Edited by Stilldreaming85 and Banshee69
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.
Emmett was the sort of man that was quiet and kept mostly to himself. He was not someone anyone would ever give a second thought to. However, Emmett worked better when left to his own devices. He had found a weak link when someone accidentally turned their device location on. Emmett was able to track the location and the person who had been transferring our money.
Laurent did not appear as someone you would give any credit to. He was born and raised in the Bronx, he grew up on the wrong side and still lived there. Laurent also had a rap sheet to match, armed robbery, assault, grand theft auto, you name it and he was more than likely guilty of it. He was in no way a hacker though, there was no way he was that smart.
Laurent was not the one stealing the money, I was certain of that and so was Emmett. Laurent was nothing more than a pawn. He'd been set up by someone else with the ability to transfer the money.
"Who's paying you to transfer the money?" I asked.
"Man, I don't know nothing, alright," he said. For a man who was locked inside a room in a warehouse with Emmett and I, and no means of escape, Laurent sure felt brave, or he was even stupider than he looked.
"No, no, it's not alright. You stole from me. You stole from my family and that's something I don't tolerate. I want the money back."
"Look, if he doesn't want to talk," Emmett said, as he stood behind Laurent, pushing down on his shoulders until he was sitting in the cold metal chair. "There is always a market for these homos. His ass could make the money back another way."
"Fuck you!" Laurent yelled. "I ain't no fag."
"It is of no importance to me whether you are or are not. I want my money, and if your ass hole is going to make it back for me, then so be it," I said.
"Alright, man," he said. "What do you wanna know?"
"Who set you up to steal my money? Where did that laptop come from?" I asked.
"I don't know." He shrugged.
I rolled my tongue around the inside of my mouth. Who would have thought this piece of insignificant shit would be this difficult.
I chuckled as I took my hands out of my pockets, grabbing ahold of the bandana tied around his head, I pulled it off and wrapped it around my fingers. I went to stand behind him, wrapping the bandana around his neck and squeezing it tightly.
"I don't know how you little boys play in the hood," I mocked, "but us men don't play games. When I ask a question you fucking answer it or I'm not just going to kill you. I'm going to take that little girl of yours as well. Do. I. Make. Myself. Clear?"
He nodded furiously as he tried to grasp for air. I let the bandana around his neck go, dropping it on the floor by his feet.
"Good," I said. "Now, where's the money?"
"I don't know," he whined.
"Emmett." I nodded. My brother-in-law stepped around. He pulled a hunting knife and a Zippo out of his pocket. He flicked the knife open in front of Laurent's eyes.
"Come on now, man," he begged. "Listen, I don't know where the money went to. The guy comes by every time with a new account. There's no name on them. Man, I don't even know why he wanted me to do this shit for him. He could have done it himself."
Because Laurent was a pawn. Because whoever this was knew that if we figured it out, no, they knew or were planning for us to figure it out. They knew we would go after Laurent, they would know and they would have time to run. Fuck!
"What's his name?" Emmett asked.
"The guy never said. He only introduced himself as M."
"What does he look like? Old, young, fat, bold? You have to give us something here, Laurent," my brother-in-law said.
"Blonde guy, weird ass accent, dressed like you in a fucking suit," he said, puffing out his cheeks.
"Irish?" I asked.
"Maybe, I don't know the difference in accents, he could be from fucking Mexico for all I know."
"You think it's Michael?" Emmett asked.
"M with an accent, could be."
All fingers pointed in Michael's direction. A man named M with an accent. My brother had only managed to dig up his travel records, he'd been back and forth from New York to Italy a few times in the past year, with an occasional different location thrown in. He was in Ragusa at the same time both my father and I were. He befriended Isabella and then out of the blue appears everywhere my wife is. The question was, why was he taking our money? However, I do not believe he is the one taking it, no, I think someone else is calling the shots. Michael is just another pawn, a distraction.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, but I ignored it. I needed to get more out of Laurent.
"Can I go now?" He asked.
"You got what you wanted. I told you all that I know, so can I go now?"
"Where do you meet with this M when he gives you the accounts?" I asked.
"He calls me when he wants a transaction. Look man, I only did this shit cause he was pushing fifty grand my way every time."
"He calls on your phone?" I asked, holding my hand out for his device. I hoped he would cooperate, I didn't want to reach into his pockets for it.
"Nah, I get one delivered the day before he calls."
"When was the last time you had one delivered?" Emmett asked.
"This morning, before your fu...people showed up."
The phone in my pocket went off again. I dug it out to see it was my brother. I had given him one job to do, one simple job, keep our father distracted today while Emmett and I dealt with Laurent. There is no doubt if my father knew about this, Laurent would not be sitting in that chair in one piece right now.
"What?" I answered, impatiently.
"There's...there's a problem," my brother said. He sounded nervous, and nervous was not a trait my brother possessed.
"I don't know, but dad, he did something to Isabella."
"What the fuck did he do to her!?" I yelled into the phone.
"I don't know, she won't say, but she's a mess. Garrett wants to take her back to your place."
No. Don't let them leave, I'm on my way. Don't you dare let that motherfucker leave either," I said, before hanging up.
"What's wrong?" Emmett asked.
"I have to go and take care of something. See what else you can get out of this asshole."
I pulled my jacket on and ran out of the warehouse. I don't know what my father had done to Isabella, quite frankly it didn't matter. He was told, I had warned him. Carlisle Cullen had single-handedly signed his own death warrant.
From the warehouse across the bridge, it took me over an hour to reach my parent's place, even driving the way that I had. I stopped the car in the middle of the road alongside the SUV I'd given Garrett.
"Are they all in there?" I asked as I passed Vito, who was leaning up against the hood of the SUV.
I climbed the stairs of the stoop two at a time. I tried the front door, finding it unlocked.
Inside, my wife sat on the bottom step with my brother sitting by her side. Garrett, my mother and aunt stood on watching them.
Isabella looked pale, dead almost. Her eyes focused ahead of her, staring at nothing in particular. I knew that look, and there was no chance in hell I was going to let her sink into that hole again.
"What the hell happened?" I asked. "Where is he? What did he do to her?"
"Mr. Cullen is in his office, and Isabella won't speak with us," Garrett said.
"Edward, I am begging you, don't do anything rash," my mother said.
However, it was too late for her to ask me for anything because my decision had already been made.
"Do not ask me for any sympathy, mother, because I have none."
I went to Isabella, crouching down in front of her. I brushed the back of my fingers against her cheek, it was a small movement, but I didn't want to make any sudden movements and startle her.
"Dolcezza, baby," I said softly.
She shook her head, she blinked once and the tears fell. I cupped her face in between my hands, making her look right at me.
"You knew," she whispered, looking me right in the eyes.
"What did I know?"
"You knew all this time. You all knew and kept it from me, why?" she cried.
"Dolcezza, I don't know what you're talking about."
She scoffed, pushing my hands away, pushing me away. She stood up in a rush and headed towards the front door.
"My father has been dead all these years!" she yelled. "And you kept it from me. All this time, you never told me, why? Why would you do that to me?"
He did it, he went ahead and did it, he told her the one thing I was hoping her to never find out about. It's cruel, yes, but she was happy knowing that her father is alive and that her family is well. Why would I ruin that illusion for her?
"Hey," I said, trying to grab a hold of her, but she was not making it easy. She didn't want anything to do with me and I couldn't blame her for that.
"No," she said, jumping back. "Don't touch me. Just tell me?"
"Dolcezza…" I didn't know what to say, I didn't know what to do that would make this situation better.
"I get that he was nothing more than a traitor to you all, but he was my father. He was the man that raised me and the only man that I have ever loved," she cried.
"Oh, amore," my aunt said, trying to reach out for her, however, even she failed.
"You have all put me through so much, but this...this is low, even for all of you."
"Dolcezza, please listen to me, it's not true," I said, without giving it another thought.
"Brother, don't," Anthony said.
I walked towards her with my palms up, showing her I was not going to touch her unless she wanted me to.
"Stop lying to me. For once, just tell me the truth, please Edward, I can't take it anymore," she said.
"I'm not, okay, look at me...I'm not," I said.
"Edward, please," she begged.
I took the final small step to her. Reaching out I pulled her into my arms, holding her head against my chest. If I could take away all of her pain, I would, I would absorb it and bare it all for her.
"My father, he shouldn't have told you what he did, and I'm so sorry for that. Remember what I told you about him?"
She nodded her head in my chest and I held her a little bit tighter.
"Things haven't worked out the way he wanted them to. Remember I was never meant to find you. He's punishing me by punishing you."
"Why would he say something like that to me?" She asked.
"Don't worry about him, dolcezza, I'll deal with him."
"Where's my father?"
"I promise you, dolcezza, he's alive and well," I said, because some thing were better kept hidden. Sometimes the truth wasn't what was best for us. Maybe, one day she may learn the truth, I would tell her. Today was not that day.
"Come on," I said, walking with her towards the front door and down the stoop. Garrett ran ahead of us, opening the car door. Vito put out his cigarette and hopping into the driver's seat starting the engine.
I turned back to see my father leaning against the doorframe, his arms folded across his chest and a sick smirk on his face as if he'd won some sort of major prize.
"Wait in the car for me, I'll be back in a few minutes," I said kissing the top of her head.
"Get down!" Garrett yelled out.
I couldn't see the car, but I could hear it. I could hear the gunshots that rang out on the quiet street, I could hear screams, the screams of my mother. I pulled Isabella's head down roughly holding it down on her knees. We were somewhat protected from the gunfire in our position, but that didn't mean the car wasn't hit.
It was over before it began, a few seconds at best, but that had been enough, that had been all it took.
I forcefully shoved Isabella the rest of the way into the backseat of the car slamming the door after.
"Get her the hell out of here, get her underground," I said to Garrett.
I turned to face the carnage, if I could even call it that. People from neighboring homes came out and stood and watched as if this were a goddamn theater. Looking around, surveying the damage, I saw my father lying in the doorway lifeless with my mother crying over him.