Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  Luciano doesn’t speak again. Neither do I. Just like when he held me after the assault, like when he cleaned me up in the shower, I feel strangely safe in his arms. Content. I snuggle closer, sniff him. His breathing changes after a while. It’s soothing and my eyelids get heavier.

  I wake from the sun shining mercilessly in my eyes. I forgot to pull the curtains closed. There’s an immediate sense of loss, and then I realize he’s gone. I don’t even have to look. I know the house is empty and that he’s left Sicily. The fight back home isn’t over. My heart skips a beat. I should have pled for my brothers! I’m so stupid!

  Chapter 27

  Luciano

  I never knew that the pain of loss could be so physical. My soul aches with the loss of Elena. My body feels the loss of Chloe’s soft shapes. I didn’t think when I had Dustin call my pilot. I just knew I had to see her, hold her. It turns out it was the best decision I could have made. I feel clean somehow, my mind clearer. I wish I had brought her with me, but I can’t. The war isn’t over. As soon as I board the plane, I call Nathan.

  “How’s Christiano?”

  He groans. “Oh my fucking God. Do you know what time it is? Why don’t you call the hospital instead?”

  “I’m calling you.”

  “He’s stable. Still medicated. They think they can ease up on the sedation soon.”

  “So… this is good news?”

  “Yes! I’m going back to sleep now.” He disconnects.

  I sneer in frustration and tap Matteo’s phone number instead. He sounds a lot more alert. “Uncle?”

  “Is the plan still on schedule?”

  “Man, I heard you left town.”

  “Who snitched?”

  He hesitates.

  “Don’t keep things from me. Dust?”

  “No. I called your house. Talked to one on your staff. He mentioned you had left. Did Elena really die?”

  “Yes,” I snarl, renewed pain stabbing my chest. “I’ll be back in time. Don’t fucking worry about everything.”

  “I don’t wo—”

  I disconnect and call Eric. We’re closer to each other’s time zones with him being in Moscow. “Are you holding it together? I just got off the phone with Matteo. We’re still set to go tomorrow night. West coast night.”

  “We’re ready, Luci. They’ve been on the move, but we’re tracking everyone. We’ll send them all to Hell.”

  “That, we will. Talk later.”

  I disconnect and hesitate, my finger hovering over the contact, then I make the call. Alessandra answers and I tell her to give the phone to Chloe. I fucked up Elena. I can never make that right. I’ve fucked up the brilliant, compassionate woman in that little white stone house in the mountains in Sicily. If she’s ever going to forgive me, I have to start giving her something.

  This is as much for her as it is for Elena. I hope my old friend would have approved.

  “Sal—Luciano?” Chloe sounds confused and a little sleepy. Her husky voice sends a tingle through my belly. I wish I could have stayed.

  “I’ll set your brothers free, Chloe. They’re not in my service anymore. Goodbye.” I tap the call closed before she says anything. I don’t want to hear it. I don’t do people services. I don’t make people happy. I rule with my fist. I don’t want to hear ‘thank you’ because I don’t know what the fuck to answer.

  I get a few hours of sleep on the plane. The rest of the day, we finish our preparations.

  It’s time.

  We’re armed to the teeth when we move through the dank corridor in the apartment building where the four remaining Russians reside. As we approach the front door it opens, and a girl steps out. She’s one millisecond from getting blasted to pieces as she opens her mouth to scream. Wearing a mini skirt and a tiny top that show more skin than they hide, I immediately know she’s just a prostitute. Her legs are bruised, as are her arms, and she doesn’t even look to be of legal age.

  I raise my hand and put a finger to my lips, shaking my head, holding her gaze to see that she understands. Her eyes dart between the five of us, then she nods, her eyes wide and frightened. She won’t make a fuss. She’s got nothing invested in these guys. Judging from the fresh marks on her skin, she’ll probably go celebrate their timely deaths.

  Cocking my head for her to get the fuck out of here, making her jerk into action, I then turn my attention back to the now conveniently open door.

  The heat camera shows three people in the living room and one in the kitchen. We’ve all studied the layout and know exactly where to position ourselves. I gesture for my men to move in.

  Upset voices boom from the back of the apartment. I smirk. They have, no doubt, been notified of their sudden complete loss of assets.

  There’s only one door and we dart inside, spraying bullets across the room. It’s wild, sloppy, and monstrously satisfying. Two of my men run toward the kitchen as a shot goes off, then another. The fourth Russian motherfucker had time to react and one of my people fall, clutching his shoulder, then rapid fire from the semi ends the life of the last Russian mobster in San Francisco. It will be a very long while before they set foot in my town again. If ever.

  I look at the massacred men on the couch, then I walk up to them and spit. “Fucking culo! Vai all’inferno!” I snarl. They can all go to Hell. I’ll meet them there and fuck up their afterlife too.

  “Boss,” says someone behind me and I spin around. Our fallen guy clutches his shoulder. He’s pale and sweaty. I walk up to him and tear off his safety vest and jacket despite his screams.

  “It’s a flesh wound. The vest protected you. Your legs work fine. It’s time to leave. We’re done.”

  Two of the guys take the wounded man to the hospital while I and the remaining soldier head back to my mansion. During the ride one text message after the other pops into my phone. London done. Roarke Brennan is an absolute murder machine, ruthless and efficient. Moscow done. Eric Reed took on the toughest mission and had to coordinate the biggest attack. Ukraine done. My men have performed well. I’ll reward each and every one personally.

  One long chilly night is all it takes to wipe out our enemies. The slaughter has been delicious. I see Ivan’s pale face before me. Chloe, traumatized and drenched in their blood. I revel in having executed every last motherfucker of the Russian mobsters who thought they could come into my city and mess with my life.

  If we’ve missed anyone, they’ll have no means to recover and no one’s going to want to fuck with us for the foreseeable future.

  It’s four in the morning when I call my club manager.

  “Sir?” He sounds barely half-awake.

  “Tonight, we’re back in business. Open everything. Give discounts at your own discretion. Get people back to our venues at all cost.”

  Alan suddenly sounds a lot more alert. “Fucking finally. Will do, sir!”

  “I’ll come by the Crown tonight and make an appearance.”

  “We always store your preferred wine.”

  “Good boy.”

  I’m tired as all hell but filled with adrenaline. Twisting and turning in bed, I finally give up, work out, take a shower, and prepare to start the day.

  Passing my office, I grab my laptop and go to the kitchen to make myself an espresso. The table looks eerily abandoned. Ghosts of past conversations bounce between the walls. Chloe with David, calm, fresh out of bed, her blonde hair splayed over her shoulders. I don’t know where we go from here. I can’t lock her up again, but I can’t let her go either. I threw away the leverage with her brothers and now I’m pretty much fucked if she tells me to go to Hell.

  Opening the laptop, I begin to sort through dozens of unopened emails while my thoughts spin. I need to get my place back in order. There are extensive repairs to be done. I’ll gather everyone for a debriefing and make sure to pay my men for their phenomenal effort. I’ll finally take a day and go visit Christian in New York. I need to see that bastard for myself. Second-hand reports are infuriatingly unsatisf
ying.

  When my house is habitable again, I’ll send for Chloe. What does she want? How can I make her stay? Money? Jewelry? Cars? Horses? A puppy? What is she into? I realize I know way too little about her, and I have absolutely no one to ask.

  Maybe I can ask her?

  Me, asking for something instead of demanding?

  I don’t know who I am anymore.

  The sound of my front door quietly opening and closing has me on my feet in a second. I grab my gun and listen as I sneak closer. It’s six in the morning. I can’t think of anyone who’d show up unannounced at this hour. I haven’t gotten new gate guards in place yet and now I realize that it was beyond sloppy.

  Locating the direction of the shuffle of feet, I fall on one knee and take a quick peek around the doorpost.

  In the center of the hallway, right on the mosaic of a compass rose, almost at the same spot where he lay shot, stands Ivan. His arm is in a sling and his shirt hangs looser than I’m used to seeing it. He’s lost some pounds. I tuck the gun away and walk up to him, spreading my arms wide.

  “You fucking moron. You almost got yourself shot. What are you doing here? They let you go? At this hour?”

  He shoves his hand through his hair. My usually clean-shaven henchman sports a short, but wild blond beard. “Boss! I-I kinda let myself out.” He shrugs, grimaces, and then smiles sheepishly.

  I bark out a laugh and shake my head. “I knew a few bullets wouldn’t take you out. Have you had breakfast?” I grab the bag out of his hand. “What do you want?”

  Ivan shakes his head.

  “I’ll fix something. I haven’t had any myself yet either.”

  “Boss,” he says as he trails after me, “how is everyone?”

  I gesture for him to sit and he sinks down on a chair at the table. Preparing a cup of strong, black coffee, I throw him a glance over my shoulder.

  “Did you hear about Elena?”

  He frowns. “What about her?”

  Renewed pain stabs through my chest, making it harder to breathe. “She had cancer, man. I never knew,” I choke out.

  “Had?”

  “She died. She fucking went and died on me!” I push the cup toward Ivan and sit down opposite him. My espresso has turned cold. I drain it with a grimace and look away.

  “I’m sorry, Boss.”

  “Yeah,” I mutter. “Thanks.”

  “How’s your girl?”

  I snap back to look at him again, frowning.

  “Chloe,” he adds.

  I scoff, my stomach clenching. “She’s not my—What the fuck. She’s fine. I shipped her off to Bietini.”

  He nods. “Good call. David? Chris? The rest?”

  I throw up my hands and stand, pulling open the fridge to find us something to eat. I don’t know what to answer. Nothing is ‘good’.

  “We’ve lost a couple of men. No one important. The Russians have been dealt with. They won’t bother us again.” I put bread, butter, ham and cheese on the table between us and prepare a sandwich which I then put in front of Ivan.

  “Boss?” He fakes a sob as he picks it up. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “Shut the fuck up. I want you back in shape, you look like shit.”

  Ivan takes a bite and grins. “I’m ready to get back to work,” he says between chews.

  “You’re not going to be in fighting condition for a long while yet, man.”

  “True. But I can help.”

  I nod slowly. “I’ll put you with Dust. He’s really stepped up lately.”

  It takes a day, but Dustin gets the gates fixed and new guards in place. I put Ivan in charge of arranging for construction workers to demolish my old bedroom. I don’t just want it fixed. I’ll tear down and rebuild that whole part of the house. I want floor to ceiling windows, an exit to the garden, and to get rid of the room in the basement. All I see when I think about it is a broken Chloe. I don’t want her to get back here and see that shit. The thought alone sickens me.

  I’m nurturing my first espresso for the day, deep in paperwork Matteo sent me regarding our finances when I get one of the least expected announcements of my life. There’s a knock on my door and then Ivan pushes it slightly ajar. “Sir, there’s a Miss Jackson here to see you. She’s having a face-off with the gate guards, adamant that you’d want to see her.”

  My jaw drops as my mind goes blank for a moment. The girl that went missing. Christian’s fixation. The cause for his downfall. The fucking mother of his child. My insides turn cold.

  “Let her in.”

  When he nods and closes the door, I dart up and begin to pace the room. Why the fuck is she back? I don’t believe in coincidence. If she has anything to do with the state Christian’s in, I’ll fucking murder her.

  I spin around when the door opens and she enters. She’s tinier than I remember, and she looks a mess. There’s raw fear in her gaze, but also defiance, that streak of strength that won me over the first time we met. Her long red hair is gone. It’s short and black, a terrible, choppy cut, and I wonder if she did it herself. I walk up to her, intentionally slowly, then past her and lock the door, pocketing the key. She got away once. She’s not getting out of here without explaining every minute that has passed since she left town with Christian’s daughter, when her disappearance set him on his path to destruction.

  As predicted, she goes absolutely wild, her eyes huge and terrified, fixating on the locked door. I’m not gentle when I push her into a chair and demand that she explains herself.

  “Where did you go, Kerry? We looked for you.”

  “I moved to Chicago.”

  “I know that.” My impatience grows, crawling in me like slithering snakes. “Go on.”

  “Canada.”

  I twitch and stare at her. I don’t believe in coincidence. “Where. In. Canada?” I say slowly through clenched teeth, heat rising inside like a cloud of rage. If she has something to do with Christian’s situation, I swear to all that’s holy—

  “A-a little town called Middlebro,” she stutters, no doubt sensing that I’m ready to pounce.

  “You fucking bitch!” I snarl and grab her by the throat, pushing her back against the backrest.

  Kerry cries out and clutches at my hand, but she’s like a mouse in the hands of a lion and has no leverage. Her face turns beet read. “Please,” she mouths. “It’s Christian, he’s—” She swallows, wincing with pain.

  I snatch back my hand and she darts up, taking several steps back, toppling the chair. “You’re all the same!” she cries, tears streaming down her cheeks, her hand flying to cover the reddened skin on her throat. “You’re all assholes.”

  “I have never claimed to be anything else, Miss Jackson. And neither has my nephew, or anyone else in my family. We haven’t gotten to where we are by being cuddly. Now what about Christian.”

  “He’s dead!” she screams. “He died!”

  I go still. What makes her think that? She is very close to having been right, but how is she involved? “Go on.”

  “He found us,” she whispers as new tears drip down her cheeks.

  “And?”

  Kerry chews on her plump bottom lip. Her nostrils flare as she stares at me. “He… Cecilia got ill and we had to walk to get her to the hospital. He fell into a ravine, a river, and disappeared.”

  “Why did you walk?”

  “Everything went wrong! There was a storm. The road was blocked.” Her eyes turn distant, as if she’s not in the room anymore. “We had to.” Her last words are nothing but a hoarse whisper, filled with pain.

  “So let me get this straight. You fled from nothing, settled in fucking nowhere, my nephew found you, and because of you, he’s now dead? Did you kill him? Push him? Did you find a convenient opportunity to get rid of your stalker?”

  Her green eyes widen. “N—no! It wasn’t like that!”

  “Then what was it like?”

  “That’s none of your business!”

  I close the distance between
us in a fraction of a second and push her until I slam her into the bookshelf, my hand around her throat again. “Sweetheart! You have made it my business.”

  “Can’t—breathe,” she gasps.

  I ease a little on the pressure, but she’s going nowhere until she explains. “Well?”

  She swallows, and her expressive eyes nearly do me in. I have no problems understanding why Christian got so obsessed with her. She’s strong, intelligent, brave, and so fucking beautiful she almost burns my retinae.

  “I didn’t hurt him, but I feel like I’m to blame anyway.”

  “Funny, that’s how I feel too. If you hadn’t run, none of this would have happened.”

  Her expression turns fearful. “I didn’t know.”

  I remove my hand, take a step back and regard her.

  Her hand flies up to her throat. “Please don’t hurt me.”

  “Where’s Cecilia.”

  “With my mom.”

  “And where is Mom?” I ask silkily.

  She stares at me and snaps her mouth shut.

  “Never mind. We’ll find her.”

  Kerry darts forward and grips my shirt. “No, please! Don’t hurt her!”

  I grab her hands, a little too tight from the wince on her face. “Miss Jackson. From now on you stay in town. If I come knocking, you open, if I tell you to come here, you’ll get your fucking ass here, if I tell you to jump, you jump. Are we clear? And no hiding the child. She’s a Russo. You’re nobody, but young Cecilia is family, and the child of my nephew. That means a lot to me.”

  Her shoulders slump in defeat. It’s an unexpectedly saddening sight, watching the fight drain out of this strong woman. She reminds me a lot of Chloe, still resisting me to this very day. Chloe stood on almost this exact spot, screaming about how Christian had treated her.

  “Can I go?” she asks weakly.

  I throw out my hand toward the door, following her as she takes a few quick strides toward it. “I’ll be in touch,” I say as I pull out the key and unlock it.