“Three days, Marco. It’s been three days since Angelina was taken. Granted, it’s quiet, and my bank account is confused by her absence, but you don’t take what is mine. “Frank said. Whoever took his wife on the night of the hit was a dead man walking. He wasn’t taking this lightly. If it was the Kennedy girl, he would slit that bitch open and take a piss in the carcass. In the back of his head, though, he knew the young blonde didn’t have this in her. She was a gentle spirit, and what he likes to call, a fucking hippy. If Angelina was found dead, so would the hooker. You don’t fuck with Frank Paloma and live to see another day. “You send that bitch a message from me. She has 24 hours before we start dissecting that kid and sending it back to the mother piece by piece. You send her a picture of the kid. It’s just business, Marco. Right now, I can’t be called a pushover. It looks bad for business,” Frank said. He didn’t want to kill the kid, but this was business and his family honor on the line. He would not allow the Paloma family to be cast in a negative light.
“Boss, I will send the message, but I won’t hurt that kid. There has to be another way than to kill a baby,” Marco said. He had grown quite fond of Grace since kidnapping her and to see her dead, he couldn’t do it.
“Have you gone soft on me, Marco? You have that kid sucking on your tit over there?” Frank yelled. In twenty-five years, Marco had never told him no. Frank asked, and it was done. Now, he’s gone soft because of some kid hanging around. “I’ll get Tony to do it. Bring him the kid tomorrow. You going to be weak, I got no place for you next to me,” Frank barked. He didn’t mean that. He would never replace Marco, but his wife was missing, and he needed to push the envelope. He needed to make sure that blonde bitch knew that if she did have Angelina, she was making the biggest mistake of her life.
“Boss, I already contacted her as you said. I left her a picture of the kid at the church yesterday. She said she didn’t have her. You know that place is holy. You can’t lie there. Something about the devil grabbing you up or some shit like that. My mother,” he said, making the sign of the cross, “God rest her soul, she always told us boys that if you lie in church, you never get into heaven. My mother would never lie to me.”
Clenching a glass of bourbon in his hand, Frank threw the crystal glass against the wall, shattering it into a million pieces. Fragments of glass flew, and the amber liquid poured down the wall. Frustration was getting the better of Frank. For the first time in his life, he felt helpless. His son, away at boarding school, called nightly to speak to his mother. Soon he wouldn’t believe she went to bed early. Angelina never went to be early, and she made it a point to always speak to her son. She might be a money-hungry bitch, but she was a good mother and loved her only child. That was the reason that Frank kept her around. In his family, marriage was till death, but he would be the one to choose that date, not some goombah wanting to make a name for himself.
Without saying a word, Marco left him to throw a tantrum on his own. The boss was worried, which meant Marco was concerned.
As the door closed, Frank took a seat in the Italian leather chair, leaning back to think. When you need to pull a mouse from the hole, you need to use the right cheese to get its attention. In a last-ditch effort to find out if Gypsy had his wife, that’s what he did. He was going to hit her as low as he could and hope for the best. Grabbing his phone, opening the contacts to S, this was one call he never thought he would make. A family man himself, he never condoned what this man had done. Dialing, it took two rings before he heard the voice on the other side.
“Spencer. It’s Frank Paloma. We need to talk about your granddaughter,” Frank said, tossing all his aces on the table. “I will deliver her to your door for a price,” Frank said.
Alone in his California office, Spencer Kennedy stood staring out the window of his penthouse office. The street below lined with jacaranda trees would soon be blossoming, and all the tourists would be flocking. He hated those idiots. They couldn’t drive, half couldn’t speak English, and they smelled. Yes, the stench of the poor made this city unsightly. Of course, anyone who made under a million a year was considered poor to Spencer. Born with a silver spoon in his mouth, he had never known what it was like to go hungry. Or to live without a maid to clean, and a butler to care for him. Even when he was a child, he never needed the skills most men would learn from their fathers. Truth be told, he couldn’t pump his own gas.
“Franky boy, you don’t know how good you just made my day. When can I get my granddaughter? We don’t need to mention this to my whore of a daughter. That little bitch fucks up everything she touches,” Spencer said. With a laugh, he shook his head, wondering how the fuck he got so lucky. Frank Paloma had done business with Spencer for years now, and Spencer even represented a few of his guys in court. Frank owed him for that.
“Don’t get carried away there, Spencer. I have something I want. My wife, Angelina, was taken. I only call you because your daughter was there when it happened, and she was a little, how do we say, pissed off at me,” Frank said. “So, here’s how this is going to happen. I get my wife back, and you can take this brat home with you,” said Frank. “If not, well, don’t make do this, Spencer. She’s a cute kid, but I won’t be sending her home in one piece. You know, this is only business,” he said. “You got 24 hours before I half this baby up between you and your daughter. This would be the time you used those connections, Spencer. Find my wife, or I play King Solomon.”