Page 31 of Matteo
The girls were still huddled together, and they now studied Nikola and Gabriel warily.
“Apparently they were going to be sold for their… organs,” I explained, giving them a silent warning not to say anything about it.
“That’s…” Gabriel searched for the right words when Nikola added, “Fucked up.”
I kneeled down while maintaining my distance. “Can you tell us anything about the man who took off?” The girls shook their heads. “What does he look like?”
“He wore a mask,” the same girl answered.
“Anything to set him apart?”
She shrugged. “We’ve only been here twice.”
“How long have you all been captive?” Gabriel asked. “Should we take you to the hospital to be checked out?”
The girls all muttered out their responses, most of them saying either one or two weeks.
Nikola’s expression darkened. “If someone got my baby sister, my dad would?—”
“Your families must be searching for you,” Gabriel cut him off, knowing our friend too well. He was about to go into some gruesome description of the torture his family would bestow onanyone who dared hurt the Nikolaevs. It wasn’t for anyone’s ears, much less these young girls.
“Let’s get you out of here.” My blood was boiling but I did my best to keep my voice calm. “Your families must be worried sick.”
“We should get them to the hospital,” Gabriel stated.
I agreed, but we couldn’t exactly show up with the girls without being questioned ourselves.
“My mom could check them out,” Nikola added, probably following my line of thinking. “She’s a doctor.”
“Yes, but she’s all the way in New Orleans.”
“We can get them to another hospital.” Nico Morrelli had set up shelters and hospitals for human trafficking victims on his territory. I was certain they wouldn’t be turned away there. “You’ll be safe there. It’s for the best if you all get checked out by professionals. Okay?”
They didn’t look sure, so I tabled that for now.
“Did you pick up any names of the men who’ve been keeping you here?” I asked, still kneeling on the filthy ground and staying eye level with the young girls.
“No. The guards rarely talked in front of us,” one offered.
“Even the one who snuck out?” I inquired.
The girls nodded in unison. “I think he was the boss.”
I really hoped the street surveillance would give us some clue into who that asshole was.
“Where are you from?” Gabriel asked. “Your families?”
Alaska. Missouri. Alabama. California.
“I’m from New York,” the last one mumbled. “My brother… he goes to Yale.” I studied the young girl and a bad feeling flickered through my chest. “He’s in trouble with some bad people and?—”
“Fuck, why does she look like?—”
Nikola didn’t even finish his sentence before I let out a muffled curse, hanging my head.
The resemblance was undeniable. Same hair color. Same eye color. Same face, but more feminine.
“She looks like the shooter,” I grumbled, and his sister. The photo of the shooter's sister was much older, but resemblance was definitely there.
