Page 50 of Married to the Mafia

Brandi: L

Brandi: P

Her driver glanced over his shoulder for a precious second as she sent the last message into cyberspace. “The fuck are you doing back there?” He asked the question without turning the music down, doing a poor job of projecting his voice over the guitar. But at least he’d returned to looking forward again.

Brandi made sure to keep her phone low, even silenced it, to keep it obscured by both her hand and her purse. “Seems like I’m being kidnapped. Odd of you to ask.”

She thought she saw his hands twitch on the steering wheel, but it wasn’t until the car finally slowed to accommodate traffic that he twisted back and yanked her purse from her grasp. He ignored her outcry and tossed the entire bag toward the passenger seat. All of this he managed to do without taking his eyes from the road. “Can’t have you plotting shit, got that? Just sit still and don’t be fucking stupid.”

Brandi used the opportunity to shift in her seat, carefully tucking her phone under her leg and out of sight. If he saw it, he never reacted.

For a single, stupid second, Mikey stared at his phone and the string of letters Brandi had texted him, not comprehending. It didn’t help that they’d arrived out of order. Then the word snapped into place in his mind and Mikey felt as though he might have exploded on the spot. He shoved to his feet, barely thinking to grab what he needed, and stomped from his office. “Downstairs!”

He didn’t break stride or pause to see if either man was going to pretend they hadn’t heard him. Not that Berto had ever played that game. Mikey had the elevator primed for descent to the basement level when Berto and Miguel shuffled in, both wisely keeping a bit of space from him.

After a moment of heavy silence, Miguel said, “You have that De Salvo rage look on your face.”

Mikey slid him a glare.

Berto gaped openly at his colleague. “You’re not supposed to say that,” he hissed.

Miguel shrugged. “I like to know what I’m dealin’ with is all.”

Mikey dragged in a deep breath, checked his phone once more, and said, “Brandi went and got herself fucking kidnapped.” The elevator doors rolled open and he pushed forward, barreling into the underground workspace.

The motion-activated lights popped on soundlessly, flooding the basement with white light.

“What?” Miguel asked as the two trailed behind him. “Didn’t she just leave?”

“Girl’s really having a hard time…” Berto said. “Wait, you’re tracking her now?”

Mikey didn’t even bother sitting before booting up his system, thereby triggering the rest to wake. “Of course I’m fucking tracking her. You idiots think I’m going to let my fiancée get in a car with a stranger, when she’s got a violent stalker loose out there somewhere, and not track her every goddamn move?” He was never letting her take public transportation again.

Berto’s mouth opened, but there was a momentary delay before he said, “Sorry, your—”

“Fiancée?” Miguel exclaimed. “Since when? I thought you were just—”

“Fucking focus!” Mikey swiped the tracking readout to the main display, where anyone in the room could see. “I need everything we can find on the motherfucker who picked her up, I need to know if the company he works for is involved or not, or if the driver on record is even the asshole behind the wheel. I need to know where they’re fucking going so we can have crews enroute before they get there. So shove your curiosity and get to work.”

As soon as the two gaping fish had composed themselves enough to grab a station, Mikey dropped into seat and slid his headset into place. As much as he disliked the idea of occupying his phone, he knew it was unlikely Brandi would be reaching out again. It was better, arguably, that she didn’t try. So he had to hope she knew that, too, and he made the one call he absolutely had to make.

Cristiano answered on the second ring. “Thought you might be preoccupied tonight.” It almost sounded like he was teasing.

Mikey unlocked his jaw. “I’m starting to understand why you locked Felicity away in the beginning.” He watched Brandi’s dot on the map finally decelerate to something within the governed speed limit and a small coil of tension eased. If they were nearing their destination, that was actually bad, but so was the prospect of her abductor flipping them over with his reckless driving. “Brandi insisted on taking a rideshare from work and got herself kidnapped. I need your help.”

Whatever Cris had started to say died on his tongue and he grunted. “Son of a bitch. I’ll call Ryoma and we’ll hit the street. Forward me what I need.” He disconnected without waiting for a pointless agreement.

Mikey barely had his hand back on his phone when Miguel made a sound of displeasure that carried through the room. On reflex, Mikey’s focus snapped back to the GPS display, but Brandi’s tracker was still active. And Miguel’s vocalization wouldn’t have made a whole lot of sense even if it weren’t.

“Man, M, I think I know this jackass,” Miguel said. “Not, like, real well you know? But we met once.”

Cold dread joined the unpleasant feelings tightening Mikey’s insides. “Get to it.” He didn’t even bother correcting Miguel’s choice of address. It wasn’t worth the effort.

One of Mikey’s monitors blinked as Miguel sent over a mugshot, presumably of the man he was referring to. It wasn’t the same man as the picture that came up when Mikey looked into the account for Brandi’s assigned driver. This one was younger, in his early to mid-twenties, with dark hair and eyes and an olive skin tone that was indicative of Portuguese ancestry.

“Dude’s a carrier,” Miguel said. “He moves shit from place to place, you know?”

Mikey felt his frown deepen. “You’re saying this piece of shit’s an Ink Blot?”

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