In the midst of all that, I spot my car. Giovanni is there already. He comes up beside us and takes Marcello by the arm. Luca opens the trunk, and we shove Marcello in. I slam the lid and we all pile into the back seat.
The driver doesn’t even wait until all the doors are closed before taking off. Luca has to hop to make it into the car, slamming hisdoor shut as the driver nearly sideswipes a shuttle bus. I hear sirens in the background, but they’re too late. The driver takes a hard left and suddenly, we’re on the freeway. I’ve got one enemy in my clutches, and that’s enough for now. Andretti will get his turn.
CHAPTER 49
MARLENA
Ican’t find Francisco anywhere. I search the entire first floor of the house, with at least half a dozen of Francisco’s men watching me. They look up as I enter the living room, but they don’t say anything. My own bodyguard even follows me into the billiard room, seeming perplexed, but not offering any assistance.
“Where’s Francisco?” I finally ask.
He shrugs.
“What does that mean?” I demand.
“He’s out,” the bodyguard says.
I narrow my eyes at him. “When will he be back?”
“I don’t know,” the man says.
I sigh, stomping back upstairs to find Brandon. He’s still in my room, going through my things. I catch him red-handed, but he doesn’t seem in the least bit ashamed.
“What are you doing?” I snap.
“Just looking,” he says.
“At what?”
“These are some nice clothes,” he remarks, setting down the dress that I had previously draped over the sofa.
“Thanks,” I say. “Francisco is out.”
“What does that mean?” Brandon asks.
“I don’t know,” I respond. “They won’t tell me where he’s gone or when he’ll be back.”
“Can you text him?” Brandon inquires.
“Good idea,” I say, pulling out my phone. Clearly my head isn’t on straight when the solution to contacting Francisco is so simple.
Where are you?I text my husband.
No response. The message hangs on “delivered.” Whatever’s going on, he’s not bothering to open the app. That doesn’t leave me with a lot of options. I can sit down and wait, or I can sit down and wait. The problem is that I’m anxious. There are a lot of things happening right now, and the thought of waiting for an unknown amount of time is almost painful.
I set my phone down and drift to the window, hoping I can somehow will Francisco to appear in the driveway. “Have you ever been to Dad’s grave?” I ask.
“Not since he was buried,” Brandon answers. “Why?”
“I don’t know,” I respond. “It might be nice to say goodbye and finally start to put this whole debacle behind us.”
“Sure,” Brandon agrees with a shrug.
“Really?” I ask, turning around to face him.
“Yeah,” he says. “Why not? Maybe tell him what a shit father he was for leaving us with no idea what was coming for us.”
“You’re not scared to go outside?” I wonder.
