Russo Saga Collection

by Nicolina Martin

  “Chloe! It’s for you!” She hands me the phone with a sly expression on her face.

  I put it to my ear, filled with trepidation and breathe out a faint, “Chloe.”

  “The car is for you.” Salvatore’s voice is like silk in my ear. “I suggest you pack up quickly.”

  “I—” But he’s already disconnected.

  A woman shouts for Alessandra and she and I dart out of the house and take off running through the alley. On the square, almost on the spot where I was left off a few weeks ago, stands a black limousine with dark tinted windows. Next to it a driver dressed in a navy-blue suit and with a cap to boot. A drop of sweat runs along his temple. It’s hot, and it has to be scorching in those clothes.

  “Signorina Becker?” He takes off his cap and holds it against his chest as he gives me a tiny bow. “I take you to aeroporto.”

  “Yeah,” I gasp, still panting from the sprint. “That’s me.”

  He opens the back door and holds out his arm, inviting me in. I hesitate, then I realize I have absolutely nothing to pack. A hand on my shoulder makes me spin around. Alessandra has tears in her eyes and I throw my arms around her neck, hugging her tightly. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I’ll miss you. I wish I could stay.”

  She strokes the back of my head. Always so warm, so tender. “You’ll be all right, Chloe Becker. It’s been an honor knowing you. You have a good heart. Take care of yourself. Tell Signore Salvatore that if he doesn’t treat you right, he’ll have hell to pay the next time he gets here.”

  I scoff. “He does as he pleases. How would you even know?”

  “If you don’t stay in touch, we’ll know.” She holds me at arm’s length. “Stay in touch. Come back and visit.”

  I bite down on my lower lip so that it won’t tremble. I can’t promise her that. I don’t know what awaits me.

  Everyone comes to bid me farewell. This time around I understand a few words. I recognize ‘thank you’, ‘goodbye’, ‘take care’, and ‘come back’. When everything has been said and done, I hold Alessandra’s hands, looking at her pleadingly. She squeezes my hands reassuringly and smiles. “It will be all right. He cares for you more than you know.”

  I don’t say anything but I nod to make her happy, then I turn to the cool darkness of the back of the car and climb inside. Alessandra gives me a little wave and closes the door. We’re off before I’ve even buckled up, driving so fast along the narrow road that it takes my breath away and I clutch the seat, thinking we’ll shoot off the roadside at every curve.

  The view of the mountains, with their blurry, snow covered tops, is familiar this time around. It seems this ride to the airport is shorter than I remember. Maybe it’s I who fear the great unknown even worse this time? Shimmering heat slaps me in the face when I get out of the car and take hesitant steps toward the airplane. I look back at the driver for confirmation and he nods and gestures for me to continue.

  I recognize the pilot, but the co-pilot is a new face.

  “Buckle up, Miss Becker. We’re on a tight schedule.”

  I sigh. “Long ride.”

  “This isn’t as long,” says the pilot.

  “No? Where are we going?”

  “The great Roma, capital of Italy.”

  I stop flat. “We’re going to Rome? I’m going to Rome? Do I get to see Rome?”

  The pilot’s serious, almost saddened face brightens a little. “I don’t know. At least you can get a good look out the window. Now please sit.”

  My heart bounces as I obey. Fuck everything else. I really need to see Rome. Images of churches, of the Colosseum, The Da Vinci Code, ice cream, old movies in black and white with Anita Ekman, and that famous square I can’t remember the name of flicker through my mind and for the first time in a long while I’m nothing but excited.

  When I step off the plane, I wave to the pilot who gives me a brief smile, then I bounce down the stairs. The air is different here. Definitely more polluted, and thicker, more humid than in the mountains. There’s only one transport in sight. A black limousine, of course. I half expect someone to be sitting in the back seat. Maybe Luciano himself, but it’s empty. I lower the window between the passenger compartment and the driver.

  “Hey. Where’re we going?”

  He shrugs and says something in Italian before he pulls at his safety belt and gestures for me to sit back. I groan. My life in a nutshell, ushered around.

  I’m like glued to the windows, darting from left to right as we pass through narrow streets and wide boulevards. Everything here is old. Like really, really old, and I’m beyond awed. It’s so pretty. There are flowers in almost every window of the dirty-beige stone buildings. The houses get larger and a little more modern looking and we stop outside a black marble facade with heavy glass doors and tinted windows. The street is narrow. On the other side is a small canal and behind lies a park where some children play and their fashionable moms sit and chat. I’m suddenly embarrassed over my simple outfit and pull self-consciously at the hem of my dress. We have double parked and the driver gestures for me to exit. I’m confused. I’m to get out by myself? It’s the first time someone doesn’t grab me by the arm and pull me along. With an almost agoraphobic feeling I step out, standing like a lost puppy on the sidewalk. The thought that I could run strikes me. I could find the American embassy and find shelter. They’d help me!

  In the next moment it’s too late. A woman in a white, tight dress slams open the doors and comes darting down the stairs, waving for me to come inside. I glance left and right. If it’s just her, I could do it. How would she stop me? A prickle in my back makes me look over my shoulder. The driver has lowered his window, his eyes trained on me. Yeah, okay. Someone would stop me.

  As always these days I expect the worst, and I’m at a loss for words when I follow the girl up the stairs and step inside a beauty parlor. Between the decor in gold and white, the elegant staff who look like they’ve been employed based on how attractive they are, the bottle of Cristal on ice, the Bottega purse in the lap of the only other customer, I realize that I’ve stepped into spa heaven. If I was uncomfortable in my simple clothes before, I now want to crawl under the counter before us and hide.

  “Signorina Becker,” the girl waves impatiently, “come with me, please.”

  I’m too dazed to think and follow her up a narrow set of stairs. She shows me to a dressing room and hands me a pile of white cloth.

  “Shower. Put on the robe, and then press the button. I will come get you.”

  “Wait. What am I doing here?”

  She looks taken aback. “You are to receive treatment.”

  “What treatment?”

  “Signorina, the best Roma can offer. Facial, massage, waxing, manicure and pedicure, we will do your hair,” her gaze wanders up to my mane that has admittedly not gotten any love at all in seven or eight months. “We will do make up. You will be beautiful. There will be a light lunch, champagne of course, and then Celia from Ralph Lauren will come with clothes.”

  ‘Champagne of course.’

  Ralph Lauren.?

  “Just push the button, Signorina. I will be with you all day and make you comfortable. Si?”

  “Yeah,” I say on a heavy exhale. “Okay.”

  I let them escort me to a hot bath with a heavy scent of eucalyptus. I fall asleep during the massage and can’t breathe in the thick steam as they manhandle my face.

  When I’m getting my feet scrubbed I’m handed a phone.

  “Si?” I say and then throw a hand over my mouth. I’m inundated with Italian, hearing it around me all day long, every day. The first glass of champagne has definitely loosened my tongue as well. The girl at my feet looks up and giggles.

  His deep, rumbling laugh in my ear sends shivers down my spine.

  “Si, Chloe? Are you turning Italian?”

  I blush. “Hi. What the hell are you putting me through?”

  “You don’t like it? I thought this was a woman thing, getting pamp
ered.”

  “I… well… It’s very nice. But…”

  “But?”

  “It’s a freaking one eighty. I’m getting whiplash here.”

  “I like your hands soft when they’re stroking my cock.”

  A gasp escapes me. I squirm and look down at the girl, hoping she didn’t hear that. “I have company,” I hiss.

  “I’m paying them handsomely to do anything I tell them. Make sure they treat you right.”

  “Because it’ll be a long time before someone does again?”

  Luciano is silent and I wince. Maybe he’s just trying to be nice and I’m stomping all over it?

  “I take care of what’s mine. Have a pleasant rest of the day, Chloe. Tonight, you fly home.”

  “I’m—” ...sorry, I mean to say, but he’s disconnected.

  The call takes some of the joy away. I feel like shit for being a dick.

  I take in my appearance in the mirror when they do my hair and makeup. The pretty blonde lady with the sad eyes who stares back at me is a stranger, yet another incarnation. Am I Christine? Chloe? What do I call this new person?

  Getting a wardrobe makes me feel more like myself again. It’s a little more elegant than what I’m used to. I’m more of a leather and lace girl, and these clothes are low key casual and still with that exclusive feel to them. I can get used to this. Another girl comes with lacy underwear. I also get two pairs of shoes and a purse. Since I still have the phone, apparently it was for me, I plop it in the purse and for the first time in a long, long while I feel like something akin to human again.

  I never get to see Rome. In the early evening, I’m whisked away to the airport. The same driver as before gives me a once over, whistles and exclaims, “Bella!” My cheeks heat up. I’m not used to the attention anymore. Not like this. Ever since my late teens, when I used my looks to deceive, I’ve kept my head down, worked, and tried to just live, tried to find me. Crashing into Luciano set that back ten years. Or maybe it fast forwarded it?

  It’s still evening when I set foot on American soil again. I grab my purse, wave to the pilots whom I feel I’ve almost become friends with after all these hours together and me being utterly bored, then walk down the stairs.

  There’s a car. A large black Mercedes. In front of it stands a tall, dark man, dressed in a dark gray suit and a black coat that hangs open. He is absolutely still, one hand resting loosely over the other. My heart jumps to my throat.

  That’s no driver.

  Luciano Salvatore is absolutely fucking beautiful, and when he pulls me into his embrace, leans his chin on my head and sighs, there’s a new seriousness in him I never saw before. I inhale deeply, reveling in the well-known scent of his cologne.

  “Hi,” I whisper.

  Chapter 32

  Luciano

  The tall blonde woman who steps off the plane is so stunning that the sight makes my gut churn. Her hair has been straightened and hangs sleek over her shoulders. She has a light brown coat thrown over her shoulders, long, loose black pants, high heels, and a light beige top. There’s a little Bottega bag on her arm, and she’s pulling a carry-on in her other hand.

  I wanted her to come back feeling like a person again. She has changed so much during these last weeks. I have changed. We can’t go back. I don’t know how to move forward, but things need to be different and I hope this is a start. Elena’s words have rung in my ears as I’ve prepared for her funeral together with Ivan and a couple of the more seasoned girls from the brothel.

  Give with your heart.

  Well, thanks for that. I didn’t think I had a heart, but something in my chest is hurting like a motherfucker, and that same something trembles from the vision walking toward me.

  Life was easier before.

  “Hi,” she says.

  I pull her into my embrace, at a loss for words. She smells of flowers and spices. The sky is turning pink, the fog is settling and a chill creeps upon us. Opening the backdoor, I move for her to get inside. She studies my face, her expression one of a thousand questions I probably have no answer to.

  The house is near-empty. There are the guards at the gates of course, Ivan, a butler and a maid, but they all know to stay the fuck away tonight.

  I step into the hallway with Chloe in tow, putting her carry-on to the side. When I close the door she turns to me.

  “What now?”

  “You look fantastic. Country life suits you. Designer clothes suit you. The tan suits you.”

  “I finally got some vitamin D.”

  I half-shrug, feeling a little guilty. “My bad.”

  “I’d say!”

  “Hey. Don’t go mouthy on me again. You have so much punishment piled up, you have no idea.”

  She widens her eyes and takes a step back, letting go of her bag. Her sudden fear makes my cock stir. It’s been a few days. That’s too fucking long. I move toward her. She backs up. I step closer, chest to chest until she’s up against the wall.

  “Luci.” Her voice is husky, a little shaky.

  I put a hand on her throat, holding her tight, as I put the other on her belly, sliding inside her pants, finding my way inside her panties. Her pussy is smooth, naked. I push inside and thrust, shallowly, then harder and deeper as she responds. She gasps and clutches my shoulders, bucking, a little mewl escaping her throat.

  “God,” she moans and swallows hard against my palm.

  It’s so fucking erotic to hold her life in my hands. I could strangle her any second, see her eyes go wild with fear, feel her fight me, how she weakens in my arms. We’re definitely going to explore that. I know she gets off on danger. I’ll see how far I can push her. She caresses down my chest, dragging her fingers along my abs, making involuntary ripples shoot through me, then she cups the bulge in my pants, stroking the length back and forth, tightening her hold, making me swell.

  “Pull out my cock,” I grit out. “Stroke me.”

  She clenches her thighs, panting, her pussy soaking wet. “I—You—”

  I’m not having it and kick her legs apart. “Stay,” I growl, loving her attempts at struggling. “Take out my cock.”

  Chloe licks her lips. “Yes, sir.” She holds my gaze as she flicks open the button and unzips me.

  It’s not a submissive ‘yes, sir’. It’s a fucking defiant message that she’ll keep fighting me even though she seemingly obeys.

  “Oh, you’re in for a world of pain.”

  Her eyes widen, looking innocent. “What?”

  “You’re a bad girl, Chloe. Do you know what I do with bad girls?” I pull my hand out of her pants and her knees buckle as she groans.

  “I have an idea,” she mouths as she closes her warm little hand around my rock-hard cock.

  “Get on your knees! Take me in your mouth.”

  “Yes, sir.” Her cheeks get flushed as she gives me an impish smile.

  I turn my face to the ceiling and close my eyes as she puts her lips around my cock and her tongue swirls the head. She’s got this down to perfection. She’s so attentive to my every reaction. The difference from fucking whores all my life, from looking at their scared anonymous faces and their pretend-lust, couldn’t be more apparent. I have conditioned Chloe, just like I sought out to do, but she has conditioned me too. I know her every curve, I know what makes her hot, what makes her squirm, what frightens her, where her limits are and how she reacts every time I push them a little further. I’ve become so dependent on her, her body, her compassion, her intelligence, her defiance, and her naughty streak that I don’t know how I can ever go back.

  I grab her head and thrust deeper, making her face turn red as she tries to push away. Holding her tight, pressing her against the wall, I fuck her mouth until she beats me, then I pull out.

  “You fucking asshole!” she sputters.

  I pull her to her feet and crash my mouth against hers as I pull down her zipper. “Get out of these. Now!”

  Chloe swallows audibly and quickly shimmies out of her
pants and panties, kicking them away along with her shoes. I tear off her coat and lift her up against the wall. Grabbing her thigh, pulling it up, I line up my cock and thrust inside in one move. Her heat wraps around me, her clenching vice-like. I push in to the hilt, making her scream and rise, trying to get away. I pull her to me, my arms around her waist and slam her down on me, over and over.

  “You’re so tight,” I groan.

  “You’re so fucking big,” she whimpers. “You’re killing me.”

  “Oh no, I’m definitely not killing you. I’m fucking you.”

  “You’re a dick!”

  I laugh and pull out, dropping her to her feet. “Bend over.”

  Her eyes widen. “Oh no, you’re not.”

  “Bend over!” My palm itches to meet with the smooth skin on her butt. I want her whimpering and pleading, I want her soft and afraid. I want her body, her soul, and her every breath to be mine.

  She stands stiff, unmoving. I grab her waist and throw her over my shoulder, heading for the couch in the next room. Chloe kicks and screams. She’s strong, but she’s no match for me.

  “Fight me and I’ll tie you up,” I say as I drop her to the floor. She pushes at me, trying to get away. I grab her arms and bend her over the armrest, pinning her down with ease as she twists and jerks. Her fighting shoots straight to my cock, making my insides scream for me to ram into her pussy, but all in due time. Finally clutching both her wrists in one of my hands, I push her arms up between her shoulder blades and kick her feet wide apart. “You never learn, do you?”

  “Fuck you!”

  I smirk and bear my palm down on her delicately pale ass, leaving a bright red mark. Chloe screams. I slap her again, and again.

  “It huuurts!” she hollers.

  I pause and lean over her, sliding my hand between her ass cheeks, finding her pussy soaking wet. “Bad hurt?” I whisper in her ear. She groans and that’s answer enough for me. “Tell me you’re mine.”

  She doesn’t answer. I caress along her butt, then I slap her so hard that my palm stings. Her skin is getting dark red, mottled with little blue dots. Chloe gasps and tries to pull out of my grip.