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“Francesco, what did it say?” Costanza asked her son after she noticed how his shoulders had dropped after his eyes had scanned the page.
Instead of reading it aloud, Francesco, frustrated, handed the paper to his mother. Costanza scanned its contents and then read the letter more slowly. She was bothered by what she read.
“So, we’re just supposed to wait until they meet and hope for the best?” Costanza asked.
“I guess,” Francesco said. He walked out of the hallway and took the first seat he came to in the living room. His mother followed closely behind him, dissatisfied with his response.
“You guess?” Costanza quizzed. “You guess?”
“What do you want me to say?” Francesco boomed, pouncing to his feet. “What the hell do you want me to say?”
She didn’t flinch even though Costanza’s heart lurched in her chest.
“Something relevant,” she spat between clenched teeth.
“Did you ever stop to think that I need a moment, a single moment, to pull my thoughts together, to formulate a plan? Did you ever think that maybe my son is frustrated because his hands are tied, and his wife and daughter are missing?” He screamed even louder, getting closer and closer to his mother’s face. Francesco’s fists were balled tightly at his side. It was only his respect for his father that kept Francesco from striking her. She’d pushed him too far again, and Francesco, already frustrated, was at his wit's end.
“I’ll give you a minute,” Costanza conceded, feeling her son’s burgeoning wrath. “But we need to have a plan.”
Chapter Nine
Massimo couldn’t rest. He couldn’t settle. Although he’d tried to reassure his mother that things would be fine, that he would be fine, in the privacy of his own home, Massimo wasn’t so sure. He desired to be sure. He had the guts and the revenge spirit, to be sure, but he wasn’t. That was a hard truth to accept, especially after his conversation with Giuseppe that followed the conversation with their parents.
“So, what’s the plan, Massimo?” Giuseppe asked when they were alone.
“I’m going to rescue Isotta and her mother, and then I’m going to kill Alessandro.”
“That all sounds well and good, but how?” Giuseppe pressed.
“Just know that that’s what’s going to happen. It will unfold in the moment, but it will happen.”
“Based on what, your desire?” Giuseppe inquired. “You need a plan, man, a real plan. You don’t know what Alessandro has planned for you. You don’t know how many men he has there, nothing. It feels like a setup, and it sounds like you’re willing to walk right into it.” Giuseppe was worried. It might not have been machismo to respond that way, but he was worried about his brother.
“What do you suggest then, Giuseppe?” Massimo quizzed. “I don’t know what he has in store for me. I don’t know how many other people will be there, but if I don’t go alone, he’ll hurt or even kill Isotta. What do you suggest I do?”
Massimo sounded testy and frustrated, but Giuseppe didn’t care. He knew his brother needed a plan and was willing to help him figure it out.
“Okay, so he’s supposed to notify you twenty-four hours from the time the letter was delivered,” Giuseppe mentally processed. “There’s a possibility that there might be some time before you have to show up where we can do recon, try to get a lay of the land, find out at least how many people are there. We can use the technology we have to do that,” Giuseppe said, sounding more and more convincing to himself. “Or maybe we can send somebody with you, somebody that they won’t immediately be able to detect, or a trail car, or something.”
Massimo didn’t immediately dismiss his brother’s ideas, and as he pondered alone in his master bedroom, Giuseppe’s suggestions came back to him. He did need a plan. He didn’t want to walk into a trap. There had to be a way to gain some insight without putting Isotta and her mother at further risk. But there also had to be a way for him to strike decisively and take out his enemy. There had to be a way.
He wasn’t the only one obsessively considering his options. Although Francesco was not supposed to be directly involved in his daughter and wife’s rescue, how could he not? There had to be a way for him to intervene on their behalf, but how? He refused to talk to his mother again, to hear whatever she had to say. Francesco refused to entertain her arrogant rant, trying to make him feel small when he needed to be a man, and not a man for her, but a man for his family. Maybe there was a way he and Massimo could work together to figure out how to save the two women that meant so much to them.
Francesco decided to use the inert energy and anger he felt to do something to save them. He had to.
She had been in darkness for so long that Isotta wondered if she would ever see the light again. Her body was still wracked with unwanted pain. She felt dirty in so many ways, both physically and mentally. Her clothes were ripped and dirty, and she felt the filth. Alessandro had done things to her that made her ashamed. Isotta was succumbing to the darkness. Every now and then, she heard her mother crying. It pained her still, but Isotta knew there was nothing she could do to save her. She couldn’t even save herself. And then she heard the door open in the dark space she occupied. Instantly, adrenaline coursed through her veins at a rate that was hard to maintain. She felt her heart lurch in her chest, and new, hot tears instantly pressed the backs of her eyes.
“Everything is in place,” Alessandro crooned as he strolled over to where she lay on the floor. He squatted down in front of her, seeing her through the crack in the doorway that offered just a little light. She was disheveled but still beautiful. More than that, she belonged to the man he had every intention of dismantling, and that made her more of a prize.
“By this time tomorrow, your husband will be dead,” he continued. Isotta could hear the eerie smile on his lips. She refused to look up at him even though she knew she couldn’t clearly see him because of the overwhelming darkness despite the trace of light.
“We should celebrate.”
Isotta’s brow wrinkled. She couldn’t fathom celebrating with the man who planned to kill her husband. Even though her feelings for Massimo waned at times, she still didn’t want to see anything bad happen to him. Isotta didn’t want to see him die. She wanted to see Alessandro die from what he put her through, from what he put her mom through.
“So after you kill Massimo, you’re just going to let us go?” She dared to ask, her voice barely above a whisper, but in the silence of the room could be clearly heard.
“That was the original plan,” Alessandro said as he reached down and positioned Isotta on her knees. It was like moving a rag doll. She put forth no effort on her own. It was he who had to move her with his own strength.
