“I know that fucking bitch did something. Who else could have done this? Frank ranted, but truthfully, he knew this was not her style. She was passive when it came to violence. That was the exact reason he chose her to be the one at the hit. She would be ruined for life for witnessing what happened.
Hours passed as Frank sat on the phone ordering every man who worked for him to find his fucking wife. If someone was going to kill her, it would be him. Love wasn’t the drive to bring her home. It was ownership. The day he married his wife is the day he marked his claim over her soul. It’s what a man does in his position.
If he was going to fish, he needed bait. The kind that would ensure him the reward he needed.
“Get the kid. Kill the parents. Bring the kid to me, now!”
The order was set. They would kill the adoptive parents to Gypsy’s 2-month-old daughter and take the child. It was a long shot, but one that Frank was willing to take to get his wife back. He knew the young blonde would crawl through glass to make sure that the baby was fine. If that didn’t work, he would hand-deliver the child to the Kennedy doorstep. Spencer Kennedy with his hands on that little girl would kill his daughter. Frank knew that she would sell her soul to the devil to get the tiny tot back.
4:00 pm Sunday, February 2, 2020
“Babe, do you have everything ready for the party today? David called out to his wife.
“Shhh I just got Grace to sleep, and,” she stopped when the doorbell echoed through the house. Tossing her hands in the air, running to the door before they could ring in again.
“Can’t you read the,” pulling the door open, the last thing she felt was a bullet entering her chest, and the floor. A silencer would cover the sounds of the shooting. Next was David. He was standing in the kitchen with his head in the fridge when the shot rang out. One directly to the back of the head took his life immediately. The contents of the refrigerator covered in blood and brain matter; his body slumped down. Thankfully both died instantly. Not how they usually liked to leave a message, but today it would be effective.
“Marco, get the kid and the diapers shit. I need to rough this place up to look like a home invasion. Be careful with that kid. Frankie said if she’s hurt, don’t make plans for dinner,” Johnny said as he started rummaging through things to look like a robbery.
Twenty minutes later, family and friends would find the bodies of the couple and that the child was gone. That would be one hell of a Superbowl party.
“Frankie, we got the kid. We’re getting on the jet now and will be in Vegas in an hour. Get that bitch ready to take care of this kid. Someone needs to change her diaper,” holding his nose, the husky Italian man looked down at the infant as though it was a monster.
“Change the fucking kid. It’s shit. I saw your last girlfriend, you should be used to getting shit on your hands,” Frank barked, slamming the phone down.
“What the fuck, this wasn’t what I planned on doing today. I’m going to miss the fucking game. Fuck!” holding a crying baby away from him, Marco gagged at the stench coming from the diaper. Screaming at the top of her lungs, Grace would make sure he regretted waking up today. At 2 months old, she had never been away from her adoptive parents until now.
Landing in Vegas, Grace had finally found comfort on the chest of the man who killed her parents. Sleeping, every once in awhile, she would shiver with a sob, Marco comforting the tiny baby with a pat to her back.
“Get her fucking bag, and don’t say shit to Frankie about this. I’ll fucking whack you too,” Marco spat, he wrapped a blanket over the baby, carrying her to the waiting limo. When she lifted one lid, looking at the burly male, his heart tugged at him. “Shh, Uncle Marco’s here. Nothing going to happen to you, okay?” he said, knowing the little girl couldn’t respond, but he wanted her to know that. He wouldn’t let anything happen unless the boss told him he had to. Even then, he might have to protest it. He had never stood up to Frankie, but where this little girl was concerned, he couldn’t hurt her. Those blue eyes melted his hard surface.
Twenty minutes later with reluctance, he would hand the child over to a woman who would watch her until Frankie decided what to do with her. Marco warned her about hurting the little girl, something he knew would fall on deaf ears. When Frankie asked for something to be done, it was done.
Twenty-four hours later the news would report the murder of Susan and David Brown, and the disappearance of their newborn daughter. A knock on Gypsy’s door would drop her to her knees screaming out in fear.
“Mary Elizabeth Kennedy, I’m Detective Garcia and this is Detective Jones. We need to speak to you about the death of Susan and David Brown, and the disappearance of your biological daughter Grace. We suggest you call a lawyer now,” he said, looking down at the girl on the floor who had just lost her entire reason to live.