His To Claim

I push all of that aside and call my parents’ landline, the only one I know by heart.

It answers on the second ring.

Snaps’ voice is taut, as though he’s been awaiting this call.

“Yes?”

“Snaps, it’s me,” I tell him.

He sighs. “Thank God. Do I have time to get your father?”

He speaks as though I’m being held at gunpoint somewhere, as though somebody has been torturing me for the past twenty-four hours. I almost laugh when I imagine sending him a photograph of my bedroom and the lovable pooch with his head resting on my lap.

“Yes, you have time,” I say.

I drum my fingers against my legs, thinking about Arturo and the man named Elmo who escaped, whoever he is.

A prisoner, a man Arturo’s been torturing for information, a drug dealer?

I want to believe that Arturo is a good man deep down, but good men don’t order people kidnapped and held prisoner, even if this is the best prison in the world, even if – crazily – this place feels more like home than my own house has for years.

“Aida?” Mom says, relief flooding her voice.

“I’m okay, Mom,” I tell her. “I’m not hurt. Nobody’s touched me. I’ve been fed and I’ve been allowed to wash and … I really am okay.”

“Oh, thank God,” she gushes. “I’ve been so worried. I …”

She breaks off into choking sobs, struggling to talk past her emotions.

“I love you,” she says finally.

“I love you, too,” I tell her. “I’m sorry I’ve made you so worried.”

“Sorry?” she gasps. “Don’t be foolish. Where are you? Who has you?”

In the background, Dad grumbles, “Give it here, Lyndsey.”

“Franco, she’s alive,” Mom cries. “She’s safe.”

Mom passes over the phone and then Dad’s gruff voice fills my ear.

“Aida, where are you?” he says quickly. “The men who took you, are they Russian? Are they Eastern European? Irish? Mexican? Aida?”

His barrage of questions leaves me with my mouth hanging open, as the realization dawns that Dad has so many potential kidnappers to choose from.

“Exactly how many enemies have you made, Dad?” I snap, rage swimming in my voice.

“This isn’t the time for—”

“Actually,” I interrupt, “I’ve got all the time in the world.”

“You’re being held prisoner somewhere, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Then how the fuck do you have all the time in the world?”

“Don’t swear, Franco,” Mom snaps in the background.

“Sorry, dear,” Dad sighs. “Aida, I don’t understand.”

“I understand,” I say, voice trembling. I think I’ve been holding this in for a long time. “You’ve been lying to me my entire life. You’re not in real estate. You’re a criminal, plain and simple, and you’ve always tried to keep me in the dark. Heck, maybe I purposefully ignored reality. Maybe I was too willing to lose myself in books and singing and … But you’ve lied to me, Dad, haven’t you? Otherwise, why would he take me?”

“It’s complicated, Aida,” Dad sighs. “Life isn’t always that simple. Tell me who has you.”

“Arturo Amato,” I snap.

“You’re at his estate?”

“I don’t know. I think so. Who is he to you? He said you knew each other.”

“I don’t think we need to—”

“Dad,” I hiss, the anger making my voice taut, Jackal flinching and looking up at me. “You can’t keep lying to me.”

There’s a long pause, and then Dad finally says, “We were friends when we were children. But things changed. We grew apart. Now he—Jesus, Aida, you don’t need to know all of this. I’ve kept you safe for a reason.”

“You’ve lied to me for a reason, you mean. And it hardly worked, did it? Here I am. Now he what? Now he what, Dad?”

“Now he runs one of the biggest crime families in America,” Dad says.

“And you run one too,” I finish for him because on some level I’ve always known this.

It just took a kidnapping to make me look at it.

“Yes,” he says quietly. “Believe it or not, Aida, I really did have your best interests at heart.”

“Franco, who is it?” Mom says, her voice quiet in the background of the call.

“Arturo,” Dad says.

“Oh, thank God,” Mom cries.

She’s always had a penchant for the dramatic, but in this case, with everything going on, it seems warranted.

Thank God? Does that mean Arturo is a good man?

“And he hasn’t hurt you? Or ordered you hurt?” Dad goes on.

“Would he do that?” I demand.

“I doubt it. Arturo has never hurt a woman before, but we’re at—”

“War. I know. At least I guessed. I feel so stupid for letting myself live in the dark for so long. But I’ve sensed that something’s going on for a while. Who started it, Dad?”

Dad grows silent. I can almost hear him fidgeting on the other end of the line.

“Can you escape?” Dad says after a long pause.

“Who started this war, Dad?” I say, voice rising, trembling.

“It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is you’re safe. I should be able to work out a deal with Arturo. He’s always been reasonable … mostly.”