Chapter 39
MARLENA
I’m not sure whether the fact that I can see where we’re going is a good thing or not.
Half of my brain is trying to memorize all the turns Marcello’s taking, while the other half is screaming at me to wake up.
He didn’t blindfold us, which means we’re probably not getting out of this alive.
He doesn’t care what we know because we’re going to take it to our graves.
I can feel the panic welling up inside me.
It tastes like bile, and it’s hurting my stomach.
Frankie seems completely composed. I wonder how in the hell he can be so zen at a time like this, but he doesn’t meet my eyes.
Our mouths aren’t taped either. Apparently, Marcello doesn’t care if we scream.
I might try to call attention to myself, but something about the way Frankie’s handling this shuts me up.
I wish I had my phone. I think about the last time I saw it and I realize that it’s back home. There’s no way for Francisco to track me. After the parking lot, we turn down an empty side street. It’s about five blocks further, with no one in sight, until Marcello pulls up to a bar.
I glance at Frankie again, hope giving my heart a jump start. Maybe we can find someone here who will help us.
“Get out,” Marcello commands, putting the car in park.
“I can’t,” I say, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing I’m afraid. “My hands are tied.”
Marcello scowls, but walks around to open my door. He puts the gun right up against my temple. I can feel the cold circle of metal digging into my skin. My heart is pounding, and I wish I hadn’t been so foolish. What was I thinking? How did I ever imagine I was going to rescue my brother on my own?
Marcello marches me to another car in the lot.
He pulls a second set of keys out of his pocket and taps the key fob.
This is a minivan, the kind that soccer moms use to taxi their kids around town.
The back door slides open on its hinges, designed to help busy families get their groceries inside faster.
Marcello gives me a shove, and I fall into the backseat.
“Hey!” Frankie shouts from behind.
I can’t push myself up because of my arms, so I roll awkwardly around to one side until I can get my legs up onto the floor of the van. Marcello pushes Frankie in behind me and slams the door. A moment later, he gets in the front seat and we’re moving again.
I’m facing backward, looking up at Frankie. He gives me a hopeful smile before focusing on the street outside. I wish I could see. I don’t even know if it will help or not, but I feel lost without a sense of orientation.
I finally manage to wiggle my way up onto the seat.
It doesn’t help. I still don’t know where we are.
It looks like we’re in a warehouse district.
Even if I wanted to yell, there’s no one around to hear me.
And then one industrial building after another blocks my view.
I’ve never been to this side of the city before, so memorizing the number of loading docks we pass isn’t helping.
I wonder why we switched cars. Marcello must know something I don’t. Maybe there’s some way Francisco can track the vehicle, and so making the transfer to a different one is meant to throw him off the trail.
I wonder how Marcello came up with this minivan.
Does it belong to his girlfriend? Does he have a wife?
Are his children accustomed to sitting right where I am, talking about their day or how they made the greatest pass in all the world?
I shudder to think of the man in front of me as a father.
Maybe he just stole this van. I hope he’s not responsible for anyone else’s life. He’s a monster, pure and simple.
After about five minutes, he pulls over again.
We haven’t gone far, and that’s reassuring.
I try to calculate the total distance from Francisco’s home to the parking lot, from the parking lot to the bar, and from the bar to this place.
We could have come all the way across the city.
Or we could have driven right back to where we started from. I’m not great with directions.
“Do you know where we are?” I whisper to Frankie.
“Shut up!” Marcello demands.
He steps out of the car and slides the door open.
Marcello waves the gun, and both Frankie and I get out.
The building in front of us is nondescript.
It’s just a big box with a door, but I’m not fooled.
I’ve seen enough mafia movies to know that this is exactly the kind of place where shit goes down.
I’m trying to think of one single reason to give for not wanting to go in there.
Aside from not wanting to be shot, I can’t think of any.
“I have to go to the bathroom,” I say.
“Hold it,” Marcello commands. “Get inside.”
I inhale, knowing that this is the end. I hope Francisco finds us, and that he kills Marcello. I’m not usually so vindictive, but I feel justified in my outrage. I wonder if this is how my father felt when he died. Did he want someone to avenge him? Should I have tried harder to find his killer?
Marcello walks behind us, gun drawn. The door to the warehouse is gigantic, and it’s already slightly ajar. I’m able to slip through, and I almost make a run for it. But it’s so dark inside that I can’t really see. And by the time my eyes adjust, both Frankie and Marcello have joined me inside.
There’s not a lot of stuff in the warehouse, just a few boxes scattered around the corners.
It looks abandoned. There’s a slick-looking guy standing about ten feet in front of me.
I think I recognize him from somewhere, but I can’t put my finger on it.
There are a bunch of other men, probably soldiers, standing around menacingly.
I keep my chin up. I am the wife of Don Corello. I’m not going to cower.
“Carlo,” Frankie says. He’s also calm, and I get the sense that maybe he’s been in this type of situation before.
I wrote him off so easily, thinking that he had no connections to the criminal underground, but maybe that was too hasty.
He has ice in his veins just like his father, and I’m glad he’s here with me.
“Frankie,” the man named Carlo says. “And this must be Marlena.”
I scowl at him. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“I am Carlo Andretti,” the man says. “Your father killed my brother.”
I gulp. This is too much. I don’t like the look of Carlo Andretti at all, and knowing that he has such a grievance against me is terrifying. “That wasn’t me,” I attempt to persuade him.
“It doesn’t matter,” he says. “Fruit from the poisoned tree.”
I hear a muffled shout from my right and glance over into the darkness. There are only a few lights strung high up on the ceiling, so not everything is illuminated. There’s someone tied up on the floor in the corner that I didn’t see before.
My heart sings when I realize that it’s Brandon.
He’s alive! I found him! But the next moment, my hopes come crashing down.
Because I haven’t rescued him, I’ve only inserted myself into a dangerous situation.
Now we’re both in danger of dying at the hands of this man we’ve never met. And Francisco has no idea where we are.
I decide to make a run for it. I think I read on a blog once that it’s harder to hit a moving target with a bullet than one that’s standing still. My arms are still tied behind my back, but I’m going to do the best I can. I don’t bother signaling to Frankie. He’ll figure it out once I run.
I don’t get very far before someone grabs me. In fact, I can hardly take one step. A massive goon from behind grabs my shirt and holds me in place. Carlo Andretti steps close, his face a mask of fury.
He slaps me across the face and spits on my shoes. I’m petrified by the amount of hatred he’s packed into the simple act. I’ve never been spit on before. It feels demeaning.
My cheek is on fire from his blow. My eyeball feels like it’s going to pop out of my skull. I bite down on my teeth to keep from making a sound. I’m not going to give this bastard the satisfaction of hearing me scream.
From his corner, Brandon shouts again. I can’t tell if he’s trying to say something, or if he’s just screaming.
Frankie steps between me and Carlo, his eyes flashing dangerously.
I know there’s very little he can do in this situation, but I appreciate all the help I can get.
If we ever get out of this alive, I’m going to tell his father how strong he was.
I hope I’ll get a chance to sing his praises.
“Hey!” Marcello shouts from behind me.
I turn to look at him and see that he’s still got his gun. It’s still pointed at us and still extremely deadly. We’re not going anywhere. It looks like running isn’t going to work, and fighting is out of the picture. Even without my arms tied, there’s no way I could defeat so many strong men.
So, I decide to try a bit of negotiation.
“I am married to Don Corello,” I say confidently.
“Any move against me is a move against his family. And I didn’t know what business my father was in until recently.
But I’ve discovered that both Brandon and I are members of the Rocca family.
So by doing this, you’re declaring war against two powerful families.
” I pause. The silence in the room is deafening.
“Is that something you’re willing to risk? ” I demand.
Carlo raises his hand again, as if I’m too stupid to argue with. Frankie growls. I’m surprised to hear the sound coming from such a friendly man. Francisco’s son holds his ground, making sure that Carlo knows not to hit me again.
“If you touch her again…” Frankie swears.
“What will you do?” Carlo says with a laugh.
Despite all of Carlo’s anger, he can’t get to me without moving Frankie out of the way. I don’t feel safe, but at least I’m spared another blow to the face.
“If you hate my father so much, you should take your anger out on him, not Marlena,” Frankie suggests.
“Oh, I will,” Carlo promises. “Just as soon as I’m done with the three of you.” He points at me as if I’m the one who started it. “She has to answer for the sins of her father first.”
From the corner of the room, Brandon shouts again. I can see him struggling with whatever restraints are holding him down. He’s draped in shadow, but he’s making a big scene. I wish he wouldn’t. I wish he would just fade away into the woodwork and maybe take this opportunity to make a run for it.
Instead, he pushes himself up into a sitting position. Only then can I see his face, and all the bloody welts that dot his forehead. A wellspring of anger opens up within me, and I see red. I want this monster to pay for what he’s done, and suddenly I’m glad that my father killed his brother.
One of Carlo’s men walks over to Brandon.
“No!” I shout, darting toward them.
Another one of the thugs wraps his arms around me, holding me in place so I can watch. I stare helplessly as the first man punches Brandon in the face. My little brother goes down, out like a light.
I crumple to the ground, unable to bear what they are doing to my brother. The man next to me grabs me by the shoulder, hauling me to my feet. The situation is worse than I thought. I can’t stand to see Brandon hurt, but it looks like I have no choice.
Frankie springs into action, pushing against my captor with his shoulder. I stumble free, desperate to run to Brandon’s side. But Frankie won’t let me. He’s the only thing standing between me and Carlo’s men, and he means to keep it that way.