43. Gigi

43

GIGI

By the time I get to our bedroom, my phone has stopped ringing. Stephano . I dial his number, and he answers within two rings.

"Angel. I hear from Tony that Carla left the apartment. For a walk ?"

I drop my head back with a sigh. "Yes. She had to?—"

"Gigi, I told you to stay put."

"I know. She's had enough. She's got cabin fever." A sob rips through me as I curl up on our bed.

"What happened?" he asks, concern in his voice. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, but I couldn't stop her, Steph. We had a massive fight."

Muffled sounds come through his phone, and he must have covered it with his hand because I can't hear what he's saying.

"She demanded Tony stay twenty yards behind her," he says. "Where did she plan to go?"

"I don't know. Tony is with her, isn't he?" Fear dusts over me, and I sit up straight.

"Listen to me, Gigi. Carla can't be walking around Boston. Tasha is already heading home." He takes a deep breath. "Franco Fiore landed this morning at Hanscom Field. It's one of the smaller commercial airports outside of Boston and caters for private jets. We were tracking him, but—" He grunts with frustration. "We've lost him."

"No. No-no." I'm up and pacing the room. "What now? How did you lose him?"

"Fuck knows. We're figuring it out. Stay at home. We're heading there now. Tony will be dragging Carla back, but if she makes it look like he's assaulting her, onlookers?—"

"I don't care. I just want her safe."

"Yes." He kills the call, and I stare at the screen.

Franco Fiore is in Boston. Carla is out for a walk.

I rush to her room as if she'd be on her bed like every other time these past few days. My heart beats in my throat, panic seizing me.

Her laptop is on her bed, flipped open. Her inbox is on the screen, and I gasp as I see an email chain from Vittorio Rossi. She didn't even mention that Vito contacted her. I was worried sick about her bodyguard's safety that Friday night when he headed back to the house in Lake Como to look out for Don Trapani. He helped us escape, after all.

Carla was keeping to herself, but I didn't know she was keeping secrets. I'm keeping secrets too, but this? I flick my gaze over the last message.

I want to be there for you, cara. Be on standby, I'll keep you posted. Send me your phone number.

Cara ? Sweetheart . What the hell? It's the only line in the last email from Vito, but Carla's reply is nothing but her phone number. I scroll through the rest of the email chain, starting from the top. Carla begs Vito to let her know whether he's alive, anxious for a response. She sends this message at least twice a day, but there's never a reply. And then finally, he wrote back two days ago: I'm here, cara. I'm okay. Where are you?

Carla responded the same day: I'm in Boston, staying with friends. Vito, I'm pregnant.

I sink down on the bed. Pinpricks spread over my skin as I slouch over the laptop, reading the line again and again, my hand to my mouth. Vito, I'm pregnant.

Oh my God. Carla is pregnant .

My little sister got pregnant with Vittorio Rossi, her bodyguard .

I glance through the rest of the message chain. Vito's responses are short and to the point, telling Carla she should get an abortion. A fucking abortion. After he impregnated her. The prick. And Carla's only eighteen. I see red and clench the laptop, my hands shaking. That fucking asshole. Never mind that Carla is young and in many ways innocent, her baby is even more so.

I bite my lip to stop its quivering, but I can't help the flood of emotions surging through me. Visuals of Mom when she was pregnant with Carla, of how I fell in love with my little sister the moment I held her for the first time. Mom's beautiful face as she looked at us girls, peas in a pod despite our ten-year age difference. The love I felt in that moment is a memory still as strong as if it happened yesterday. And now Carla is carrying a baby, a beautiful, gorgeous child that Vito told her to get rid of so flippantly.

Why didn't she tell me? So many things suddenly make sense. Her bouts of diarrhea, her loss of appetite and weight loss. The gaunt look on her face as the stress of this situation pressed down on her. Hiding in her room probably to hide her morning sickness.

Our fight this afternoon; Carla pushing me to my limits.

I've failed her in every possible way. I didn't see the signs, but a pregnancy was the last thing on my radar. Worst of all, she didn't trust me enough to confide in me. Tears stream down my face as I battle every rational and irrational emotion, begging our Mom for forgiveness. I didn't protect my sister. I gave the go-ahead for that man to come into her life, joking with her how at least he was something to look at.

But the baby?—

I drag in an unsteady breath, shocked to my core. Maybe this is what she was mentally preparing for and why she was in such a state. She's going for an abortion.

She can't be doing this alone, not without me by her side. Not without me reasoning with her first. Even if Vito is here, he's left her in the lurch. He took how many weeks to contact her, whereas she's known she's pregnant for how long? If she's going to get an abortion, she can't be that far along, can she?

I close the email and scan through the rest of her inbox, desperate for more details. There are five messages, most of them about opening this new email account. She created this account when we came to Boston as we were lying low. No spam, no social media messages. I open her Sent folder. She sent over a hundred emails to Vito, asking him where he is, begging him to contact her.

Now, Franco is in Boston, and Vito wants to be there for her. I recall Carla's phone and the way she clung to it earlier, as if she was waiting for something. What if Vito flew into Boston and she was starting a fight with me to have a reason to go out? What if Franco and Vito were on the same plane… God, what if Vito became one of Fiore's henchmen to save his own skin? Who knows what happened that night after Vito left us at the Milan airport. Now, he's contacted Carla after how many weeks, nonchalantly telling her he wants to be there for her, but he is really leading her to Franco?

Dread drips through me. Something isn't sitting right. Vittorio Rossi never struck me as the type to have a liaison with a client or switch sides like this. His emails don't strike me as caring for Carla either. He doesn't even reference the night in Lake Como where he helped us escape, looking after us—guarding us—until the last minute.

Oh my God. Steph. I need to call Steph, because my little sister has left the apartment building, pregnant and walking straight into some type of trap. I reach for my phone in my jeans pocket to dial Stephano, but I blink as a new message pops onto my screen from Carla's number.

Carla

Don't call your husband or his brothers. I have Carla, but it's you I want. Come by yourself, and she'll live. Bring your friends, and she dies.

I read the message again and again as my fingers tremble so much, the screen blurs. Carla. He has Carla and is messaging me from her phone.

Franco?

Carla

Why did you run from me, amorina? You didn't even give us a chance. Now I need to make you a widow so I can make you mine.

My stomach turns.

What do you want?

Carla

I want you as a fair exchange for your sister.

Why?

I'm not even sure why I'm asking. I'm dealing with a madman. A madman who has my sister.

Carla

You know why.

The billion euros stuck in secret Swiss bank vaults.

Leave her the fuck alone. She's pregnant!!!!!

I send the message and press the dial button. He doesn't answer the call but kills it.

Seconds later, my phone rings. It's a video call from Carla. I answer, and the camera's image comes on. I cover my mouth to muffle my scream. My little sister, the one person I've promised to protect no matter what, is blindfolded and gagged, tied to something I can't see in the dark image. Her body sways as if they're driving, but I can't be sure in what type of vehicle as it's too dark. I recognize her from her hair, her earrings, and the tiny scar on her chin where she ran into a glass door as a kid. She's moaning, making what sounds she can through the gag.

"Sweet sounds, aren't they?" Franco says, but he doesn't show his face. "Let's hope my hand doesn't slip and end motherhood prematurely."

The scalpel appears in the frame, the hand holding it tattooed with snakes, and my body locks in fear.

"You have five minutes," he says. "We'll pick you up outside the apartment building's entrance. Get into the white van without causing a scene, or my hand might slip."

He presses the scalpel to Carla's neck, and a small drop of blood leaks from her skin.

"You know what will happen to her when you're not there, amorina . And unlike your insignia, I won't stop until you're here. I'll cut her so much, not only won't you recognize her, but she'll bleed to death."

Over my dead body. I drop everything and run.