Chapter 35 – Geralynn
Chapter Thirty-Five
Geralynn
Before we leave the warehouse parking lot, more players come onto the scene.
I learn the identities of our captors while we’re on the way to the third location.
I lose hope about surviving tonight, but I’m keeping an open mind.
Our tall kidnapper is Vince Gravina and the shorter one is Martino.
I think his last name is Gravina too, but they don’t look as similar as I would expect for brothers.
The second car showed up with Franco, Benny, and their captive – Angela.
Over the course of the next half hour, I hear the whispers of their plan and it’s not that hard to piece together.
The third car shows up with a girl I don’t recognize.
She has platinum blond shaggy hair cut short and lots of eyeliner around her eyes.
She arrives in the custody of just one man – Giancarlo Gravina. I don’t know if I’ll be able to keep all of them straight when – not if – I finally get away from here. I don’t feel good about the situation at all.
They herd all of us towards one SUV and prod us into the spacious back seats. I can’t believe this mom van is going to be where I spend the last minutes of my life. I hate the new car smell and detect the faint scent of bleach beneath it. We’re in a moving crime scene.
When Franco pushes us into the backseat one at a time, I finally catch the shaggy blond girl’s name. CC. Nicki holds my hand while we sit next to each other, but I’m completely numb to her efforts at reaching out to me. We’re not going to get out of this alive. I don’t believe it.
The next drive only lasts fifteen minutes. I don’t feel better that we’re in the parking lot of an old Catholic church built out of stone with large gothic towers. We’re still behind a church. Martino drags us out of the mom van and we walk inside large double wooden doors held open by Franco.
We aren’t in control here. Angela pulls Nicki close to her and CC stands on her own.
“We picked up Flora three weeks ago,” Giancarlo says to Franco. “She’s in the basement at the rock’s house.”
The rock must be some sort of code name. Franco appears to be the mastermind here and I don’t take my eyes off him while I realize that. The men are all equally terrifying, but I can’t tell how they’re related. There are just too many details and my stomach has finally started to hurt.
“We need the black girl as a witness,” Franco says quietly. “That’s all we need her for. Is Father Vescovi here?”
“Upstairs waiting,” Martino answers. “I got a text.”
“Perfect. Take Angela and the black girl upstairs.”
“HEY!” Nicki calls out, earning the attention of all five men in the stone passageway beneath the church.
It smells musty and damp down here. The only source of warmth I have is the closeness of the other women.
But they’re family – I’m not. I wrap my arms around my chest, wincing at Nicki’s loud exclamation.
Is this really my best source of protection right now?
“You can’t separate me and Geralynn.”
“We’re not going to hurt her, you stupid slut,” Franco snarls. “Now shut up, or I’ll cut off a piece of your tongue.”
Martino and Giancarlo stifle a chuckle, but I don’t find any of this funny. I give Nicki a pleading look, hoping she takes the hint and shuts the hell up. This man said he wouldn’t hurt me and I don’t want to push him.
“What the hell do you want with her then?”
“A witness.”
Two men emerge from the top floor of the church wearing all black. Their faces are covered with black masks like that type you would wear at a masquerade ball and their clothes are simple black tailored suits that smell like wool and Dior cologne. What the fuck do they mean by “a witness?”
The energy in the room shifts as the men arrive.
Angela’s eyes grow so wide that her pupils blacken and cover up the color of her irises.
Her eyebrows and the sharp angle of her jawline remind me of Renzo, but she otherwise looks very different from him.
Can she recognize the men behind the masks or is she scared because of her fate?
I feel like I’m about to witness a ritual sacrifice. Franco grabs my arm, but he doesn’t squeeze tightly enough to cut off blood flow. I shouldn’t count that as merciful.
“Don’t worry, you’ll be back to the cesspool you came from in no time,” Franco snarls.
The two masked men hold onto either side of Angela and lead her up the stairs. Franco leads me behind them and pushes at me again with another snide comment.
“Did you let some thug get you pregnant out of wedlock?” Franco asks me. “Or are you some whore trying to scam the mob out of money?”
“Shut the hell up, Franco,” Angela snaps. “She’s just curvy.”
I can’t tell if she’s defending me or just yelling at him because she has the chance to push back at someone. It doesn’t work out in Angela’s favor. The masked man to her left elbows her hard. Angela groans and falls into the other man’s body.
“Restrain yourself,” he snarls.
“You stupid fucks. My father is going to put you in the ground for this.”
“Don’t be so sure of that,” Franco says to her. He gives me another snide look.
“Quiet little slave girl, aren’t you?” he says, sneering at me. “I’m sorry your masters abandoned you. Maybe if you spread those legs for me, I’ll make you a better offer.”
I don’t respond to him and thankfully, I have nothing to do with the main event planned in this church.
They really do want a witness. The masked men drag Angela up to the altar where a priest stands next to an Italian man wearing a black suit and a similar mask to the men who dragged Angela upstairs.
“Father,” Franco greets him. The priest looks at him with a flat, neutral expression.
“We have four more weddings,” he says. “Let’s get started. This one is Angela Taviani?”
“Yes, Father. Thank you, Father.”
“And her husband?”
“Felice Gravina.”
“You want me to marry a fucking kid?” Angela says.
“Silence, Signora,” the priest says. “It is not a woman’s place to speak like this.”
Franco moves his arm around my shoulder and pulls my body close to his.
I shiver as he holds onto me, secretly fantasizing about all the ways Renzo would turn this man into ground beef.
Angela falls silent, but her hateful gaze says everything.
Her reddish brown hair sits in a tangled mess around her shoulders as the man standing next to the priest crosses over to her.
She stares up at his mask with hatred.
“Gravina,” she hisses. “What the hell are your people playing at?”
The priest clears his throat. I feel like I stumbled upon something much more complicated than I’m equipped to understand and I just wish that I had a way of telling Renzo where I am. Pittsburgh. In a church. Watching his older sister get forcibly married to… Somebody named Felice.
It sounds like Felix. I don’t know if I’ll be able to remember all the details well enough to tell a police officer, but I try every mental trick in the book to keep everything straight. Hey, I’ll need to remember a lot of details if I ever make it out of this situation and make it to law school…
“Be quiet, Angela. I promise, the less you fight, the better your life will be.”
The priest clears his throat. “Let us pray together.”
“You sell out piece of shit,” Angela hisses.
The priest ignores her. “Heavenly father. Tonight I request as your humble servant that you bless this union and joining of two powerful Italian families steeped in tradition and honor and the strengthening of blood.”
My chest tightens as he continues.
“Heavenly father, forgive me for what I must do in order to keep the Italian bloodline in this city white and pure. I have done everything in my power to honor your belief in the separation of the races. I am a true believer that some races are less than others. I pray for forgiveness for this bloodline of sinners who have dirtied our proud lineage. Tonight, I will right those wrongs with these marriages and request your blessing in keeping these marriages strong…”
“You’re a sick fuck,” Angela hisses.
“Quiet,” Franco snarls. “Or I’ll shove a crucifix up your whorish asshole.”
The priest throws Franco a glare, but there’s no admonishment for his decidedly un-Christian language. I wasn’t entirely wrong about stumbling upon a cult ritual. Because I’ve been to weddings and this is nothing like any wedding I’ve ever witnessed.
The priest’s shoulders relax.
Father Vescovi continues calmly, “Are you both here of your own free will?”
“Yes, Father,” Felice says. He sounds so… young. Angela glares at the priest and even if I don’t know her, I don’t think she’ll agree to this.
“No. Of course not. I…”
The priest loses his patience. I watch his demeanor shift in a terrifying instant. His voice hardens and he turns to Franco with rage. “Quiet the bitch.”
Franco nods at the two masked men and they both hit Angela with such force that she falls to the ground and blood spurts out of her face.
My hands rush to my face to stifle a scream.
WHAT THE FUCK? Franco wraps her hair around his fist while Angela screams and he drags her from her knees back up to her feet while she cries out in pain from the way he yanks on her hair.
She shudders, but she doesn’t sob and doesn’t scream once he loosens his grip enough for the priest to continue. Angela’s gaze flutters briefly towards mine… then it drops to the ground and once more, I’m alone and witnessing some of the worst cruelty I’ve ever seen in my life.
The priest makes them exchange vows. They have to torture Angela for her to say all the words, but after twenty minutes and a lot of blood, she eventually says the words. They exchange rings provided by Franco and his henchmen.
“Bless this marriage and the vow of racial purity it represents,” Father Vescovi closes off their exchange of rings. “You may now kiss the bride and fill her with your seed…”