Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  “What happened?”

  “I can’t talk about it.” I pull up my legs and hug my knees. “I did something stupid.”

  “Something with… them?” She chews on her lip as she studies me.

  “Yeah,” I say on an exhale, “but I think it’s sorted. It’s just… it’s never gonna be all right. There’s always gonna be something.”

  “I’m so sorry this happened to you.”

  I think of Christian, of Cecilia, see their faces before me. Warmth, passion, a love larger than life.

  “I don’t know what I feel, Gayle. Nothing is ever easy, is it?”

  She grimaces and shakes her head, sighing. “It’s life.”

  The weeks pass. It’s life. My life.

  No one is after me. No one wants to murder me. Life is not terrible anymore, only really weird. Why can’t I just leave it at that?

  The sun is setting, dropping fast. It should be a peaceful moment, but I itch with frustration. Over the last couple of months, as autumn has turned to winter, I’ve come to expect his visits, once, twice, sometimes three times a week.

  He is great with Cece, makes her laugh, but I’m getting increasingly skittish. I hate the unpredictability, the unplanned visits, the sudden knock on the door. What if I have a visitor already? What if someone sees him? How would I explain? What if he felt threatened? Would he become violent? I don’t know what he does when he’s not with me. Is he killing again? Working for Luciano Salvatore? I don’t know anything, and I don’t know how much longer I can stand it.

  I hate that he doesn’t make a move on me. Apart from that first visit, he hasn’t hinted at there being something between us. Is there someone else? I can’t stop thinking about him, and the cooler he seems, the hotter I get. I don’t want to be pathetic and make an absolute fool out of myself, so I don’t ask.

  Time passes. We nod and smile, we’re polite with each other, but it’s clear that we walk in circles.

  He leans back against my table, crosses his arms over his chest and glances at the orange tinged sky over the ocean. “I think she’s sleeping. I should be on my way.”

  “What are you doing, Christian?”

  “I’m… leaving?” He gives me a weird look. “What do you mean?” Rubbing his forehead, he sinks down on a chair. Small beads of sweat pearl at his temples and make his hair curl slightly from the damp. From the sound of it they ran through the upper hallway, back and forth, for a long time before she settled down.

  “When you’re not here, Christian Russo. What do you do when you’re not with us?” It’s not what I want to ask. I want to ask what happened between us. But I can’t.

  He looks uncomfortable and my frustration turns to anger as he doesn’t answer.

  “Are you back to killing people? To the mob business? Do you work for that asshole Salvatore?”

  “What the fuck? You shouldn’t be asking about that.”

  “I think I have a right to know. I see you more than any other person, including Mom, my best friends, anyone. Cecilia adores you and asks about you when you’re not here—”

  “She does?” He lights up.

  “So I think I have a fucking right to know. And yeah, she does.” I slam down on a chair opposite him. “Talk to me. Whatever it is. No matter how brutal, tell me the truth. Please. I know too much already. I’m the worst liability both you and your uncle can have, but here I am. When did I ever betray any of you? Have some faith.”

  Christian pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs. “Do you believe me if I say I haven’t killed a single person since back when we saved Cecilia? Do you believe me when I say I don’t work for Salvatore anymore?”

  I gape. “What do you do, then?”

  He looks at his hands. “I don’t do much, to be honest. I’m still trying to figure out how to live. I’ve been visiting my family, hung with Nate, Syd and Angela in New York. I’m fucking lost, Kerry.”

  My heart pounds. “I’m sorry, I—”

  “Don’t be. It’ll be all right.”

  “Christian,” I lay a hand over one of his, and pull it back when I realize what I just did. He looks at his hand, and then scans my face. “Can you let me know when you wanna come by? It’s driving me insane never knowing if you’ll suddenly show up. Call me, text me, whatever.”

  “Sure,” he says. Just like that. All this time, all I had to do was to ask.

  “Maybe we should talk a little more often?” I say. “People do that. Or so I hear.”

  He laughs his warm, rich laugh, his eyes twinkling. “I had no idea. I never knew any normal people.”

  “What about your family? You never talk about them. Your sister, your brothers?”

  “Oh, they’re not normal.”

  “Are they also in… the business?” His silence tells me everything. I shake my head. “You never stood a chance, did you?”

  “My sister isn’t,” he says. “She stays away. Look, I made a choice. Every person makes a choice and you gotta own up to who you are. I’m not gonna put the blame on anyone else.”

  “That sounds… very mature.”

  Christian laughs. “I’m forty fucking years old. I hope I’ve learned some shit along the way.”

  “I’ll be thirty next year. Time flies, doesn’t it?”

  “Yeah. What do you wanna do for your big three oh?”

  “I have no idea. It’s a little early, don’t you think? What did you do when you turned forty?”

  “I was here, putting our daughter to bed.”

  I stare at him. “You’re kidding. Why didn’t you say something?”

  “I never imagined it mattered to you.”

  I’m stunned. Why would he think that? Does he think I hate him? Is that why he’s been so cold?

  I say it quick, before I change my mind.

  “Wanna come by Friday? I’ll cook something for us? We can watch a movie with Cece?”

  My heart leaps to my throat. Did I just invite Christian back in? For real? Like to not only hang with Cece but… with me?

  It’s as if time stands still. Something shifts. The world goes absolutely silent.

  “Friday it is,” he says.

  As he stands to leave, I suddenly find it hard to look at him. I usher him out of the door. “Yep. See ya.”

  After he’s gone, I fall back against the wall, my mind spinning, my heart slamming in my chest. All I wanted to do was to grab him, hold him, and never let him leave again.

  Chapter 26

  Christian

  I feel like a fumbling, sweaty teenager when I stand with my hand raised to push her doorbell. A new person has awoken in me that I never knew was there. Inside is a man with hope, with a sliver of light and dreams for the future. I clutch a pot with fresh herbs, noticing yet again how she never seems to have that at home. This is essential for good cooking, everyone knows that. Hanging on a finger on the same hand is a bag with a gift for Cece, a stuffed unicorn, because right now they are apparently the best there is.

  Pushing the button, listening to the soft chiming, I hold my breath. From inside comes sounds of everyday life, someone’s muffled talking, music, rapid steps approaching.

  I take in Kerry as if I see her for the first time. She’s got on a white blouse with embroidery that shows hints of skin on her shoulders. It’s tucked into skinny jeans that hang low on her hips. Her flaming auburn-red hair hangs loose, reaching her shoulders. Her heart-shaped pale face, and her hazel-green eyes are filled with a shadow of still-there trepidation every time I see her. It disappears after a few minutes, but it’s still as if she always expects the worst. It’s been a little over three years since that fateful week when we met and everything went to hell. I can’t imagine those wounds are still so deep, but she did live in fear for two whole years after that, and maybe that will take some time to heal.

  I have nothing but time. When I want something, I get it. I didn’t know I could be so patient, though, but maybe I have changed?

  Her eyes dart to mine, slide
across my chest, then land on the pot. “This feels familiar.”

  “I come in peace,” I say and hold the pot up between us, well aware of the last time I brought her herbs, and when my intentions weren’t so pretty. If they ever are.

  Kerry bursts out in a laugh. “Come in.”

  Cecilia comes rushing. “Daddy!”

  I hand Kerry the pot and scoop Cecilia up on my arm. “Little one!”

  “Present! For me?”

  I show her the contents and her eyes go wide. “Unicorn!” She slithers out of my arms, grabs the bag and runs back to her play corner, pulling the stuffed animal out of the bag and begins to introduce it to her other toys.

  “Cecilia!” half-shouts Kerry. “What do you say?”

  “Thank you!”

  “Good girl.” Kerry turns to me. “That was a hit. Totally. You know her well.”

  I trail after Kerry to the kitchen, and can’t help taking in her mouthwatering butt, snugly fit in the jeans, embroidered red roses on the back pockets. They look a little like that rose tattoo on her belly and my cock suddenly twitches to life, thinking of her naked under me. She seems so innocent, but when I tie her up and spank her to tears, there’s a sinful heat in her that even she can’t deny.

  “You want a glass of wine?”

  I pull myself out of the images of her naked. “Sure. What’ve you got?”

  “Red.” Kerry holds up a bottle. “I’m… no wine person. I mean, I like it, but brands… grapes. It’s—it’s Italian at least. I don’t know...”

  “It’s perfect, and yes please.”

  Kerry smiles, an expression of relief crossing her face, and pours us half a glass each, handing me one. “I’m only half done. I’m making pasta Bolognese. I was thinking it’d be all right with an Italian.” Kerry suddenly looks aghast. “Or maybe that was super stupid. Damn. You’re probably used to your mom’s amazing cooking.”

  “Bianca?” I sputter, “she never cooked. Dad did, and then us kids.”

  Her face falls a little and her mouth forms into the cutest O. Fuck I want to catch those lips and just take her.

  “Is that why you’re good at cooking?”

  I shrug. “I like good food. Can’t always eat out. I like it. It makes me think of something else for a while. Makes me focus.”

  “Something other than…? Never mind,” she adds quickly. “Know what? I’ll put out plates. You be in charge of the sauce.”

  “And the pasta,” I add.

  “You don’t trust me?”

  “I’ll do it better.” I poke the packet of dried spaghetti. “And at my place I’d have made this fresh.”

  Kerry throws out her hands. “You do the pasta. Can I do anything?”

  I smack her butt. “Make us a salad, woman.”

  She gives out a little squeal and jumps, her cheeks turning red. Her pulse thuds visibly on the sides of her throat and tension crackles between us, syrupy, heady. Kerry spins on her heels, mumbles something I can’t hear and then literally flees out into the living room. I’m left breathless, and with a cock that hardened in a second. Clearing my throat, I get to work, rummaging around her kitchen until I have everything neatly arranged before me, losing myself in the art of cooking, making good use of the herbs.

  Kerry comes back after a while, her eyes a little glossy, as if she has been crying, on her arm Cece whom she sets down at the kitchen table.

  “Wanna do the salad, hon?”

  Kerry throws me a shy gaze, then she busies herself with our daughter and their task. I grin. One day she’ll be ready, and that day isn’t that far away anymore.

  Dinner is light and friendly, and we chat about mundane things. Kerry can talk about her work at the daycare for hours. I like listening to her. I don’t have a lot to say myself, but I do tell her about how Manhattan has transformed for Christmas, and that I suspect there might be another baby on the way in the Russo-Lewis household even though they haven’t confirmed it.

  Cecilia eats with her whole body, and in a three feet radius. After I wash her face and hands and Kerry finds her some new clothes, the three of us watch Cinderella. Our daughter sits between us, blissfully unaware of her mother’s flushed cheeks, and her father’s pounding heart.

  When there’s nothing more to be said or done, movie is over, plates are in the dishwasher, and the table is wiped, I put Cece to bed, she is asleep the moment her head hits the pillow. When I come back down, Kerry has folded the throw blankets, and restored Cecilia’s play corner. Standing by the large windows, she clutches a cup of tea. When I walk up to her, she flinches slightly, making me take a step back.

  “She’s sleeping.”

  Kerry swallows audibly. “Okay, good.”

  She makes no move to close the distance between us.

  “I should go.” I don’t want to go.

  “Okay.”

  I can’t read her.

  “Thanks for dinner.”

  Kerry gives out a little laugh. “It was you who made it.”

  “Joint effort.”

  “That’s… very generous of you.”

  I grin and shove a hand through my hair as I let my gaze wander from her eyes to her mouth, to her soft perfect handful of breasts, to her jeans-clad hips. Then I back yet another step. “Okay. See you.” A shudder runs through me as I turn toward the door. I don’t know how much longer I can hold back. But I want more than sex. I want her whole being. I want her to want to be with me. I’m used to taking what I want, but that’s not going to work with Kerry. She needs to come to me, or this will never happen.

  As I pull open the door, I hear her quick steps behind me. “Christian!”

  I turn. “Yeah?”

  “Happy belated birthday.”

  Leaning in, I give her a quick kiss on the cheek. Her sweet strawberry scent nearly does me in. “Thanks.”

  I leave while I’m still in control of my urges.

  The whole way home, I curse. I feel the ghost of her shape in my arms, her scent lingers. My steps echo in my abandoned house as I walk straight into the kitchen and pour a whiskey. There’s nothing here for me. Everything I need exists in a little townhouse forty minutes away, downtown. I down the smoky liquid, lift the bottle to pour a second glass when I set both bottle and glass down on the counter with a sharp slam and spin on my heels.

  Fuck it.

  I can’t stay away.

  Pounding my fist against her front door, I wait, listen. I raise my arm to pound again when I hear quick, light steps.

  The door opens a sliver and a fresh-faced makeup free, pajama-clad Kerry peeks out. “Chr—”

  “Shut up.” I push open the door and then slam it closed behind me. “I’m done with these games,” I growl and grab her hips, pushing her in front of me until I have her up against the wall.

  She inhales to speak, her eyes widening, but I catch her lips and crash my mouth to hers as my hand finds her breast, kneading it none too gently. Kerry moans and her nipple turns into a delicious little peak that I pinch hard enough for her to try to squirm free. I grab her arms and push them up over her head, flush against the wall. We stare at each other, the closeness overwhelming, then my primal side takes over and roars in me to claim my woman.

  “Not a sound,” I whisper, then I catch her nipple through the fabric of her T-shirt, rolling it between my teeth. Kerry arches and whimpers. “If I have to keep telling you to shut up, then I’ll punish you, girl,” I growl.

  She stares at me, her eyes ablaze, chewing on her lower lip, then she slams her mouth shut and it’s all the consent I need. I lift her and carry her into the little office, locking the door behind us, then I put her down and grab the hem of her shirt, pulling it over her head.

  “Beautiful,” I moan, taking in her perky breasts and dark, mouthwatering nipples.

  “I—”

  I put a hand over her mouth. “Did I tell you to speak?”

  Wide-eyed, she shakes her head.

  “Turn around and pull down your pants.”<
br />
  “Don’t wake up Cecilia.”

  I sigh and spin her around. “You’re absolutely hopeless at obeying.”

  “No, I’m—” Snapping her lips shut, she turns, a visible tremor running through her. I grin. I like her afraid. I like her not knowing what’s about to happen. I like her completely at my mercy.

  Kerry hooks her thumbs into the waistband of her pajama pants and begins to push them past her hips, her panties along with them, revealing a soft round ass, the sight making my cock grow even harder. Good, good girl.

  When her pants fall down past her knees and she takes a step out of them, I kick her legs wider apart. “Bend over.”

  She throws me a glance over her shoulder, eyes huge and dark, a look that shoots straight to my gut, then she obeys.

  “Stay.”

  I walk up to the desk and pull out the drawers, one after the other. I can’t help the smirk that spreads at the sight of a plastic ruler. Girl, this might sting a bit. When I turn, my choice of punishment in my hand, my choice of foreplay, Kerry darts up.

  “No,” she whispers. “Red!”

  I scoff and grip around her waist, pushing her toward the couch. “You want this on your boobs or on your butt?”

  A gasp escapes her. Her eyes turn a little glossy and her lips part. Then she turns, supporting her hands against the armrest of the couch.

  I lean in, whispering in her ear: “And babe. You can safeword. But have some faith. Don’t fucking safeword before I’ve even started. Now, don’t move.”

  I caress her butt cheek, letting a thumb slide along the crack, down, up again, teasing, making goosebumps erupt on her skin. Then I raise my arm and let the ruler come down on her left cheek. Not too hard, a light slap that shouldn’t do more than sting briefly. A gasp escapes her, but she remains still. I kiss the skin where I smacked down, then I lift my arm again. Harder, faster. Kerry groans and her toes curl. I correct my cock, fuck I’m hard. In rapid succession, I let the ruler fall on her left side, her right side, her upper thighs, making her dance from side to side, but no safeword. I bend over and kiss the pain, blow at the swellings, at the angry red welts. Sliding my hand in between her thighs, I caress my way up to her wet pussy. Kerry moans and pushes back. I move along her slit, parting her lips, circle her clit. It grows under the tip of my fingers and Kerry begins to make little mewling sounds.