Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25
STEFANO
I kneeled in front of Enzo and gripped his shoulders, turning him to face me directly. I needed to see his eyes as he told me what he knew.
Not that I thought he would lie about something so important, but he’d given me hope, and I needed to know it was real.
“What do you mean, you know where this is?” I asked.
His expression shifted, becoming more serious, the deep line creasing the space between his eyebrows.
“I mean, I know where this picture was taken.”
“How, Enzo? How do you know this location?” I demanded.
I didn’t want to scare him, but damn it, we had nothing else and no other leads.
He handed me the photo and pointed at the floor.
“Those tiles there on the floor. I walk on them every day. This is at my school. She’s at Saint Christopher.”
Fuck. Of course. How else could the son of a bitch have taken photos of him in a classroom with other children? The man I’d been trying to find had access to the school after hours and direct access to my son and his mother.
Val lived close enough to the school, and it wouldn’t have been unusual to see Enzo’s teachers or other school staff walking around the same neighborhood as they went to and from work or grocery shopping. Some probably frequented Con Amore.
How the hell had I not put all that together?
Schools didn't let just anyone come and go whenever they pleased. Not private academies like the one Enzo attended.
“Who do you think could do this? Think very hard, Enzo. Are there any men at your school who you might suspect?”
Enzo pressed his lips together for a second.
“Mr. Luka, my social studies teacher.”
“What makes you think so?”
“He likes Mama a lot. But she doesn’t like him back. She’s nice when she sees him, but I can tell how hard she’s trying. And I don’t like him either.”
“Why not?” I asked.
He wrinkled his nose as he thought about it, his lip curling in disgust even if he couldn’t quite put words to the feeling yet.
“I don't know. He’s just not like my other teachers. If you talk in class, he gets really mad, really fast. One time he screamed at a girl until she cried because she laughed at something.”
I nodded.
“This is good. Can you tell me anything else about this man? Where he lives? Anything at all?”
Enzo shook his head. Unshed tears welled in his eyes.
“His name is Donnie Luka. I heard him tell Mama to call him Donnie. But I… I don’t know anything else.”
I maintained our connection for a minute, longer than necessary, not willing to break eye contact with my son or lose the feeling it gave me to have my hands on his shoulders.
A choice no longer existed. No more fucking deliberating.
I had to act now.
Benedict Capaldo refused to announce that his daughter and I were no longer engaged. So I would make my position clear to him, to the Commission, and to the other families…
Stefano Vignali did not bend the knee to anyone.
I would never let my son see that happen.
What I planned to do next came from instinct, from my gut, and from my heart. I would announce my engagement to Val. Another layer of protection to help me keep her and Enzo safe. She would be furious with me for it, but eventually she would see reason.
Being the object of her fury again would be a small price to pay for securing their protection.
Bellissima diavola.
It had to be done.
I had to take this first step in the legitimization of our child.
Although not the best time for it, I smiled at my son, Enzo Vignali, and kissed his cheeks.
“You gave me a name, son. That’s all I need to get her back.”
He held my gaze with unwavering determination.
“Good. You're taking me with you,” he said.
“Tony,” I called out, still unable to look away from the boy. “Get Bruce in here now.”
Tony’s jacket rustled as he hurried out of my office.
“I can't take you with me, Enzo. It's too dangerous.”
He brought his arms up through mine and shoved my hands off his shoulders.
“It's too dangerous not to take me. You don't know my school or where the classrooms are or which one’s his. I do. And it’s a big building. You’ll just waste time if you get lost in there, so you need someone who knows where they’re going. So yes, you’re taking me with you.”
The way he arched an eyebrow in defiance after his little speech might have made me laugh in any other circumstance.
“If I put you in any more danger, your mother will never forgive me,” I said.
My son narrowed his eyes.
“I will never forgive you if you don't get her back.”
The control in his voice was remarkable despite the deepening flush on his cheeks and his hands balling into fists. He hesitated for a second. Then he finished his argument.
“What if it’s just like this picture? What if you can’t find her because I’m the only one who knows where to go? You need my help. I promise I’ll listen to you.”
The veins in his forehead and neck pulsed as he stared at me. Not once had he raised his voice. Still, he meant every word.
And he was right. I didn't know the school at all.
After studying him a little longer, I exhaled slowly through my nose, then lowered my voice to keep the sense of urgency out of my tone. Then, when I raised my finger, I forced myself to keep it out of his face. I pointed at the floor between us.
“You will stay behind me at all times. You will do exactly as I say without questioning me. And when it’s over, we don’t breathe a word of this to your mother. At least not the finer details anyway. Deal?”
His eyes widened in surprise, then he extended his hand.
“Deal.”
We had an understanding, an important one, and we shook on it. I stood up as Tony and Bruce entered the room.
“Suit up, Tony. We're heading to?—”
I glanced at Enzo for the information.
He stared at me again. Was that skepticism in his eyes?
“I already said I was taking you with me, boy. If nothing else, you can trust I’m a man of my word.”
That seemed to satisfy him, so then he looked up at Tony.
“We’re going to my school, Saint Christopher in Brooklyn.”
“Armed to the teeth,” I added. “Bruce, I want everything you can find—last known address, car, license plate, hobbies, known associates, aliases, phone numbers, work history, everything. The name is Donnie Luka.”
I looked at Enzo, and he nodded. Then I shifted my attention back to Bruce.
“I want the info ready when Tony or I call you. And keep working on the security feeds. We might need them as backup.”
“Yes, sir,” Tony and Bruce said at the same time. Then they hurried out of my office.
I looked back at my son.
“What are you going to do while we're out there, Enzo?”
“Stay behind you, do everything you say, and tell you where we need to go.”
“Good. Do you need anything before we leave?”
He shook his head so hard his curls bounced against his forehead.
“No, sir. Let's go right now.”
I appreciated his eagerness, but we had to be prepared.
“Hang on a minute,” I said.
Stepping around my desk, I opened the bottom drawer and unearthed a key buried beneath a stack of folders that unlocked a hidden compartment. I pulled out a polished wooden box, set it down and opened the lid with both hands, staring at the small revolver inside.
Nothing too powerful, but the small .38 Smith & Wesson would do a fine job on its own.
While removing the firearm and its five rounds from the box, I began to explain.
“This gun has been passed down through the family for generations. It’s the first weapon we all fire. The weapon we use for training. A basic revolver, small enough for young hands.”
I ejected the revolving cylinder and slid the bullets into place, one by one.
Enzo watched my every move.
“I’m not giving this to you to keep. Not until your thirteenth birthday. That’s when you’ll start arms training like every man in this family before you. But I refuse to take you into a dangerous situation like this one unprotected.”
When I sat and nodded, Enzo dutifully approached. I took his hand and pulled him to me, positioning him between my knees. Then I turned him around, so we faced the same direction, and I could direct the next steps over his shoulder with my arms around him.
I handed Enzo the revolver.
“It's heavier than I thought it would be,” he said.
“Yes, they’re very heavy. So is the damage they can do. Remember that. I don't want you to use this. It’s a last resort. But if you must, you need to know how.”
I quickly but thoroughly ran him through the basics—how to hold the weapon in both hands by its polished wooden grip, how to aim, how to draw back the hammer, and fire if necessary.
“Where do I put it?” he asked.
“For now, just this once, we're going to tuck it into the back of your waistband. When you're older, we'll get you properly fitted for a holster.”
I reached into the box and grabbed the switchblade with the matching wood handle.
“Do you know how to use this?”
He nodded, but I had my doubts.
“Put it in your front pocket and don't take it out unless you absolutely must. And remember, we never tell your mother.”
Enzo nodded, turned the knife over once in his hand, and slid it into his pocket.
Then I got up and hurried to the armoire to grab a clean shirt and a leather shoulder holster. In the mirror mounted on the inside of the open armoire door, I watched Enzo watching me arm myself. He didn’t say a word.
When I finished, I had several firearms strapped to my body and three knives. I didn't know what to expect, so I had to be prepared for anything.
As soon as I put on my jacket, concealing my weapons, we needed to move.
“Are you ready to go get our girl back?” I asked Enzo.
He gave me a small smile as he nodded.
The simple gesture coming from this child, my child, stoked a gentle and unfamiliar warmth in my chest.
I put my hand on his shoulder, and we headed downstairs.
Tony already sat behind the wheel, waiting near the front door. Enzo and I hopped into the back, closed the doors, and then Tony pulled down the drive and passed through the gate.
Rush hour traffic had decreased, so the ride to Saint Christopher Academy didn’t take as long as it might have earlier in the day.
“Want me to go in with you, boss?” Tony asked. “Or stay here and keep the engine running?”
“Stay in the car for now. I'll call if I need you.”
He nodded, pulled up beside the large concrete stairs leading to the school’s ornate front doors, and shifted into park.
Enzo and I got out of the car and shut our doors at the same time, and I headed for the stairs in a heartbeat. Before I reached them, Enzo grabbed my hand and pulled me to the side.
“Not that way,” he said. “They lock that door after school, but the security guards leave one of the side doors unlocked. There’s always a guard here, even when everything’s closed.”
I didn't want to think about why my son knew which of his school’s doors were unlocked at any given time of day, but that was a conversation for later.
So we snuck around the side of the large stone building, dodging bushes and piles of leaves left by the groundskeepers to get to the small metal side door.
Enzo reached out to open it, but I put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.
“What are the rules?” I asked.
“Fine,” he grumbled, stepping behind me.
“Before I open the door, tell me where we're going.”
“There's a small staircase to the left. Mr. Luka's classroom is on the third floor.”
“Is the mosaic on the third floor too?”
“Yeah, but it's in front of the main staircase. We’ll get to Mr. Luka's room first this way. I think it might be better to check there ‘cause it's not like he's going to keep her in the middle of the floor like that when a security guard is here.”
“Smart thinking.”
I grabbed the metal handle and pulled open the door.
Everything looked clear, so we crept left down the marble hallway to the side staircase. The clean chemical smell alone brought me back to my youth.
Was Enzo like me as a student, reserved and serious? Did he get along with the other kids? Did he have a few friends, or was he more of a loner? Someday I would ask him these things.
As quietly as possible, we climbed to the third floor. At the landing, I shot him a questioning glance, and he pointed straight ahead.
Each classroom had a wooden door with a small placard on it showing the teacher's name and the subject they taught. A small amount of light reflected from the rectangular windows above the placards on each door.
When we came to Mr. Luka’s room, the lights were off, but I opened the door anyway. Nothing.
“Okay,” I whispered. “Where’s the mosaic?”
Enzo pointed down the hall and started in that direction.
“Rules,” I reminded him sternly.
He stopped, looked over his shoulder at me, rolled his eyes, and circled back behind me.
Sure, I kind of enjoyed pulling the parent card.
Reaching the mosaic erased any doubt that Val and her kidnapper had been here. A pool of blood greeted us there, dark and thick and stained brown around the edges to match the thinner streaks across the floor.
Those streaks trailed off to the side, interspersed with partial footprints and sporadic smears.
When I looked over my shoulder at Enzo, he’d already started to tremble. I could tell he wanted to run down the hallway and follow the trail. So I turned to him, took a knee, and gripped his shoulders to make him look at me.
Only then, as I studied his face, did I realize he shook not with fear but with rage.
“Look at me,” I said.
It took him a second, but when he finally met my gaze, it was crystal clear.
“Do you see what I see here?”
He shook his head.
“Look again. It’s mostly dry, even where there’s a lot of blood. All the smudges? They’re brown. That means all this is hours old.”
“We should follow the footprints,” he said.
“No, let’s be smarter than that. What do you see in those footprints?”
“My mother’s blood.”
“Well, yes, but there’s more. Look at these two first, then this one over here. Two sets. That means she walked away.”
It wasn't entirely true. The smaller footprints were uneven, partially smudged and smeared, as if she’d been dragged.
Enzo didn't need to know that.
“Your mother walked away from this,” I said. “That means when she left here, she was still okay, so we need to be smart.”
“How do we be smart?”
“Look.” I pointed at the corner of the hallway to a camera aimed directly at the mosaic. “Is there a security office here?”
He nodded.
“We need to look at the footage from that camera. Let's make sure it really is this Mr. Luka. We might even get a clue to where they went from here.”
“The security office is right under us,” Enzo said.
“Good. Let's go.”
This time, we took the large main staircase to the second floor. The administration office windows faced the hallway, and on the other side sat one security guard. He reclined in a chair with his feet up on the desk, looking at his phone.
“How did he not hear them?” Enzo asked.
I couldn’t stop my lip from curling into a snarl.
“I don't fucking know. But we're going to find out.”
We pushed into the office.
Startled, the security guard stumbled onto his feet, catching himself on the back of the chair.
“Y-you can't be here. It's after hours,” he said.
I didn't have time for his bullshit.
I pulled the gun from under my left arm and pointed it at his stupid fucking head.