Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  He has begun to walk. He doesn’t say much yet. He loves chasing butterflies, and in Salvatore’s beautiful garden we find hundreds of them.

  Salvatore schedules time with David. He sees him every day, but our son lives with me. Thank God, he accepted my proposal, or David would have lived with nannies, just as I foresaw. I think the big, bad mafia boss loves his son, though. I see it in his eyes, and as time passes, I’m beginning to see a change in him. None of my former workmates have been called over. Oh, there have been women, make no mistake, and I can’t know what goes on behind his closed doors late at night, but if he fucks women he doesn't pay for, I doubt he treats them like he used to treat us.

  Salvatore will never be an angel, he will never be a law-abiding citizen, but something is changing. He’s not as much of a monster anymore.

  Little David is so loved – the beautiful little boy with three parents.

  “I know what I want to do,” says Lucas one day. We are having a long and lazy breakfast in the morning sun on the patio at the back of the house.

  “Yeah?”

  “I want to teach.”

  “You are teaching.”

  “Yes, and I love it, but I want to do more than teach Krav Maga for the rest of my life. I want to reach kids. For real. I want to get to them before they turn out like me. I have done so many wrongs. I want to spend my life making them right.”

  I down the last of my coffee and put down the cup. “I think you turned out just fine.”

  He takes my hand, stroking his thumb over the back of mine. Goosebumps race across my back. He knows I love it. “You know what I mean.”

  “So what do you want to teach?”

  “Social studies. Maybe English.”

  “I knew you were something extra the moment I saw you.”

  “I still have some ways to go. I never finished college.” He grimaces.

  I grip his hand. “You’ll get there. I know it. Help me get this to the kitchen.”

  As I wash up our cups, Lucas comes up from behind, pressing against me. “Is David gonna be with Elena… a while?” he whispers in my ear.

  I let the cups go, spin around and lay my arms around his neck, pushing my belly against the growing bulge in his pants. “Yeah, she brought him over to Luci. Why? Do you have plans?”

  My tall, blond Viking scoops me up in his embrace so fast I squeal. “Plan, schman. I’m taking you back to bed, miss.”

  “When will you make an honorable woman out of me? Mrs. Carmen Payne?”

  He groans. “As soon as you say yes.”

  I giggle. “Ask me again,” I whisper in his ear.

  Lucas lets me down in an instant and falls to one knee before me. “Will you marry me, Carmen?”

  “Where’s the ring?”

  He closes his eyes and groans.

  “And did you ask my dad yet?”

  He darts up and lifts me, putting me over his shoulder. “I’m gonna fuck you so hard you won’t know your name, and when you’re dazed and confused, I’ll ask again.”

  “With a ring,” I gasp, laughing.

  “With a ring. I promise.”

  “You are such a good boy.”

  “Mm-hmm, I know. Now shut up and let’s go practice making siblings.”

  “And you still have to ask my father.”

  “They’re coming over next week?”

  “On Thursday,” I gasp, as he nibbles at my throat.

  “Then we marry on Friday!”

  I laugh and ruffle his hair. “You’re so goofy! I love you!”

  Lucas drops me on the bed and climbs up on top of me. “Carmen Moreno, soon Payne, I love you too.”

  I’ve always been a practical girl.

  I’ve learned that good is a relative thing and that life is full of compromises, but looking around me, no matter how unusual our arrangement, I couldn’t wish for more.

  The End

  Acknowledgement

  Thank you, my wonderful readers! You encourage me to keep writing. Without you my stories would collect dust on my hard drive.

  Thank you to my critique partners and my beta readers who gave me invaluable input on this book when it was still on its first draft.

  Thank you, Tabitha Black for the discussion about tropes and romances. Thank you, my editor Sandra Havro, you rock, and thank you Eris Adderly for the amazing cover! I’m blown away!

  Redemption

  Russo Saga - Book Four

  Published by Blushing Books

  An Imprint of

  ABCD Graphics and Design, Inc.

  A Virginia Corporation

  977 Seminole Trail #233

  Charlottesville, VA 22901

  ©2019

  All rights reserved.

  No part of the book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher. The trademark Blushing Books is pending in the US Patent and Trademark Office.

  Nicolina Martin

  Redemption

  EBook ISBN: 978-1-64563-066-1

  v1

  Cover Art by ABCD Graphics & Design

  This book contains fantasy themes appropriate for mature readers only. Nothing in this book should be interpreted as Blushing Books' or the author's advocating any non-consensual sexual activity.

  From a single moment on, my life was forever changed,

  Like everything I previously knew had suddenly been rearranged.

  Change What Is To Come

  By Anonymous

  Part I

  The End

  Chapter 1

  New York

  Christian

  The city that supposedly never sleeps is slowly coming back to life. It was pretty dead when I woke a couple of hours ago. At least this stiff upper lip part of Manhattan was. I sit on a bench at the edge of Central Park, a cup of coffee in my hand. I’ve spent the night at a hotel, I’ve run, showered, and now I’m overlooking the entrance to the office building where my target works. Mr. Corben Olsen. CEO of a Fortune 500 company situated on the Upper East Side. He’s a short man in his fifties, donning a toupee, working out every day to stay fit. He’s on his third wife and has chosen to start over with a second set of kids, the dumb fuck. His wife is almost a head taller and seventeen years younger, a former Victoria’s Secret model. She has a lover, a cop who’s investigating Corben’s business. That’s intriguing, but has nothing to do with me.

  Corben Olsen is a crook whose business is going to shit. No bank with any kind of morals is lending him any more money, so to be able to maintain his lavish lifestyle, he had to go to the immoral, and turned to my uncle, Mr. Luciano Salvatore, the most ruthless mob boss on the West Coast. The only mob boss on the West Coast after we eliminated all competition some years back.

  There are plenty of underground lending businesses in New York. My guess is he turned to someone far away so that he’d feel safe up there, in his tower.

  He isn’t.

  Payment has been due. He isn’t delivering.

  This is his first warning. It’s gonna hurt a little. We’ll see if he gets the message, or if I’ll have reason to come back. My gut tells me I will.

  I glance at the clock. Seven fifteen. I wonder if my brother is awake yet. Oh, fuck it. If he isn’t, I’ll wake him. I’m tired of hotels, and he owns a whole floor in a building down in Tribeca. He can squeeze me in somewhere. Draining the last of the coffee, I haul up my phone and thumb through my contact list, praying he’ll be home, or I’ll be pissed. A pissed off Christian won’t be good news for Corben. A pissed off Christian won’t hurt Corben just a little.

  “Chris! To what do I owe this honor?” Nathan’s voice is hoarse. He sounds beyond tired.

  “Tell me you’re in the big apple.”

  “I’m in a cab. Just left JFK. Got a foggy view of Manhattan across the river. Why?”

  “I’m passing through
. Need a place to crash.”

  “What’s wrong with hotels, dude?”

  “Brother—” He knows I hate them. I’m always traveling. I miss my house like fuck whenever I’m away. Someone else’s home is the second best.

  “I’m just kidding. Of course you can come by. Wanna hit the town tonight?”

  “Definitely.”

  “All right. Gimme a call when you get in. I’m not picking you up. I’m fucking beat.”

  I don’t bother mentioning I’m already in town. I do worry a tad about Nate. He’s exhausting himself with work, always has. He should sell off a few homes, decide where to live, slow the fuck down.

  “How’s the old lady? She with you?”

  “Nah, Sydney’s busy running her hotel.” His voice brightens, as always, when he talks about her.

  “She’s one of a kind, isn’t she?”

  A stab of jealousy hits me. My wayward younger brother has found the love of his life. It struck him out of the blue. No one expected him to ever find the one, to settle down.

  “She is.”

  “I’m happy for you, you know it.” On the other side of the street, I see Corben walking briskly along the sidewalk. “Talk later.”

  I disconnect as I watch Mr. Olsen entering the building. Anticipation builds in me as always before a hit. It’s not time yet, though. I’ll catch him either when he works late, or when his wife leaves for her lover. I expect to be here a few days.

  Corben is blindly in love and doesn’t suspect a thing about his unfaithful wife. I wonder if it would be too cruel to enlighten him. Or maybe it will be enough with a couple of broken fingers.

  I don’t believe in love. There is no such thing. I’ve never seen it, never felt it. It’s nothing but chemistry, people’s need to copulate. It’s all ingrained in our DNA.

  But love?

  I care for my brothers, Nate, Matteo, and Luca, and they care about me. We’d die for each other. I don’t know if that qualifies. Maybe what I feel for my sister is something close to ‘love’. Or maybe it’s nothing but a strong protection instinct because we share a set of genes?

  I glance at the clock again. It’s way too early to call her, and she’ll probably be in class in the morning.

  Standing, I toss the now empty cup in the nearest bin, and aim for Mr. Olsen’s building. Time to check that everything is in order, that the keycard with my picture and my fake name takes me exactly where I want it to.

  I spend an hour playing pretend, coming and going, taking note of emergency exits and alarm systems. When I’m satisfied, it’s still early, but I decide to go for breakfast, check out of the hotel, and then hit up Nate.

  It’s a beautiful day. Early autumn. The air is still crisp despite the sun having climbed over the canopy, but it warms the skin a little and I close my eyes, enjoying the feeling. I have my bags by my feet and wait for the car the hotel called. I like the seasons. In San Francisco it varies a little, and is mostly foggy. Nothing like here.

  In the cab, southbound, I call our sister.

  “Chris!” She almost squeals.

  “Angel.” As always, my heart warms at hearing her voice. This kid, my much younger sister, the youngest of all five of us, is a unique flower in this family. Artsy, headstrong, living her own life and refusing to conform.

  She giggles. “How are things?”

  “Same shit.”

  “Are you in town?” She sounds hopeful which makes me smile.

  “Yeah, wanna meet up?”

  “Why are you in town?” Her light tone turns wary.

  I hesitate, contemplating for a moment if I should make life easy and just lie, but decide against it. “Business.”

  She hates it. She hates what the whole rest of her family does for a living, hates our dirty money, and the wealth that comes from hurting other people. I admire her stubborn will to support herself, working two jobs, as she studies photography.

  “Are you bringing any shit to my doorstep?”

  “Of course not. Never.”

  She is silent a few beats. “Aren’t you ever getting out, Chris?”

  I sigh. “You know I can’t.”

  “You—”

  “Look,” I say, interrupting the lecture I know will come, “let’s talk tomorrow. When can you meet up?”

  She scoffs. “Fine. I have the morning off, then school, then work until late.”

  “Still serving the filthy rich?”

  “Still serving the undeserving, yes.”

  Angela works part time in a private club, serving drinks, scantily clad, but as far as I know she isn’t offering herself up, and isn’t expected to. For that, I’m eternally happy. I’d break a lot more than a finger on anyone who put their filthy hands on her. As was proven when a neighbor assaulted her. We still lived in the seedier parts of Chicago back then. She was sixteen. Nate and I beat the fucker to a pulp.

  “I’ll buy you breakfast,” I say.

  “All right, cool. Look, I gotta hop in the shower, or I’ll be late.”

  “I’ll call you in the morning. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

  She scoffs and hangs up.

  Yeah, I know. There isn’t much I wouldn’t do. Bad advice.

  At eleven o’clock I make my way past the door guard in Nathan’s building. He’s got a silly red uniform, no gun, no club, no cuffs. No nothing. He’s just for show. I could take him down in a second. Ignoring the old elevator with its black, steel scissor door, I take the stairs two at a time and slam my fist on Nate’s door.

  My slightly younger brother is uncharacteristically disheveled.

  “Nate. You look like shit.”

  “I spent a few days in Houston cleaning up a mess. It’s nothing, but yeah, didn’t get much rest. Want something to drink?” He cocks his head toward the kitchen.

  “Wanna lighten your heart?”

  “That’s a firm no. Want a beer?”

  “Sure. Got anything else other than Mexican? It tastes like water.”

  “Nope.”

  I shrug and accept the bottle. Nate has his little getaway in Mexico where he spends as much time as he can. He used to be there a lot more, diving, drinking, doing tourist chicks. Now he only goes there whenever he can get the love of his life to go with him. He’s turned into a different man. It’s taken some getting used to, but I like it. He seems content.

  His loft is out of this world: huge, floor to ceiling windows in three directions, a sliver of a view of the river. Like himself, it’s a thing of ridiculous beauty. He was born with everything. I don’t look like a slug myself, but he’s supermodel material, the fucker. I envy him sometimes, but I’d never admit it. He works hard for our uncle, just like the rest of us, but he has somehow managed to distance himself too. These days there is no longer any dirty business for him, only the legal side of things.

  I dump my bag in one of the guest rooms and take a long, hot shower. I’m frustrated. Watching the wife and the cop fuck each other’s brains out last night left its mark. It’s been a while, but tonight I’m fucking gonna make a New York socialite scream. The thought makes me hard, but I decide to save it, to let it brew. The release will be much sweeter that way.

  We spend the afternoon doing absolutely nothing. Vietnamese take out, reruns of old TV-shows, catching up on each other’s lives. I like it here. I like the city; I like the distance from our uncle, Luciano Salvatore, head of the business, capo of all organized crime on the West Coast. It would be nice to see more of Nathan and his chick. And Angela. I don’t think Salvatore would let me move from San Francisco, though. I’m in too deep, too snared in his claws.

  “So, who are you beating up this time?” Nathan has just exited the bathroom, his hair soaked, dripping on his naked shoulders, a white towel tied around his waist. I’m putting on my shirt, way ahead of him in preparations. He wanted to go to a restaurant. I demanded a club. I’m no family man. I need a fucking release tonight, or I’ll go crazy. Willing chicks don’t magically hang around fanc
y restaurants.

  “Corben Olsen. Owes a lot of money. Late. He needs a little push.”

  “Little? Luci doesn’t send you for ‘little’.”

  I shrug. “I was available. I’ll break something and let him know I’ll be back if he doesn’t pay up. I probably will be back, because I’m pretty sure he can’t.”

  “You going back home to the foggy city after this job?”

  “Yeah, unless I get sent somewhere else. I’m like a fucking nomad, man.”

  He raises his eyebrows. “I know the feeling. I’ll be with you in a minute, then we’ll go find you a woman.”

  “You know me too well.”

  I give my brother a nod before I venture deeper into the club. Only a few blocks from his place. Even though a block in the Big Apple can be really fucking huge, it was still walking distance to the newest, hottest place, where everybody goes.

  She’s standing by the bar, long black hair, tan – when most women these days stay out of the UV-light –, legs for days, and a little golden-yellow dress. She stands out like a beacon in a place where most play it safe and wear black. Women think they’re so edgy in their little black dresses, but it’s the colorful ones I look for. They’re more adventurous, more into playing the kinds of games I like to play.

  “What do you want, love?” I lean in, my voice low, meant for her and her alone. “From the bar, I mean,” I add, letting the double entendre hang in the air.

  She turns her head and measures me up, immediate interest flickering in her light blue eyes. She’s wearing a ton of makeup, the smoky eyes girls are so fond of, a deep red lipstick that reeks of sin on lush lips I imagine wrapped around my cock. I’ll have that makeup smeared all over Nate’s expensive sheets before I kick her out in the morning.