Mafia Ties & LA Skies

Prologue

March 9th 2000

"You." The man in the white suite turned to his right-hand man with an expression of pure indignation plastered across his face.

The rain pattered hard against the tarmac of the "abandoned" airfield outside of Santa Clarita and the air was thick with tention.

"It's not what you think, my friend," his right-hand man said to his boss.

"You dare call me a friend after this?" The white-suited man flared his nostrils in rage. "After all these years, you were the only one I told about the whereabouts of that money."

"You don't understand—"

"What don't I understand? Was it not you? If not then who was it?"

"Well... I... It was—"

"Can't climb yourself out of this can you, Santino?" the man in white interrupted. "I knew there was something happening behind my back the minute you said you had other business to attend to in New York six months ago."

"I swear... I swear it's not me. You have to believe me!" Santino pleaded.

"Enough! I've had it with your lies."

The man in white raised his classic Colt revolver to his traitor's head as the sirens of police cars could be heard approaching into the background.

"No please. You don't understand. Let me explain." Santino's eyes widened in panic at what was about to happen "You can't do this! My son. What about my son?".

"Do you even realize what you've done, Santino?" the white suited man said furiously. "There's no getting out of this alive. You've blown this entire operation."

"I swear..." Santino dipped to his knees trembling in fear. "I swear it wasn't—"

The bullet traveled through Santino's head before he could finish. All that remained of him was a limp corps landing head first to the wet ground, a pool of its own blood mixing with the torrential downpour.

The man in white turned to his other lackeys and driver, shouting instructions to make a run for it. This was all he could do before the police could get to him, but it was too late.

The first police car drifted around the corner to the first hangar of the airfield, circling in a 360 before abruptly stopping mere meters away from the confrontation. Soon after, more police cars followed.

Lieutenant Miller quickly got out of the first lit-up vehicle, door agar in front of him, handgun raised, and aimed at the man in white. "I'd advise you to drop your weapon and put your hands behind your head, Andretti," he yelled through the thrashing rain.

Geraldo Andretti closed his eyes momentarily before turning to face his foe and obliged. Slowly, he lowered his weapon to the ground and raised his hands behind his head. He signaled to his other men to do the same.

"Lt. Miller. I see you've arrived just in time. It seems there's been a misunderstanding," Geraldo says with a crooked smile.

"You can tell that to the judge." Lt. Miller scoffed as he approached the Mafia boss with handcuffs at the ready.

Meanwhile, other policemen arrived in three other vehicles, flew out of their own cars and vans as they scurried off to cuff the others.

Lt. Miller proceeded to read off the criminal boss's Miranda rights, but Andretti's mind was elsewhere by this point. He knew there would be a way out of this eventually. A short sentence or a slap on the wrist is what he'd have his attorney convince the jury. At best he'd claim self defence. Either way, he had his methods to get around the law. He's gotten himself out of worse before thanks to his high powered lawyers and his high social standings. This was nothing out of his norm. Dealing with murder has already been something he'd gotten away with once.

No, something else was bothering him and it wasn't his soon-to-be-conviction. It was the boy still waiting in his car behind the buildings on the air strip.

Santino's boy.

What would become of him now? He only had his father. No other family to take him in, aside from his mother who lived all the way in Italy. But Santino had made it clear his mother wanted nothing to do with him or their son. And the boy, being so close to his father, had been around his crew for so long. Of course they made sure to shelter him from all of this violence, but today of all days, Santino had brought the boy with them. Fortunately for where they parked, there was no way the child could have seen any of this. But Mr. Andretti knew the young boy would be spared and sent to Italy.

He would have to stop that trip, thought as he knew that after all of this was over, if he could get out of this faster then he anticipated, he had to take the boy. He would take the him under his wings and make sure the boy knew nothing of his father's treachery.