Page 19 of Claimed by my Stepbrother

I squeeze the phone so hard that the screen pops and a long crack appears. I would have thrown it into the fireplace if it wasn’t the only thing connecting me to Gabby right now. I close my eyes and take a few long, deliberate breaths. Looking at Vito, I say, “We need to figure out where they’re keeping her.”

“I’ll get the guys on it now. There are only so many places that they’d feel comfortable taking her. What do you want us to do if we find her?”

“You find her, you tell me, and don’t do a damn thing until I tell you to, clear?”

“Yes, boss.”

“And go find me that damn guard. I don’t think he left his post by accident. He might know something, and if I have to, I’ll beat it out of him.”

“Yes, boss,” Vito rushes off.

“What are you doing, son? You’re gonna get that girl killed,” my father shakes his head.

“No, I’m gonna save her.”

Vito returns with the man who was supposed to be guarding the gate when Gabby was taken. He’s young and looks scared out of his mind. I wonder if he’s afraid of being accused of something he didn’t do or getting found out as a traitor.

“You were on gate duty this afternoon, correct?” I ask him.

“Yes, sir.”

“So, tell me why you left your post, and be very careful. If you lie to me, your mother will get a box of your body parts for Christmas.”

“I had to use the john, sir.”

“And why didn’t you call for backup?”

“I didn’t have a radio, sir. Usually, there’s one in the golf cart when I get here, but this time, there wasn’t.”

“I don’t know you. Who are you? How is it that you came to work at my home without my say-so?”

“Arturo vouched for me, sir. I was on his crew before he got injured and became your driver, sir.”

I look at Vito who nods to confirm the boy’s story.

“Alright, I’m not gonna harm you for making a mistake, boy, but you won’t work here again. You’re going back out on the streets.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. I’m sorry.”

Vito turns to follow the boy back outside but I stop him and say, “Wait, what’s your name?”

He hesitates for a moment, then turns and looks at the floor.

“Tony, sir.”

“Tony what, boy? Speak up.”

“Tony Barrone, sir.”

I storm toward the boy, grab him by the collar, and toss him into a nearby chair.

“Is Marco Barrone your father?” I growl.

“No, no. He’s my uncle.”

Vito and I eyeball each other for a moment, an understanding passing between us. Vito pulls his revolver from his coat and presses it against the boy's temple.

“How much did they pay you to leave your post, you treasonous piece of shit?” I ask him.

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