Mafia Legacy

Chapter Thirty Two-Charlotte

"Marco, call me. Where are you? I'm starting to get worried."

"Okay, officially worried. This isn't funny, Marco. I'm going to call Hailey."

I had already left Marco several messages and, as I walked into my house, I got his voicemail again. "Marco, where the hell are you? Hailey said you were supposed to be with me. I'm really worried. Please call me." By this point, my voice was desperate.

When I couldn't get ahold of him earlier in the day, I hadn't thought much of it. He'd shown up to the office and provided the distraction, but he wasn't at the spot we had planned to meet up after. My texts and calls had all gone unanswered, and that was so unusual for Marco that I was certain something was really wrong. I had no idea where to begin, though. I could call one of the other men, but it wasn't likely that they'd know anything. Marco and I were keeping this pretty close to our chest. At this point, I needed to go home and check on the kids, and then I could regroup.

The house was completely dark when I got home, which made me even more uneasy. All four kids should be home by now, and it wasn't late enough for them to have gone to bed. The optimistic part of me wanted to believe that maybe Marco had taken them to dinner or to a movie or something so wholesome and boring, but in my heart I knew that wasn't the case. Something was wrong.

"Hello?" I called, hurrying inside and flipping some lights on. "Layla? Leo?"

There was no answer. I made my way back into the kitchen, my anxiety growing by the second. When I walked around the side of the island, my heart sank.

Blood.

Droplets and smears were all over the floor and counter, and there was no doubt something had happened in here. My chest got tight as possibilities swarmed my mind. Was it one of the kids? Marco? I didn't even know where to turn. Everyone I usually counted on was either missing or in jail.

I followed the blood trail into the living room and, as I came around the corner, I saw a few black figures at the back of the room against the windows.

"Hello, Charlotte." I recognized Carlo's voice before he even turned the lights on.

Carlo was standing at the back of my living room, next to Marco, who was tied to a chair. Marco's head was down, his hands bound behind his back and his feet attached to the legs of the chair. He was bruised and bloody and had a gaping wound in his thigh that needed medical attention fast. He hardly raised his head when I came into the room. Carlo's gun was pressed to his temple.

Carlo looked haggard. He seemed strung out and like he hadn't slept in days. It had been years since I had last seen him, but he seemed like a shell of the person I once knew. It broke my heart in ways I never thought imaginable to see him like this. I had known Carlo for nearly 20 years. He had gone on vacations with us, eaten dinner at our table, he'd taken care of our children. He was one of the people we had trusted most in the world, and I had loved him like a brother. The man standing in front of me was not that Carlo, though. He had changed, and I didn't know this new person at all. I had no idea what he was capable of, and right now, he had the upper hand.

"Carlo, what are you doing?" I said, approaching him cautiously.

"Sit down, Charlotte." He turned the gun towards me, gesturing toward the couch. I did as he said, trying to form some kind of plan. I glanced at Marco, who looked up at me for the first time.

"Where are the kids?" I asked.

"They're safe." Marco said. "My house."

I knew that was a lie. They weren't at his house, but I knew that was his way of telling me they were okay—wherever they were.