Chapter 38
FRANCISCO
I’m sitting in my office, trying to get through all the work that’s piled up.
I’m constantly amazed at how much busywork is involved in running a criminal organization.
I have to check with my accountant and get on the phone with one of our suppliers, who’s having trouble with his local government.
They’re shipping knockoff bags in from Singapore, and an entire shipment got caught in customs. That’s going to cost me almost a million dollars if I don’t act fast.
Marlena isn’t even on my radar. I assume she’s somewhere in the house, either taking a nap or reading. But when her bodyguard knocks on my door, I know immediately that something’s wrong.
“Boss?” the man says. He looks uncomfortable. I don’t have any sympathy for him, and I wonder why he’s not at his post.
“Yes?” I ask impatiently. Time is money, and I don’t want mine to be wasted.
“I think there might be a problem,” the guard continues.
“Spit it out,” I demand.
Giovanni looks up from the chair he’s sitting in. His legs are crossed and his arms are relaxed against the chair, but I can tell he’s alert. He has a way of looking relaxed even in the most stressful situations. But that doesn’t mean he isn’t concerned.
“I can’t find Mrs. Corello,” the bodyguard admits.
“What?” I snap, getting to my feet.
“She’s not in her suite, and I can’t find her anywhere in the house,” the man stammers, looking like he thinks I’m going to hit him.
“Did you check the garden?” Giovanni asks, rising with me.
“No, sir,” the man replies.
“Well, check the garden!” I shout, storming out of the office before either of them can say another word.
I go straight to Marlena’s room, even though the guard said she wasn’t there. Shouting her name, I pass through each room, proving to myself that she’s gone. I find her cell phone lying on the table in her living room. Her purse is next to the door. Wherever she went, she left in a hurry.
I barge into Frankie’s room, thinking they might be talking.
Maybe she’s still helping him study, and the guard overlooked the obvious.
But she’s not there either. It registers that Frankie is also missing, and I’m not sure whether to be concerned or relieved.
If they’re somewhere together, that will give her a little bit of protection.
But in terms of muscle, Frankie’s the last person I would choose to bring along with me.
I scour all the rooms on the second floor before meeting Giovanni in the kitchen. “Frankie’s gone, too,” I say.
“Frankie’s missing?” Giovanni repeats.
“That’s what I just said,” I snap. I’m too worried to care about hurting my brother’s feelings.
He lets it go, knowing that there are more important considerations at the moment. “I checked the garden. She’s not out there. And she’s not on the tennis court.”
“Dammit!” I yell, picking up a cup of espresso and launching it at the wall.
“Hang on,” Giovanni says, drawing my attention to another China cup. “It looks like there were two people having coffee.”
I narrow my eyes at the delicate shards lying on the floor. There’s a big stain on the wall just beside the fridge, and coffee drips down toward the tile. So, Frankie and Marlena were having coffee in the kitchen. Then what? Where did they go, and why did they leave all their stuff behind?
“Excuse me, Mr. Corello?” A tiny voice chirps from the hallway.
I turn, ready to let whoever is speaking to me have it. I don’t have time for anything else. I’m laser-focused on finding my wife.
The speaker turns out to be a maid. She cowers in front of me, and I realize I must look terrible. I’m sure she has something important to say. The staff never bothers me unless it is an emergency.
I straighten my tie, inhaling deeply. I force myself to remain calm, knowing that if I frighten her any more, I might never hear her story. “What?” I demand.
“I saw Mrs. Corello and your son get into a car with Mr. Marcello,” the maid says, her voice quivering.
I look away, doing the calculations in my head. I didn’t like the way Marcello left my office. I struck him, and he was bleeding. Luca said he was cursing my name in the hallway. Could he have done something with Marlena? Would he dare?
Giovanni grabs me by the arm, pulling me aside. “What if Marcello is working for Andretti?”
“What?” I ask. I’m ready to bury my former consigliere, but I’m not willing to go so far as to accuse him of treason.
“Think about it,” Giovanni insists. “Who actually knew about Marlena? I mean, about her family history? Who was in the room when you explained who her father was?”
I try to think back, but my thoughts are unclear.
I know I wouldn’t have spilled such a top-level secret in front of people I didn’t trust. I’m sure Giovanni knew, and I’m sure Frankie knew.
Then it dawns on me that I told Marcello myself that Marlena was Vincent Rocca’s daughter.
I glance back at Giovanni, and he nods in confirmation.
The floodgates are open, and I think back to every encounter with Marcello recently.
He was the one who told me about the mole in my organization before I even discussed it with Giovanni.
He suggested Andretti was trying to poach my men.
Could it all have been to cover up the fact that he was working for Andretti?
My heart sinks. If Marcello is working for my sworn enemy, and the man I know has kidnapped Marlena’s brother, then what will he do with my wife?
I know I have to get to her, but how? I think it’s time the gloves came off.
I’ve been coloring within the lines all this time, careful not to break the law of the street.
I can’t go after Andretti without proof, but now the situation has changed.
“I’m going after them,” I say.
Giovanni follows me out to the garage, pulling out his gun to make sure it’s loaded. “What’s the plan?”
“Find Andretti,” I growl. “Kill him.”
“And kill Marcello?” Giovanni asks, as if that needs to be said.
I have a brief moment of clarity when I realize that we probably shouldn’t be saying these things out loud where anyone could hear, but the damage is done.
“Let me at least get some other men,” Giovanni says.
“All right,” I allow. He’s right. We need a show of force. I don’t want to run off half-cocked and get myself into an even worse situation. Marlena may be missing, but I’m not going to find her by losing my head.
As I’m waiting for Giovanni to return, I try to look at the problem with a more levelheaded approach.
At this point, we are almost positive that Marcello is working for Andretti, and I know where Andretti lives.
But that doesn’t mean that Marlena will be there.
In fact, I would be surprised if Andretti took either of the two hostages to his home.
I’ve only got one shot at this. Even if I kill Andretti and all his men, that won’t help me find my wife. I have to be rational. I have to figure out where he’s taken her and show up there. Rescuing Marlena and Frankie is the primary concern; getting revenge is a distant second.
I glance around my garage and see that Marcello’s car is still here. Storming over to the guard tower, I shout at the guard.
“Did you see Marcello leaving?” I demand.
“Yes, sir,” the man answers, surprised at my tone. “Just fifteen minutes ago. I think Frankie was with him.”
“Son of a bitch,” I curse. “Was he driving one of my cars?”
“Yes, sir,” the guard confirms.
This is good. He probably thought he could piss me over even more by taking one of my cars when he has no idea of the surprise waiting for him.
All my cars have GPS. I can track them from my office.
I run back inside, bumping into Giovanni as he rallies the troops.
Luca is there, concern painted across his face.
“What’s going on?” Luca demands.
“Later,” I snap. I don’t have time to explain.
Both Luca and Giovanni follow me back to my office. I sit down and open my laptop, cursing the seconds that it takes for the computer to boot up. When I’m finally able to access my home security system, I click over to the vehicles page. Every car is accounted for except the one that Marcello took.
Giovanni looks over my shoulder, intrigued. “Can you find it?” he asks.
The bright red dot is sitting right on top of one of Carlo Andretti’s bars. Got him.
“Let’s go,” I say, rising to my feet. I know exactly where that bar is, and I don’t need directions. I burst out the front door, flanked by a dozen men. We get into three different cars. I’m driving this time; I don’t want to wait for the limo.
On the way, I pull out my phone. There’s only one person I want to talk to at that particular moment, and it’s not Marcello.
I have to track down Andretti’s current phone number, but it doesn’t take me very long.
The problem with having a high profile is that a lot of people have your number.
Even those of us running criminal organizations need to be found.
It’s that fatal flaw that allows me to contact my enemy while I’m on my way to his front door.
“Carlo,” I shout as soon as he picks up the phone.
“Francisco,” he responds, the joy in his voice making my teeth ache.
“I know you’ve got her,” I growl, pushing the pedal all the way down.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Andretti lies.
I narrow my eyes, pulling a hard right out of the gate. This game is far from over. I don’t care if Andretti knows I’m coming. In fact, that will make his punishment all the more effective.