Chapter Nine

CHAPTER NINE

ZEVA

“ W hy hasn’t he called yet?” Santos, the leader of the gang, says as he paces the floor.

Since Santos removed the blindfold, they kept over my eyes during the drive. I’ve tried to figure out where I am and failed. But from the length of the car ride, I’d bet a penny we’re outside of Magnolia Point. The room is large with charcoal stained concrete floors. There is a slight chill in the air that tells me we’re in a building of some sort, but it’s offset by the room’s warmth. Large well-worn couches facing a wall tv, a wooden coffee table, and two potted plants make up the sitting room. Beside me is a six foot Christmas tree decorated with ornaments and red and gold bows. Circling the base on tracks is a mechanical train. The room is a mixture of a man cave and holiday spirit.

“Rev should have kept watch outside the house,” the man Santos calls John, says, jabbing towards the ground. “Keep an eye on Andreas’s every move.”

“We all agreed that was risky,” Rev says. “What if he saw me camping out outside his house?”

“Are we forgetting…” John says, “He’s an auditor, not an assassin. That’s why we chose him, because he’d do what we want.”

Andreas might have worked for the mafia, but he doesn’t blindly take orders.

Santos runs his hands down his beard. “Are you sure this is his old lady?” He swings his head in my direction.

So far, I’ve listened to them argue among themselves and debate about what to do. But none of their conversations include letting me go. While my pulse has risen then folds, it’s not them I fear. It’s the possibility of never seeing Andreas again.

“Yeah,” John says. “She’s his.”

“Well, he isn’t taking us seriously so let’s amp up the pressure,” Rev says.

“Talk about risky,” John scuffs. “We did that once, remember? Going after his aunt again will only piss him off.”

I sit still in my chair. Did they go after Andreas’s aunt? What did that sweet old lady ever do to anyone? I had to do something. I couldn’t let them go after her again.

“Well, if he isn’t calling us to get his woman back, then he’s calling the police,” Santos says.

“Nah,” Rev says. “No self respecting mobster involves the cops. John, take a ride over to his house. Pop a few of those inflatables in his front yard.”

“Don’t even think about it.” All three men face me. “Pop my inflatables and I’ll unwrap every gift under this tree,” I say, holding each of their shocked gazes for a few seconds. Not that I could carry out that threat with my hands tied behind my back, but I will not remind them of that little detail. Andreas’s scroogie behavior has nothing on me when someone threatens to ruin my favorite holiday.

John points to Rev. “But that was Rev’s ideas, Santos and I have nothing to do with it.”

Now that I have their attention, I say, “Listen, you masterminds, there’s a perfectly logical explanation for why Andreas hasn’t called. Considering you took me at 7PM and he doesn’t get home until 11PM. I’d say you took me too early.”

“Thanks, Rev, that’s another one of your bright ideas!” John says.

“Yeah, but Santos agreed.” He turns toward me. “If I lose a gift for this, they lose one too.”

“That’s fair,” I say.

“Wow, wow, wow!” Santos jabs a finger at all of us. “I call the shots here.”

John raised his hand. He side-eyes the gift under the tree, then narrows his eyes. “Does that mean you’re taking full responsibility for this crap show?”

“That’s what being in charge means,” Rev pipes in, catching on to John’s line of thinking. “You hear that right, captive? That means John and I are in the clear.”

“My name is Zeva.”

“We can’t call you that, Rev says. “We all agreed that using your name is too personal. It’s better if we don’t form attachments.

More personal than me seeing their faces or hearing their names? And weren’t they supposed to be concealing their identity from me?

I arch my brows and open my mouth to dispute Rev’s logic when Santos cuts me off. He abruptly stops pacing. “So we still have an hour before he finds our note.” He runs his jaw.

“So we just wait then?” John asks.

Santos nods. But I shake my head, disappointed that I’d be stuck in this chair for another hour. Santos must have misunderstood my head shake because he mimics my actions.

“You don’t agree?” Santos asks. “What would you do to get Andreas to corporate?”

I don’t plan to help them lour Andreas, yet I couldn’t contain my excitement. My eyes were so huge, I thought they’d pop out of my sockets. “Are you asking me?” Having never been kidnapped before, this is a treat! I’d watched enough Murder She Wrote to know these guys were amateurs. So why not at least help them level up their game?

“If you’re asking me and you clearly are, I’d let me go.” At their outrageous glares, I squirm in my chair. Taking a breath, I employ my reasoning. “First, you’ve kept me here for hours and you haven’t offered me anything to eat or drink. That’s pretty inhospitable, if you ask me.”

Santos shoved Rev. “We’ll just order you something to eat now.”

I shake my head. “Didn’t you mama tell you that eating a heavy meal before bed gives you nightmares?”

Rev pales. “Are you sure about that?”

“Positive,” I say, “But I’m the least of your worries. You interrupted the meal I was cooking for Andrea’s and he’s grumpy when he’s hungry.”

“But he can eat at his restaurant,” John argues.

“He’s been coming home to her cooking, you idiot,” Santos says. “You said it yourself after one of your stakeouts.”

I nod again. “There’s not much convincing him when he’s hungry.” I sigh, hoping the sound is sympathetic enough to have them reconsider a few thoughts. “Then there’s the other matter.”

“Wait, there’s more?” Santos cringes.

I reluctantly nod. “Since it will be midnight in a couple of hours, it means he’ll be alone this Christmas.” I peek at them from under my lashes just in time to see their Adam’s apple bob along their throats. “I can’t imagine Santa being happy. I suspect being on anyone’s naughty list is bad for your health.”

“You mean Santa’s naughty list?” Santo says.

I shrug. From the looks of the tree, I hold out hope that they believe in the big guy, but I can’t rest my faith on that alone. “Or the mafia’s list.”

The men look at each other and scrabble around the room.

“What’s going on?” I ask when Rev unravels a spool of red ribbon.

“We are taking you home,” he says, tying a bow around my waist.

“This isn’t necessary. I already can’t move.”

“This isn’t for you,” Santos says, sticking a note between the ribbon and me. “Between Andreas and Santa, we can’t have both of them being peeved at us.” He shoves a carton of eggnog into my lap.