Page 27 of Mafia Handbook

Chapter Eleven

Milena stopped dead in her tracks as she rounded the corner leading into the kitchen. Her mouth ran dry as she watched Bash slice what appeared to be an onion as if he was a master chief.

“Didn't anyone ever tell you it's impolite to stare?” Bash teased as he tossed the chopped onion into a hot pan. He’d turned off the camera in Milena’s room, giving her the privacy she deserved, he reasoned with himself. Truth was, he did it so he wouldn't be tempted to watch her every move.

“I’m so sorry.” Shaking her head to clear her lust-filed haze, Milena forced her legs to work. “It’s not every day I see someone who still cooks at home, besides myself.” Her confession was mostly the truth. Even with her meager past relationships, she never had a boyfriend who’d enjoyed cooking as much as eating. Still, she couldn't lie to herself and say Bash wasn’t hot as hell standing there stirring a pan of cooking onions.

Laying the knife beside the cutting board, Bash motioned for Milena to have a seat at the island. “Do you enjoy cooking?”

Sliding onto the bar stool, “My fondest memories of my Nona involve cooking in her kitchen. She was Italian, so we cooked every day, from scratch. For Nona, there wasn't any better way to tell someone you love them.”

Adding a clove of garlic to the pan, “Do you see her often?” Bash suspected Frank treated his mother the same as he did his men, ordering her stay away from Milena.

Hanging her head, Milena tried to swallow the hurt commandeering her chest. “You said you knew everything about me,” she whispered as a single tear blurred the granite countertop. “She died the night Frank threw me out of her house.”

Hearing the emotion-filled words, Bash pulled the pan from the burner before rushing around the island and taking a sobbing Milena into his embrace.

“I’m so sorry, Sweetness,” Bash comforted, placing a kiss to the top of her still-damp hair. Thinking back to the night he’d investigated her extended family, Bash recalled being interrupted before he made it to her grandmother.

Pushing out of Bash’s embrace, Milena wiped at her eyes before jumping off the stool. She had no business taking comfort from a man who was committed to another.

“According to Oakley, she died in her sleep, a stroke the newspaper said.” Making her way around the island, Milena grabbed the handle of the pan, placing it back on the burner. “Frank kept the date of the funeral a secret. I had to say my goodbyes several weeks later, in the middle of the night.”

Clearing the distance to the refrigerator, Bash pulled out a package of pork. “I was nine when my mother died of a drug overdose. Cops found me hiding under her bed when they’d responded to a report of a foul odor by the neighbors.”

Adding the pork to the onions and garlic, Bash watched as Milena stirred the mixture together. “She was a prostitute for a mob Family back in Boston.”

Milena’s focus remained on the pork as she moved it around the pan, silently chanting, Please don't say Cavanagh, please don't say Cavanagh.

“I never knew who my father was. My uncle had his speculations of course, but my Aunt Cora said some things were better left unknown. They took me in, paid for my mother’s funeral and had me evaluated by a therapist, who discovered I couldn’t read or write. They hired the best tutor, who came to their house, and within a year I was excelling in school.”

Turning toward the island, Bash grabbed a package of pasta and added a dash of salt to a pot of boiling water before tossing in the contents of the package. “When I was eleven, I began acting out, starting fights, disrespecting my teachers and such. A week before my twelfth birthday, I got suspended from school for a week. So, my uncle took me to work with him, said if I was going to act like a tough guy, I might as well meet some.”

Leaning against the counter beside Milena, Bash crossed his arms over his chest. “He kept his word. Introducing me to men who didn't think twice about the lives they took or the things they stole, showing me a path I had no desire to go down.”

Mimicking Bash’s stance, Milena took a deep breath “Do you share the same last name as your uncle?”

Not bothering to look away from her penetrating gaze, Bash may not agree with his uncle’s profession, but he wasn't ashamed of him either. “Yes.”

“Is Kevin Kelly your uncle?”

“He is.”

Relief washed over her as she turned off the burner. “Your uncle is well respected. Even as far removed as I am from Frank’s business, I’ve heard a few stories.” Including how he turned Frank down when asked to come to California to work for him, she added inside her head.

“I went to see him after our initial meeting.”

“He’s here, in California?” Snapping her gaze toward Bash, her brow bent in confusion.

“My aunt was diagnosed with a rare form of cancer last year. He brought her here to see a specialist.”

“Is that why you opened an office here?”

Glancing up from chopping a head of lettuce, “Mostly,” he shrugged. “The company went through some restructuring late last year. Slate and I pooled our resources together and bought out the original owner. We’re in negotiations with another company like ours to join forces.” It was mostly the truth, Bash rationalized with himself, the whole truth would give her a lifetime of nightmares.

“I hope you’re hungry,” he added instead, draining the pasta into a colander inside the sink. “Because we made enough food to feed an army.”

Milena didn’t bother to hide her moan as she savored the taste of the pasta. She tried not to think of the last time she ate a homemade meal she didn't cook entirely by herself.

---