Chapter 91
IMIA]
My ruined cupcakes sat on the wooden counter, along with the white handkerchief with a crest weaved into one of its corners, a reminder of what a disaster last night was.
I was taking them from my bakery to my apartment for my visit to the hospital today, specifically to a very special girl.
Alina used to be my best friend. Ever since she and her parents died in a fire six months ago leaving her seven year old sister Jenny bed-ridden with severe bronchial issues and numerous complications that I couldn’t wrap my head around but. needed observation all the time, I visited her every week, mostly with my cupcakes that she loved the most.
And now that the last batch was ruined and I couldn’t bake more since I’d run out of batter and frosting, I would have to visit. Jenny empty handed.
She didn’t mind though, and her face lit up all the same upon sering me, flashing her dimples which had become a rare sight these days.
I’m sorry I couldn’t visit yesterday. I tell her after we spend the hour playing board games, “Some idiot customer at the bakery made my day a little harder. I spare her the details of how he came in drunk, ordered I bake him a wedding cake that same evening, and wouldn’t leave till I called the cops
She smiles. “I’m so happy you came today, you remind me of Alina.”
I smile back, it not reaching my eyes. Partly because of the mention of my dead best friend, and partly because her dark and usually glowy skin looked pale today. Her breaths were shallower, and she had a persistent cough.
Tears had welled up in Jenny’s eyes, quickly shifting from a smile to a sob. “I miss her.”
“I miss her too,” I tell Alina, the tightness in my chest returning.
She goes on to talk about her parents, her sister, their dog- everything she lost in the fire. I try not to cry in front of that strong little girl, because fate had forced her to grow up way before age.
I leave her room only after she takes her afternoon dose of medicine and falls asleep holding my hand, and then I finally let the heaviness in my chest take a toll on me.
When I was unable to drink my tears away and they threatened to turn into a sob, I quickly walk to a staff member, asking her, “Where’s the bathroom?”
“The bathroom on this side of the wing is under maintenance,” she tells me kindly, “You’ll have to use the one on the administration wing. It’s just a straight and right.”
“Thank you.” I meekly pass her a smile and rush from there, not wanting to draw the attention if I started crying.
1 rush to the administration wing, and my tears fall as soon as the bathroom door shuts behind me. I missed Alina. I missed her parents, who were the only parental figures I had. I missed my parents. I had experienced enough loss for a lifetime, and 1 desperately needed an escape.
When I collected myself again, I walked out of the bathroom, focusing on my breathing and not the scent of antiseptic in
Fair that I dreaded
I was headed for the door that would lead me out of the administration wing, when a voice stops me right in my tracks. I wasn’t a nosy person, but it was what I heard that froze me.
“You have to do this, Bakshi. I would apologise if I made you think you had a choice, but I didn’t and you don’t. There was a loud, clear and strong emphases on the word have, “If there is one thing that the Bratva doesn’t take lightly, it is
backstabbing traitors. Remember that fire you covered for us a few months ago? If you even attempt to cross us, we’re taking your hospital down, and that will be just the f*cking beginning of your worst nightmare. Spoiler alert: your family will be
next.”
My chest was beating loud in my chest, so loud that the other dialogues were inaudible over it.
I wasn’t st*pid. I knew crime existed, outlaws exist, and so does the f*cking mafia. Bratva, as they call it.
It was the fire part that knocked the senses out of me.
Alina and her parents were treated here, and they succumbed here.
Even though every logical part of me believed there is no reason the Bratva would have any business in covering up their death, the rest of me was terrified by the possibility of a what-if
It was definitely not a calculative move on my part when I open my phone with shivering hands and press the recording
button.
“Th- The fire?” A man stuttered. Bakshi, I think his name was. “Mr. King, y-you cannot threaten my family, it’s unethical”
“Did you just say unethical? The previous voice replied, amused as if on the verge of laughter. There was even more power in it than earlier if it was even possible. “Where were your ethics when you took the millions and happily jumped into bed with us six months ago?”
Six months ago.
Fire.
Six months ago.
Fire.
Those words played on loop in my head, and I was slow in realising how badly I was shaking because the edge of my phone touched the wood on the wall. The sound that was made was so soft, so inaudible but Bakshi’s voice went dead silent.
“F*ck, I cursed under my breath, trembling.
And then I
Instead of running outside, I ran inside because the administration sector was the only one without cameras. And I knew that since a while.
Spotting a half open wooden door that led to a small storage room, I hid inside even though I was sure nobody had followed
I needed to stay here. For an hour. Two hours. Three hours. No matter how much time it takes for me to be able to get out of here safely, because I needed to get to the end of what I had just heard.
I had just stopped panung for oxygen and my trembling had just calmed down when the door I had so carefully locked flung open, the lock in pieces under my feet
The six foot two inch stranger from yesterday stood in front of the with his toned arms and muscles visible through his shirt, his jaw sharp and his mild stubble scary. His looks could match a Greek God’s, and even though I was dazed by them yesterday whend first saw him my attraction turned into instant lear when our eyes met,
His eyes were a dark brown bordering to black, and they looked cold, distant and psychotic. And right now, they were set on
ΠΗ
