Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  Alex and Jane gather the plastic sheet and towels, cleaning up the mess at the bottom of the bed.

  “We all have our crosses to bear, love.” She looks from me to the baby.

  I haven’t told them, but she’s not stupid. She knows something is off. I nod. “I guess.”

  “Rest. Okay? You’re gonna need it. From now on you take every chance you get. Let me take the baby.”

  I surprise myself by hesitating.

  “I know what I’m doing.” Jane’s voice is thick with emotion.

  Nodding, I open my arms and let her relieve me of the tiny package that’s been snoozing on my chest.

  She cradles him to her, plucking a little at the towel around his face.

  “He’s beautiful.” Her voice is wistful, and her eyes shine. I think of the children she lost and my chest clenches at the thought of how she must hurt.

  I nod. “Yeah.”

  As the door falls shut behind them, I pull up the comforter to my nose, overcome by exhaustion. Of course he’s beautiful. His father possesses an almost otherworldly beauty.

  And an evil that makes the Devil look like an angel.

  Chapter 22

  Lucas

  The booking area is a loud place. I’m being led, cuffed, occasionally stumbling, by two heavyset cops who don’t treat me with any care. I feel the loathing ooze off them. I’m being processed, strip-searched, get my clothes back but not my shoes and belt. My wallet and phone, even the fucking lint in my pocket, is all tossed in a plastic bag that is labeled and put aside. They shove a pen at me, to sign off for what they took, but I refuse to lift my hands. Fuck them all. Pushed through another corridor, they finally throw me in a large glass cage, with twelve other men of all colors and sizes. Some are tall, broad and menacing. Some are just tiny little weasels. Some look like they don’t belong here. I feel for the transvestite. He’s not gonna have an easy time in here. I scan the crowd for a threat, but no one gives me more than the odd uninterested glance.

  One guy sits on a wooden bench, bawling his eyes out. Another keeps pacing back and forth, strings of curses leaving his mouth. Occasionally he slams his fists on the thick glass window.

  I’ve never been arrested before. I don’t know the drill.

  There’s a phone in the corner, but I have no one I can call. I have nothing but enemies on the outside. I guess I should get myself a lawyer, but I don’t even know where to start. No one has told me anything save for a few short orders.

  Hour after hour pass by. People come and go.

  Every sense of self-preservation suddenly stands on high alert as a tall, broad man with tattoos crawling up along his neck, a thick, dark mane of hair, and dark eyes, saunters into the holding cell. I flinch when the door slams shut behind him.

  He shoves a smaller guy off a bench and sits, his legs spread so wide no one else would even think of trying to sit next to him.

  I keep track of him out of the corner of my eye, and the hair at my nape rises when I feel his eyes on me. I am at the opposite side of the room, having found a space on a bench myself. Lifting my head, I face him head on, meeting his dark gaze. He oozes of threat. He keeps looking at me, stone faced. He doesn’t move. I don’t even see him blink. I fight to keep my breathing calm when every instinct tells me to run. But run where? There’s no getting away.

  He’s here for me. I know it. He’s been let in on some fake charges, and he’s here to tell me I’m dead.

  It was obviously unfathomably stupid to attempt to take down Salvatore. But at least I was man enough to try. I had to try to give some justice to Carmen.

  He doesn’t budge, the fucker, and finally I can’t stand the pissing contest and look away, trying to look bored, and as if I’m totally uninterested. My heart slams hard in my chest, though, and every limb feels as if they’re carbonated. I glance at the other men. Everyone is quiet, observing our exchange, except for the doped-up guy in the corner, who probably needs to be in the hospital and not locked up here.

  The door opens, making everybody flinch in the tense atmosphere.

  “Payne!”

  I breathe a sigh of relief. At least a few moments of respite. As I walk past him, I square my shoulders, refusing to show my fear.

  I’m pushed to a spot in front of a desk and place my feet on the two painted foot-shaped well-worn patches on the floor.

  “Name and social security number.”

  I don’t answer, making my face neutral, zoning out. I have no reason to cooperate. My insides crawl with the anticipation of what’s to come, but I refuse to show it. Fuck them.

  The lady repeats the question. The two guards next to me grip my arms.

  “Answer, you little weasel.”

  When I don’t, they sigh, an irritated hiss through clenched teeth, and pull me with them for further processing. Pictures. Frontal, side. Fingerprints. Then I’m led through one corridor after another. We end up in a cold gray room with three chairs and a table attached to the floor. There’s a surveillance camera in the upper far corner, and a large one-way mirror taking up most of the wall opposite from the chair they push me down on.

  Then I’m left alone.

  It feels like forever before two new cops arrive, these ones in civilian clothes. One is a tired mess of a man, a thick blond mustache with streaks of gray, bags under his hooded eyes, his beige pants and yellow short-sleeved shirt wrinkled. There are sweat stains in his armpits, and he stinks. The other is his opposite, a dark gray suit, a neatly trimmed, intentional two day-stubble, well-combed hair. I wonder if they’re both bought, or just the fancy cop.

  “I’m Holsom. This is detective Channing.” Fancy Cop points to himself and then to his colleague.

  He presses a button on a recorder and puts it on the table in front of me. “Can you state your name for the record?”

  I don’t say a word.

  They keep asking. I’m quiet. There is no reason for me to say shit. They caught me, gun in hand, in a slaughterhouse. I know there won’t be a trial, because I’ll be dead long before that, so asking for a lawyer is pointless. Staring at them, but not really seeing them, I wonder exactly how painful my death will be? Will I cry and beg like some do? Will I be strong until the very end? I’ve seen it all. I know how it feels to deal death. I’ve never been at the receiving end. Obviously.

  Finally, they look at each other and sigh. Wrinkly has an expression of deep distaste while Fancy keeps his face as neutral as I do. He’s the bought one. He’s got that air of self-confidence you get from knowing you’re untouchable.

  Fancy reaches for the inner pocket in his suit jacket and brings out a note that he begins to read from.

  “You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak to me?”

  I interlace my fingers and rest my arms on the table, staring him down.

  “Oh for fuck’s sake. Get him back to holding. He won’t be as fucking cocky tonight in county.”

  County jail. Where I’ll meet my inevitable fate.

  Carmen

  The little one lies on my bed with the comforter arranged around him like a wall. He can’t turn yet, though, so he won’t fall off anyway. I’ve just fed him and he’s sound asleep. I didn’t plan on breastfeeding the little bastard, I don’t want to be close to him, but my boobs are so swollen I can scream. They leak and ache. It’s fucking horrible. It’s worse than giving birth, because that ended. This I live with day and night for two and a half weeks now, every moment torture, except for right after he’s fed.

  I almost jump through the roof when the doorbell rings. It’s ten in the morning and my roommates are asleep, business having been resumed as usual after a couple of days of rest after he was just born.

  No one should come here. Landlord? We’ve paid the rent, and
nothing is broken. A john who can’t tell day from night? My biggest fear is that it would be someone from my old life, but I should be safe.

  It rings again, a long high-pitched, annoying signal that is bound to wake the dead. I decide to do just that. Dashing into Jane’s room, dark and dank, I shake her until she wakes with a grunt.

  “There’s someone at the door. You gotta open it. I can’t show my face. Please!”

  “All right, girl. Hold your horses.” She stumbles out of bed, naked as the day she was born, snatches her robe off the floor and pushes a hand through her hair. “How do I look?” she asks as she wraps the robe around her and ties it.

  She looks a mess. “Like you just woke. You’re very pretty. Now go.”

  I dash back to my room and carefully push the door closed, my heart in my throat. I look at the baby. No, fuck it. If I lift him, he might wake and scream. I sneak into the closet, hiding behind my clothes and pull the door shut, breathless, trying to listen.

  It feels like it takes forever. I don’t hear anything. Suddenly there’s a knock on my door, and then it opens.

  “Carmen?”

  It’s Jane. She sounds calm. I push open the door and crawl out.

  “We alone?”

  “You need to hear this.”

  Her face is too serious. My mouth turns dry and my chest clenches up. “What is it?”

  She cocks her head for me to follow. Jane isn’t a stupid girl. She wouldn’t put me in danger. I think. They know I’m hiding, but not from what, from who.

  “Who is it?” I whisper and grab her arm.

  The answer shows up in the doorway, making me jump back in shock.

  “Carmen.” Her eyes are mild, filled with compassion. Then her gaze darts to the bed, to the little bundle of warmth and powdery scents sleeping there. I take a step to the side, hiding him from her sight, surprising myself with my protective instincts.

  “Matron.” My voice shakes.

  “Call me Elena. I’m not your matron anymore. We need to talk. You don’t have to be afraid. No one knows where I am.”

  “How did you find me?”

  “Gabriela.”

  “She swore on her life!” My heart drops to my toes. Fucking hell. I knew she’d keep my secret, or I wouldn’t have told her.

  “Circumstances have changed. She did well to talk to me. Come. I have coffee that’s cooling off. Jane here was so kind to offer me.”

  With heavy steps, feeling as if I’m walking to my execution, I follow her to the kitchen. Jane boils some more water, tosses a spoon of instant coffee into a mug and puts it along with a cup of sugar in front of me. Then she disappears without a word.

  “What is it?” I ask, my lips numb, my interest in drinking anything non-existent.

  “It’s Lucas.”

  Her face is so serious that I lose my breath for a moment.

  “Is he dead?” She shakes her head and I fall against the backrest, all air leaving my lungs. “What is it then?”

  “He’s in jail.”

  Okay. That’s shit, but something that could definitely happen, considering he does what he does.

  “What for?”

  “Well, on paper for murder.”

  I frown and rub a hand over my face. “And off paper?”

  “Because he snitched on Salvatore.”

  “What?” I stand so abruptly the chair topples.

  “What’d he do? Why?”

  “I don’t know the details, Carmen. I only know what I was told by one of my girls. She spent a night with one of the men who was a part of the raid. Lucas had called the cops on them but—”

  “But what?”

  “He spoke to the wrong person. He talked to someone on Salvatore’s payroll.”

  “Oh no. No, how could he be so stupid!”

  “What do you think?”

  I regard Matron in silence, remembering Lucas’ tormented eyes the last time I saw him, when Salvatore was assaulting me in front of him, in a room full of men who were staring hungrily at me.

  I pull up the chair and slump on it.

  “For me,” I whisper.

  She doesn’t confirm my suspicions, but she doesn’t object either.

  “How do we fix this? Does he have a lawyer? We gotta get him a lawyer.”

  “Carmen.” She lays a hand over mine. “It will never go to court.”

  “What? Why?”

  “Don’t you see? How can you not see?” Her voice raises a pitch. “He’s at the top of Salvatore’s hit list. He’ll never see a courtroom.”

  The sudden pain in my stomach makes me gasp and double over. All I can do is whimper. “Oh my God, what do I do?”

  “I just wanted you to know. There’s nothing we can do.”

  Tears well up in my eyes. I can’t stop them. I stare at Matron in horror as my cheeks turn wet. This is worse than anything I’ve ever been through. Anything. Beatings. Rape. Nothing has made me hurt like I hurt right now.

  A whimper from behind me, from my room, snaps me back to reality. It’s his baby! His! I should hold it up before him and then smother it. He should know he actually fathered a child, right before he loses it. By my hand.

  Nausea rises in me as I think of the little rosy bundle in there and my breasts start tensing up again. No. The little one is innocent. Oh my God, no, I could never hurt him.

  As I stand, I meet Matron’s intelligent gaze.

  “You had a child?”

  I raise my chin in defiance, then I spin on my heels to go get him. He needs my breasts, my breasts need him. I’m nothing but a milk factory.

  “Shh, I’ve got you.” I pick him up and cradle the defenseless little creature to my chest, supporting his neck, and make my way back to the kitchen. No, I could never hurt him.

  Sitting back down, I pull up my top and free a breast. He latches on like the little pro he is. My other breast tenses up and starts leaking. I hate this!

  “Do you have children, Elena?”

  She shakes her head. “Never got to it.”

  “Good on you,” I mutter.

  “You’re not a happy mother?”

  I keep my eyes intent on the little one, not sure what to answer. No, I’m not a happy mother. I have the right instincts in the right places. I do what I have to. Feed him. Comfort him. Keep him clean. But I’m not his mother. There’s no love in my heart. I hope we’ll find a good family. That’s as far as my affection goes.

  “What did you name him, or her?”

  “I haven’t named it,” I mutter.

  Matron darts up and walks around the table, pushing the blanket a little to the side, freeing his black tuft of hair. As she does that, he opens his dark eyes and peeks up at her. Matron gasps and takes a step back.

  “That’s not Lucas’ child.”

  I grit my teeth and stare at the mug in front of me, a chafed Disney princess decorating it, the handle broken. Then I shake my head.

  “Is it his child?” she whispers.

  “Yes,” I say, barely audible.

  She gasps and takes a step back. I jerk and look up at her. The little one loses his grip on my nipple and the milk drips on his cheek in a steady flow. He grunts and flails, but I barely notice.

  “Carmen, you clever girl!”

  “What?” I don’t feel particularly clever. I feel like the biggest loser walking the earth.

  “Right there, you have the key to saving your lover.”

  I frown and look down at the little boy who is trying to find his way back to his food. I push the nipple to his mouth, both of us sighing with relief as he starts sucking again.

  “I— I don’t understand.”

  “How attached are you to this child?”

  I scoff bitterly.

  “Salvatore’s only regret in life is that he doesn’t have an heir. Is that a boy or a girl?”

  “It’s a boy.” Something in her voice makes me sit up straight. My heart pounds harder as I wait for her to continue.

  “You and Luca
s are so unbelievably lucky.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “That’s how you get him off the hook, Carmen! We let Salvatore know he has a son.”

  My chest clenches at the mere thought of letting him know anything at all. Especially anything regarding me.

  “Why? How?”

  “He’ll want this child. You want Lucas to go free. You’ll give him his boy, but you’ll have terms.”

  I lose the ability to breathe for a few moments. My mouth goes paper dry.

  “Would that work?”

  “We’ll make it work. Trust me.”

  I look down at the little life I carried inside me for nine months. I wanted this boy to find his way to a nice family.

  “Will he be kind to him?”

  The matron regards me. “He is who he is. But he is his father. That boy has his genes. They belong together. You know this.”

  “I’ll do it,” I say. “If it saves Lucas. Will you help me?”

  Matron grabs her mug and drains the last of her coffee. “Will I help you? Yes! I have a lot of things to do. I’ll be in touch shortly. We don’t have much time.”

  The door clicks shut behind her as she leaves our apartment. I’m left alone with a whirlwind of emotions. I shift the little one to the other breast, hoping he’s not too full yet. This needs to happen fast. Lucas is in acute danger. He can be killed any minute.

  God, stay alive! For me.

  ‘I haven’t named him.’

  My own words eat away at my soul. I hold him to my chest. The little boy. My son. He deserves a name. And love. And a Mamá. I want to die. I can’t let Lucas die! I’m caught in a nightmare and I’ve never wanted my mother more in my life. I want to be little again; I want someone else to carry my burdens for a little while.

  I have to call a cousin. My parents don’t have a phone. My heart pounds rapidly, thud, thud, thud. The wait is eternal even though they live close, only across the street. I’m afraid Mamá won’t come to the phone. I’m afraid she will come to the phone and tell me she still won’t have anything to do with me. I know I hurt them. I don’t know if I can fix it. I look down on my little son, so little, and still so magnificent.