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“Hello?” I squeak.
“Speak,” their boss orders in a gruff voice.
“Please. Before you …” I sob and struggle getting the words out. “My grandparents … I’d like to text them. Tell them I love them.”
I’ll never see them again.
Or laugh with Kelly.
Or fall in love.
These mafioso are going to kill me, aren’t they, over something Ciro has done?
Their boss doesn’t say a word. Is he enjoying listening to me cry? Getting off on my anguish?
The silence grows and grows.
When he does reply, it’s brief. “Hand the phone to Guido.”
Oh God. Is that a no?
I turn the phone back over to the kid.
A shudder races up my spine. Why the physical description? Am I being considered for trafficking? God, I should never, ever have spoken to him.
“I’ll make it clean this time, promise. We’ve got more rope in the car.” Another pause. “Um … okay.” He crosses the circle of men to offer Scarface the phone.
The frightening man hesitates, an eyebrow raised.
“Boss asks you confirm her description.”
Scarface seems confused.
The kid hunches his shoulders.
“Stand up,” Scarface orders as he snatches the phone.
I rise onto shaky legs.
“The kid’s got it wrong. She’s taller, five foot seven. Dark red hair with slight blond tints.” He nods at me. “And you work for Ciro Ciglioni?”
“Yes.”
“Affirmative, boss.”
Another longer pause.
“Her tits?” His question shocks everyone, and then they’re all looking at my chest. “Big gorgeous knockers, boss.”
I’m too frightened to be embarrassed. My throat tightens. If I’m taken … “Please. Tell him I’d like an answer.”
Scarface grunts, then repeats my words. Then gasps. “Boss?”
“What did he say?” Guido demands.
Scarface ignores him. “Your phone in your purse?”
I nod.
