Total pages in book: 9
Estimated words: 8100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 41(@200wpm)___ 32(@250wpm)___ 27(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 8100 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 41(@200wpm)___ 32(@250wpm)___ 27(@300wpm)
But I quickly realize it’s no joke when the van drives into an underground parking garage. An empty parking garage.
The van parks and I am dragged inside of an abandoned office.
This isn’t going to be good.
All I can do is pray that Bart will somehow find me.
FOUR
BART
It’s been three weeks since Arabella disappeared. There have been no leads. We found the van she was shoved into outside of Time Square, so that was no help. No one has claimed responsibility for the kidnapping, but I am about to lose my mind. My wife is missing, the police can’t help, and I am afraid that I’m going to lose her.
At two-thirty my cell rings.
“Vitali. I have your formally pretty wife. You will do exactly what I say and when or she dies.”
“How do I know she’s not dead already?”
“You want proof of life?”
“Hell, yes.” What kind of kidnapper is this? Is this his first time.
“Babe?” I hear Arabella’s tiny, hoarse voice and my heart breaks.
“Arabella?”
“Yes, it’s me.”
“What’s today’s date?” I ask, just to make sure this isn’t a recording.
“I don’t know. They’ve kept things from me.”
“It’s been three weeks, baby.”
“Oh, God!”
“That’s enough proof,” the man says.
“Who is this?”
“Boris Popov. Meet me at the docks at six tomorrow morning.” Fucking Popov’s. They can’t stick to their area. They refuse to, actually. They are the worst sort of mobster. They don’t get that there is enough crime to go around, especially in New York.
“Don’t go! He’ll kill you,” Arabella says in the background. I hear a loud, sickening slap and then the line goes dead.
I may not be able to go to the cops, but I can and will get my wife from these thugs.
At five forty, I drive down to the docks and wait for Boris.
He waltzes down the dock wearing a four-thousand-dollar suit and what appear to be Crocs. I haven’t dealt with Boris personally, only Fidel, but all Popov’s are the same.
I get out of the car and walk over to him.
“What’s this all about?” I demand as soon as I am about five feet from him.
“Give me the codes to Angelo DeSantis’s vault. I know you set it up.”
“Angelo is dead. I am sure the code changed when his successor took over.”
“Then it’s your job to find out the new code and bring it to me at this address. Then you can have your wife back.” The idiot hands me a piece of paper with an address on it. “You have one hour, then I start mailing pieces of your wife to you.”
“One hour,” I agree but what this bastard doesn’t get is that I will be coming to him empty handed, and he will die.
Something like déjà vu washes over me as I pick up my brothers and Brendan from the compound and we drive over to the address Boris gave me.
“We’ll get her back,” Brando assures me as he checks the magazine in his gun.
“I know.” I have gone over the day she was taken in my head over and over again. I have enemies. I should have had more protection on her than just Hannah, who is in the backseat. She’s just as pissed as I am.
The assault on the house in Brighton Beach is over quickly. The ten lazy guys in the house are no match for us as we clear it room by room. Once they are all dead, I check each room until I find her huddled on the floor with a little girl.
“Arabella?” I shout after flipping the light on. Her face is a giant bruise. I imagine the rest of her is as well.
“Bart!” She shouts as she jumps up from the floor. I pull her into my arm, kissing and hugging her as if my life depends on it. It does. As soon as I squeeze too tightly, she screams. “Fuck, my arm is broken,” she groans.
“Let’s get you to the hospital,” I say.
“Lita?” she asks, a pleading look in her eyes.
“We aren’t going to leave her here, but baby…” I begin, but she cuts me off.
“She goes with me,” she says firmly. “Come on, Lita.” She holds her hand out to the little girl and she takes it. “This is my husband, Bart. He’ll protect you now.”
“I don’t have do nuthin’, right? You said I wouldn’t have to earn my keep no more,” Lita says, looking near to tears. My heart breaks for the girl.
“No, you don’t,” I tell her. She smiles then, her two front teeth missing.
“They made her steal food and other petty crimes. They didn’t touch her except to beat her, which is terrible, but I think it would have gotten worse as she got older. I feel responsible for her now.”
“All right. Let’s get you ladies to the hospital, then we will go home. Together.”
At home, Lita takes a long bath before being tucked into the first bed she’s ever slept in. She’s had several broken bones that never healed properly and was severely dehydrated and malnourished, but we’ll take of that. Arabella’s arm wasn’t broken, but her shoulder was dislocated. She’s resting comfortably now, but she’ll be black and blue for a while. I crawl into bed beside her and watch her sleep.