Page 53 of Ms. Fortune

“How could I know that if I didn’t know they were married?” I ask. What a stupid question. My patience is growing very thin. Now she’s just wasting my time.

The prosecutor realizes her mistake and shuffles some papers, trying to act like she’d meant for the dumb question to be asked. This is ridiculous.

I glance down at my watch, noticing that it’s almost noon already, and we haven’t taken a single break.

“Would it be possible for us to break for lunch?”

The prosecutor looks relieved that she can move on to something else, like food.

“Sure, let’s reconvene at 1:30.” She moves to speak with the court reporter, and I jump out of my seat, practically running to the hallway to find Taylor. I need to know what’s going on in Vegas, if Normandy is okay.

Taylor finds me first as I exit the courtroom, his jaw clenched and eyes tight. “We’ve got a problem, sir. We need to talk.”

“What’s going on?” Panic hits me like a truck, but I keep my composure as we walk briskly toward the elevators.

“I’ll tell you everything once we’re out of the building, but I’ve discovered that Frank Santangelo is not with the FBI. He’s actually with the Mamana family.”

“What the fuck is going on with that family?” I hiss, trying to keep my voice low. The repercussions of what Taylor’s said still haven’t been processed yet. “I just discovered that my ex-girlfriend Eve has been married to Giuseppe Mamana since 2017.”

“Do you think any of these items are related?”

“No. That’s impossible. Calnetta’s been milking Victor Blake for years. There’s no way anyone would know that Normandy and I would get together like we have. It’s just a creepy coincidence.”

Once we’re out of the building and in a private car, we can finally speak freely, but my head is still reeling from the last five minutes. What did I miss with Eve that I was so unaware of her being married? Was I that checked out of that relationship? I guess I was. But what was she doing with me then? It makes no sense.

“How the fuck did we not know that Frank Santangelo wasn’t FBI?”

“Well, sir, the FBI never confirms or denies an agent’s status. Second, my source there waited until the Mamana connection was confirmed before getting back to me, so we’re working on a delay of information.”

“Jesus Christ.” This is why I want to be told things, even if they’re preliminary, but now is not the time to get into that.

“I received a call from Calnetta’s camp. I think it was one of his sons.”

“How’s Normandy? Is she okay?” My hands are balled into fists, and it feels like my blood pressure is through the roof. I can hear my pulse in my ears.

Taylor blanches slightly, not wanting to go on. He looks out the window as he hesitates, and I can’t do this anymore.

“Taylor, tell me what the fuck is going on. What happened to Normandy?”

“I got a call from Chelsie just as you entered the courtroom. I guess Normandy was taken from your house in the middle of the night.”

My blood chills. That was not the plan.

“And? I have the feeling there’s more. Is she okay?” I repeat the question because he’s not giving me a straight answer.

“I don’t know for sure, sir. I received a call from a man, who I assume is one of Calnetta’s sons; he has two, Vincent and Max. I’m not sure which one I spoke with. The demand is for ten million dollars by 4:00. And while we were talking, I heard what sounded like Ms. Blake cry out in pain. But it was brief.” Like that makes a difference.

I bury my face in my hands. I am over two thousand miles away from Vegas, and I can’t do a damn thing from here if Normandy is hurt. Fuck, if she’s hurt, I’ll never forgive myself. I should have risked it. I should have let them try to arrest me. I knew what would happen today, and like a fucking coward, I followed the law instead of my instincts.

I let out a long breath, trying to pull myself together. Trying to think straight, but it’s difficult with my fucking imagination going wild with thoughts of an injured Normandy.

“Right. Well, can we get the money transferred? We need to do that while I’m on break.” I wipe my sweaty palms on my pants. My nerves are shot, but I need to keep busy and do what I can instead of wishing I could do something else. That’s not helpful. “They sent the information about where to transfer the funds to?”

Taylor glances out the window again with a scowl. Unbelievable.

“I reached out to the number that called me earlier to get that information, but the call wouldn’t go through. Let me try calling again.” He dials but then hangs up just as quickly. The call isn’t going through. “It must have been a burner phone.”

I’m speechless. We don’t have any clue where to send the money, and we can’t reach the assholes demanding it be paid? And Normandy’s life depends on that money transfer? This is seven ways of fucked up.

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