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With a helpless scream, I hurled the smartphone against the nearest wall, for a moment unable to breathe, think, or function at all.
I turned around, only to find that the door wasn't just open. They ripped it off its hinges. Splintered in places.
Exerting all my self-control, I dialed Emilio's number. It was a miracle that the cell phone in my hand did not break in two.
Half an eternity passed before he picked up, and in the end he only did so because I persisted in letting it ring.
"You recently assured me the baguette-eating pig was dead," I growled. "And you also said you'd take care of that shit."
"I did," he replied, far too calm. Too composed.
"Then please explain to me how it can be that there is no trace of Gia and there is a single message on her cell phone whose content isFrench?" I would have loved to yell at him. Grab him by the collar through the smartphone, shake him and punch him, as he had done to me many times before.
It wasn't just my hand that was shaking. My whole body felt electrified.
"What are you talking about?"
Of course. He didn't even remember Gia. Too unimportant.Collateral damage.
"There are two ways this is going to go," I barked, trudging through the opening where an apartment door had once been and hurrying down the stairs. "Either you help me find her. Safe, sound and alive. Or-"
"Consider what you say next," Emilio hissed on the other end of the line.
I pulled myself together, even though it was hard. "Gia and I met a few more times after it wassafefor her to return home." I put the pertinent emphasis in those words so that my brother would understand what I thought about him falsely assuring me of that.
"She's gone," I added when nothing came from him.
"And you care about that for what reasons?"
"He kidnapped her."
"So what?"
"She's mine!"
He snorted. "Since when?"
"NOW!"
I hung up, opened the driver's door and slammed the smartphone on the seat, but didn't get in. Across the street, those teenagers were loitering again.
They had to have seen something.
Fueled by my anger, I stomped across the street and shook my head as they set about making their escape. "Don't even think about it!" I warned and pointed to the now opposite house.
"There's a woman living there. Who took her? And don't think you can talk me into believing you know nothing. That's not how it works. Nothing happens here without you knowing about it."
I was about to jump into the face of the oldest of the guys with my knife when he raised his hands. A placating gesture, I realized. Not an attack.
I lowered the knife.
"You're talking about Signora Marchetti, aren't you?" One of the younger guys wanted to know.
I nodded.
As he continued to speak, he didn't dare look me in the face. "We heard them screaming at noon today. But only temporarily. A few minutes later, one of those overpriced S-Classes sped through the street. Almost ran over my brother. He just turned five."
I stared at him. "You hear a woman screaming and you stand here like nothing happened?"
