Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111537 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 558(@200wpm)___ 446(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 39
MARLENA
I’m not sure whether the fact that I can see where we’re going is a good thing or not. Half of my brain is trying to memorize all the turns Marcello’s taking, while the other half is screaming at me to wake up. He didn’t blindfold us, which means we’re probably not getting out of this alive. He doesn’t care what we know because we’re going to take it to our graves.
I can feel the panic welling up inside me. It tastes like bile, and it’s hurting my stomach. Frankie seems completely composed. I wonder how in the hell he can be so zen at a time like this, but he doesn’t meet my eyes. Our mouths aren’t taped either. Apparently, Marcello doesn’t care if we scream. I might try to call attention to myself, but something about the way Frankie’s handling this shuts me up.
I wish I had my phone. I think about the last time I saw it and I realize that it’s back home. There’s no way for Francisco to track me. After the parking lot, we turn down an empty side street. It’s about five blocks further, with no one in sight, until Marcello pulls up to a bar.
I glance at Frankie again, hope giving my heart a jump start. Maybe we can find someone here who will help us.
“Get out,” Marcello commands, putting the car in park.
“I can’t,” I say, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing I’m afraid. “My hands are tied.”
Marcello scowls, but walks around to open my door. He puts the gun right up against my temple. I can feel the cold circle of metal digging into my skin. My heart is pounding, and I wish I hadn’t been so foolish. What was I thinking? How did I ever imagine I was going to rescue my brother on my own?
Marcello marches me to another car in the lot. He pulls a second set of keys out of his pocket and taps the key fob. This is a minivan, the kind that soccer moms use to taxi their kids around town. The back door slides open on its hinges, designed to help busy families get their groceries inside faster.
Marcello gives me a shove, and I fall into the backseat.
“Hey!” Frankie shouts from behind.
I can’t push myself up because of my arms, so I roll awkwardly around to one side until I can get my legs up onto the floor of the van. Marcello pushes Frankie in behind me and slams the door. A moment later, he gets in the front seat and we’re moving again.
I’m facing backward, looking up at Frankie. He gives me a hopeful smile before focusing on the street outside. I wish I could see. I don’t even know if it will help or not, but I feel lost without a sense of orientation.
I finally manage to wiggle my way up onto the seat. It doesn’t help. I still don’t know where we are. It looks like we’re in a warehouse district. Even if I wanted to yell, there’s no one around to hear me. And then one industrial building after another blocks my view. I’ve never been to this side of the city before, so memorizing the number of loading docks we pass isn’t helping.
I wonder why we switched cars. Marcello must know something I don’t. Maybe there’s some way Francisco can track the vehicle, and so making the transfer to a different one is meant to throw him off the trail.
I wonder how Marcello came up with this minivan. Does it belong to his girlfriend? Does he have a wife? Are his children accustomed to sitting right where I am, talking about their day or how they made the greatest pass in all the world? I shudder to think of the man in front of me as a father. Maybe he just stole this van. I hope he’s not responsible for anyone else’s life. He’s a monster, pure and simple.
After about five minutes, he pulls over again. We haven’t gone far, and that’s reassuring. I try to calculate the total distance from Francisco’s home to the parking lot, from the parking lot to the bar, and from the bar to this place. We could have come all the way across the city. Or we could have driven right back to where we started from. I’m not great with directions.
“Do you know where we are?” I whisper to Frankie.
“Shut up!” Marcello demands.
He steps out of the car and slides the door open. Marcello waves the gun, and both Frankie and I get out. The building in front of us is nondescript. It’s just a big box with a door, but I’m not fooled. I’ve seen enough mafia movies to know that this is exactly the kind of place where shit goes down. I’m trying to think of one single reason to give for not wanting to go in there. Aside from not wanting to be shot, I can’t think of any.