The Land Rover takes off, abandoning him.
Donato heads for the vehicles lined up at the exit and plows into two smaller cars from the side, shoving them apart. The jeep jumps the curb to reach the unblocked road on the other side and speeds away from the Ippodromo.
My remaining bodyguards stay ducked near the windows. They scan the exterior, keeping an eye out as we tear through the streets.
I start to believe we’re going to make it, because I haven’t heard any more gunfire.
But then the traffic ahead forces Donato to come to a stop.
“Keep going!” my other bodyguard, Federico, tells him from the front passenger seat. “Find a way around!”
I hear the roar of an engine coming from somewhere to the left. Brakes squeal and glass breaks as gunshots riddle Federico and Donato.
I scream.
The back window shatters and a gloved hand reaches inside to unlock the door. When it opens, a man dressed all in black towers above me. His face is hidden by a balaclava.
He reaches for me but I lurch away.
Rough fingers latch around my wrist and I feel a prick. I glance down in horror and realize he’s holding a syringe of some kind.
An empty syringe.
“Wha—” I begin, but can’t finish.
A part of me is relieved when darkness takes me away from all of this.
The other part is terrified by what I’ll wake up to.
2
Angela
Iawaken on a speedboat, bouncing over the waves of a choppy sea. I feel groggy and all my muscles ache, like I’ve been wrestling with my brothers for the afternoon or something. I blink away the sleep and try to get my bearings.
I’m seated in the back, next to a man in a full face balaclava. Another masked man is driving in front.
The man in back shifts, turning toward me. He’s bigger, more well-built than the man in front, and that, matched with those menacing blue eyes—the only part of his face I can see—makes me feel even more afraid of him. Why are those eyes so angry, so full of a hate that seems focused on me? What have I ever done to him?
Nothing, of course. I’m guilty by association with my father. Though he shielded me from the dark side of the family business, I knew enough of what was going on and wasn’t so naive to believe that the criminal element would never reach me. I knew my father had enemies. A lot of them: it’s fairly obvious, from the number of guards we’re forced to take with us wherever we go. I always knew there was a chance something like this would happen one day. And now it has.
My father, along with my brothers Salvatore, Leonardo, and Michelangelo, and my sister Natalia, would be sick with worry. My brothers and their most loyal men would be bloodying noses and breaking bones across Palermo looking for me. Except I’m not even in Palermo anymore. I’m… nowhere.
I gaze past the gunwales of the boat. I can’t see land on any horizon. No matter which way I look, only waves lie. I don’t know how long I’ve been out. I could be anywhere, as far as I know, maybe halfway across the Atlantic. Though somehow I doubt even my kidnappers would be crazy enough to attempt a crossing of the Atlantic in a speedboat. No, most likely I’m somewhere on the Tyrrhenian Sea, maybe headed to Ustica, one of the closest islands to Palermo.
Becoming more alert with each passing moment, I shift in place and feel something odd around my leg. Just above my mary janes, clasped to my bare calf, is an ankle tracker. The bracelet is white and clunky, with a knob that reminds me of those antitheft devices designer stores attach to clothes to prevent shoplifting. Without thinking I wrap my fingers around it and try to break it off, but the stupid thing won’t budge—it might as well be a manacle.
I remember that I’ve been kidnapped and quickly stop what I’m doing. I’ll have to fiddle with the tracking device later when I have some time by myself. I’m thinking a big rock might be able to do the trick. That, or some scissors. Then again, given how tough the material is—some kind of hard plastic—I doubt getting it off is going to be easy.
I glance at the big man, but he seems unconcerned by what I was just doing. That’s when I notice the gun lying on a shelf next to him.
I try to look away from the weapon but I can’t take my eyes off of it. I shiver with terror. Literally shiver. Guns and me, we don’t quite get along.
He seems to realize what effect the weapon is having because he snatches the gun and hides it in a hidden compartment beneath the shelf instead.
I shake off the fear and look away. I wonder who the kidnappers are. Could they be henchmen of the Rizzos? It wouldn’t surprise me. No doubt they’re angry my father refused to allow me to move in with them before the wedding, and they want menow. The Rizzos are powerful enough that they might even get away with it. Maybe The Cleaver masterminded this whole operation himself, just so he could get his grubby little hands on me a few weeks early.
Still, I doubt even The Cleaver would put the wedding at risk by doing something so reckless when he only had to wait four weeks for the official marriage.
