Ruin: Russo Saga, #2

By Nicolina Martin

I can't let her live. But now that I've had her, there's no possible way I can live without her…

 

Pretty little things like Anna have no place in my world. They certainly have no business watching me end a man's life as easily as I ordered coffee this morning.

 

She's seen too much. And now my job, my loyalty, demands I end hers too.

 

But for the first time in my career, I hesitate. With my hands around her slender throat and her writhing under me, all I want is to strip her down and stake my claim all over her gorgeous body.

 

I want to punish her, to please her, to make her forget any other name but my own as she begs me for more. I want to demand everything from her, even though leaving her alive will put a target on both our backs.

 

After all, if she's going to be my ruin, then it's only fair that I be hers as well.

 

*Intended for an 18+ audience. This book is a rerelease.*

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dark Heart Pen Publications
• Release date: Jul 18, 2023
• ISBN: 9789198818536

Nicolina Martin

Nicolina Martin is a Swedish author whose passion for the written word began during her teenage years. While she is deeply influenced by Stephen King, Neil Gaiman, Jodi Picoult, and many more, she doesn’t limit herself to just one genre, and dabbles in dark, steamy romance, suspense, erotica shorts, and contemporary fiction. Nicolina enjoys singing, practicing martial arts, and gardening. She is also a music enthusiast, movie fanatic, and bibliophile. Above all, she loves spending quality time with her three beautiful daughters and three feline fur-babies. To Nicolina, life is far too short for regrets, and she is a firm believer in looking forward no matter what to avoid repeating past mistakes. She also believes in thoroughly enjoying each and every moment as it comes because tomorrow is never guaranteed.

Book preview

One

Eric

Igrab his collar and pull him to me. The man is still conscious, which is unbelievable after the pummeling I’ve given him. Tightening my free hand into a fist, I connect it with his jaw again.

You do not steal money from Salvatore, Sam.

My breathing is a little labored, but apart from that, I feel absolutely nothing. This pathetic excuse for a human being has outlived his use by years.

I have kids, he sputters, blood oozing from his mouth. Please.

Every-fucking-one can procreate. They’ll be better off without you, you little weasel.

No! Please!

I hit him again. His nose crunches under my fist and his head lolls to the side. Dropping him to the floor, I stand and study the now not so conscious man. I put a shoe to his shoulder and prod him. He doesn’t stir. I could beat him to death, but my knuckles hurt. I’d have liked him to be awake when I put the gun in his mouth and pulled the trigger. Seeing that last moment of realization that they are, in fact, going to die is almost better than sex. It’s not a turn-on, but the power rush is incredible. It’s the same expression I saw in my father’s eyes all those years ago. It was over way too soon, and I’ve been looking for that feeling of fulfillment ever since. I’ve never found it again.

Pulling my Colt out of the holster, I aim it between his eyes and fire. His body twitches as the bullet penetrates bone and brain. I fire two more rounds to make sure to finish him off. His skull nearly caves in on itself. No coming back from that.

I put the gun away and begin looking through the papers on his desk. Crap, crap, bullshit, more crap. Nothing directing me to the money he owes my boss. The drawers are locked, and I make short work with the locks, putting a few bullets in them.

Porn. Child porn. I shudder. I wish I’d known this ten minutes ago. My thoughts dart to my sister before I carefully lock them away, and I wish I could kill him again.

I kick the desk over. It topples with a loud crash.

"Fuck!"

I throw Sam West a dark glance, take off the gloves, pocket them and pull out my phone.

Luci.

Luciano Salvatore. Capo of the mightiest network of organized crime on the West Coast. My boss, my mentor, my savior. I absolutely loathe the man, and I’d die for him.

Eric. Got anything for me?

Nada. He was shady as fuck, and a fucking coward, but either he didn’t know shit, or he was really good at keeping secrets. No papers here. Nothing. Do I move up the chain?

Definitely. Let’s not go over this on the phone, though. See you at dinner tonight. Put on a suit and bring a lady friend. I’m having a little gathering. We can combine business with pleasure.

I had planned to do absolutely nothing tonight. A double whisky and listen to some music. You don’t say no to Salvatore, though. You can try, but it’s a painful lesson in his resolve to get things done his way.

I don’t have lady friends, I mutter. I don’t. I fuck them and leave them. No one wants to stay friends with me after, anyway.

Salvatore barks out a laugh. You’re priceless, you sadistic prick. I might have someone for you, legs for days, a tight little ass, long blonde hair. She’s hot as fuck.

I don’t do prostitutes.

I fucking know that. She’s not a hooker.

I don’t do your leftovers either.

She’s the daughter of a client. I haven’t sampled her. Yet. And I have no issues with leftovers as long as they have tits and ass.

You’re a pig.

He laughs. I know. I’ll text you her contact info. Be here at eight sharp. He disconnects.

I stare at the phone and rub a hand over my face. As I walk out of the trashed office, I give West a kick for good measure. I exit through the back of the little shoe repair store, into an alley, as my phone buzzes.

It’s a text from Salvatore. Elisa Wakefield. And a phone number. I sigh. I can’t say I’m feeling it, but I won’t have a choice.

I walk a block to my car and call her as I start driving.

A soft, breathless, very feminine voice answers. Yes?

Miss Wakefield?

Yes. Who is this? How did you get my number?

She sounds a bit suspicious. Self-preservation is a good thing. Maybe she isn’t a total airhead.

My name is Eric Reed. I work for Mr. Salvatore who I believe has business with your father.

I know who Mr. Salvatore is, yes. Her voice is still guarded. Good girl. Something stirs in me, and I suddenly wanna break through that wall, and make her scream and cry.

He’s having a little gathering at his residence tonight, and he has requested your presence. I was told to escort you there, and it would be my honor, Miss Wakefield.

Requested? Her voice raises a pitch. "He can’t just request my presence."

Oh, I agree completely. It’s awfully bold of him, but he isn’t an easy man to please, and I got the impression it would benefit your father greatly.

She’s silent. I wait and let her process this.

And who are you again?

I’m Eric Reed. I’m Mr. Salvatore’s right-hand man.

I’m going to check you out first. See if it’s true.

Of course. I never expected anything less; on the contrary, I admire a woman who can look after herself.

Well, I don’t. But it excites me, because they’re more fun when I break them.

Miss Wakefield. Dinner is at eight. Cocktail dress would be suitable. It’s now two p.m. I will call you in two hours and make plans for picking you up. You know how to reach Mr. Salvatore?

Yes, of course.

There’s a new tension in her voice. Not as suspicious anymore, but as if she’s a little bit enticed. I grin. Good.

Talk to you later then, Miss Wakefield.

Call me Elisa.

Elisa, I purr. I’ll call you.

Dinner is what it always is. Sexy little servants, young men and women who get paid well, and have to put up with being groped all through the night. Quite a few of them will have earned a bit of extra cash when the night is over. A long table filled with men in dark suits, some of them with eye candy on their side. A couple of hardened wives sit and talk among themselves, not interfering with their husbands’ business. Every single person in here knows exactly what kind of man Salvatore is, and they bask in the benefits of being on his good side.

Elisa has been ogled, approached and given dirty suggestions. I’ve protected her the whole night, played the perfect gentleman. She’s a tough cookie, though, and none of the less pleasant encounters seem to have rattled her.

What do you do for Mr. Salvatore, Eric?

I manage his business deals with the mid-level players. It’s a full-time job. He never rests. I also double as his bodyguard.

She eyes me up and down with an appreciative glance. And… what is it Mr. Salvatore does?

I don’t think you need to ask that, Elisa. I flash her a wide smile and refill her glass with champagne. She’s getting tipsy and is definitely interested. Her cheeks are flushed, she’s chewing her full bottom lip and her pupils dilate as she regards me.

I lean in, putting my mouth to her ear. Have you had enough of these mongrels?

She gasps and her nipples harden visibly through the thin fabric. My cock stirs at the sight and the heady scent of her flowery perfume. It’s a little on the heavy side, but it fits her, just as the thick diamond necklace around her long, pale throat fits her. I want to wrap my fingers around that throat and feel her fear through her arousal. I want to see her naked with only that sexy necklace on.

She nods, her eyes glazed over, her chest rising and falling rapidly.

I offer her my hand and she takes it. As we stand, I snake an arm around her narrow waist and pull her to my side.

Let’s get some fresh air.

Both she and I knows what I mean. We’ll have a few hours of fun. At least I’ll have fun… then I’ll send her on her way.

Two

Anna

D ad.

Pumpkin! Hi. How are you?

You wanna come over for dinner tonight? I can make lasagna. I glance to the side, switch lanes and leave the highway, aiming for the supermarket before I head home.

My father laughs. You don’t have to tempt me with my favorite dish, sweetheart. I’m always happy to come over. I sit alone anyway.

That’s so sad. You should find someone.

"I’m an old fart, I’ve had my fun. You should find someone."

I freeze up, my chest suddenly too tight. Of course, Dad, I choke out. See you tonight?

My dad, as always, is oblivious to my inner turmoil. Always, because I have never told him. I never told anyone about the attack. I don’t want anyone’s pity; I don’t want anyone’s kindness, or attempts to console me. I’ve built walls, and I won’t have anyone or anything tearing them down. Everyone reacts differently, copes differently. It may not be a good way, but this is my way.

The night proceeds as expected. I’ve poured Dad a glass of wine, hoping to lessen the shock a little.

I’ve… quit my job.

He stops with his fork between plate and mouth and raises his eyebrows. So much for lessening the impact. What?

I squirm. Look… I know how proud you’ve been over my position at the law firm. Over my degree, but I’m not feeling it. It’s been so stressful; I’ve felt like I’ll end up in an early grave.

Really? Why haven’t you told me?

I haven’t told him because it’s tightly connected to what happened to me a little less than a year ago. Pushing the thought away, I smile at him. I don’t know. I think I wanted to make you proud.

He leans forward and caresses my cheek. I’m always proud of you, love. Always. It doesn’t matter to me what you do, as long as you’re happy.

Yeah, that’s the big issue. I can’t tell him. It would crush him more than it did me.

I am happy. I have another job of course; I didn’t just hop off without a plan.

Tell me! His eyes glitter again.

It’s just a small company, and I can manage my responsibilities. It’s like, when I leave work, I don’t have to think about it, you know. I don’t have to sit at home with piles of documents to work through.

Dad nods. He knows. He’s a retired divorce lawyer. It’s ironic, and sad, that Mom fled when he was just starting his practice, and the first case was him getting divorced himself. He’s never been with another woman as far as I know. He’s been my mom and dad throughout my whole life and he’s the only one I let in. I was so focused on law school that I neglected my friends, and eventually I lost them all. I had a boyfriend in college, but we had different goals in life and drifted apart with no hard feelings.

So, is it good? Or is it just to have an income?

I wince but decide on the truth. It’s really boring. Like, it’s gonna kill me in the long run. But it suits me now, because I can’t live on air.

You know, there’s always room for you at home.

I laugh. Yeah, Dad, but I’m twenty-six. I’ve lived away from home since I was nineteen. I’m not moving in with my parent again.

He makes a face. I guess I see your point. So what else is new? Seeing anyone?

I want to lie to get him off my back. But I don’t. I’m not interested.

Are—I’ve been wanting to ask for a long time—you not interested in men?

I burst out in a laugh. Can you be more awkward? No, I think I’m your average straight girl. I hate that word by the way. As if the opposite of straight is bent, crooked, faulty. I frown. Anyway, no, I’m not gay, Dad. Why?

Well… A blush creeps up his neck, and I decide to let him off the hook.

How’s the golfing?

He shines up like the sun and talks the rest of the night about his new favorite hobby. He is so easy, and I’m a freaking master at dark deception.

My days, my weeks, month after month, look exactly the same, and after four months at the little custom printing company, I realize it isn’t awful. My bosses are pretty chill; the rest of the staff is kind. The office is located in one of the fanciest business districts in downtown Los Angeles and it has its advantages, like a great underground garage with a guard, lots of nearby restaurants and coffee shops. What I can’t understand is how they can make so much money. As far as I can tell we’re pretty average. I studied finance law as well as criminal law, and something doesn’t add up. There are no signs of foul play, though, and I suspect my background makes for a very vivid imagination.

The two men in black suits, and oily, slicked-back hair that pass outside my little office one late afternoon, make me do a double take. My heart speeds up. I don’t know anything about mafia, I’ve only seen them in the movies, but these two looked like they could have come straight out of The Godfather.

Mr. Darrell is uncharacteristically quiet that afternoon, and a bit pale.

It’s as if he shrinks before my eyes. As days turn into weeks, my jovial friendly boss turns into a shadow of himself. I know a stress reaction when I see one. I see it every time I look in a mirror. One part of me wants to reach out and ask if he wants to talk, another part is afraid to know.

Eric

So they’re involved in a money laundering scheme? Christian Russo sits with his dirty shoes propped up on my dashboard, chewing on a toothpick as he cleans his nails with the tip of his knife.

I grit my teeth. We’ve been sent from San Francisco to LA, the worst shithole on the planet, and I have to put up with this guy for a week. He’s a pig. The oldest Russo brother used to be a ruthless guy, but somewhat civil and disciplined, but the last year he’s become a liability to the business if you ask me. One of these days I’m gonna have to talk to Salvatore about him. They might be family, but he’s a danger to the whole organization.

Rubbing my face, I grab the water bottle next to me, twist off the lid and take a swig. Yep. The older one, Myles, used to work for Salvatore as an errand boy. When he lost his wife, and was left with four kids, Salvatore gave him a little bit of an out with this firm. Forever indebted, of course. He employed Darrell, the fat one, and since then they’ve grown a little. Their biggest source of income, though, is the money that flows through them, not the printing business.

Christian spits out the toothpick through the sliver of an opening in the window. And now Salvatore feels money is going missing?

Oh, yes, and it’s not peanuts either. Not that Luci would accept even a cent disappearing without heads rolling.

Christian scoffs. Yeah. He’s very… particular.

Christian, I say and turn to him. Look, dude. I don’t like you, you don’t like me, but if we’re gonna work on this together, we need to work as a team. We’re far from home and kind of stuck together in this. I’m not going into anything with someone I don’t know can fucking control himself. Why don’t you tell me what happened to you?

His already dark eyes turn pitch black as he looks at me. Nothing rattles me, but even I feel a twist of unease at the desolate void in his gaze.

Give me something, I say.

He exhales through his nose and turns to the window. I did something I shouldn’t have done. I hurt someone. I mean, it’s what I do, but this was—different.

I’m confused. You have killed people for a living since you were in your teens. What the fuck did you do to put your panties in a twist? No one recognizes you anymore. You’re a loose cannon. Everybody’s fucking afraid of you. What was so different?

His lips are curled in an expression of distaste as he looks back at me. I took someone’s trust and turned it against her. I did this to a tiny, defenseless, intelligent, brave and compassionate girl. I unleashed the full force of my inner beast, let whatever demon there’s inside me loose, lost all control, made all the wrong choices. She’d have been better off if I’d killed her because I took all the light from her. There’s more, but that’s my burden to carry.

I’m honestly stunned. I work with the worst of the worst. Salvatore himself is as cruel as they come, but Christian has always been so controlled, so unfazed by everything. I’d never expected this from him.

From the looks of it, neither had he.

Why didn’t you just kill her, and save you both the grief?

It happened. Now you know. Let’s move on. And Eric, I know exactly what I’m doing when I’m on a job.

I nod slowly. I believe him. It’s good he came clean, though, now I know I can trust him. I start the engine and pull out. Tomorrow, I’ll pay them a visit. We’ll probably act by the end of the week.

Christian nods and we drive in silence until I drop him off by his hotel. He hops out, but lingers, then he leans in. Salvatore knows, and my family, but apart from that, I trust this stays between you and me.

Of course. I have no reason to run with gossip. It’s not how I roll. I’ll call you.

He slams the door closed and I stare at the dust and dirt on the dashboard before I rev the engine and head home. I had no idea that man had a conscience. At thirty-five, I’m apparently not too old to be surprised.

My temporarily rented apartment on the twenty-first floor, with the whole city by my feet, isn’t overly large, but it’s got what I need. I toss the keys on the side table, toe off my shoes, and head for the kitchen to pour a large whisky. Pushing the black leather recliner to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the ocean, I let Rolling Stones flood the room and close my eyes.

Tomorrow, I’ll scope out the premises, have a little word with the weasels who think they can get away with hiding parts of what they earn, and see what we’re gonna do about it.

Three

Anna

T he delivery was so easy. Little Toby started sucking immediately and I have so much milk. It’s incredible. I donate to the preemie ward. Like gallons, you know. I’m like a Momma Cow.

Everybody laughs and admires the pictures of a wrinkly little infant on the small screen of Gabriella’s phone. I pull my lips into a stiff smile and coo with the others around the coffee table as they pass the phone between them. Of course I’m happy for my colleague, but I struggle to match the others’ enthusiasm.

Gabriella returned from parental leave today and has yet to make herself useful. She goes on and on about milk stains, the color of poop, her wonderful husband who is now home with the baby, and blah-blah.

I tune out and glance over to the other side of the room. Cocking my head, I frown as I study the two men sitting there. Mr. Darrell has aged visibly these last few months, overweight, balding, kind eyes that have a haunted look, whereas Mr. Myles is tall, thin and twitchy. Myles doesn’t speak much to anyone. Darrell is the face of the firm and the one who handles everything. I’m not sure what Myles does at all, actually. He always greets me kindly, though, saluting me when we meet in the corridors.

The never-ending baby talk is suddenly choking me. A mere five minutes into my coffee break, and I’ve had it. I dart up, almost run to grab my bag and flee the office without looking at the, no doubt surprised, faces of my workmates. They already think I’m crazy anyways, the odd one out, the quiet, and always awkwardly dressed girl. It hardly makes any difference.

I pace the elevator on the way down and cross the lobby in a few quick strides, nodding at the guard. Starbucks is right around the corner. A latte, some strangers I’ll never have to see again. Much more manageable.

Absentmindedly ordering my favorite beverage, I scan the menu, but decide against anything else.

Cinnamon Latte? You’re kidding, right?

Huh? Spinning on my heels, I locate the source of the voice and find myself looking at a chest, with a white, well-ironed shirt, a gray tie adorned with a discreet geometrical pattern disappearing into a neatly buttoned black vest, and an expensive-looking black suit completing the look. My gaze follows the tie upward, to a squared jaw with a hint of dark-blond stubble and a little dimple in the center of the chin. I raise my head and stare at full lips that twist into a smile, a slightly crooked nose and then eyes—light-green eyes—so intense they make me forget where I am. I swallow hard.

I believe they expect you to pay for that abomination. He lets go of