Page 47 of Forbidden War (Forbidden 2)
KARINA
The video is justunder thirty seconds long and eerily quiet, save for when Livvie hiccups behind her gag.
It’s hard to watch, but something about it draws me to it. Like a horrifying car wreck on the side of the road, I can’t look away. That poor girl, tied to a chair in the center of a bare room, a blindfold over her eyes and a rag stuffed in her mouth. Her arms are pulled behind the chair, her ankles bound to the front chair legs. The video isn’t great quality due to the lack of light in the room, but her hair looks clean and the clothes she’s wearing appear in good order. She’s being somewhat taken care of, which is a small comfort.
Frankie zooms in, frantically looking for bruises, signs of bleeding, anything that might indicate that her sister has been beaten or harmed in any way, but she finds nothing. Armani leaves briefly and returns with a high-tech-looking tablet. He transfers the video to it and messes around with some kind of editing software and then plays it again for all of us. This time, the quality is a little better. It plays on repeat a few dozen times, the family gathered around it. We all try to glean anything useful from the footage, but it’s pure speculation.
There’s no indication of ransom. No bitter or taunting words. Just a silent video of a bound girl meant to torture the family that wants her home safe again—at any cost.
Needing a break from the tension that hangs heavy in the living room, I move to a corner and start pacing. The Bellantis speak in urgent whispers behind me, the conversation growing in intensity, punctuated by Frankie’s mom’s panicked despair. When Frankie breaks down into sobs, Dante’s soothing voice comforts her.
An arm slips around my shoulder from behind and I lean back into Marco’s embrace, resting my head on his chest.
“I hate my family. I hate that they did this,” I murmur.
He kisses my temple and holds me tighter against him. “They aren’t your family anymore. You don’t have to claim them. You’re a Bellanti now.”
He’s trying to make me feel better, but nothing can erase the guilt ingrained in me over Livvie’s abduction.
Armani is talking on the phone to someone while he taps around on the tablet screen. Whoever is on the line must be trying to help him enlarge the footage or something.
“He sent the video to one of our tech people,” Armani explains quietly. “She’s rendering the footage with her own programs for clarity and then she’ll patch it back through to us. It’s going to take a few minutes.”
“Maybe we should bring everyone coffee or something,” I say. “I want to feel…useful.”
He nods, and we leave the living room and head to the kitchen. By the time we return with one of the kitchen staff and a cart laden with coffee, tea, water, and a quick snack of crackers, cold cuts, cheeses, and fruit, everyone is gathered around Armani’s tablet once again.
“Coffee for anyone who wants it,” Marco announces.
People start drifting over, but everyone looks dejected. Armani stays put, eyes glued to his screen, frustration evident on his face.
“We’ve got nothing,” Frankie whispers to me, her eyes red.
Her mother’s hands rattle the cups as she makes tea for herself and Frankie.
“This is bullshit. There has to be something!” Armani gripes from across the room.
He leans back in his seat and his gaze turns toward all of us. “Nothing about this looks familiar to you?”
It takes a second to realize he’s asking me a question. I shake my head, feeling helpless. Marco moves between his brother and me, blocking Armani’s view.
“Not this again, Armani,” he says, a warning in his voice.
My insides clench as Armani rises from his chair. Dante watches but doesn’t intervene. I know what’s coming. There will never be anything I can do or say to convince him I’m not—
“She’s a mole. I’ve been saying it all along. She came along at exactly the right time—”
“Fucking drop it, man.” Marco huffs out an angry, incredulous breath. “We’re done with this shit. The only thing we should be focusing on right now is getting Livvie back.”
Armani’s expression says he’s about to argue, but before he can speak again, Dante moves in between his brothers.
“Marco’s right,” he says. “We set her up perfectly to reveal the safehouse, and she didn’t. She passed your little test, Armani. Now it’s time to let it go.”
They what? My pulse picks up, my cheeks heating with humiliation and anger. So, all that talk about the Bellanti safehouse was for my benefit? To test my loyalty to them?
“Are you kidding me?” I whirl on Marco, furious. “You tested me? You thought I was going to tell my uncle about your safehouse?”
I know that Marco and I were having our differences, but I can’t believe he went along with Armani’s scheme. He told me nothing, just abandoned me. Hung me out to dry.
“I knew you wouldn’t,” he says apologetically. “I just wanted Armani to get it out of his head that you were betraying us.” He raises his voice and adds, to the rest of the room, “Like Dante said, point proven. She’s not a Bruno informant.”
“But—” and then I don’t finish my sentence. My anger is already fading.
Because, yeah, I can kind of understand where they were coming from. Especially Armani, who sees himself as the Bellanti family’s main protector, even if it’s Dante who ultimately makes all the decisions. Armani has to be on his guard more than anyone. That man would probably waterboard the Pope if he thought he had information.
But Marco? Deep down, I’d hoped he had more faith in me. It hurts to find out that he was still second-guessing me all along, especially so soon after our heart-to-heart last night.
Seemingly placated, at least for now, Armani turns to the sideboard and pours himself a drink. Dante quickly moves to join him, tipping a healthy shot of brandy into his coffee, followed by Marco. I’m left in the corner, alone.
Frankie and her mother sit on the sofa, consoling one another. They leave the room to call Charlie and Clayton with an update—which is that there is no update—while the men circle up by the window to talk amongst themselves. I can only pick out a few words from what they’re saying, but it seems like Armani wants to storm every known Bruno stronghold with guns a-blazin’ and that Dante is fully opposed. My husband gives me a short glance—a cursory checking in—and then returns to the conversation.
Feeling useless and antsy, I wander over to the couch and peer down at the tablet screen on the coffee table. The technician must have really worked her magic on the resolution, because it’s a lot clearer than before. Livvie’s outline shows up in detail. There are less shadows and pixilation. Dropping onto the couch, I pick up the tablet and tilt it to a better angle.
It really is a dead end. There’s nothing around her. Just an empty room with empty white walls. Livvie and a chair. Shades of gray and white. And…I turn up the volume as high as it will go and catch the sound of her sniffles, which hits me like a knife in the gut. This precious girl.
She moves slightly and the chair creaks. But then she sits still for the remainder of the footage. In fact, she sits so cooperatively and silently that at first I think the video is frozen or playing on a loop. Then I wonder if she was instructed to do so, if someone had a gun trained on her, or if something else prompted her. I can’t imagine sitting so still, not tied up like that. Even her sniffles are quieter than I’d expect for someone so scared…
There.
Leaning back, I blink a few times. I’ve looked at this too many times and my mind is playing tricks on me. But then I hear it again.
Moving the tablet’s speaker closer to my ear, I rewind and replay a portion of the footage. Livvie moves her foot against her bonds, which make a subtle scratching sound. She sniffs, a soft, one-second noise. And then—
There!
