,” I hiss.

  He stares me down with a hint of a challenge in his eyes, then he sits back down. “You fucking know I’ll do my job.”

  “Good,” I say with finality in my voice. “Tonight, we have work to do.” I nod to Ivan who knows what it’s about. I’m about to test just how unflinchingly loyal my guys are. They don’t know of Roberto’s affairs, only Ivan does, and in a moment he’ll relay my order to them to take out the weasel. Roberto’s been working with us for fifteen years. They know him well, they know his wife and kids, they’ve killed and partied with this guy. Now they’re gonna do him in.

  I stand and pull the girl up by her nape until she’s on her feet. Tucking my cock back in my pants, I steer her toward the glass double doors. In the corner of my eye, I see Ivan stand and pull out his gun, striding over to Roberto, putting it to his head.

  “Let’s walk,” he says.

  The pleading begins. Matteo, Christian and Eric dart up, as does the rest of the crowd. I smirk as I push the girl before me, reveling in the sounds of chaos. My forte. Roberto is in for a world of hurt tonight and just thinking about it makes me rock hard. Ivan will inform me who hesitated and who didn’t.

  Steering the girl into my bedroom, I slam the door closed and shove my hand between her legs, push her panties to the side and thrust my fingers up her cunt. She twitches from the rough intrusion and I haven’t even begun yet.

  “Knees hurt?”

  “No, sir, I’m good,” she gasps.

  I glance down at the flattened skin over her kneecaps. Her dark hue doesn’t allow the redness to show. “Know what?” I pull out and tear her panties off her. “I hate liars. Bend over.”

  Breathing erratically, she turns and obeys, presenting her mouthwatering round butt. I smack it. Hard. She stumbles forward.

  “Don’t fucking move,” I growl. “Hands on the floor.” I take a step closer and smack her again, making her rock forward yet another step.

  She whimpers. “I can’t keep my balance, sir.” She steadies herself, spreading her legs as she puts her palms to the floor.

  Her cunt is hairless and too enticing not to explore further. I slide my fingers along her slit, back and forth, rubbing against her clit, then a little rougher in between her folds. Like a bitch in heat, she begins to rock against my hand, getting wetter by the second. I push my fingers inside her, thrusting, a thumb on her increasingly swollen nub. Then I pull out and slap her right across her pussy, making her scream and shoot forward.

  I snap open my belt and pull down my zipper. “Bend over the edge of the bed.”

  She darts around, her eyes huge and confused, a single tear trickling down her cheek. “Sir, I—”

  “This is what I pay you to do. Get on the fucking bed. Now.”

  I’m rock hard, stroking my cock in my hand. Her eyes dart between my face and my thick length, then her gaze turns distant, as if she gives up all hope. She turns slowly and walks up to the bed, spreading her legs as she falls forward clutching the comforter.

  I don’t like that she gives up already. I want to pull them to the edge of despair, I want them to plead and weep. But I want the first fucking part to last a little longer than this. Glancing over at the curtain that covers my rack of canes and whips, I already know how I’ll pull her right back to the present.

  Pulling off my belt, loop by loop, I then wrap it around my fist and whip it right over her beautiful ass. She’ll plead. And when she does, I’ll fuck her. Hard.

  In my basement, at this very moment, someone else is pleading. This girl will leave the building, a hefty sum in her bank account, probably bleeding, definitely crying, but alive. Roberto won’t be as lucky.

  Chapter 2

  Chloe

  Standing in my pajamas with my toothbrush in my mouth, I jerk hard from a series of loud raps on my front door. My heart jumps to my throat. What the hell? It’s eleven in the evening. As I spit out the foam, I consider pretending I’m not at home, but then curiosity gets the better of me so I sneak out into the hallway and tiptoe to the door. I put my cheek to the wood and peek out into the stairwell through the peep hole, holding my breath. The lights are off on my floor, which is shit because it means they’re broken and I’m gonna
have to find the landlady. In the dim light from the next floor, I can make out the shape of a person, a very tall and broad-shouldered person. A man. I live alone. It’s night.

  Fuck no.

  My heart still slams in my chest and I hold my breath as I back away. Three more loud knocks make me jerk and I slam my hand over my mouth to suffocate the whimper that escaped me. I stare at the safety chain. It’s off. My breaths come out as short gasps as I ponder if I should try to hook it, or if I’ll give away my presence. My God. What if he breaks in because he thinks no one’s at home? My knees weaken at the thought and I look around me, desperate to find something to defend myself with. I don’t have a gun. Firearms scare the hell out of me. Holding my breath, I sneak into the kitchen and pull out the first knife I find, a bread knife, then I stay there, pressed against the wall, listening.

  Nothing happens. I don’t hear anything else. It takes a long while before I dare to walk up to my door again and peek out. I don’t see anyone. It’s not until then the shockwave of adrenaline washes over me. Still clutching the knife, I hook the chain into its place and sink down along the door, curling up, hugging my knees. What was that?

  I don’t get any sleep that night. I toss and turn. The knife lies on the bedside table, glinting in the dark. Staring at it, I wonder if I could ever actually use it, or if I’d freeze up like a deer in headlights.

  Who was it? A neighbor? Someone more sinister? The one thing I’ve feared for so long? But why now? I dismiss the thought. It can’t possibly have anything to do with Kerry.

  It’s been a really dark year and a half, I haven’t heard a word from my best friend in the last six months. We kept in touch a little during her first year away. I called her a couple of times. She never called me, but I assumed it was to be cautious. One day her phone was disconnected. I contacted my cousin to see if he knew of her whereabouts and he went to her last known address. It hurt to learn she had moved. Her landlady gave him a letter with my name on it.

  I had to go. I’m sorry. Do what you want with my house.

  Just that.

  I understand. Or no, I don’t understand. It’s been such a long time. Are they really after her still? Tell on the mob and die? Surely she could have gone to the cops in Chicago? I just don’t get it.

  As the dark gives way to the gray light of dawn and the city wakes to yet another day, the sounds of cars, cable cars, and people increasing outside, the things that go bump in the night fade as well. My eyes are warm, dry and itchy, and finally I feel sleep can claim me, but it’s a workday, Friday, and time to get up. Life goes on.

  Late afternoon I gather our little gang, texting Rebecca and Gayle that they have to join me tonight. I need booze. I’ve been working too hard for too long and I’m exhausted. I don’t even know anymore if last night was real or if it was a hallucination. The more time that passes, the more unreal it feels.

  Gayle started playing bass in a punk band a while back and they have a show tonight, so obviously that’s our choice of venue. Shy, timid Gayle has changed so much. She has this secret lover she won’t tell us about. We only know that he’s tall and blond, looks like a caveman but is the most incredible person she’s ever met. That rules out all the emo guys in the band, and we’re still none the wiser.

  I’m not fond of secrets. I carry too many of my own. Secrets can hurt.

  My tall, platinum blonde friend Rebecca hands me a glass of wine. We have squeezed in between a couple of younger guys who threw us interested gazes at first, but who took the hint when we turned our backs to them.

  “I’ve had a shit day,” I shout in her ear and take a large sip of wine. The music makes it hard to hear, but the mood in the club is hot, sexy, and fun and it’s just what I need.

  “Tell me about it,” says Rebecca and launches into a story of how she’s been darting between auditions for small theatre shows and her chef training. I hear about half of what she says, and my mind is too fractured to pay enough attention. I’m not sure what makes me turn around. It’s like a feeling of something crawling along my neck. At the far wall stands a man. He is absolutely still and holds his arms crossed over his broad chest, a bottle of beer in one hand. He’s tall and dark, and even from afar I can tell he’s seriously good looking in a roguish kind of way. Our eyes meet, and for some inexplicable reason a slight shiver runs through me. Then he turns away and the moment passes.

  “Hey, Chloe!” Rebecca screams in my ear just as the music stops. It seems as if half the club turns toward us and Rebecca blushes furiously. “Stupid music,” she mutters, glancing at the crowd. Gayle waves at us from the stage and grabs the microphone, announcing their last song for the night. It’s a slower tune and people light up their phones, waving them in the air to the rhythm. I glance over to where I saw the man, but he’s gone.

  “Earth to Chloe!”

  I spin around and face Rebecca. She’s still slightly flushed, but it can be the heat as well. “Yeah, sorry. I’m… I just thought I saw someone.”

  “You good? You said you’d had a shit day.”

  I shake my head. “Never mind. It’s nothing.”

  Suddenly I don’t want to delve into my weird experience from last night. It’s as if I don’t speak about it, it’ll go away. A ghost of a memory runs through me. That shape in the dim light. No face. My eyes dart over to the other wall again and then I scan the crowd, but I don’t recognize anyone, my mind is just playing tricks on me.

  I jerk hard when an arm is slung around my shoulder and I spin to face a grinning Gayle. She’s sweaty and beams with satisfaction. Colored lights play across her face as the spotlights sweep over the jumping, dancing crowd.

  “So what did you guys think?”

  I give her a one-armed hug. “You were absolutely awesome. As always.”

  “Thank you! It was a great set. Kick-ass audience.”

  I grab her chin and tilt her head. “Do you have a new piercing?” A small golden ring glints in her eyebrow.

  Gayle laughs. “Yep. There and—”

  “Do we even want to know?” asks Rebecca.

  Gayle throws us a look full of mischief and purses her lips. “Fine. I need a drink. Sally!” She gestures to get the attention of the bartender who immediately drops whatever she’s doing and comes darting.

  “Gimme something sweet and strong.”

  “Will do, hon,” says the bartender with a husky voice that sounds like she lives on whisky and cigarettes.

  “You’ve got some pull,” says Rebecca, her eyebrows shooting up on her forehead. “We had to wait forever.”

  Accepting an orange-red drink in a tall glass, the ice rattling as she pulls it to her, Gayle waves dismissively. “We play here a lot, girl. Gives us some perks.” She winks and takes a long sip through the straw. “So what are you up to? What are we talking about? Who are we doing?”

  “How pissy our day has been.” Rebecca clinks her glass to mine and Gayle’s and raises it in a toast.

  “That’s depressing. No guys? No fun? What’d you do today?”

  “Let’s talk about your mysterious hook-up,” I say to try to draw attention away from the creepy feeling that has set root in my chest.

  A shit-eating grin spreads on Gayle’s face. “He does like my new piercings.”

  “Get the fuck outta here with your self-mutilation.” Rebecca wrinkles her nose. Self-consciously I finger the little diamond on the side of my nose.

  Gayle laughs. “In fact—” She bites down on her lower lip as she winks. “It was he who demanded them.”

  I gape. “He can’t do that! That can’t be legal.”

  Gayle raises her eyebrows. “I’d say half the things we do would be frowned upon by law enforcement.”

  Rebecca and I spend the rest of the night trying to get our friend to tell us more, but she clams up again. Wine, music, and good company relax me and as I catch a cab my mind feels light again.

  Luciano

  The slam makes the windows rattle. I reach for my gun
in its harness under my armpit, pull it out and let it rest against my thigh, out of sight from whoever might enter. If anyone came here with ill intentions they’d be dead before they reached the front door, but one can never be too careful.

  Upset male voices echo in the hallway.

  “Christian!”

  Ivan’s voice is loud enough to boom through the heavy oak door. He rarely raises his voice, and when he does I always pay a little extra attention.

  I relax and put away the gun. My nephew won’t actually make an attempt on my life, even though we’ve had our disputes over the years, some of them leaving bruises on both skin and ego. Throwing my feet up on the desk, I put my hands behind my head and lean back as I wait.

  It takes one more second, then the door slams open and Christian Russo storms in with death in his gaze. He stops and glares at me, his chest heaving.

  I gesture toward him. “Close the door, Christiano.”

  He reaches behind him and shoves it closed so hard the antique marble statues on the bookshelves rattle.

  I throw up my hands. “Dio Mio, nephew. What seems to be the problem?”

  “Don’t fucking ‘nephew’ me, you shit.”

  “I should have you shot like the rabid dog you’ve become. Mind your fucking language when you speak to me.” I swing my legs off the desk and sit up straighter as I pull out a drawer, reach for a cigar and my Zippo.

  Christian pushes a hand through his too-long, messy and unwashed hair and walks up to me, falling down in a chair on his side of the desk. “I’m so fucking tired.”

  “Are you sober?” I cut the cigar, light it up carefully and finally get to fill my mouth with the earthy tasting smoke before I blow it out toward the ceiling.

  He scoffs. “I’m hungover. I got word from the PI yesterday. Still nothing. They’re either dead or out of the country. She’s been gone six months now. Like swallowed by the fucking earth.”

  “This is about Kerry Jackson and the child?”

  Christian looks away and doesn’t answer.