Page 20 of Mafia Handbook

“You’re my…”

Keeping her eyes on the road, Milena waited for Oakley to finish her statement. When several seconds passed and all she heard was silence, she turned her head toward her sister to find her sleeping soundly.

“All right, party princess, let's get you home.”

Flipping the turn signal, Milena slowed the car as she approached the intersection. As the light turned green, she looked to her left a second time before proceeding with her turn. Headlights from the car behind her filled the rearview mirror enough for her to know someone was there. Keeping her speed under the limit, the last thing she wanted was to draw attention to herself behind the wheel of a car Frank Rossi paid for. As she approached the next intersection, Milena noticed the car behind her keeping an oddly close proximity. Needing to know if this was a coincidence, she slowed the car enough to be of an annoyance, but the car behind her remained. Approaching the next light, Milena made it seem as if she was proceeding through, whipping the wheel at the last second, the car behind her fast on her bumper.

Unsure of what to do, Milena took a deep breath as she looked at the car behind her. Based on the design of the headlights, she guessed it to be a newer car, but it was too dark to tell what color, although she felt confident it wasn't the type of vehicle Frank would be caught dead in. Knowing she couldn't call the cops, as for one they wouldn't help her, and two, the call would definitely get back to Frank. She blew out the breath and reached for the phone she’d stuffed in the pocket of her jeans.

With no other choice and whispering a small prayer he wouldn't be upset, Milena raised the phone to her lips, “Call Bash.”

Bash leanedagainst the mountain of pillows at the head of his bed, his laptop open against his bent knees. When the flower icon he had for Milena hadn't moved in several hours, Bash decided to learn more about the people she chose to surround herself with.

He decided to start with Oakley, discovering hundreds of photographs of a beautiful blonde with violet eyes. He learned she was in her sophomore year of college, and on academic probation. As he scanned through at least a dozen articles, various headlines she’d made, it was one dated fifteen years ago which caused him to stop.

Tragic Crash Claims Life of Local Businessman

Bash read how Sergio Cortez crashed his car into a tree, the force splitting the car in half, killing him instantly, yet leaving his daughter, then four-year-old Oakley Cortez unharmed. Lab tests showed Cortez’s blood alcohol level was three times the legal limit. The article went on to say how he left behind a wife, Skyla, and a son, Gilbert, who’d just celebrated his fifth birthday.

Shaking his head, Bash clicked on Gilbert’s name, a flood of articles depicting the gaming champion his uncle spoke of. Searching state records, Bash discovered Gil had indeed been in and out of rehab, most of which were court ordered as a part of plea deals. The latest, a conviction for forgery, where Gil pled guilty. According to the narrative, when detectives arrived at his home, they found several bags of marijuana, enough to be considered distribution, along with numerous paraphernalia items which they confiscated. Bash had zero doubt, good old daddy Frank, had sent his slick-ass attorney to get those charges reduced from a felony to the misdemeanor the forgery carried.

As Bash began typing in the grandmother’s name, the sound of his doorbell echoed in the hall. Checking his watch, Bash swore under his breath at the oddity of someone being at his front door this time of the night. Sliding his thumb across the screen of his phone, Bash tossed his head back in frustration as he saw a pissed off looking Gretchen standing outside his front door, staring at his security camera.

Shoving the laptop to the side, Bash rose from the bed, anger fueling his heavy footfalls as he made his way to his front door.

“What the—”

“Do I look like an ugly girl to you, Sebastian?” Gretchen shouted as she pushed passed him, her hand raised in the air in an attempt to silence him.

Taking several deep breaths, Bash clenched his teeth as he reminded himself no matter what, he didn't hit women. Closing the door slowly, Bash stared at his hand on the wooden door. “Honestly,” he let out a cleansing breath. “You look desperate.”

Rounding on her heels, “I am not desperate,” she clipped defensively. “Do you have any idea how many men would love to be in your shoes right now?”

“Then go bother them at one in the morning.”

“Did that boy give you my address?”

Stepping around Gretchen, Bash headed for the kitchen as something told him he wouldn't be returning to bed anytime soon.

“His name is Brandon, and don’t fucking call him a boy. He’s seen more shit in the last year than you will your entire life.”

“Well he can’t follow—”

Bash jerked his head to the side, his attention robbed by the tone he’d assigned to Milena’s phone. Taking off at a run, Bash pulled the phone off his bed, as he flipped open his laptop.

“Milena?”

“I'm so sorry to call you so late, but I don't know what to do.”

Bash could hear the tremor in Milena’s voice, fueling him to move faster as he donned a headset. “It’s okay, babe. Talk to me, tell me what’s going on.”

He listened as she told him about picking up her sister, and of the car following her every turn. Logging into the city’s camera system, Bash was relieved to see an impressive sports car instead of the hunk-of-junk Milena usually drove. If he couldn't figure out who this motherfucker was, she would need the horse power to do what he would need her to do.

“Nice wheels.”

“How did?”

Bash tried not to laugh at the shock in Milena’s voice, focusing on using humor to diffuse the situation. “Told you, babe. I know lots of things about you.”

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