Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  Thankful for the thick carpet, I rush through the hallway. My hands shake as I try one key after the other and the air rushes out of my lungs when one suddenly turns in the lock and a click is heard. I glance behind me, then I pull the door open a sliver, slip through the crack, and close it behind me just as silently. My heart beats so fast that I think it’ll tear loose. The large room is dark and I don’t see or hear anyone. I run to the double glass doors that stood ajar this morning. They unlock with a sharp snap that makes me gasp, then, without a second thought, I pull them open and I’m out!

  The stones are chilly beneath my naked feet. I rush soundlessly in the dark, across the patio and onto soft wonderful grass. I haven’t felt grass, or the breeze on my skin since I don’t know when. Months and months! Suddenly the lawn is flooded in mercilessly bright light. I stop flat, like a deer in headlights, looking around me, near blinded, then I run toward the darker parts, toward bushes and trees, my heart in my throat.

  “Chloe!”

  His roar makes my knees fold and I stumble, fall, smack my knee into something hard, get back on my feet, keep running. Twigs slap my face, I stub my toes against roots, tear up the skin on my naked arms as I plow blindly through the foliage. I don’t know where I’m going. I don’t know if there’s a way out. I just know I have to try.

  Something massive slams into me from behind, knocks the air out of my lungs, and I fall to the ground. Salvatore grabs my arms, pinning them on my back as he sinks down on me. I kick and squirm. He pushes my arms up higher and phantom pain from where my arm was once broken makes me go completely still. He breathes heavily, says nothing, then he leans in and puts his mouth to my ear.

  “Impressive. But I’ll always be faster, always stronger.”

  I let out a whimper, anticipating pain, punishment.

  “Tomorrow,” he whispers, “you are going to tell me about Christine. For now,” he grabs around my chest and pulls me to my feet, “we’re going back to bed.”

  I’ve had more lives than most people. The child Christine Bourne, loved, happy, cared for. The orphaned youth delinquent and thief, Chrissy B. The accountant and forger of a false identity Chloe Becker, and now the captive, the slave to a mob boss, whose name probably doesn’t matter anymore.

  I wonder if this will be my last life.

  Chapter 17

  Luciano

  I half carry, half drag a beaten and defeated Chloe across the lawn. She gives out little whimpers on each exhale, with each step, and when we get inside I reach for one of her legs and pull it up. Her partly grass and dirt covered foot is bloody, filled with little wounds and a couple of larger lacerations.

  “Fuck’s sake,” I mutter and grab under her knees and back, hoisting her up against my chest. Voices from behind, barking out orders, make me spin around. Two of my guards come up to me. I turn half away so they won’t see Chloe’s face. I don’t know why I do it, but instinct tells me to keep her existence to as few people as possible.

  “Boss, there was an intruder!”

  I narrow my eyes. Tomorrow I’ll have them strung up by their balls for being so fucking late.

  “Everything’s in order,” I snarl. Their gazes dart between my naked body and the violently shaking blonde I’m clutching. “Get the fuck back to your duties!”

  They flinch and straighten. “Yes, Boss!”

  “And turn off the fucking spotlight!” I roar at their retreating backs, then I head back toward our bedroom.

  Our? Mine, I mean.

  Chloe’s breaths keep hitching, and she’s tense in my hold, but when I’ve locked the door behind us, the keys still in the lock where she left them, it’s as if she deflates and falls heavy against my chest. She’s gained back her curves, and her body is even more toned than when she first came here, but I still carry her with ease.

  Her workout routine is impressive. I’ve kept an eye on her. She has no idea of where the cameras are, which has been kind of amusing because she has looked for them. She goes for the free weights more than the machines. Like me. I like that. I wonder what it would be like working out with her. Would she try to slam the dumbbells across my head? Probably.

  I wasn’t lying. I am a little bit impressed. I like that she fights me. It makes conquering her all the more sweet. I wonder if I’ll grow tired of her after, when she’s given in, given up all hope, when the opposition leaves her. Within a week she’ll be like any of Elena’s whores who will please me, emotionless, a professional smile plastered across her face. I’m not overly fond of the thought.

  I frown as I dump her on the bed, watching her scramble back, as if she’s expecting me to lash out and hit her. To my own surprise I have no such plans. Looking at her dirty, no doubt hurting feet, I realize my own probably took a hit too as I sprinted through the foliage. I haven’t felt it through the rush of adrenaline and I still don’t feel it.

  Padding through the pile of clothes by my feet, I find my phone and tap the number to the night butler on call.

  “Mr. Salvatore?” He sounds awake, alert. I take note of that. I always remember who does good work. I also never forget who fails me.

  “Come to my bedroom with a bucket suitable for bathing feet. And bandages.”

  “Right away, sir.”

  I hang up and take stock of a mute Chloe. She’s still breathing rapidly, her eyes wide and terrified. Normally, I like terrified. Right now, it’s fucking annoying.

  “Come.” I wave for her to scramble right the fuck back to me, and she does without hesitation. I have no doubt gotten somewhere with this conditioning game of Miss Becker. Grabbing her under her knees and back again, I move over to the group of armchairs and dump her in one of them. “That was fucking stupid, Chloe. We’re gonna look at those feet first. Then we’ll sleep. I’m tired. You’re not helping.”

  Three rapid knocks on the door make me spin around. “Put it right outside and disappear,” I growl. Waiting a few seconds, I then pull the door open and snatch up the orange plastic bucket that also contains an assortment of medical supplies. The door at the far end of the hallway closes and I listen for it to lock before I head back inside and stride to the bathroom to fill the bucket with warm water and some soap. Grabbing a towel, I head back out to Chloe who sits frozen in the same position. Her eyes dart between me and the bucket and she looks as if she thinks I’m about to waterboard her. It irritates me more than it should.

  “Just put your fucking feet in the water. Clean up. I don’t want you soiling my sheets.” I have an instinct to bandage her feet when she is done, but instead I toss the rolls of bandages on her lap, annoyed with myself for even thinking it. What the fuck’s wrong with me? I should have had her crawl back on her hands and knees instead, not carrying her like some fucking knight. I’m no hero. I’m the monster. I slay heroes. “Bandage that shit after and stop with your antics. It’s getting old.”

  Her glare is dark and filled with emotion, then she pulls the bucket closer and busies herself with her tasks. I stand a moment longer, wondering what the hell I’ve gotten myself into, then I turn and head for the shower. I’ve got significant amounts of grass and some mud to wash off.

  When I get back out, I look around the room, a bit wary, but she has thrown her dirty clothes on the floor and curled up in bed beneath the comforter, turned toward me, one hand tucked under her cheek. Her eyes are dark as they meet mine. The despair has returned to her gaze, that old one which has been gone for quite a while. Not that I’ve seen her happy, but she’s seemed somewhat calm and content lately which admittedly has been pretty nice. We had a few good moments this morning. A few. Then she got mouthy, and maybe I was a bit hard on her. I’ll give her another chance tomorrow.

  Neither of us speaks. As I pull the comforter over me, snuggling in, I revel in the heat from her skin. Is this what having a companion could be like? My mind spins. I’ve rarely felt this level of exhaustion. It’s a bone deep ache that makes me feel as if I’ll literally fall apart. My last thought is an image of h
er dirty and bloodied feet. For some reason that disturbs me in a way the marks I’ve made on her back and ass never have. Maybe I should tie her up, but I don’t have the fucking energy.

  When I come to, I’ve slung an arm around Chloe and pulled her to me. She lies stiff, her breathing ragged. My first instinct is to pull away. Somehow I feel like I don’t have the right, that I should leave her alone today, but then I slide my hand upward, cupping her full breast, warm and soft. Her nipple peaks against my palm and I pinch it, making her gasp and arch. As always, her body betrays her. Her response to my touch is amazing and it makes me rock hard in a fraction of a second. Sliding my hand down along her belly, pushing it between her legs, I find her pussy slick. I circle her clit as I put my mouth to her ear.

  “Go shower. I’ll pick you up in thirty.”

  “For what,” she whispers on an exhale as she squirms.

  “Breakfast.” I pull myself away and leave her to her own devices, heading for my other bathroom.

  “But—”

  I don’t turn. She should know better by now than to object.

  Spending fifteen minutes in the gym, I then shower and make myself ready. Carmen should come with David any minute now and leave him with the maid. I want to get there as fast as possible. He knows the girl, but she isn’t a trained caregiver. I have yet to find someone who really knows what they’re doing.

  Chloe sits on the bed, demurely dressed in a white blouse and dark gray slacks. I let my gaze trail along her body until it lands on her feet.

  “Can you walk?”

  She nods. “Yeah.”

  I wave for her to come to me and she darts up. “Do I have to restrain you?”

  “No, Salvatore. You don’t,” she whispers and I believe her. She looks as drained as I feel.

  Today she doesn’t stare in wonder at my house and my garden. Her gaze is empty and trained straight forward. With a slight pinch in my chest I realize I miss her excitement from yesterday. When she sees the breakfast table and David, today sitting at the table already, she freezes up. Her eyes dart to mine and they’re filled with concern. I take stock of the last twenty-four hours. Do I want a repeat of yesterday, do I benefit at all from lecturing her when she actually does have a way with my kid that I don’t have myself? A small voice inside tells me I could learn from her if I only listen.

  “I don’t want any trouble,” she mouths.

  The moment stretches between us. I look between her and my son, then I nod, coming to the only sane conclusion. “Neither do I. I want to see what you can do.”

  She frowns, her eyes filled with doubt, but sits obediently when I pull out the chair for her and turns to my son with a little wave. “Hi, David.”

  I drink my coffee in silence as I watch them interact. “Chloe,” I say, not even thinking about what I’m going to say, “would I get further with gestures?”

  She nods. “He never spoke much at the center either. Except for that time when Kerry…” She snaps her mouth shut and looks horrified.

  I wave at her to go on. It’s fucking old news. It happened. Shit happened. I spent half the day yesterday trying to track down Christian. I know he finished his job in Winnipeg. After that, I don’t know shit, and apparently no one else does either. Our people have started to fill up the city, arriving from all parts of the country. Our call to action didn’t go unheard. My sister Bianca in Chicago has sent some of her best men, but stays behind herself to watch her business. I’ll be in meetings the whole rest of the day. I just want a few good moments here and now before all hell breaks loose. I could really use my oldest nephew, one of my best hitmen but it’s as if he’s been swallowed by the earth.

  “So it’s not only with you,” she continues. “Yes, I do think you’d get further developing a kind of sign language.”

  “An actual sign language?”

  “No. Not the sign language. His own. Let him take the lead. Let him teach you. He has a lot to say, but he can only express it in his own way. And… be patient with him. He…” She chews on her lip, her eyes flickering between my hands and my face, then over to David. “He doesn’t respond well to being ordered around. He closes up.”

  “I want you to teach me.”

  Her mouth falls open. “I… I don’t know if I—”

  “It wasn’t a question, Chloe.”

  Her lips tighten, then she nods. “Sure. I’ll do what I can.”

  I slam my palms together. “Great! Now, tell me about Christine.”

  Chloe is already pale, but her features turn ashen.

  “That wasn’t a question either.”

  “Oh, God,” she moans and buries her head in her hands.

  “Have you been a naughty girl?”

  She looks up with a wince on her face. “I tried to kill that part of myself.”

  “Tell me everything. I’ve had a really hard time finding info on you from before you came to San Francisco except for the very basics.”

  “It’s because I erased everything.” She averts her gaze and busies herself with holding up a jar of jam before David. He nods and she starts spreading it over his chunk of bread.

  “You did what now?”

  “I deleted my files.”

  My mouth almost falls open. We do that shit all the time, but that’s not something the regular dude on the street knows how to do. “How the fuck did that happen? Tell me everything.”

  “I don’t know where to start.” She puts the spoon in the jar and hands David the bread. “Here you go,” she says, her voice soft, soothing.

  “Start from the beginning. You grew up in a middle-class family in the suburbs. What the fuck turned the little blonde, pig-tailed girl with braces into a slick forger of identities, and apparently a hacker.”

  “Oh, I’m not a hacker. I had help.”

  “Who?”

  “It was supposed to keep my brothers out of jail. This old dude needed a front, a cute girl by his side. He couldn’t show his face anymore in the business, so he taught me to run his errands and manage his contacts. People underestimate a girl. I got in where no one else could, struck deals they barely knew they were signing while they were busy staring at my tits. Most of the time I ripped them off and they never noticed. Meanwhile I had him teach me everything he knew.”

  “How’d you find him? How did the two of you meet up? How old were you?”

  “I was going on eighteen. He… caught me with my hand in the cookie jar.”

  David twitches and taps the table. We both look at him as he gestures at his mouth.

  “You want cookies?” I ask and my son nods. He fucking nods! “I’ll get you cookies after breakfast. Okay?” He keeps nodding and looks at his plate again, going back to pushing around the bread. I stare at him in wonder, then I turn back to Chloe. “Elaborate. Please.”

  Her eyes dart between me and David, her teeth digging into her lower lip. Wincing, she takes a deep breath. “He caught me trying to steal from him. I thought he had cash. He did, but… it was all fake.”

  “Fake? What was his business?”

  “New identities, obviously, money, any document you could think of, diplomas, grades. Anything as long as you could pay.”

  “He forged money? Dollar bills?”

  She nods.

  “Was he good?”

  Chloe nods again.

  Well fuck me sideways. “And you know how to do all this?” She cocks her head and half-shrugs. I raise my eyebrows. “Are you even an accountant?”

  “Fuck yes!” She cringes and shrinks back, glancing at David who opens his mouth as if to speak, then snaps it closed again. Chloe blushes profusely. “Sorry. Yeah, I studied. But… I might have made up my high school diploma.”

  I bark out a laugh that makes both David and Chloe jump. “Fuck me. I’m liking this.”

  The blush on Chloe’s cheeks deepens and her eyes glitter briefly, then she averts her gaze.

  “What made you quit? Have you quit? Or do you still keep this up?”

&
nbsp; “I… may have hurt him a little…” She chews on her bottom lip and makes a face.

  “Did he come on to you?”

  Chloe scoffs. “Not everything is about sex. He was like a hundred fucking years old. He had promised to get my brothers out of the pile of crap they were in, but he never kept up his part of the deal.”

  “You killed him?”

  She cocks her head and her gaze becomes distant, as if she’s reliving it. “I punched him. He fell. But he was alive when I left him. A few days later he had a heart attack. I don’t know if it was on me, but I didn’t stick around to find out.”

  “So Christine turned into Chloe and Atlanta was history?”

  She shrugs.

  “You’re quite the surprise, Miss Becker.”

  “I left that life behind.”

  “You couldn’t save your brothers, though. What’d they do time for? Guns, drugs? They are bad boys. You’re quite the broken family, aren’t you? And with a sister that went missing. Murdered parents. Rough start.”

  She winces and shakes her head. “Getting into the court system, the police files… that was way over my level.” Narrowing her eyes, she regards me. “But apparently not yours?”

  I grin and throw out my hands. “My organization is vast. There’s nothing we can’t do.”

  “You’re mob.”

  “We’re just businessmen.”