Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  From far away comes the sound of laughter and music. I steer my steps in the opposite direction, away from the lively party in my club room. There’ll be hookers, cocaine, bragging, brawls. Normally, I’d sit in the middle of the mayhem and breathe it in, savor it, but tonight I have other plans. For the first time in a long while I feel a sense of excitement.

  My private hallway is dead quiet. There’s nothing indicating that another person breathes nearby. I wonder if Ivan followed my directions. I wonder if she went and died on me. That would be a bummer, but it would of course solve the issue with her being an annoying as fuck witness.

  The last few steps down the carpeted stairs to the basement, my heart rate quickens and my cock twitches to life at the thought of a naked, brutally beaten woman, locked in and crying helplessly. I still don’t know how to play this, and I can’t believe in all these years I’ve never done this before.

  It’s eerily silent. The deep red steel door reveals nothing. I pull open the hatch and glance inside. In the far corner lies a shape, curled up in a fetal position, covered by a white towel. Her blonde hair is splayed in a mess of knotted tresses. She doesn’t stir. She’s fucking sleeping. Dark anger boils up inside. She’s supposed to be a blabbering mess, not peacefully asleep. I unlock the door, step inside and slam the door closed behind me with an ear-splitting bang. Chloe flies up with a whimper, her eyes unfocused and confused at first, then she sees me and if she could push further back, she would have.

  That’s better.

  I step up to her and crouch, then I rip the towel off her body and toss it aside. “Things like these, you earn,” I growl.

  A warm scent of strawberries wafts up and I inhale deeply, savoring it. Her hands fly up to cover her chest, then she doubles over and cradles her arm, crying out. I narrow my eyes as I take in the cast that is skewered and has slid down. She won’t heal well like that. I want her mind bent, not her arm.

  “Please,” she whispers, looking up at me with the one eye she can open properly, the other still swollen and the skin around it discolored. Her iris is a startling blue and her eye is bloodshot. Fresh tears begin to form and silently trickle down her cheek.

  “Please what?”

  “What do you want?”

  I grab her hair and pull up her head, making her whimper. “Please what?”

  She stares at me in confusion. I smirk as I see how it dawns on her, how she fights it, how she decides to refuse.

  “Let me out of here, please.”

  “Please what?” I roar in her face, leaning in as I twist my hand in her hair, forcing her to let go of her wounded arm, and try to dislodge my hand instead. Big fat tears stream down her cheeks. I shake her. “You can make life easy or you can make it difficult. See, I’m not that bad. I’m giving you a choice.”

  “That’s the same fucking shit your hitman said. How fucking cookie cutter mobster of you,” she grits out.

  My hand darts out on instinct and I slap her cheek. Hard. “You dare to be mouthy with me?” I snarl.

  She touches her cheek, wincing. “I’m not gonna play your game!”

  I let her go and stand, looking her over. “Spread your legs.”

  She looks aghast and shakes her head repeatedly, her eyes locked on mine.

  “Spread your legs for me, Chloe. I have a room full of frustrated, horny, violence-prone men up there who’d love to meet you. Give me five minutes and I’ll have them lined up outside, waiting to have a go at you. You think you’re in pain now? Wait until they’ve ripped your ass.”

  A nearly inhuman cry rips from her throat and her legs shake as she bends her knees and lets her thighs fall apart. A small patch of light red hair partly covers her slit. I’ll definitely have that taken care of. I let my gaze travel from her cunt past her flat belly, her bruised chest, her tantalizing full breasts, and back up to her face.

  I wink. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Now you’re playing my game.” I turn and snatch up the towel off the floor, unlocking the door.

  “Please!” she screams. “I’m thirsty! And hungry. I’m in pain!”

  Spinning on my heels I thin my lips as I give her a hard stare. “Please. Fucking. What?”

  When she doesn’t answer I turn back to the door.

  “Sir!” she cries. “Sir! Please, sir.”

  My cock stirs from her desperate screams, her tears and her reluctant submission. I grin and turn toward her again, tossing her the towel. She just earned it back. “I’ll have someone bring you some water.”

  Chapter 10

  Chloe

  I scramble to cover up again, shaking from the fear and humiliation of the meeting with the mob boss. He’s the Devil himself. Why the hell did I decide it was a good idea to come here? I cry helplessly, feeling dirty for being so quick to obey, for spreading my legs, for calling him… sir. Nausea rises in me every time I relive it. Every time his words flicker through my mind, his threat to have me raped, something inside me shrinks, pulls back, builds protecting walls. I think of the sky, of the ocean, of having a latte in a cafe downtown, trying to escape in my mind and not dwell on his promise that he’ll keep me locked up forever. He can’t mean that, can he?

  I flinch hard when the door unlocks. My instinct is to charge the sliver of an opening, but I quell it when two people enter, the giant blond guard, Ivan, who threw me in here, and an old, balding man who seems to be in his seventies. The guard is carrying a large black bag and I freeze up. They’ll torture me! I don’t know why, but I’m sure they’ll make up a reason. The older man throws a quick glance at Ivan, then he walks up to me and crouches, grimacing as if he’s in pain. I try to shrink back into the wall, but I’m already there and there’s no going anywhere.

  “Miss Becker?”

  I lick my dry lips and try to wrap the towel tighter. “Yes?”

  The man glances behind him and gestures for Ivan to come closer. My eyes dart between the two men, trying to predict what they’ll do.

  “I’m Doctor Edwards. I’m here to see to your wounds.” His eyes fall on the cast and then he frowns. “And have that taken care of.”

  I stare at him in disbelief as he opens the bag Ivan has put next to him. He digs around in it and then produces a bottle of what looks like water that he hands me. I reach for it and wince as pain stabs my chest.

  “What is it?” I ask.

  “I was told you needed to eat and drink. I don’t have food, but I brought water. I’m also going to give you something for the pain before I take care of your arm.”

  I try to unscrew the lid with one hand with no success. The doctor takes over and then hands me the opened bottle. “Why? I thought… I got the impression… I didn’t think anyone would care how I feel.”

  He twitches and glances at Ivan again, who stands like a statue, impassive, seemingly emotionless. The doctor then leans in and says in a low voice, “You’re merchandise. He doesn’t want his goods deformed. I don’t think he would approve of me giving you ketamine, but I can’t work if you’re in too much pain. How old is that fracture?” He throws Ivan a nervous look and my eyes dart to him too. Is he going to intervene? Ivan just gives a half-shrug and looks bored.

  “Merchandise?” I whisper. “Is he going to sell me?”

  “I’m sorry,” says the doctor as he pulls up liquid into a syringe, taps it and looks me over. “Present me your thigh, please.”

  I shake as I pull up the towel. My heart fills with icy, clenching horror and I have a thousand questions.

  “What—Ow!” The sharp needle pricks my skin and is pushed deep into the side of my thigh. I tense as he empties the syringe and then the room tilts and a warm feeling spreads through my body, relaxing me. “Whoa.”

  “There might be unfortunate side effects,” he mumbles as he starts to cut up my cast. I can’t focus my gaze and the room spins sickeningly, so I close my eyes. I try to make my mouth cooperate. I want to ask. Merchandise? Fright nips at my heart but can’t seem to get a grip as my mind floats away.
>
  “How old is your fracture?” he asks again.

  “A week,” I mouth after fighting to find the words, then my mind finally flies free.

  When I wake, I’m alone. I have a wool blanket instead of the wet towel. Next to me stands a plate with a sandwich, the bottle of water, and a cut apple that has begun to turn brown. My stomach growls at the sight. I wonder how long I’ve slept and then I jolt, looking around me, the bleakness of my situation hitting my heart like a freight train. My hand shakes as I reach for the water, gulping down half the bottle, then I devour the sandwich in three bites, groaning as it hits my stomach like a slab of concrete. I have no idea what time it is, or even day. I don’t know how many hours it’s been since I ate.

  My cast is shiny and new, the arm hanging again in a sling around my neck. I have a fresh, white bandage around my chest, and when I touch my face I feel strips of tape covering the wound in my eyebrow.

  He doesn’t want his merchandise deformed.

  The sandwich threatens to make its way back up and I fight the nausea, trying to breathe through it. I need the calories or I won’t last long. Maybe I won’t last long anyway? I shudder and wrap the blanket tighter. There are no windows. The light is on, the one too-bright lamp in the middle of the ceiling. I squint against the fluorescent, slightly flickering light. In the absolute silence I can just about make out the low humming noise it makes.

  Luciano

  I have had Matteo dig a little deeper into Chloe’s background and when he calls me back, I fucking drop my jaw. That doesn’t happen often.

  “Hey Uncle Luci,” he says. “Seems this little kitten’s got a really fascinating background. She’s the oldest of four siblings. Her two younger brothers are doing time. One for armed robbery, the other for identity fraud. That first guy is a fucking safecracker. Classic. There’s a sister too, the youngest of them all, but I haven’t been able to find out more about her. I’ll get to that. Dad was a dentist, Mom stayed at home. Their parents got murdered in a robbery and their cute little suburban, middle class life ended. They lived with an aunt and it all went south it seems. Car thefts, pickpocketing, drugs, assault, breaking and entering. All this at a very tender age.”

  “Chloe?”

  “Turns out your Chloe isn’t Chloe at all. She was called Christine. She never finished college. Her sister went missing, no one knows if there was foul play, her brothers finally got properly booked, and your girl assumed a new identity, forged everything, moved across the country—”

  “Where is she from?”

  “Atlanta, Georgia.”

  “She doesn’t have an accent. Nothing.”

  “Maybe she’s good at faking it?”

  “I’ll fucking show her not to fake shit with me,” I growl.

  Matteo is quiet.

  “Find out everything about her brothers. Where they sit, how much time they’re doing, how much they have left, if we know anyone inside, and if we don’t, put someone there. Focus on that.”

  “Will do. I’m not even gonna ask.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  I’m suddenly a lot more intrigued. What the fuck? I thought she was some meek city girl, a socially awkward, albeit pretty, accountant, and it turns out she’s a fucking criminal? Suddenly I have so much new material I can use against her. My head spins as I turn my steps toward my private wing and my cock stirs at the thought.

  My heart pounds a little harder as I enter her cell. It’s a bit chilly, but it could be a lot more uncomfortable. We had the walls, floor and ceiling padded until I didn’t have to hear the screams from below when I tried to sleep. I smirk when I push open the door and look at the naked woman huddled in the corner, staring at me in delicious fear.

  “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe,” I say. “You’ve been a naughty girl. Or should I say Christine?”

  Chloe

  I don’t know how long I sit in absolute solitude. I almost wish for company, even from the nightmare of a man who has imprisoned me. Still, when there’s a rattle from the outside, and the door swings open, a whimper escapes me and renewed fear courses through my chest.

  Salvatore closes the door behind him. Our eyes meet, his are cold and calculating, and I can’t look away. A smirk spreads across his face. This can’t possibly be good.

  “Chloe, Chloe, Chloe. You’ve been a naughty girl. Or should I say Christine?”

  I flinch. He knows I forged a new identity. Oh no. Fuck.

  “Does it matter at this point?” My voice is tainted with bitterness. Everything I fled from, every bad decision I made, the new life I built. All for nothing.

  “It matters a lot. I believe it matters to your brothers, doesn’t it? Hmm? How much time do they have left inside? Are they safe where they sit?”

  I stare at him in horror. “No—Please! Please don’t hurt them!” I have no difficulty recognizing a threat when I hear it.

  “Are you going to be a good girl?”

  “What do you mean?” I whisper, shrinking back.

  “I don’t have much use for you in your current state, but you will heal.”

  My heart thuds hard. “What do you want?”

  He snickers. “I want your complete submission, your complete obedience. You will stay here, and you’ll be my personal toy for as long as I find you useful.”

  My eyes widen. “What? No!”

  “Do you love your brothers?”

  I snap my mouth shut. I don’t know what to tell him. Of course I love my stupid, wayward, reckless baby brothers, even though the choices they made, that we all made, landed them in the penal system. I will always live with the guilt that I got away.

  “Yes,” I mouth and look down at my lap, my chest clenching. I jerk hard when he walks up to me and grabs my hair.

  “Suck my cock.”

  I gasp and look up at him. “No, please.”

  “Chloe, you’re fucking useless after my nephew’s treatment, but you can open your fucking mouth. Suck my cock, or I’ll have someone rip Charlie a new one.”

  “You—you can’t do that!”

  “Oh yes, I can.” He unbuckles his belt with his free hand, unzips and pulls out his cock, stroking it. I clench my teeth, my instinct to resist almost impossible to overcome. Salvatore brushes his thickening cock over my closed lips, the head silky, a drop of salty wetness slick against my skin. “How’s it gonna be? Give head, which I’m sure you’ve done plenty before, or know you had Charlie ass raped until he wept like a little baby?”

  A sob escapes me and then I open my mouth to the monster. With a groan he thrusts his cock deep into my throat, and lodges it there. I gag and tears well up in my eyes as I push at his thigh with my free hand, increasingly desperate for air, my chest hitching. Finally he pulls back, and I get to inhale one deep breath, before he pushes back inside, this time thrusting.

  “Suck me,” he growls. “Like you fucking mean it.”

  He smells fresh, as if he’s just showered. There’s nothing revolting about his flesh. What disgusts me is the man himself. I close my eyes as I obey, hoping to get him off so he’ll leave me alone again, trying to imagine it’s someone else, anyone else.

  His breathing gets heavier, and his breaths, and the slight squelching noises from my mouth are all that is heard in the room. There’s something disturbingly tantalizing about those throaty groans of pleasure he emits. Images of when he deep throated that girl in the office flicker through my mind, and the memory of how hot it made me makes me tingle.

  “Touch yourself,” he breathes. “Push your fingers into your cunt.”

  I don’t want to. My God, I don’t want to, but his hold on me, his threat to my brother – I can’t not obey. My hand shakes violently as I put it between my legs, repulsed to feel that I’m wet and swollen. His grip in my hair tightens and his thrusting gets ruthless, his breathing even heavier.

  “You feel so fucking good. You’re so fucking beaten, broken, helpless. You’re mine to fuck, to hurt. You’re still fighting the thought, but th
e time will come when you’ll know with your whole being that it’s true. The time will come when you give up all hope of life. I’ll relish each step of the way.”

  He pushes deep, stays. Fear rips through my chest again at not getting air.

  “Fingers in your cunt. Thrust! Or I’ll do it, and you won’t like that one fucking bit.”

  I jerk and immediately push inside my slick pussy, horrified that it tingles and burns, that I react to this. I’m not turned on, I’m sickened and disgusted, but my body apparently hasn’t gotten the memo.

  Salvatore grabs around my head and shoves all the way inside again. Hot spurts of come hit the back of my throat and he roars out his release. Then he suddenly pushes me away, making me fall on my butt, my fingers remaining a moment longer before I pull them out. He puts his cock back in his pants, zips up and crouches before me, leaning his forearms on his powerful thighs. His eyes scorch me as they travel down my body.

  “Show me your cunt, Christine.”

  It’s Chloe, I want to scream. Christine is dead!

  I scream when he grabs around my wrist with his large hand and pulls me to him. “Spread your legs and show me your fucking cunt.”

  My lower lip trembles as I put my hand between my legs and spread myself open, showing him my humiliation. At first he doesn’t let go of my gaze, his black eyes unreadable, then he lowers his gaze and it’s an almost physical sensation as it falls on my pussy. He smirks and stands.

  “I knew it. You can’t come. If you touch yourself, I’ll tie you up and spank you, broken bones or not.”

  My eyes dart around the room. How would they know? Not that I planned to but… He turns his head and looks toward the far right corner. I follow his gaze, and sure enough, something glints where the wall meets the ceiling. A surveillance camera. Of course.