Chapter 21
DIANGELO
Past
“What’s done is done. We can’t change that now,” my dad says wearily after I explain the deception that likely led to Elio’s abduction.
While he didn’t berate or blame me, my shame is still overwhelming. As much as I want to crawl in a hole and never resurface, that would be the coward’s choice. It’s more important than ever that I do what is right, no matter how excruciating it is to bear.
“Would Cosimo help us?” I ask. Cosimo Costa is Dad’s childhood friend—the two were neighbors growing up and kept in touch through the years.
Dad is an engineer, while his friend became one of the top members of the Moretti crime family.
He was my inspiration for the insinuation that my father had connections, even though I knew very well that Dad has never had anything to do with the Mafia aspects of Cosimo’s life.
“I’ll explain to him myself what I did. I’ll make sure he knows I’m the only one to blame. ”
“It’s not an issue of blame, DiAngelo. I’ll talk to him if needed, and while I never thought I’d ask my friend for money, I would never be too proud to ask for help when it comes to keeping my family safe.”
Dad has always maintained that the key to remaining friends with someone in such a different economic situation is to ensure money is never involved.
If they go to dinner together, Dad always insists on paying for himself.
He never wanted his friend to question whether Dad was after friendship or money.
Crossing that line will weigh heavily on my father.
“What else can we do? Get a loan from the bank?”
Dad shakes his head. “That sort of thing takes ages. They have to go to underwriters and get liens on collateral—there’s no way we’d get the money in time.”
My heart races in my chest. “How do we get the money, then?” Rising panic pulls at my voice like guitar strings strung overly tight.
“We’ll have to go to a moneylender.”
“I thought you said—”
“Not the bank,” he corrects me. “This type of lender isn’t restricted to the governmental oversight that drags out the loan process.”
“You mean a loan shark?” I can’t keep the shock from my voice. I don’t mean to judge his choices. I don’t have any better suggestions, but this feels like we’re walking straight into a pit of quicksand.
“Keep your voice down,” he demands, eyes cutting to the living room where Mom is pacing.
“It would only be temporary. I could pay him off after getting a bank loan. There’s no other way to get that sort of money so quickly.
As it is, I don’t know that I could get as much as these monsters are asking, but I need to get as much as I can. ”
“You know who to talk to?”
“I have an idea.”
I nod, choosing not to dig further, though I’m endlessly curious how he knows anyone in that line of work. Of course, he’s friends with Cosimo, so maybe there’s more to my dad than I realized.
He stands and slides his phone into his pocket. “I’m going to see what I can come up with.”
I stand, as well. “I’m going to go to the bar and see about getting security footage from that night. Maybe there’s some clue that could help me figure out who’s behind this.”
Dad claps a hand on my shoulder, his steely eyes boring into mine. “That’s a good thought. Every bit of information helps. You let me know what you find, and I’ll keep you informed as well.”
I’m so damn ashamed at how proud he makes me feel when none of this would be necessary if it weren’t for my stupid ego.
I don’t deserve such amazing parents. I don’t deserve them, yet I’ll try for the rest of my damn life to honor them and do right by their names.
I fucking owe them that and so much more.
Two hours later, I’m in a grungy back office scanning through grainy security footage of the bar.
I force myself to watch as past me boasts about his influential connections and passes around my phone to show off photos of the yacht I supposedly rode on.
It makes me sick to relive it. At the same time, I’m glad for the discomfort. I deserve that and worse.
Think of Elio and what he might be going through.
I study each face with renewed determination.
When the video reaches the moment I leave the bar to go home, I make a breakthrough.
One of the men who’d been crowded around our table follows me out the door.
And not in a happenstance sort of way. His body almost appears tethered to mine from the second I separate from the table.
Bingo.
It’s a relief to have a lead, but I’m also furious with myself for being so shit-faced that I was oblivious to my surroundings.
Had the man followed me all the way home?
Why didn’t he take me right then? I wish he had so that it was me in danger and not my brother.
This man probably has no idea I have a twin.
“Is this guy familiar at all?” I ask the bouncer, pointing at the paused screen.
He squints. “Nah, man. Can’t really see enough of his face to make him out.” He looks a little closer. “Think I can make out the logo on his ball cap. Not sure if it helps, but I think it says ACME.”
Sure enough, I can read it, too. “Any bit helps.” I take a photo of the screen and thank the guy for his help.
Once I’m back out in the light of day, I call to check in with my dad.
He’s finished talking to the loan shark, who said he’d take Cosimo’s reference in lieu of collateral and would let us know the answer after they talked.
Dad was about to call his friend to let him know the situation, so I don’t keep him.
I can tell him about the man at the bar once I’m home.
A dozen different businesses across the city use the acronym ACME in their names, not to mention the myriad others around the country. Hell, the hat could be Bugs Bunny merch with absolutely no tie to the city whatsoever. It’s hard to say, but I have to keep looking. I can’t sit and do nothing.
I study the photo until my vision blurs.
I try to reverse image search the logo, but it’s too blurry for any matches.
I also do a reverse number search for the phone number that the kidnapper used but was unable to get any information.
By the time Dad gets home, I’ve listed every ACME business in all five boroughs and plotted their locations on a map.
“What did Cosimo say?” I ask quietly. Mom is asleep on the sofa. She was out of it when I got home. I’m pretty sure she’s taken something to knock herself out, and I don’t blame her. I’d do the same if I were in her shoes.
“He’s going to see if there’s any word on the street about serial kidnappings—anything that might get us information on who this bastard might be.”
“And the money?” I’m scared to ask, and my wavering voice shows it.
“He’s got to talk to some people and get back with me.” Dad looks twenty years older than he did yesterday. The bags under his eyes are a dark gray, and the sagging of his lips into a frown gives him the appearance of jowls. Dad isn’t even forty-five yet.
Needing to get away from myself, I bolt to my feet. “I’ll cook some dinner.” Anything to distract me from the self-loathing.
A half-hour later, I have a bolognese sauce simmering when Dad’s phone rings.
Our eyes lock for an elongated second before we both fly into action. He pulls out his phone while I rush to sit beside him.
“Yes?” He rubs his forehead. “No, I don’t have the money yet. I’m having a little trouble coming up with that much … No, please listen … I’m not refusing.”
I can hear the raised voice on the other end of the call, and something inside me breaks. I need to try to fix this. I have to do something, so I grab the phone and start to pace.
“This is DiAngelo. I’m not sure if you know, but you took my twin brother.
I’m the one from the bar—I assume you were there, and that’s why you think we have a lot of money.
The thing is,” I hurry to explain frantically, “I lied about it all. I clean the boats. I wasn’t a guest. I was putting on a show to look good, but it was all a lie.
Please, don’t hurt my brother. We’ll give you what we can, but we don’t really have that sort of money. ”
“You don’t have the money?” The man’s distant voice sounds incredulous. “This won’t be good. He won’t like that. Not at all.”
“That’s not what I said. We just might need a little more time,” I try to explain.
“He won’t believe you,” he says in a harrowing whisper that chills me to the bone.
“I’ll get the money,” I pronounce in no uncertain terms, terror prodding me to lie my ass off. This man’s fear of his boss is palpable, and I can’t imagine what that means for my brother. “Please, just give us the full forty-eight hours. That’s all we’re asking.”
I wait for a response. All I hear is a bell in the distance before the line goes dead.
I sink into a kitchen chair and stare at my hands. Worthless, pathetic, helpless hands. “I’m so sorry.” The words seem so inadequate for how I feel. I’d carve my heart out and lay it at my father’s feet if I could.
He scoots his chair closer and pulls me into his arms, holding me in a merciless hug.
“This isn’t your fault. You can’t know what a crazy person will do.” His voice bleeds into sobs, and I join him. Together, we hold one another and allow our fear to leave our bodies until we are drained and ready to refocus our efforts.
I tell him about the ACME hat and show him my map.
“Before the guy hung up, I heard something in the background. Sounded like a church bell, but I’m not sure what to make of it.”
Dad studies the map for a while. “Doesn’t look like any churches are located near the ACME businesses.” He looks at the security photo of the man from the bar, deep in thought. “Instead of a church bell, could it have been a ferry bell? The kind on a river taxi?”
I think back. “Yeah, I suppose it could have been that.” I zoom in on the map and scan each of my pinned locations to see if any are located near piers with ferry access. “The ACME Smoked Salmon plant. It’s the only one.”
“You think you would recognize the guy if you saw him again?”
I lift my gaze to my father’s and feel winded at the hope in his eyes. “There’s only one way to find out.”
“Wait, no. I shouldn’t have even suggested it. We should call the police if we have a lead on this guy.”
“Dad, he said he’d know. What if he hurts Elio?”
We stare at one another, equally uncertain and terrified. Dad eventually lowers his gaze defeatedly.
“Maybe you watch from a distance and see if you can spot him. If so, then you can call the cops.”
I nod, desperately needing to do something.
We learn the shifts start at 5 a.m. Dad only allows me to go if I agree to get some rest in the meantime, since we hardly slept the night before. I can’t imagine I’ll sleep again tonight, considering the speed of my racing thoughts, but in no time at all, my alarm is going off at 4 a.m.
It’s dark, but at least it’s not cold, and the processing plant has one main entrance, which also helps. I park the family car where I have the best view of the arriving employees, roll down my window, and wait.
The first shift of workers lopes into the building one after another. At midmorning, another crew begins to filter in. I study one after the other until I see a man who draws my attention. I can’t be sure without a closer look, so I exit the car.
Yes, this man is definitely familiar.
I’m considering whether to call the police, as my dad instructed me to do, when the man notices me. He freezes, his face blanching with shock, before he drops his lunch pail and bolts in the opposite direction.
Adrenaline has me flying in an instant. It’s a good thing, too, because he’s fast. We both careen across the main roadway and away from the isolation of the fish plant. He weaves down sidewalks and across busy streets with me not far behind. I can’t make up ground, but I’m not losing him either.
We wind our way back toward the riverfront before he disappears into an old building. It’s part of an abandoned industrial complex. I follow him inside but slow to a careful creep, not wanting to end up with a bullet in my face.
The place is filthy. Operations ended here long ago, though the equipment is all still present and accumulating dust. I crouch, slinking from one vantage point to another, keeping myself hidden while continuing farther into the building.
The sound of frantic muttering has me pausing.
I can’t make out what he’s saying or whether there are other people present.
Noticing a large wrench, I grab it and inch forward.
The man stands in an open area where several thick, rusted chains hang from the rafters. He’s pacing back and forth, cursing and chattering nonsensically while pulling at his short hair.
He appears to be alone. I consider calling the police when my gaze is drawn to the ground beneath his feet, where a massive section of concrete is stained bloodred.