Page 150 of Morally Corrupt

"Maybe he used another name?" I suggest, but Bianca doesn't even hear me. She's too focused on the 80s album.

"Found it!" Bianca jumps up, a broad smile on her lips. She immediately comes over to me and points to a picture.

"Here. Arturo Jimenez, Class of '81," she says enthusiastically.

When I look at the picture, I'm almost shocked by what I see. He's younger… much younger, but there's no mistaking.

"I know him…" I whisper, not quite believing the picture in front of me.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, I fucking know this man…" And the most telling feature is a big mole on his right upper lip.

"That's Andrew Gallagher."

Bianca stands and looks at me. "Andrew Gallagher?"

"Or not really…" I add drily. "He's the man I knew under the name of Andrew Gallagher. The man I used to fight for… I swear it's him. But… nothing makes sense anymore."

I feel lost. He was in front of my eyes for so many years… I could have easily crushed him…

"You mean to tell me that both Jimenez and his right-hand man were involved in the Boston fight ring… and they recruited you."

"Yes… but why?"

"That's probably the most important question. They must have known who you were."

"Oh, they definitely knew." I give a bitter laugh.

But it doesn't matter now.

I have a face for Jimenez.

And it will soon be over.

48

BIANCA

We haven't been home an hour when Adrian closes himself in his office to drink.

I've stopped by every now and then to bring him some food and water, but even I can see he's in a world of his own, dealing with the information he's learned.

Vlad's doctor, Sasha, has been over to check my wound and stitch it up properly, and even then, Adrian hasn't emerged from the office.

I don't even know what to do with myself in this instance. I've never comforted someone…

How does one do that? And what if he doesn't want me to?

I'm not capable of complicated feelings, and as such, I don't understand them in other people either.

I wish I had someone to call and ask what to do in this situation, but my only friend happens to be as emotionally stunted as me.

I sigh as I remove a tray from the oven. I'd tried to bake a cake. Safe to say that didn't work.

It's half-burnt… but maybe I can cut the edges off? I'd been scouring the internet for things to do for someone sad, and one article suggested baking a cake. And so, I'd resolved to bake a cake. I'd quickly gone to the shop and picked up some ingredients and then proceeded to try.

See, I'm not a bad cook… for food. Cakes are a different issue altogether. It took me three tries to get the batter right, and now I have to deal with the overly burnt bits.

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