Page 18 of Big Bad Wolf

“Grandma’s house? No. I have work. How am I supposed to help with your election from Rye?” I protest his decision, but I’m unsure if it has anything to do with the campaign. I don’t know for sure if Vasily is using me. Maybe he really does like me. But what are the odds?

“If she’s going to Rye, I’m going with her. We’ll make an event of it, sugar.” Donna takes my hand and curls me into her embrace. She whispers, “Please don’t cry. Your father is seldom right.”

My father turns back to look at us, locked in a tight embrace, Donna trying her best to cheer me up. “Donna, sweetheart, I need you here. We have three fundraising dinners next week alone.” He looks to Sybil, quietly standing by, still too shocked to speak. “Can you go with her?”

I speak up before she can answer. “No one needs to go with me because I’m not going. I’m not a child.”

“You’re going to your grandmother’s house, Scarlett. I won’t have you jeopardize my campaign by seeing that man again. You’ll go even if I have to drag you there,” my father barks his commands and pretends he’s laying down the law.

I don’t care what he says. I'm not going.

ChapterThirteen

I’ve been kidnapped.

Two men dressed in jeans, black T-shirts, and leather jackets sit in the front of my father’s favorite luxury sedan, equipped with bulletproof windows. They’re surly and unkempt, with overgrown five o’clock shadow at seven in the morning. They look like they’ve been up all night and smell like cigarettes and body odor. They’re not part of my father’s usual entourage of Secret Service agents. These men are Sicilian and, if I had to guess, work for Dante Serpico.

Why in the world does he care what I do?

After a long night of tears and ice cream, I promised my father I wouldn’t see Vasily again. It isn’t easy to admit that a man only pretended to fall for me to curry favor with my father. But I can accept the truth when it stares me in the eye. My dad placed a late-night call to Dante, who spoke to Vasily’s father. He confirmed their suspicions that Vasily wanted to turn my father’s loyalties.

I'm mortified. Humiliated beyond words. It was nothing but wishful thinking and utter delusion to believe a man like him wanted me so badly that he stalked me for months. I’ve tried to convince myself that they’re wrong or it’s all a misunderstanding. But then I feel more foolish for having hope. If I wasn’t so heartbroken, I’d laugh.

“Did someone take my phone?” I rummage through my purse, unable to locate it in any of the pockets. It was there this morning when my father arrived with his hired muscle, who only gave me five minutes to pack. I’m sure Donna doesn’t know anything about this. But she’ll soon find out. We have lunch plans today, and when I don’t arrive, Donna will be on the phone toDatelinewithin the hour. She always fears the worst.

Neither man answers my question, and one raises the volume on the mechanic podcast already blaring over the speakers. I can hardly hear myself think.

“Where are you taking me?” I shout, assuming we're on our way to my grandmother’s house. I’m familiar with the drive, and we’re on course to arrive in fifteen minutes. Once I'm there, I’m stuck. My grandmother’s house resembles Fort Knox. Since a few of her neighbors suffered home invasions, she’s terrified she’ll be next.

I’m unsure why my father has opted for these measures. If I said I would stay away from Vasily, I meant it. There is no need for awkward confrontations. He’s a persuasive man who could convince me of anything. He’ll provide me with bullshit reassurance, and I’ll buy it hook, line, and sinker because I’ll want to believe it. That’s why I know I need to stay away.

Who wouldn’t fantasize that a man like Vasily had fallen head over heels in love with them?

But now my eyes are open. I’m so embarrassed I acted like a gullible child. He must have had a good laugh when he got home last night.

My face heats as tears well in my bloodshot eyes. I don’t think I can face Vasily again. We’re not compatible. There’s no need to break up because we were never together. We played around, and if I let it be, I’m sure he’ll realize I figured out his scheme.

“You’ll find out when we get there,” Carlo, the bigger of the two, sitting in the front passenger seat with a toothpick in his mouth, finally answers a question I almost forgot I asked. He wants to be a big shot and make me feel unworthy of information.

I’ve been around mafiosos all my life; these guys are small potatoes. Vasily would eviscerate them before they could click the safety off their guns.

Why am I praising him? He doesn’t deserve my admiration. He’s taken enough from me already.

“Are you taking me to my grandmother’s house in Yonkers? This doesn’t look like the way,” I say, lying to mess with their heads. If they question my father’s instructions, they may hand me my phone to call him.

“Your grandmother lives in Rye, smart-ass,” the driver replies, then shoots me the evil eye through the rearview mirror. He doesn’t know anything about my family, especially my mother’s side of the family. He’s only going by what my father told him.

“My grandmother lives in Yonkers. I think I know where she lives more than you. Maybe there is something else in Rye that he wanted you to see,” I say sarcastically, hoping they assume the worst: a setup. Made men are always paranoid jerks who think everyone is out to get them. And often, they’re right.

“Hey, Mike, shewouldknow where her grandmother lives,” Carlo stutters, suddenly nervous he’s being lead to his death.

Mike waves him off, shakes his head, and tells him he’s overreacting. “Look at her! She’s a spoiled brat who lies to get her way. She just wants us to keep driving in circles.”

Carlo looks over his shoulder at me, a vertical line etched between his eyes.

“She lives in Yonkers,” I whisper, my eyes growing wide with feigned worry. “What’s in Rye?Bratva?Is this about the Bratva?” I’m almost positive the bratva resides nowhere near Rye, but I must plant seeds of doubt.

Carlo’s face turns pale. He looks at Mike and then back to me, wringing his hands like he’s either getting ready to throw a punch or jump out of a moving car. Either he thinks Mike has betrayed him, or Dante has set them both up to be slaughtered. The most logical conclusion is that I’m lying, but his mind doesn’t look like it’s going there.

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