Maria
A light drizzle stops, leaving the concrete drive a dark gray. Birds begin to chirp, and the racket puts me on edge. Mikhail sits across from me, clenching his empty holster in his hand. A guard stands near the front door, and his gaze never leaves the small window as he watches for the SUV to arrive.
“Uncle Vito will be here soon,” I say to no one.
“They just pulled up,” replies the guard.
Mikhail nods solemnly, and the guilt gnaws at me. I used our baby to convince him to contact Uncle Vito. But it didn’t make sense for them to work separately for the same purpose. I was desperate to do something. Something that makes sense, but as much as I wanted to believe we could save Mercy, it might already be too late.
Uncle Vito arrives in an armored SUV with blackout windows, which conceals the route to the safe house. As agreed, his phone and gun are confiscated, and he is allowed two bodyguards. Exiting the vehicle, my uncle stops long enough to admire the inn-a quaint stone structure against a backdrop of changing leaves, like an oil painting or a jigsaw puzzle. Deceptive in its appearance and purpose. He walks toward the front door, and I nod to him, dreading what Mikhail must show him.
“Uncle Vito,” I greet him warily.
“Maria.” He walks past me into the house as if we barely know one another. He shakes off his long coat and stomps his polished but damp shoes on the welcome mat. He looks older since our last meeting-lines etched on his face like cracks in old leather. My uncle is in his forties, but it looks like he’s aged ten years overnight. His gaze is hard and narrow as he looks at me.
“Dad is on his way back.” I follow him into the living room, where Mikhail is waiting. “He’s checking the perimeter with the guards.”
Uncle Vito scoffs. “Switching sides again? Out hunting for Lanzzare? Well, I left the rest safe at home.”
I don’t blame him for being angry and hold my tongue. What would I say anyway?
“This is not what I was expecting.” He looks around the rustic interior with exposed beams and plank wood floors. A picturesque fire burns in a stone fireplace, filling the room with a cozy warmth. Antique prints and maps hang on the walls, and it would be the perfect setting for a family get-together over the holidays.
“It’s a beautiful place, Uncle Vito. A good place to talk,” I reply, but he cuts me off with a dismissive wave.
“Save the small talk, Maria.” He turns his back on me and approaches Mikhail who stands. “What do you have to show me, Ivanov?”
Mikhail glances at me before handing Uncle Vito the phone. “Be prepared, Genovesi,” he responds, his voice betraying an effort to stay calm.
The audio starts, and my uncle’s eyes widen in horror, then a flush of anger turns his face red as he grits his teeth. I don’t have to look at my uncle to feel his rage filling the room. I look down at my shoes while wringing my hands, listening to Mercy cry.
Vito punches a nearby table when the video ends, causing the lamp to jump. He throws the phone and stares wildly at the spot where it lands.
“My daughter,” he murmurs, and then his voice rises. “My Mercy!” he shouts, then turns his anger on Mikhail.
Time no longer exists as we stand in place, and the tension builds until his emotions explode. Vito grabs for Mikhail; his large hands wrap around his throat, and struggling, Mikhail grabs for his wrists. Vito shouts obscenities as tears race down his cheeks. Vito’s guards work to pull him off Mikhail while our guards work to pry them apart.
“I’ll kill you for this!” Uncle Vito shouts. “They hurt my little girl.”
“Stop!” I scream. “Uncle Vito, please stop. Mercy doesn’t have much time. You can’t fall apart while she needs you.”
The mention of her name suddenly calms him, and they’re yanked apart. Stumbling backward, Mikhail knocks over a table, and the lamp falls to the floor. The crash distracts everyone, and we stare at the broken pieces on the floor with distracted interest. Uncle Vito breathes heavily, leaning against the mantel, and his face sweats from the exertion.
“We’ll do what we can to get her back.” Mikhail fixes his collar as he speaks. “My brigadier will be punished.”
Vito holds up a hand. “The Lanzzare will mobilize all our manpower and resources to get my daughter back.” He glares at Mikhail. “Manpower I should have used the day you refused to give her back.”
“I didn’t plan this, Vito,” replies Mikhail, holding his temper.
Vito glares at him. “But your men did.”
“Uncle Vito.” I try to intervene despite the raw hostility. “We’re going to help. Dad and I want Mercy back home. Mikhail wants her back too.” I want to convince him of our genuine sincerity, but my uncle has heard enough.
“Our honor demands it,” he says to Mikhail. “It’s an order from high up. It’s a black mark for this to have happened to us.” He wipes the sweat off his forehead. “But I will go talk to the don. We’ll need intel to get her back.”
Mikhail motions toward the couch while he sits back down in a chair by the fire.
“I can give you intel,” Mikhail replies. “But if it’s known that I’m helping directly …” He pauses as Vito sprawls heavily across the couch, taking up the whole seat.
“I understand,” replies Vito. “If you were to seek the help of the Lanzzare … Things for you could go from bad to worse. How unfortunate for you.”
I don’t dare look over at Mikhail as I think about last night. I thought I had convinced Mikhail, but nothing I said or did convinced him to ask for help. I recall his expression as we rode away from the other safe house and his own men had turned against him because of vicious lies.
Mikhail stares into the fire and then sighs. But in that sigh, I hear hope. “What happens next, Vito?” he asks.
Vito replies, matter of factly, “Because of the kidnapping, you cannot enter Lanzzare territory without being killed.”
Mikhail scowls. “Even if I’m offering to help?” He presses the point. “So, I’m a target even though we want the same goal.”
“Your men are the cause of this,” Vito scoffs. “You claim it wasn’t your order, but it happened under your leadership. Do you have so little control over your men?” Pausing, he eyes me hard and then Mikhail. “Or was this the plan all along?”
Mikhail’s low growl reveals he’s losing control. “This is not what I wanted, Vito.”
Uncle Vito leaps up from the couch as Mikhail stands from his chair. This time, I’m quicker than the guards and stand between them, hoping it will be enough to stop a fistfight.
“Not now!” I say through clenched teeth. “We don’t have time for a macho bullshit pissing contest when Mercy needs both of you to help her.” I lower my arms. “Mercy should be your only concern. It’s your honor and stubbornness keeping her hostage.”
They stare at each other with bold aggression, and like two heavyweight contenders, they eventually retreat to opposite sides of the room. They’re backing down for now, but there’s no denying that bad blood festers between them. I glance at the front door, wishing my dad would return before something happens.
But Uncle Vito won’t let it go. He kept Mercy out of it and protected her so something like this would never happen to her. I feel guilty for just being here and not tied up somewhere awful and cold beside her. I don’t dare tell Uncle Vito it’ll be okay because I don’t know that. And right now, I don’t even know if I’ll have a happy ending, either.
“I trusted you with my daughter,” Vito growls, fidgeting as he paces the room. “And now my daughter might be gone for good.”
“There is still time, Uncle Vito.”
“Time?” he shouts at me. “What have they done to my baby already?” His voice cracks as my eyes widen, not daring to answer him. “The Russians treat women like chattel. What are they doing to her now?” he sobs. “Even if I get her back, she won’t be the same. Damn you, Ivanov!”
Vito storms out of the inn with his men trailing behind but doesn’t head toward the SUV. He stands in the driveway, backing away from the house.
“Where are you going?” I call out.
Vito doesn’t answer me. He stares at the open doorway where Mikhail and I stand. As I make a move to follow, Mikhail grabs my arm, pulling me back. He turns away from me and strides through the door after Vito. My feet are rooted in place as I watch them go, unable to do anything but helplessly stare as Mikhail advances.
With no choice left, I hurry inside and call my dad.
“Mikhail and Uncle Vito are about to do something stupid,” I tell him.