Page 242 of The Trouble With Bad Boys

I open the door and look around. No Lena.

“Lena?” I call out as I walk into the bathroom and then my closet. Finally, I glance at my balcony. The door is unlocked. Fuck.

I race to the doors and throw them open. Nothing.

My phone vibrates and I pull it up to see a text from an unknown number.

Unknown Number: She’s prettier up close. I’ll enjoy making her suffer.

The blood coursing through my veins runs cold. Marco.

I run from the room and down to my security office. “Call Bryce! Call all our security! Pull up the camera feeds now! Marco has Lena!” I yell at Joe.

Joe’s eyes widen. “What? The girl? She’s upstairs.”

“No, she’s fucking not, and I just got this,” I say, flashing my phone in front of his face. He grabs it and reads the text.

“Fuck. How’d she get out? Did he get in?” he asks.

“I don’t know. But I do know that we don’t have much time,” I say from behind clenched teeth. “So everyone better do their fucking job!”

The next hour is a blur of activity. I pull up our security camera videos. I find where Lena jumped down the lattice and snuck out of the gate. Stupid fucking tesoruccia. I curse at myself. I shouldn’t have left her.

I stare at the computer screen racking my brain for what the passcode could be. I’ve tried every family member, birthdays, addresses, even fucking pet names. Nothing.

I glance at the monitor where Lena jumping from the lattice is freeze-framed. No. No, it couldn’t be that simple. My mind wanders to the other day. Their table…they always ate at the number twenty table at Antonio’s.

I type Lenatable20. Nothing. Table20Lena. Nothing. No. Something comes over me and I type LenaandRoccoTable20.

The system opens and I stare in disbelief at folders of files on the screen. Holy fucking shit! Vince planned this. It’s like he knew.

“Joe! I’m in!” I scream as I begin opening folders. There’s enough evidence here on Marco to put him away for two lifetimes. And then there’s a folder marked with locations. Marco owns an impressive amount of abandoned buildings.

I call Bryce. “I’m in. I need backup and I’m sending you encrypted documents now. The Feds can have him, but I need the woman, unharmed.”

“Got it. We’re on it,” Bryce replies.

I begin looking at the camera feeds Bryce’s team pulled from in front of Antonio’s. Marco had stepped off a bus two blocks down. That bus runs past 80th Street and Pier Street, where Marco has an abandoned warehouse, according to these files.

“We’re going here,” I point to a map on my screen. “Now!”

I grab my gun and put it in my pants against my back. I’m coming for you, tesoruccia,” I think as I run to an armored SUV parked in the driveway with our security detail in tow. I just hope I’m not too late.

LENA

I come to and jerk to the side. Where am I? The cement floor is cold. I feel a draft coming in from a window or windows. I’m in a room with cement block walls. There are a few windows up high, but I can’t see anything out of them except the sky. A steel door is to my right. I try to sit up, but I realize quickly that my hands are bound behind my back and my ankles are also zip-tied together. I sit against the wall, trying to stand. After three attempts, I’m able to get up and I make my way to the door. It’s locked. I want to scream, but I’m afraid the man who took me will come back, and if he comes here, I don’t know what he’ll do to me.

“Think,” I whisper to myself as I feel the panic beginning to set in. I look around. The room is completely empty. There’s nothing in here but me. I remember seeing some video online of how to get zip ties off. Shit. I look down. No shoes. I lost them last night in the commotion at the restaurant. So much for that idea.

I slump to the ground in defeat. Is this it?

The door opens and a man with black hair stares down at me. “Oh, this is going to be fun,” he says as he walks over and hoists me up. I shiver under his gaze.

“Please, I don’t know what’s going on. Whoever you think I am, I’m not. I swear. I’m no one,” I plead as he drags me to a single wooden chair in the middle of some kind of industrial building.

“Oh, sweetheart, you are exactly who I think you are. And you’re my ticket to get exactly what I want,” he says with a sick smile. This man is insane.

He forces me onto the seat. And he grabs a tripod and sets his phone on it. “I think we’ll make Rocco a little video. A picture is worth a thousand words, right?” he says as he turns on his camera.

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