We pull into a parking lot that seems a little downtrodden for Frankie’s tastes. I check with him to see if this is the bar he was thinking of, and he shakes his head. I can’t see any buildings close by. Off in the distance, there’s a burger joint, but it looks closed. There are weeds popping up through cracks in the pavement, and the whole thing looks like a setup.
“Where are we?” I demand.
“Do you know where we are?” Marcello asks Frankie.
“Near the river?” Frankie guesses.
“That’s right,” Marcello says, turning around to face us.
He’s got a glint in his eye that I don’t trust. I’m about to object when he pulls out a gun. I reach over to grab Frankie’s arm. I’m trusting him to defend me since I don’t have a weapon. But when I look at Frankie, hoping that he’ll tell me he’s got things covered, he shakes his head.
“What are you doing?” Frankie asks, surprised but not worried. “I thought I told you to take us to Renaissance.”
“You stupid kid,” Marcello snaps.
That’s when it dawns on Frankie that something’s really wrong.
“You’re not working for my husband, are you?” I demand.
“Very good,” Marcello approves. “You’re not as stupid as you look.”
“You can’t do this,” Frankie objects.
“Watch me,” Marcello threatens.
“My father will kill you,” Frankie stammers.
“I don’t think so,” Marcello responds. “Get out of the car.”
I comply slowly, looking for a chance to get away. But as soon as I open the door, Marcello opens his too. We all get out, and now we’re standing in this empty parking lot with a gun to our heads.
Our captor takes us around to the back of the car where he opens the trunk. I’m afraid he’s going to tell us to climb in. I’m not claustrophobic, but nothing good has ever come from riding around in a trunk.
But instead of forcing us to get inside, he reaches in and grabs a roll of duct tape. That’s just as bad, maybe worse. I wonder if he’s going to tie us up and then put us in the trunk. It’s not a big car, and there doesn’t seem to be enough room for two adults.
Marcello puts my fears at ease by slamming the trunk shut. He tosses the duct tape to Frankie and motions us back into the car. I climb in, still hoping I can escape somehow.
“Tie her up,” Marcello demands.
I look at Frankie desperately. I’m no longer worried about what Francisco will say when he finds out I snuck out. I just want him here so that he can save me. But I’ve cut myself off at the knees. No one knows where we are, and though they’ve probably figured out that we’re gone, they won’t know where to look for us.
I turn around so Frankie can access my wrists. He wraps the duct tape as loosely as he can. I appreciate that, but in the grand scheme of things, it doesn’t seem like much. Marcello motions with the gun, and Frankie hands over the tape. He turns around to let Marcello tie him up. If I didn’t have my hands tied, maybe I could have grabbed the gun. Or maybe I could have run away,out the other side of the car and across the parking lot to freedom. But neither of those options are open to me.
Once Marcello’s satisfied we’re both effectively disabled, he sets the gun down on the seat beside him. He turns the engine on and pulls out of the parking lot. I know this is way down on the list of threats, but I’m worried that I can’t put my seatbelt on. It’s funny the things that bother you when someone’s driving you to your doom.
CHAPTER 38
FRANCISCO
I’m sitting in my office, trying to get through all the work that’s piled up. I’m constantly amazed at how much busywork is involved in running a criminal organization. I have to check with my accountant and get on the phone with one of our suppliers, who’s having trouble with his local government. They’re shipping knockoff bags in from Singapore, and an entire shipment got caught in customs. That’s going to cost me almost a million dollars if I don’t act fast.
Marlena isn’t even on my radar. I assume she’s somewhere in the house, either taking a nap or reading. But when her bodyguard knocks on my door, I know immediately that something’s wrong.
“Boss?” the man says. He looks uncomfortable. I don’t have any sympathy for him, and I wonder why he’s not at his post.
“Yes?” I ask impatiently. Time is money, and I don’t want mine to be wasted.
“I think there might be a problem,” the guard continues.
