Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  “Thank you for David,” he whispers. “Tomorrow morning at six, you are to attend breakfast with my son and me. Dress for the occasion. Be ready. I’ll fetch you.”

  He goes silent but doesn’t move, hot air fans my cheek and I can’t seem to remember how to breathe.

  “Also,” he adds, so close now that I feel his lips moving against my earlobe, “I like the way you’re short of breath when I get close.” He sinks down on me, just enough so that I can feel his bulge pressing against my pussy. I swallow hard, unable to move. “A lot.” His voice a low growl that sends shudders running down my spine.

  The mattress rocks as he pushes away and stands. He gives me one last glance, looking me over, as if he’s undressing me with his gaze, then he exits the room, leaving the door slightly ajar.

  I curl up on my side, clutching a pillow, panting hard, my skin burning where he touched me. No cruelties? Breakfast? I’m so confused. I jerk and reach for the iPad, setting an alarm for 5 a.m. It’s a little more than five hours away. I doubt I’ll sleep at all, but just in case.

  He moves out there, a mere few feet from where I lie. I don’t know how I missed these sounds before. Doors opening and closing. Water flushing. Then silence. Silence. Silence.

  Oh my God. How can he fucking sleep when my whole body and mind is in uproar?

  I almost fly through the roof when the alarm goes off and realize I must have fallen asleep at some point anyway.

  Stumbling, half-blind, toward the bathroom, I listen out the hallway but hear nothing. I shower, and as I dry myself, I twist and look at my backside in the mirror, at the angry red welts, at the horizontal scarring–the signs of his rage–and my stomach sinks. It’s all games to him. Being cruel, being nice. Still, I’ll take nice even if it’s brief because I desperately need some semblance of normalcy. I rub furiously at my wet hair, terrified to use the blow dryer now that I know he’s so close. I put on dark gray slacks and a white T-shirt. I don’t have socks or shoes. No makeup. It’s not like it has been needed. When I’m done, I sit on the edge of the bed, twisting my hands in my lap. I still have forty minutes to go before he said he’d pick me up and I’m a tight knot of emotions I can’t sort. Is he tricking me? My worst fear isn’t even that he’ll kill me. My worst fear is that he’ll play with me, hand me rays of hope and then snatch them away.

  At half past five I hear a door open and my pulse skyrockets. I sit frozen to the spot as I listen to the sounds of his morning routine. The sudden silence is ominous, and then the door opens. Luciano Salvatore, in all his infuriatingly beautiful glory and power, dressed in tight black jeans and a black T-shirt, appears before me. He’s barefoot, like I am. His hair is slightly damp. Like mine. He gives me a once-over before he nods.

  “Good girl. Come.”

  It’s 5:57. I don’t know the date, but I think it might be autumn. I have a feeling my life is to change yet again. I just don’t know if it’s for the better or for the worse.

  Chapter 16

  Chloe

  Strong fingers close around my arm as he grabs me and pulls me to him. His touch robs me of my breath. In fear. In a twisted longing for bodily contact that I’ve been denied for so long. The girl inside me screams for a simple hug, not this brutal grip, but a part of me is happy even for this little touch.

  “I can walk on my own,” I mutter, as I yank my arm trying to get loose from his hold.

  He scoffs as I stumble next to him through the hallway. “I don’t trust you not to make a run for it.”

  “Yeah? And whose fault is that?”

  His grip tightens to the point that my heart speeds up in fear of him breaking my arm. Or maybe it’s the sight of the door? Maybe I’m afraid to leave my prison?

  “Don’t get cute. I’m trying to be fucking civilized.”

  “Trying,” I mouth bitterly.

  Salvatore puts the key in the lock. The click is harsh in my over-sensitized mind, and when he swings the door open the flood of light makes me take a small step back. He leans in, his mouth to my ear. “I think you should settle for ‘trying’.” His voice is low, sensuous, slow, setting off a rush of goosebumps running down my spine. Straightening, he looks me over and gives my arm a tug. “I thought you were desperate to leave. Look at you. You’re afraid to even take the next step. Do you even want your precious freedom?”

  My mouth turns dry. Freedom? No. It can’t be. I know he’s shitting me, but I still ask. “Are… are you letting me go?”

  I gawk as we stride through a large room with a high ceiling and gigantic windows through which the early morning sun splashes white light, reflecting in the white walls, bouncing off the dark hardwood floor. Fresh air wafts in through a glass door that has been left slightly ajar. I inhale deeply, for a moment forgetting the monster by my side. The sharp, sweet scent of newly cut grass is softened by undertones of wet earth, dew, and a slight fog. The floor is warm where the sun caresses it and chilly in the shadows. Everything is quiet.

  “Do you want to go?” he asks and stops in front of a large window. “Do you want to leave this? Do you even know what you want?”

  “I… yes…” I’m side-tracked again by the beauty before me. Outside is a large patio paved with gray and orange tinted stones, adorned with neatly cut potted plants. A couple of dark brown, old fashioned rattan lounge chairs stand to the side with a little round table between them. “What…?” I follow the movement of a white cat that’s sneaking up on a bird before it lunges forward and disappears out of sight.

  Salvatore laughs, pulling me out of the trance. “I’ve never seen someone so mesmerized by a garden. Come on. David’s waiting.”

  We pass through two more large, bright rooms, a display of wealth with more space than one man can possibly have use for. Through another hallway we finally come to a stop in a room with a giant dinner table made from some dark wood. By one end of the table stands a young girl in a short black dress with a white apron, her hair pulled back and tied into a bun at the back of her head. She keeps her eyes fixed on empty air somewhere before her, and not once does her gaze flicker in our direction. I wonder if everyone is conditioned to be afraid of this beast.

  On the table stand three sets of cups and plates. There is coffee, boiled eggs, a loaf of bread, butter, and marmalade. The scent of bacon from somewhere close makes my mouth water.

  When we come around the table, we find David on the floor. He wears bright red track pants and a long-sleeved red and white striped shirt. His hair is a mess.

  I fall to my knees. “Hi, David. Do you remember me? I’m Chloe. We met yesterday.”

  At first he stares, his face neutral, then he nods and gestures, shoving his arms straight forward. My heart jumps. It’s our own made up sign for train.

  “Do you want to come sit with us?”

  Salvatore’s gaze burns holes in my back.

  “Come, son,” he barks out as he takes a step forward. “I don’t have time for this nonsense.”

  My hand lands on his arm on its own accord. It’s a reflex, and we both stare at it as if it has grown tentacles. I snatch it back, cowering as I look up at him.

  “Be patient with him. With his diagnosis you will never, ever be able to reach him like that. You have to understand that it won’t happen. You can’t raise him according to the norm.” I watch him warily, waiting for the backlash. I’m lecturing the mob boss, the monster who is behind all the nasty, gruesome things that happen in this town, who beat me to a pulp once.

  He tightens his lips, then he pulls out his chair by the short end of the table, snapping his fingers, gesturing to our cups. “Coffee, Girl. And get him to the table then, Miss Becker. Show me what you’re made of.”

  My mouth goes dry as I turn back to David. Show him what I’m made of? What does he want from me? “David, are you hungry?”

  He shakes his head and my heart sinks as I look up at Salvatore’s massive back.

  I rub my belly. “Well, I’m starving. Do you want to come join me at the tabl
e? Do you have a chair that is yours?”

  He nods, but doesn’t move. In the corner of my eye I see Salvatore stiffen. “He doesn’t have his own spot,” he says without turning toward us. “He needs to learn to adapt.”

  I freeze up, but despite my brain screaming at me to obey, my heart aches for this confused child and I push on, taking a chance.

  “Do you want to show me your chair?”

  He nods and stands, pointing to the one to the left.

  “Can you show me where I can sit?”

  David looks around the table, then his arm shoots out and he points to the chair opposite him, next to Salvatore on the other side. Filled with dread, I sink down at the same time as David sits.

  “Thank you!” I smile at him, even though he doesn’t meet my gaze. “What is your favorite breakfast?” Then I lean in close to Salvatore, putting my mouth to his ear. “He will never learn. He will never adapt. To him, there’s safety in routines and it’s you who needs to adapt.”

  Salvatore tightens his lips as he turns his head toward me, leaving us practically nose to nose. The fear makes my ears ring with a high-pitched sound, but I force myself to remain still.

  “Is that so?” His voice is dark. His eyes darker.

  I swallow hard. “You asked for my help. I’m helping.”

  “I can’t recall doing any such thing.”

  Exhaling shakily, I still refuse to budge. “He needs his father,” I whisper. “You need him.”

  There is a promise of pain in his eyes, my pain, and still, as I say the words I know they’re true. There is a heart inside that broad chest, and it’s hurting. I shouldn’t care. I tell myself I don’t, but David is an innocent in all of this. He needs peace and balance. He doesn’t need his father’s firm hand, he needs his compassion.

  His nostrils flare as his eyes dart between mine, then the moment passes and he leans back. “Eat!”

  I spend the next thirty minutes devouring freshly baked bread we break off the loaf, butter melting as I spread it, strawberry jam, bacon and scrambled eggs, and a couple of cups of the best coffee I’ve ever tasted. Keeping up small talk with David, even though he doesn’t talk back, I keep throwing nervous glances at Salvatore. My scarred back aches with the memory of his brutality when he lost all control. Sitting here, in this calm, bright room with him and his son is surreal and I keep wondering how I can hold on to this side of him for the rest of my time here, whether it be days, weeks or… years.

  Salvatore pulls up his phone and types a quick message. The girl from before shows up within twenty seconds and the beast stands, grabbing my arm. I stumble to my feet, my stomach clenching. David looks between us and I smile at him, as if nothing is wrong, then I let myself be dragged out of the room. Once the door falls closed, he shoves me up against the nearest wall, grabbing my chin as he pushes against me.

  “You think you know so much!” he snarls. I try to turn my head away but he’s not having it. “Look at me!” he roars.

  My eyes dart to his. They are cold, black, and still filled with a thousand emotions. For a moment I think he’s going to kiss me, then he closes his face and takes a step back, letting me go.

  “Tonight, I will sleep in my room. You will stop clenching your fucking thighs. You have exactly one week to beg me to fuck you or I’ll start cutting into your baby brothers and send their limbs to you in pretty parcels. You are to go down on all fours, like the bitch you are, and beg me to take you. Whenever I enter my room you will not only remove all your clothes, you will make yourself ready for me, or it will hurt.”

  A sob escapes me as tears well up in my eyes. “Why?” My voice breaks on the one single word.

  “Because you come here and tell me what to do with my own fucking kid. In my own house. Now move!”

  “Please, don’t hurt him, Salvatore. Please!”

  He scoffs. “I won’t hurt him. But I will hurt you!”

  Sobs wrack my body as I stumble on numb legs. He pushes me inside the domain I’ve almost come to accept as my new home and slams the door closed, locking it from the outside. I fall into a heap and cry forever. I don’t understand.

  Even when the tears finally dry out, I remain curled up, my thoughts sprawling in all different directions. I got to him. That must be it. Something I did, or said, hit home and he reacted in the only way he knows, lashing out. The realization isn’t comforting in the least. I had a few moments of hope this morning, walking through those beautiful rooms, a near-normal breakfast, only to have everything ripped away.

  The rest of the day I go through the motions. I work myself beyond exhaustion in the gym. I shower. Change my outfit three times, trying to find something he would like, until I remember he wants me to rip it off the moment he enters. I brush my hair, try to make myself pretty, hoping it will please him enough to have some mercy, but I can’t hide my flushed cheeks, my cried-out puffy eyes.

  Late that night my every nerve ending is raw and exposed, my stomach in knots, and finally the dreaded moment comes. It’s almost a relief. The door slams open. He oozes lethality, danger, and… raw desire. His tie hangs askew and he reeks of whiskey and cigars.

  My breath hitches in my chest as I pull the shirt over my head and quickly shimmy out of the pants and thong. I fall to my knees before him, bracing myself for pain. I don’t think I’ve been so afraid in my life before, and that’s saying a lot. He stalks closer, holding my gaze, his eyes flashing. They are like dark voids and they’re sucking me in.

  “Get me off.”

  I swallow. My hands tremble as I unbuckle his belt, flick open the button and unzip his suit pants. I go on routine, my mind shutting down. I’ve done this so many times. As I reach for his cock, he pulls back and grabs my hair.

  “Ah-ah. Don’t disappear. Be here. Touch yourself.”

  I whimper, meeting his eyes as I put a hand between my legs. I want to plead with him to let me go, let me disappear. He slowly shakes his head, his cock swelling as he rubs it across my lips.

  I take him in my mouth, caressing his balls as I let him push deep inside. His groan transfers into my chest, travels through my stomach to between my legs. I rub my clit as I suck him, choking, out of breath as he thrusts all the way. His obvious pleasure, his primal need, charges the air between us, making the atmosphere thick and heady.

  I gasp as he suddenly pulls out.

  “Bend over the bed!”

  My legs barely obey me as I stand and wobble to the bed, falling forward, presenting my ass to him. The scars on my back throb, and the fear that he will add to them makes my heart gallop. I flinch when his warm palm slides over my butt, caressing, sending goosebumps down along my thighs. He’s not harsh, the touch is tender, but I hold my breath as I brace myself for pain.

  “I don’t appreciate being told what to do, Chloe.”

  The slap comes unexpectedly, no matter how much I anticipated it. It’s so hard it catapults me forward. I cry out and clench the comforter in my hands.

  “In this house I give the orders.” He slaps me again, scorching my skin, and again, and again. I bury my face in the mattress, screaming. Then it stops. My legs shake so badly that I can barely stand. I jerk as he pushes his cock in between my legs, sliding it along my slit without entering. A hand on my back holds me down while his other hand finds my clit and expertly begins to caress it. I grit my teeth. He knows exactly how to play it. He’s brought me to the brink of orgasm more times than I can count.

  My pussy swells, tingles, achingly empty. He’s so close. All I need to do is tilt my hips and he will fill me. It’s impossible to hold on to my hate when my body screams it’s good.

  “You will come for me tonight, Chloe Becker.” His voice is dark, tainted with arousal.

  “No,” I choke out.

  “You will beg me to take you, to use your body as my own personal playground.”

  I shake, fight the rising tension, fight the unholy need he awakens. “No.”

  “I’ll claim your every hole whil
e I spank your delicious butt until you scream, cry, and still beg me for more.”

  My stomach tightens in fear as my pussy pleads for release. I squeeze my thighs together only to have him kick them apart.

  “Why are you doing this?” I gasp.

  He rubs my clit harder and then he suddenly thrusts his fingers inside me, pushing in and out. I come completely undone, my vision wavering as I thrash in an orgasm so strong it robs me of any sane thought.

  “No!” I sob

  My mind spins from the sudden change of position as he pulls me up off the bed and pushes me to my knees, thrusting his cock into my mouth. My pussy is still convulsing, feeling as if it will implode and I put a hand between my legs as he takes my throat until he stills, buried deep, his cock twitching.

  “Fuck!” he roars, clutching my hair, staying until I think I’ll black out from the lack of oxygen, my chest burning with the desperate need to breathe.

  His come dribbles down my chin as he pulls out. I fall on all fours and gasp for air. Salvatore crouches before me, his thumb caressing my lips, spreading the slick substance.

  “You have one week.” His voice is soft, as if he’s a lover, and not threatening my brothers’ lives.

  “Fuck you!” I scream and tear away from his light hold.

  He laughs and stands. “Pull yourself together, Chloe. You know what you have to do. Now go wash up.”

  I crawl backward, away from him, then I dart to my feet, wiping furiously at my lips with the back of my hand. “You’re sick!” I spin around and run to the bathroom, slamming the door shut behind me. The tears fall as I spend an eternity in the shower. When I finally come out, he’s lying naked, on his stomach, sprawled across the bed. His breaths are deep and even, the rise and fall of his shoulders almost making the dragon on his back come to life. He’s fucking sleeping! My heart leaps to my throat as my eyes dart between him and his discarded clothes, lying in a pile on the floor. Tiptoeing toward it, I sink to my knees and pat the fabric frantically, pinching it until my fingers come across a shape that makes my head spin with excitement. Keys! I pull them out, careful not to make a sound, then I put my clothes back on, never taking my eyes off the unreasonably beautiful man sleeping a few feet away. My pussy is still raw and swollen. I shudder. I can never give in to his demands. I have to get away or I’ll lose the very last piece of me.