I nodded, swallowing his words and realizing I actually wasn’t worried.
Another sign I’d lost my mind—I trusted my second kidnapper to keep me safe from my first kidnappers.
“Frankie!” His name came screaming through the safety of the home with static overtones. It had to be delivered by someone inappropriately using a megaphone. “Send her out and you won’t have any trouble.” Static highlighted each word of his terrifying sentence.
Frankie disentangled himself from me and, with sure footsteps, headed toward his front door. I kept my grip on the back of his suit, trying to keep him from leaving and putting himself in harm’s way.
Yet another sign I completely lost my mind—I tried to keep my kidnapper safe. When I returned to Chicago, I’d need very intensive therapy after the past few days of my life.
Frankie jerked open the front door and placed his entire body right in the center of the opening. He was basically a large target, but not a single person fired.
“What do you want with her?” he yelled to the three men who were now standing in a half circle by the side of the van.
“She knows,” one man yelled back, no longer using the megaphone.
Oh shit.
Silence followed, but it only lasted a second or two before sirens far in the distance filled the background. For a friendly, quiet, safe town, they sure had amazing response times.
Frankie stared at the men standing in the middle of the road, each of them getting closer to the van. Did they plan to stand there all day until he turned me over?
Without moving his head or giving any indication with his body, Frankie gave his men the next direction. “Tony, get the rocket ready.”
Immediately to my side, the two men with the ridiculously enormous gun I questioned as a rocket launcher began working to load the largest ammunition I’d ever seen. It was part grenade, part rocket, and part bullet. They fitted it into the weapon, and the tall one stood with his feet planted widely to give him stability.
Frankie, as if he magically knew his men were in place and ready, stepped to the side, leaving the door clear. His henchmen filled the space and paused, as if waiting for another command. None of the men at the street level ran screaming from the area like I would have at the sight of the mega weapon.
“Where the hell did you get that?” I asked as the large man holding the gun spread his feet another few inches and readjusted his stance.
Frankie chuckled, somehow able to find enjoyment in the absolute chaos happening around us. “I got a great deal from a guy in Florida.”
He tapped the man on the shoulder and then stood beside me again, putting his arm back around my shoulders. On his command, Big Tommy fired the rocket launcher. Time had previously moved quite slowly, but it quickly caught up. Smoke seeped into the room right along with a wheezing noise like an old man whistling and then, less than a second later, total mayhem. The rocket left the launcher and made a direct hit with the middle of the van. So much happened I couldn’t take it all in, and my gaze fluttered around, trying to see everything and missing most of it.
The man who shot the rocket took a step back as if he needed to brace himself from the kickback, and then the clinking started. At first it was small, as if a hailstorm had dropped its contents right over top of Frankie’s house, but then the bangs grew louder. It wasn’t frozen water hitting his roof but pieces of the van as they found their way back to earth in a cacophony of pings, smashes, cracks, and thuds.
“Um, Frankie,” I said, but he didn’t respond.
Smoke cleared slowly from around the vehicle as a fire started somewhere in the front, illuminating the entire area and making it possible to watch the back doors fly open. A big dust cloud that, of course, had to be mushroom shaped floated up into the sky as the sirens grew in intensity after my ears stopped ringing from the glass breaking, explosion, and cascade of things hitting the roof.
“Anderson isn’t going to like this,” Frankie said, shaking his head and leading me back further into the living room. A heavy smoke smell filled the air, forcing a cough from me.
I followed with a single question and didn’t even feel bad about it. “Who?”
We didn’t stop when we reached the opening to the living room but kept going through to a dining room, then a kitchen, and right out the back door. He led me to a large three-car garage and held the door open on an expensive car. Frankie acted like we were on a quiet little date. Just two people headed out to dinner or to see a friend. Not a man and his kidnap victim trying to escape a shooting he just won by using a rocket launcher.
He didn’t even walk fast.
“Where are we going?” I finally asked once Frankie was in the seat beside me, motioning for me to buckle my seat belt.
“The bakery,” he answered, starting the vehicle and hitting the button on his visor to open the garage door.
Surely I’d heard him wrong. “Wait… now isn’t really the time for a cupcake, Frankie.”
He put the car in reverse and turned toward me, not looking where he drove. “Now is exactly the time for a cupcake.”
Frankie Zanetti was a freaking madman.
I expected him to peel out of the driveway as we headed to safety, but he slowed the vehicle beside his home, giving me a chance to look out and survey the wreckage.
