Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74035 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Marshmallow sticks?”
“Yeah, man. You want a fuckin’ marshmallow stick you find it in the woods. And there’s no way I’d give that girl something that could work as a potential weapon.”
I can’t help but smile at that.
“There’s some fishing gear, though you’ll have to be careful.”
“Got it.”
“As far as Sergio and the rest, you let me handle them. Sit her up, bro, will you?”
I sit her up. We’re away from the miles of traffic now, and alone on the stretch of road that will take us to La Cabina.
“Vivia,” Orlando says, as he looks in the rearview mirror, though she can’t see him with her blindfold.
She nods silently. Her only choice, really.
“You’re not in a good place. I told you Sergio wanted retribution himself. He said if you were complicit in the attack on Marialena, you were dead to the Montavios.”
She flinches as if struck but otherwise doesn’t react.
“You’re not gonna like being here alone with Dario. You won’t like what has to happen to get to the bottom of this. And it pains me to see it come to this, cousin, but you know our rules.”
She clenches her jaw and turns her head away but doesn’t respond. I don’t know how old Vivia is, but she’s spent at least a couple of decades deeply immersed in the rules of mob life. She knows how close she is to a very, very serious consequence… if not several.
And I’m not gonna lie. I’m good at this. I’m not easily swayed by feminine wiles or pleas. I’ll get answers, and she’ll be out of the line of Sergio’s fire for now, while my brothers will have a chance to investigate.
Alone in the woods with a beautiful woman who’s my captive and my charge? Yeah, I’ve had a lot worse assignments than this one. Probably most.
You wouldn’t find La Cabina on any GPS. You wouldn’t find it on a map, even. La Cabina is nestled deep in the woods that surround the Narragansett Bay in Rhode Island, and it’s the only rustic cabin for miles. About ten miles down the road, there’s a small, private campground run by a husband and wife who’ve been friends with the Rossi family for so long, they’re practically family themselves. We’re guaranteed privacy and isolation here.
It’s a coolish, early summer day. We spent the night imprisoned and left bright and early this morning, barely before the sun rose. Now the morning is heating up, not a cloud in the sky to inhibit the warmth of the sun. It still gets cool in the mornings of June in New England, but midday warms and occasionally we even have a heat wave. Today’s slightly overcast and a bit chilly.
I smile to myself. Good. We could get cozy by the fire.
To get to La Cabina, you take a left on a dirt road that looks like the entrance to someone’s driveway, follow it until you see a bright red hand-painted sign for the beach, then take a second turn down an unlit gravel driveway for about a mile until it looks like you’ll drive straight off a cliff into the ocean below. The entrance to La Cabina is hidden behind a blanket of pine trees. There’s no running water though there’s a nearby pump, a clean but otherwise rustic outhouse, and outside the small cabin there’s a well-used fire pit and grill. There’s no electricity, but Orlando’s furnished me with small portable chargers so I can call out if need be. He’ll notify me when it’s time to come home.
Orlando parks the car. I see a shadow quickly skirt behind us and vanish into the trees, but it’s far too small to be human. A raccoon, maybe. Small woodland creatures inhabit these woods, since they’re so rarely disturbed.
“Saw some turkeys roaming nearby,” Orlando says, and even blindfolded and gagged, the disgust on Vivia’s face is evident.
“He’s joking,” I tell her, as I grab her cuffed wrists between my fingers. “I’m sure we’ve got mac and cheese and Top Ramen for days. No one eats wild turkeys anymore.”
“And fish. Don’t forget fish,” Orlando says.
I nod. “I’ll make Nonna proud.”
But when I look at the pale, wan face of the girl I’ve taken hostage I don’t joke anymore. I might be a ruthless asshole, but I’m not inhuman. She’s lost a lot in the last few days. Her circumstances both then and now are no laughing matter.
“Thanks for everything, brother,” I tell Orlando, shaking his hand. He’s brought me up to speed and promised to text later with more details and updates as they come.
“Of course,” he says, scowling as he looks at her. “I’m sorry this has come down to you.”
“No, I get it,” I say in a soft voice. “It’ll be a lot easier for someone like me who isn’t related to her to do what I have to.”