by TARA GALLINA
"That's my gangsta side coming out." He bobs his dark brows, and I laugh again.
"Give me a sec, Sebastian, and I'll buzz you in," the voice speaks again.
"How does he know it's you?" I whisper in case the guy on the intercom can hear me.
"The camera." Sebastian stretches his arm out the window and taps a small black device attached to the call box.
"You have a thing for cameras, don't you?"
"Yes. It's a fetish. You can do a lot of fun things with cameras." He winks with a playful grin as his gaze devours my body.
I roll my eyes and snort. "Never going to happen."
"Never is a strong word," he says, his smile teasing and irresistible.
Has any girl ever been able to deny him, especially when he's like this?
Slowly, the gate opens. We enter a large parking lot with multiple cars, some beaters, some economy but super fixed up, and a couple of newer ones, like a Mustang, and a neon green hardtop Jeep. That might be my favorite.
We park in front of a bunch of windows and a bright blue door that has to be the office entrance.
Sebastian gets out of the car and I follow his lead, my laptop bag in my hand.
He types in a code on a touchpad beside the door.
How much protection does this place need? If I think about it, Nathan's house is just as secure with the doormen, the remote locks, and all the cameras.
A click sounds and Sebastian holds open the door for me. We enter an area that's more of a narrow corridor. Glossy concrete floors lead to four hallways that intersect like a cross.
Tall double doors made of metal are on the right.
Sebastian gestures to them. "That's the shop room, where all the work is done. Want to see it?"
"Yeah." I nod, eager for proof.
He opens one of the doors. The room is one massive square at least four stories tall. Unlike the outside, the inside screams Auto Body Shop. True to the pictures on the website, red metal cabinets and toolboxes add color to the concrete walls and floors—minus the glossy coat. Men of varying ages and sizes work around a row of cars. A few vehicles are on lifts. The sounds of drills, buffers, tools I don't recognize, and faint rock music fill the air.
An older man starts singing. His build is round-ish, his hair dark, and his skin tanner than Sebastian's. He could be Italian or Hispanic. It's hard to tell. His accent could be either too.
"That's Carlos. The manager." Sebastian singles him out. He's been with me since I opened the business. He worked for my father, fixing and taking care of the family cars until he was fired. I took advantage of my father's loss, and he's been working with me ever since.
"Works with you or for you? I thought you were the boss?"
He shrugs in a humble way. "I couldn't have done any of it without Carlos. He handles everything and is here more than I am. He's a good guy, the dent master. He does killer custom paint jobs too."
Carlos looks over and spots us.
Sebastian holds up his finger. "Give me a few minutes, then we'll talk."
Carlos nods and goes back to singing.
"It's so normal, like a real body shop," I say after Sebastian closes the door, muffling the loud sounds.
"That's because it is a real body shop." He shakes his head and guides me down the hallway to the right, the direct opposite of the entrance where we came in. There are three doors. Two are labeled bathroom, the other is blank. "That’s where the inventory is stored."
"Got it."
We head toward the crossway and turn down the only hallway we haven't explored yet. Three doors are down here. One has "Manager" on it, the other "Assistant Manager," and the third is open.
"This is my office." Sebastian waves for me to enter.
The rectangular room has two large windows that overlook the parking lot and Sebastian's car. A glossy black desk with a blue leather chair anchors the right half of the room. Two leather swivel chairs face the desk on the opposite side, while the left half of the room has a sitting area with a leather couch and glass coffee table. Two poster-size pictures hang on the wall. A blue Maserati and a black motorcycle with Ducati etched on the tank.
"Is that your car?" I ask, setting my bag on the couch.
"Mm-hm." He walks to his desk. "That’s my bike too."
"Do you ride it?" Dumb question, it's just I've never seen him on a bike.
"Not as much as I'd like to." He opens his laptop, and rifles through some stacked mail.
He looks professional, accomplished, beautiful, and so very sexy. If I were to dwell on that, I'd find myself lacking in all areas.
His phone dings with a text. He draws it from his pocket. "I need to take care of something. There's soda and water in the fridge. Help yourself." With that, he leaves his office.
I gather my stuff and get to work.
The storage room is bigger than I expected. Shelves filled with supplies line the walls. Stacked boxes take up the middle and two corners. I open the Excel spreadsheet Sebastian emailed me, thankful for the Outlook Online classes my mom insisted I take one summer.
Automobile touch up paint and samples. Different types of oil. Oil filters. Drill bits. Brake and windshield wiper fluid. Windshield wipers. Brake pads. Vacuum filters. Electrical cords. Drip pans. Towels. The list goes on and on, but I feel like I'm learning about cars, or car parts at least.
The good thing about doing inventory is you keep busy and the time flies. I don't take a break, working while I nibble on the snack I packed and finish my banana smoothie. Sebastian hasn't checked on me once. I don't know if that's good or bad, or if he forgot I'm here.
Four hours later, I'm still cruising along when my bladder demands I take a break. The bathroom is across the hall. I slip inside and relieve myself with a moan of pleasure. A peegasm Harper calls it, and yes, it feels damn good.
I wash and dry my hands then enter the hallway. The door to the storage room is wide open. I thought for sure I closed it.
"She's not in here," a man with a Spanish accent says from inside the room.
Carlos walks out with his phone held down by his mouth.
"Find her!" Sebastian's voice comes through the phone.
I step back at his sharp tone and bump into the wall. "What's going on?" My gut twists.
Carlos raises his hand, his palm out to me. "It's okay." Into the speaker on his phone, he says, "Found her."
"It's too late." Sebastian's grave tone doesn't sound through the phone. He's at the end of the hallway, staring at a small monitor above the door. I didn't notice it when we came in. It looks like camera feed of the front parking spots outside and the entrance.
A tall man, dressed in a dark suit, climbs out of a fancy black car. He glances around the parking lot, his shoulders back, and his head high with an arrogance that reeks of money and power.
"Fuck," Sebastian exhales.
"Carajo." Carlos echoes his tone.
"Who's that?" I ask as the man stops at the entrance, his expression stern but expectant like he can open the door with his mind.
"My dad," Sebastian murmurs, his posture as stiff as cement.
Fear sends a tremor through my legs. "Shouldn't I hide?"
Everything seems to happen in slow motion next.
Sebastian's head turns toward us. Our eyes lock for a second then his gaze continues to Carlos. "Take her!" he shouts.
The man grabs my arm—to pull me into the storage room or shove me into the bathroom, I don't know. It doesn't matter. By the time Sebastian's head swings back toward the door, the lock clicks and Mr. Gianni walks in.
I hold my breath as an older version of Sebastian pulls off his sunglasses. His dark eyes are cold, his features severe as he tucks his shades into his front suit pocket.
"Why are you here?" Sebastian glares at his dad.
The man laughs, a deep chilling sound. "Can't a father visit his son?" He pats Sebastian on the cheek twice then slaps him so hard I feel the sting from here.
Sebastian's he
ad shifts slightly with the force, but he acts like he felt nothing, had expected the greeting even. "What do you want?"
Testosterone thickens the air.
I have to fight the urge to yell at Mr. Gianni for touching Sebastian in that way. I also have to give Sebastian credit. While I’m back here, shaking with outrage and fear, he stands firm and strong, meeting his dad head-on as if they're equals.
"I thought I'd check in on the business that's soon to be mine," his father answers.
"You mean ours." Sebastian emphasizes the last word. "I'm not turning it over."
An evil grin slides across Mr. Gianni's face like the man is enjoying himself. "Of course not. We'll be partners in crime. It's all I've ever wanted."
His head turns our way, but Sebastian moves, blocking us from his father's sight. He gestures down the hallway to his right. "Let's talk in my office."
His father doesn't budge. "Marina tells me you're giving her trouble. Playing hard to get."
Sebastian stiffens the tiniest bit. If I hadn't been watching him so closely, I wouldn't have noticed. "Marina and I are an arrangement. Nothing more."
"Hmm?" His father says in a low sigh. "Why the sudden distraction? Don't tell me some new pussy has you dick-whipped? I raised you better than that." He tilts his head to the side and locks eyes with me over Sebastian's shoulder. "Who's the girl?"
I almost pee myself, even though I just went. We should have run. Why didn't we hide or try to? We just stood here, like children. If we don't move, he won't see us.
Sebastian glances behind him, his expression bored. "Is there a problem, Carlos?" he asks as if bothered.
"No. Not at all. I was showing her where the bathroom is."
I grab my bladder and offer a quick, "Thanks," before ducking into the restroom. Again. This time, instead of using the bathroom, I sag against the door. Omigod. Omigod, omigod, omigod.
"Who is she?" Mr. Gianni's voice booms from the other side of the door.
Is he moving closer?
"I don't know," Sebastian replies his tone still part bored and part irritated. "Someone Enzo is fucking. I don't keep up."
"You let him bring his girls here?" Suspicion rings in Mr. Gianni's voice, or else I’m being paranoid. "Get the bitch out of the shop and tell Enzo this is a business, not a whorehouse."
"I'll handle this." Sebastian's voice is fierce. "You're not the boss here."
"Yet." Mr. Gianni punctuates the T at the end of the word.
"Jesus," Sebastian groans. "Just tell me why you're really here?"
"Why isn't he following my orders?" Mr. Gianni responds instead.
"Carlos?" Sebastian barks. "Do as the man says and get the girl out of here."
"Wise choice, son." Mr. Gianni doesn't sound pleased. "For a moment, I thought you were challenging me, and you know better than to do that."
"What I remember is kicking your ass," Sebastian responds with a harsh laugh.
Is he insane? You don't poke the bear. My God, we're all going to die.
"We both know I let you win." Mr. Gianni laughs, the low rumble less chilling than the one he let out before. "Get in your office, boy. We need to talk business."
I listen, straining to hear their footsteps in the sudden silence. My head grows dizzy and my skin hot. I don't know if it's from breathing too quickly or not breathing at all.
Are they gone? What if they come back? What if he comes back? Sebastian's dad is even more terrifying than the stories made him out to be. He's reckless with a superiority that could rival a God's.
Chapter 11
THE BATHROOM DOOR shoves against my back.
I stiffen and gasp.
"Ainsley?" Carlos whispers. "It's okay. You can come out now."
"You know my name?" If he knows it, other people could too. Sebastian's dad could. I quiver.
"Sí. Yes," Carlos says. "Sebastian told me your name back when he made the mistake of hiring you. Come out now. Please."
"I don't know if I can." I don't trust my legs to carry me anywhere.
"Please. I need to hide you." He nudges the door more and to my surprise, I don't collapse as my feet shuffle forward.
Carlos squeezes through the door, standing half-in and half-out. He takes my hand. "We need to go."
I shake my head and shift my weight onto my heels, resisting his pull. "What if his dad comes back? What if he sees me?"
"If we go now, he won't, but we need to hurry. Trust me."
"I don't know you." I also don't know anything about Sebastian's family. Until now, I wasn't sure his family was in the mafia—I didn't want to be sure. After seeing his father, I can't imagine anything else.
"Then trust, Sebastian. I do. Now, please. Come." He tugs my hand and I let him guide me out the door.
My eyes are wide, glued to the end of the hallway where Sebastian had stood with his dad.
We enter the storage room. Carlos closes the door behind us. "I need you to stay here while I talk to Enzo. Sí?" He nods.
"Who’s Enzo?"
"Sebastian’s cousin but don’t worry. He’ll cover for Sebastian if his uncle questions him about you, but not if I don’t tell him to first. You see?" He nods and backs up." I need to tell him."
"Wait." I lurch forward. "Can't you just take me home? Wouldn't that be safer?"
He shakes his head. "Leaving will draw attention. It's better if you stay in here. Safer. I promise." He backs up more. "When I leave lock the door and don't open it for anyone but Sebastian. Okay?"
My hands shake at my sides. I don’t want to do this, but what choice do I have?
Carlos closes the door behind him. I lock the bolt and hug myself as shivers run through me.
Restless, I pace the room back and forth, my gaze constantly returning to the lock. Is it moving?
My chest tightens, my lungs squeezing for air. Am I breathing? My fingertips tingle and go numb.
I need to calm down before I pass out.
I settle on the ground behind the pile of boxes. The cardboard fortress acts as a wall between me and the door. My thoughts replay the events in the hallway. If I don't focus on something else, I'll never relax.
Thanks to the open office Wi-Fi, I'm able to access the Internet on my lap top. I pull it onto my lap and watch music videos on silent. It does nothing to ease my mind, even when the video is a song that I know all the words to.
Closing out the website, I pull up Pinterest and try to lose myself in pictures of fall leaves, mountains, frozen lakes, and snow. A picture of a man dressed in a suit standing atop a mountain comes up. It reminds me of Mr. Gianni.
Like that my thoughts are back on him and Sebastian. Unable to stop myself, I close Pinterest and search Google for information about the mafia.
Knowledge is power. If I get a better understanding of the crime organization, maybe I'll have less fear. Maybe.
Tons of links come up. I click the first. Wikipedia. It talks about the Italian-American Mafia. Members refer to it as Cosa Nostra. Sebastian called it that in the RV. It's derived from the Sicilian Mafia. Sebastian said his grandfather lives there.
I go back a page and click a link titled Modern Day Mafia. According to this site, the organization isn't as powerful as it once was, but it's still big compared to other crime groups.
There are others?
The article goes on to talk about money being the mafia's drive and how they still make millions. They work with other crime families too.
I wouldn't have expected that, but then Sebastian referred to his marriage to Marina as a business merger for the family. To his father a moment ago, he called it an arrangement. To know it's a real organization still to this day and there are multiple families involved blows my mind. They're out there walking among us and we're oblivious.
"You know that neighbor down the street with questionable money? The one you joke about is in the mafia? Guess what? He is."
Mind blown.
How are the Feds not aware of this?
I
stretch out my cramping legs and readjust the laptop before reading on. I visit more websites, learning as much as I can. To my surprise, the mafia is all over Eastern America, even as far south as New Orleans.
Wow. Just wow.
I click a video labeled Interview with a Made Man. There are several with a guy in a shadowed room, sitting in a chair and wearing what looks to me like a wig. When he speaks his voice sounds disguised by a distorter of some sort.
"The mafia Initiation Ritual varies from family to family. Some are less lenient than others. The worst initiation I ever heard involved the traditional ceremony of significant rituals, oaths, blood, and the agreement that's presented to follow the rules of the mafia." He scratches his head under the wig near his ear. "Like I said, all the ceremonies are a little different, catered to the families, but the one I’m talking about had a final initiation test that binds the inductee to the family for life. All I can say about it is it involves a dark room, two men, a table, a gun, and only one man leaves the room. You can figure the rest out for yourself."
Whoa. That's more like a Jason Bourne or James Bond movie.
Sebastian said he'd become a full member after graduation. Will he have to attend a ceremony? I can't remember his exact words from when we were in the RV. Now, I wish I had paid more attention.
Apart from the last video about initiation rituals, the modern-day mafia sounds more into money and power than violence. Sebastian's dad would be an exception.
I do a search for information on the Witness Security Program, which most people refer to incorrectly—myself included. For decades, the program has helped thousands of people leave the mafia.
Does Sebastian know this statistic? If he did, maybe he wouldn't fear leaving as much. I understand his concerns having lost his mother the way he did, but has he considered things might be different today? His mom tried to leave a long time ago. It could be easier to get people out now. I want to tell him about this statistic, but I'm afraid he'll shut down the conversation like he did before.
I rub my burning eyes and check the time. An hour has passed. It feels longer. My anxiety level is through the roof. It's one thing to work in here and another to be locked in for my safety.
