I slid into the booth across from Marco.
“Do you know your papa’s phone number?”
He shook his head, looking down at his hands.
“My Uncle Nico has my papa’s number. He was supposed to pick me up from school, but I couldn’t find him. I tried to walk home.”
“It’s okay,” I said, though my stomach had knotted with worry. “Do you know your Uncle Nico’s number?”
He shook his head again.
“It’s in my emergency card.”
He pulled off his backpack, unzipped it, and produced a laminated card with contact information.
“That’s brilliant,” I said, taking the card. “You’re very responsible.”
The card listed Nicholas Russo as the emergency contact, along with a phone number. At the top was Marco’s full name: Marco Salvatore Russo. Below that were the words medical conditions: none, and parent/guardian: Dante Russo.
Something about that name tickled the back of my mind, but I could not place it.
I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number listed for Nicholas Russo. The phone rang only once before a gruff voice answered.
“Yes.”
“Is this Nicholas Russo?”
“Who’s asking?”
The voice was tense and suspicious.
“My name is Ellie Morgan. I’m calling because I found Marco—”
“Where are you?” he cut in, suddenly sharp as a blade. “Put Marco on the phone. Now.”
I blinked at the hostility but handed the phone to Marco.
“It’s your uncle Nicholas.”
Marco took the phone, his small face crumpling.
“Uncle Nico? I got lost.”
He listened, then said, “Yes.”
Another pause.
“No, I’m okay. A lady found me. We’re at a coffee shop.”
He looked around, confused.
“Maggie’s Coffee,” I supplied. “On Hartford Street.”
Marco repeated the information, listened for another moment, then handed the phone back to me.
“Hello?”
“Stay exactly where you are,” Nicholas Russo commanded. “Do not move. Do not call anyone else. We’ll be there in 10 minutes.”
“Wait—”
The line went dead.
