Taken

by Mia Ford

  One stood out to me. The tiny headline was printed in font no bigger than my pinky fingernail, but the name printed made my blood freeze in my veins. My heart stopped as I read the name over and over again.

  “Alessio Amoruso Arrested on Criminal Charges”

  The tiny blurb of an article went on to say that Alessio, supposedly the head of the family, had been arrested at the docks for possession of cocaine and carrying a concealed weapon without a permit. My stomach knotted and twisted with anxiety as I thought about whether or not his gun was the gun that had been used to kill Michael.

  My fiancé is dead, and it’s all your fault, I thought as I stared at Alessio’s sallow mugshot. He had olive skin that looked deep tan in the black and white newsprint, and two rows of bright white teeth that reminded me of a shark. He was almost forty, but he looked ten years younger. The small article went on to say that Alessio had been released on bail, and that he was confined to house arrest while waiting for his trial. It was months away. I can’t wait that long, I thought as I stared at his mugshot with hatred in my heart. I need to get you – as soon as possible.

  I guess living a life of crime keeps you young, I thought bleakly as I folded the newspaper closed and tucked it inside my purse. Scrounging at the bottom of my bag, I found some loose change and tipped it onto the table. I was going broke and I wasn’t even hungry enough to eat what I’d ordered, but I couldn’t waste any more time.

  I had to go down to the docks and see for myself what had happened.

  An hour later, I was sneaking around the piers and shipping docks. The water smelled tepid and foul, like it was full of rotting fish. The air was silent except for the slap of waves against the bulkhead, and the occasional squawk of gulls pierced my heart with fear each time I heard a cry. I didn’t know what I was doing – it wasn’t like I had any experience investigating crimes. But I knew I was in the right place, that I had to keep searching until I found what I was looking for.

  A loud cry made me jump. Suddenly, the air was filled with loud cheering and the sounds of men singing drunkenly. Their slurs wafted with the breeze, making me shiver as they reached my ears.

  I snuck over to the side of the buildings and pressed my body tightly against the wall, trying to hide as much as I could. Headlights bounced over the road and a long black car screeched to a stop, not forty feet from where I stood. Men climbed out of the back, all wearing matching suits and carrying bottles of alcohol.

  I opened my eyes wide. What the hell was this? Had I stumbled upon some kind of secret society?

  I gasped at the last man who climbed out of the car. In the dark, his features were nearly impossible to discern, but I could tell that his olive skin, dark hair, and white teeth were the exact same features that I’d just seen in the paper, an hour ago.

  The man standing in the alley was Alessio Amoruso. He cheered and called something loudly to the other men. They responded in kind, then punched the air with satisfaction and glee.

  “Come on,” one of the men said. He grabbed Alessio’s elbow and hustled him into a secret entrance. Seconds later, lights flickered from the inside of the building. I realized that it was an abandoned warehouse converted into some kind of secret meeting place.

  I waited for all of the men to disappear inside before holding my breath and walking closer. The swelling in my eyes made it painful to keep staring, but I was determined to keep going. I knew I couldn’t give up – not now, not when I was so close.

  Lights flickered behind a tiny window and I gasped as I saw Alessio leading a brunette woman in lingerie into a bedroom. He flopped down on the bed and called something to her. I watched her giggle, then climb on the bed and begin a seductive show for Alessio.

  He’s celebrating, I thought. Anger flooded my veins and my hands were trembling as I dug through my bag in search of my cell phone. I pulled it out and shakily dialed the cops.

  “Nine-one-one, state your emergency.”

  “I’m down by the docks,” I whispered. “And Alessio Amoruso is here. He’s violating his parole.”

  “Can you confirm your location?”

  I quickly repeated the address of the pier to the dispatcher. She told me they were sending the authorities as soon as possible, and advised me to stay hidden. My stomach churned with anxiety and satisfaction as I watched Alessio and the brunette roll around on the bed. Despite the anger I felt towards him, I couldn’t deny the pleasure of watching the pair make love. It stirred something deep inside of me, and I could feel arousal swelling in my lower belly.

  Just as I was about to slip my fingers in my panties, the door burst open and a large man thundered in. He and Alessio exchanged a short, violent volley of words.

  That was when I heard the sirens.

  Alessio

  “What the fuck do you mean, Beth Wilson?” I grunted. “Who the fuck is she and why should I care?”

  “Because she’s sniffin’ around where her pretty little head don’t belong,” Silvio retorted. “You gotta keep your head down until we find her, man. She’s one tenacious little bitch. I threatened her at the library and had some men beat her up later, but now I can’t fuckin’ find her anywhere.”

  “This ain’t my problem,” I snapped.

  That was when I heard the ominous sound of sirens roaring. Glancing up, I cried out in shock as the alley outside the bedroom window was filled with the cherry and blueberry lights, flashing frantically.

  “Fuck!”

  “Come on,” Silvio said. “We gotta get you out of here.”

  I struggled to pull on my pants and shirt. Just as Silvio was helping me out of the room, the front door to the hideout burst open and cops flooded into the foyer like a dirty river. They spotted me instantly.

  I shrugged. “Sorry boys,” I said. “Didn’t feel like staying in tonight.”

  One of the cops launched forward, grabbing my wrists and twisting them behind my back. It hurt, but I grit my teeth, determined not to make a fucking sound.

  “I oughta shoot you right now,” the cop growled in my ear. “You know how much I hate scum like you?”

  I grinned. “Oh, baby,” I said with a smirk. “That’s how I like to hear it.”

  The cop growled. He cuffed my wrists, then shoved me forward. I stumbled and almost fell, but then my feet recovered and I walked out into the alley.

  A girl was standing there, watching me with a triumphant look on her face. At first, I thought she was deformed – her eyes were almost swollen shut, and there was a purple bruise around her fat lower lip. She had pale skin and dark brown hair. We locked eyes.

  “Who the fuck are you?” I yelled as the cops hustled me closer to the car. “You get the fuck away from me, you cunt!”

  The girl didn’t move. She didn’t seem fazed by my insults.

  As the cops shoved me in the backseat, the girl didn’t take her eyes away from me. The car began slowly pulling away, sirens flashing.

  The girl’s mouth broke out into a wide grin.

  I don’t know who you are, I thought with hatred in my heart. But if you’re responsible for this, I’m going to find you and make you wish you’d never been born.

  I was barely awake in the morning when Monty came in with a suit for me to wear to court.

  “Hey, Alessio,” Monty said. He snapped his fingers in front of my face and it took every ounce of strength not to grab his hand and snap his wrist.

  “Shut the fuck up,” I growled. I rolled over on my prison cot, clutching the threadbare pillow to my chest.

  “Alessio, you gotta get the fuck up,” Monty said. He snapped his fingers in the air again. The sound was the most annoying thing I’d ever heard, and I launched myself out of bed and wrapped my hands around his throat.

  “You do that one more time,” I hissed through gritted teeth. “You do that one more time and I’ll fucking kill you, you cocksucker.”

  Monty’s face paled before turning a shade of blue clearly showed his lack of oxygen. He gasped for air and
finally I released him, shaking and sweating. Monty bent over and rested his hands on his knees.

  “You’re gonna be the death of me,” Monty panted. “Now get into that fucking seat. I’m not going to court with someone who looks like a goddamned convict.”

  The suit didn’t fit – it was clearly one that Monty had borrowed from Silvio – but it was better than showing up in an orange jumpsuit. I shrugged on the jacket and fastened the pants after sucking in a titanic gasp of air.

  “Come on,” Monty said. “Time to go, big shot.”

  I rolled my eyes at him as the guards led me out of the door and through the small corridor to the courtroom. Being held in the tank was the fuckin’ pits, but I was smart enough to know that if I went upriver to the Big House, things would be a hell of a lot worse.

  I snickered as the guard led me into the courtroom. It was packed with shouting lawyers, drunks with their heads in their hands, and tired-looking judges. The guard shoved me down on a bench next to Monty. Monty wasn’t looking at me, he was flipping through his notes and scowling.

  “Hey, man, what the fuck is the plan,” I hissed. “We only got a few minutes before this show starts. What are they gonna do?”

  Monty looked up at me. His eyes were bloodshot and the skin on his face looked as thin as paper.

  “You’re gonna get time for violating parole,” he said in a low voice. “But I’m working to make sure the other trial doesn’t happen for quite some time.”

  I narrowed my eyes. “What other trial?”

  “Don’t play dumb with me, Alessio,” Monty said. He yawned a gust of tobacco-scented air. “I know you know what I know.” He shook his head. “You just better hope that little bitch stays out of everything.” Monty leaned closer and my stomach iced over with dread. “If she testifies against you, you’re fucked.”

  “Alessio Amoruso!” The judge yelled. He snickered as he recognized the name.

  “Come on,” Monty grunted. He grabbed my arm. The guard grabbed my other arm and marched me towards the judge. Monty was glaring at me and I looked down, trying to make my face appear humble and contrite.

  “In violation of your parole, I sentence you to six months at Rikers Island.”

  The judge banged his gavel on the desk. My jaw dropped.

  “What the fuck?” I howled as Monty dragged me away. “What the fuck was that? I didn’t even get a fucking say in my own goddamned case!”

  “Shut the fuck up,” Monty hissed under his breath. Everyone in the packed room was staring at me and I straightened up, releasing my grip on Monty’s arm.

  “I don’t fucking understand,” I wailed. “This isn’t fucking fair!”

  “You may not like it,” Monty said grimly. “But this is good, Alessio. This gives us a chance to mount a defense.”

  “Shut the fuck up,” I snarled. “This isn’t good! My fucking business!”

  “We’ll take care of everything for you,” Monty said soothingly. “Come on, Alessio. Your father did worse. Silvio’s done worse. This ain’t bad. You’ll get used to it.”

  As the guards led me away from the courtroom and back to the hellish nightmare of jail, I vowed to stop that little bitch, Beth, from testifying against me if it was the last thing I did with my life.

  Beth – Six Months Later

  I lowered myself into the window seat of my apartment and gazed out over the street. The sun was just beginning to rise – I had about an hour before I had to start getting ready for work – and I shivered, hoping the sun would have a chance to warm the frozen streets before I had to leave.

  I’d been living in my new apartment for a little over five months. Heather had worked with a broker and found it after searching for just under a week – impossible by the standards of New York City. Living in Crown Heights, Brooklyn, wasn’t the most glamorous of places. But I didn’t mind – it was a safe, secure home that Heather and I had worked tirelessly to make ours.

  After Michael’s death, things really spun out of control. I’d thought that Douglas had been bluffing when he’d threatened to throw me out of the condo. But the day after the funeral, Douglas and a team of thugs had showed up at my door and told me that I had twenty-four hours to get my stuff packed and moved. In retrospect, it’s kind of lucky that I was still stunned with grief at the time – if Douglas had tried that now, I would have ripped him a new asshole. But six months ago, Michael’s death was still fresh. And I should have known that Douglas would always keep his word against me, no matter what.

  Getting evicted had been a blow. I’d called Heather and we’d spent the whole day packing boxes and borrowing the neighbor’s car to move them into storage. I’d thought my situation was totally helpless – now that Michael was gone, what kind of an ally would I find in the rest of the world? But Heather had gone above and beyond to make sure things worked out for the two of us. Now, we were closer than ever.

  Finding a job hadn’t exactly been easy. I’ve been out of university for five years and I hadn’t worked a real job, or anything other than meager part-time work. I kept seeing rejection email after rejection email – every single hiring manager said I “lacked the necessary experience.” It really pissed me off. How the hell was I supposed to get that experience in the first place if no one would hire me?

  Eventually, I’d sucked it up and gone door to door, asking people if they needed a new receptionist. I’d hardly expected it to work, but I’d finally landed a job working for a used car dealership in the Bronx. Getting to work every day was an adventure…I’d started carrying pepper spray, just to be on the safe side.

  I hate to admit it, but I’d been doing just fine without Michael. Sure, I thought about him sometimes…mostly, I worried that his final moments had been painful and dreadful. But now that I was single again, it was almost like a huge weight had been lifted off my shoulders. Honestly, that made me feel more guilty than anything. Heather told me that it was normal – she’d come to realize that in retrospect, perhaps Michael and I didn’t have the best relationship. But now that he was gone, I began to think that maybe I’d taken him for granted. Sure, Michael never told me he loved me or was very demonstrative. He’d never even brought me flowers. But he’d provided for me, and set a clear example of what he expected in return for his material generosity.

  Now I worried that I’d be single for the rest of my life.

  Leaning against the glass, I yawned again. Condensation spread across the thin windowpane and I closed my eyes, drawing a finger though the wet mist. The streets were shiny in the early morning sun.

  Finally, I made myself get up and get dressed in my “work uniform” – a black pencil skirt with a conservative cream blouse and low heels. I glanced in the mirror, tidying my brown hair. I wonder what Michael would think of me now, I thought as I toyed with my bangs. Would he still like me? Would he even recognize me?

  I shook my head as if to clear the thought, then stepped away from the mirror and twisted the bare skin on my left ring finger. I’d never exactly loved my engagement ring, but it still felt weird to have bare hands once again. I hated knowing that I’d given the ring back to Douglas, but as Heather said, it was better to cover my ass than worry about a lawsuit in the future.

  Grabbing my jacket, I threw the strap of my work bag over my shoulder and poured myself a go-cup of coffee from the small machine on the counter. Today’s a new day, I thought, forcing a smile as I stepped out the door and closed it quietly behind me. And I can do anything I want.

  Work was fine – it always was. My boss had hired me without knowing about Michael…but the death of a billionaire’s son doesn’t stay quiet for long. During my second week of work, the New York Times had published a spread on Michael and his life. There was a big photo of us on the front page of the Style section – it had been on of our engagement photos, with Michael and I both looking happy. When I’d gone into work the next day, my boss had thrown his arms around me and apologized. I hadn’t been pleased about the article. I was sure
that Douglas had manipulated the editor into making sure there was little mention of me, and it felt like an overall stain to Michael’s memory. The article had made him seem so cold and calculating, just like a little version of his father. I’d saved it, of course, but it hadn’t been the Michael I’d known.

  I’ve been thinking about him a lot today, I realized as I descended into the grimy subway. I wonder what that’s all about.

  When I got home, Heather was standing in front of the stove, stirring something delicious. The air was thick with the creamy, tangy smell of marinara sauce and I grinned when I saw a bag of fresh pasta perched on the side of the stove.

  “Hey,” Heather said. “Long day?”

  I shrugged. “Same as every other, to be honest,” I said. “God, that looks good. How long have you been cooking?”

  Heather laughed. “It’s nothing,” she said. She lifted the lid of the trash can and I saw a jar of gourmet pasta sauce from the bodega down the street. Heather rolled her eyes and we laughed together.

  “Still not much of a cook,” I cracked. I put my work bag down on the floor and perched on a barstool.

  “It’s better than takeout,” Heather shot back. She snickered. “God, I can’t wait for the weekend.”

  I nodded. “Me either.” I yawned. “I feel like ever since I started working full time, I’m just exhausted. Like, all the time.”

  Heather nodded. “I get that,” she said. “Hey, can you put on the TV?”

  “Why?” I frowned. “What’s coming on?”

  “Some guy robbed a woman on my subway car this morning,” Heather explained. “I wanted to hang around and see if he got caught but I was already running late so I had to go.”

  I nodded. “Sure.” I walked over to the small TV we kept on the edge of the bar and flipped through the channels until I found a local news station. The anchors were sitting in front of a tall desk, looking both comical and serious as they read bits and short stories from a televised prompted.