“Fuck,” I say slamming my fist into the wall. Another dead end, but at least we know who did it. “What about the student?”
“Arabella Mettle, eighth grade, ballet prodigy. Parents have been notified,” John Rossi says.
“My mom sent someone to pick them up. We can’t have them going to the press or the actual cops. They are in this now, like it or not. What kind of asshole kidnaps a kid?” Bart asks, disgusted.
“How did you get this case?” I ask John, who happens to be standing the closet to me.
“Ballet Prep is on our list of locations from Alberto. If anything at all goes down there, we are first on the scene to insure we are in command.”
“Smart,” I say. I text my dad and have them get to the compound. We need all hands on deck for this.
Come hell or high water, I will get my wife back safe and sound, just as soon as I find this bastard.
It’s been five fucking days, and I haven’t heard anything else from the kidnapper. I haven’t eaten or slept. Arabella’s mother, Helen, had to be sedated at first, but she is doing better now. Her father, Warren, is just as gung-ho to find Aaron as we are. Seems he might have been a bit of a thug growing up in the Bronx. Thankfully, we managed to convince the Mettles to keep the kidnapping quiet. We erased the tape from the school and advised them to get a substitute for Brynn. I am sure that the ‘no media’ thing killed Warren, as he owns a communications company, including two television stations. We were able to trace the call back to a server in Annapurna, Nepal.
Motherfucker. I am going to rip his fucking head off when I find him. If I ever find him. It doesn’t do any good to think like that though. I am trying to stay positive as my mom hands me yet another cup of coffee, my fourth in as many hours. I’ve been staying at the compound and Fawn put me in Brynn’s room. I am surrounded by her things, lying in her bed, since I can’t sleep. We haven’t been apart since the day we met; it’s hard to be without her. I’ll never forgive myself if she doesn’t come home.
“You alright?” my mom asks softly, placing her hand on my forearm.
“No,” I answer, honestly. “I’m about to lose my fucking mind.”
“Everything is going to be fine, Brendan.”
“How do you know?” I ask, giving into the despairing feeling I’ve had for days now.
“I have been praying for her safe return, Brendan, and you should be too,” Ma says.
“I can’t right now,” I tell her.
“You have to. You know you do. God sees all and protects the righteous.”
“Am I even righteous anymore? Look what I’ve gotten my family into. My wife. My baby, you and dad… I could have put my foot down—gotten her out of this life,” I say, shrugging. “I could have done so many things differently, Ma.”
“Do you think that would have worked? Brynn is as stubborn as a mule. Everyone is righteous, in their own way. Do the Vitalis kill whoever and whenever they want to? They have a code that they live by, and nothing can change that. Well, I’ve heard that Cousin Lorenzo might go rogue every now and then, but for the most part, they are good, kind people. Their day job might not be ideal, but it isn’t the worst thing in the world. Now pray, it couldn’t hurt.”
“You are crazy, Ma, but I love you,” I tell her, taking her offered hand.
“I love you too,” Ma replies.
Bowing my head together, we pray for the safe return of my wife and baby, as well as Arabella. This is something no man should ever have to do, and that makes me angry, angrier than I ever have been. I’m going to use that anger and bring them home. Joel just got out of the hospital with what amounted to flesh wounds, thankfully. He’s fucking pissed too. His partner betrayed him, and he wants answers. More than that, he’s concerned for Brynn, his charge. He feels like he let her down, and I understand that feeling.
“Arabella’s phone just pinged,” Bart says, bursting into the room.
“What?” I demand, my head snapping up. Ma squeezes my hand harder.
“See, prayer works every time,” she says smugly, leaving Bart and me to talk.
“Her phone powered on about eight minutes ago. We didn’t get the exact location, but the phone is in White Plains. There’s a lot of interference, but I was able to narrow it down. I sent some guys on the payroll from the Westchester County Sheriff’s Office to the five-block radius to begin looking.”
“Let’s go. This fucking ends today,” I shout. In the end, Fabrizio, Bart, Brando, Warren, Joel, and I prepare to leave.