Chapter 27: Chapter 27

◇ KEL ◇

I was about to follow Miles out of the mansion, but I stopped dead in my tracks when I recalled it was time I checked up on Cloe again. I used the stairs to get to Ricchar and Cloe's bedroom.

The security guards let me in right away. Ricchar sat with Cloe who was resting on the left side of the bed, his hand carefully stroking his wife's hair.

"Cloe, are you okay?" I asked as I crouched beside Cloe.

Her bandages still looked clean, no spots of fresh blood, and she now wore a different nightdress and no longer looked deathly pale. "Hi again." Cloe looked at me and smiled big. She had on a long nightgown that fully covered her slim arms and legs.

"Charr, did you talk to..." I stared at Ricchar. "Are you taking her to the hospital now? I can come with you."

"Thank you, but the local ambulance is half an hour away. If you could just keep checking on her and Lorenzio till the plane gets here." Ricchar kissed his wife's cheek and gingerly hugged Cloe closer.

"Sure," I replied with a quick nod. "No problem."

Resting on her back, Cloe smiled at me again and kept staring at my face. Her demeanor was far from an injured patient who'd just come out of surgery after being mauled to near death. Her light orange-brownish hair now looked clean of her own blood, silky straight and gleaming under the lights.

"She looks much better now, but she definitely needs xrays, a blood test panel, other tests." I eyed Ricchar who was listening to every word I said. "Cloe, can I check your stitches again?"

"Sure, lovely. They sting but I feel much better now. Thanks."

Before I could check her bandages thoroughly, my phone trilled. I checked the notification. It was just an email from my modeling agency asking when I'd be leaving for New York.

"Phone call?" Cloe glanced down at my phone.

"Just work." I flipped the phone to show Cloe what kept me busy aside from Miles, who might be in some kind of trouble right now. Mr. Falco just put some scary ideas into my head when we were talking alone in the basement. "Requested for an emergency leave. Mom really wants me home."

"Sorry. I just heard about your dad being ill." Cloe sighed while Ricchar helped her sit on the bed. "I miss my parents, too," Cloe murmured with genuine sadness in her strained voice. She looked weak, her movements slow and careful, but not too weak to move around.

Although hesitant, I sat on the bed with the couple. Cloe's skin still smelled faintly of antiseptic. "How's your breathing? No headache? You sure you're feeling okay?"

"Much better. Thanks. No headache." Cloe smiled warmly again. "Zia told me you're studying medicine."

"Uh...yeah. Put it on hold for now, though."

"I see." She nodded faintly. "Whatever it's worth, I think you've found your path. Keep going."

"Um... Thanks."

"You should be a doctor, Mykaela. Seems to come easy to you."

Easy? I feigned a laugh. My experiences and my family's opinions would easily contradict her sentiments, but maybe she was just genuinely voicing her appreciation. I'd heard enough about what actually happened to their convoy, and I just did what I had to do. "Easy? Not really."

"No negative reactions to my blood. Far as I can tell," Ricchar said matter-of-factly. "Does it mean she'll be back to normal soon?" He protectively put an arm around Cloe, stroking her shoulder as if it would ease her pains.

"That's... I really don't know, Charr. We need a couple days and accurate lab tests to confirm that." I stared at him. "I can't tell you for sure if she won't have any reactions within the next six hours. So we really have to take her to the ER."

"We'll just wait for the ambulance," Cloe cut in. "Thank you."

"Glad to help."

"Enzo and I wouldn't be alive right now if you weren't here." Cloe spoke quietly now. Her pale lips pouted a bit.

"The guards helped a lot, too." I couldn't resist the urge to inspect her bandages and wounds another time. Without saying another word, I hiked up Cloe's long sleeves to check her arms.

"Your stitches were clean and thorough." Cloe's voice sounded hushed as her gentle hazel eyes blankly stared at the wall. Her expression had turned somber. "Specially the bigger ones."

A long silence paused our conversation. The melancholy in her tone kind of hurt me, too. "Sorry about what happened," I muttered. "Do you...um... So, you don't remember anything from this morning?"

"A few things." Cloe glanced at me with a slight frown of discomfort. "Zio Stefano and Enzo's family are sorting it out now."

Oh shoot. Imagining what "sorting it out" actually meant just squeezed the air out of my lungs, considering Mr. Falco's behavior earlier and his questionable involvement with the Tomassinis. So I'd better shut up at this point. What's important right now was Cloe and Enzo's recovery. "You sure you're feeling okay?"

"Positive. I'm feeling better. You worry too much." Cloe put on a smile and even held my hand.

Busy with his phone while sitting beside his wife, Ricchar got up from the couch and excused himself to take a call.

"If you need help with anything, just give us a call," Cloe muttered to me while we stared at each other. "Alright, love?"

The surprise left me just staring back at the beautiful redhead.

Did Cloe actually remember what her attackers looked like? Did the criminals wear full masks during the attack? Did she remember if they all had neck and arm tattoos? Maybe she knew something about the Russian mob, like Miles.

Enzo stayed in the guest room upstairs and couldn't remember much. He couldn't even get out of bed on his own. By a mile, Cloe's injuries were far worse than his, but her cognitive functions seemed completely normal. A greater pain threshold, obviously.

"Sorry. You had to get involved in all this." Cloe glanced away. A frown wrinkled the pale skin beside her eyes. "I hope I didn't scare you that much."

"Just a bit," I replied with a faint smile. "We had staff trainings every quarter. I mean, when I used to work in a hospital. In New York."

"Ah, New York. Nurse?"

"No. I was doing lab work."

"I see. Charr said you've been living with Maxim for almost a year now?"

"Um...yes." I pulled away slightly. Just the thought of having to lie again made my palms sweat. I glanced around. Cloe and I were alone now. Ricchar sounded busier on the phone, pacing by the door that was left ajar.

"Are you guys planning to get serious?" Cloe grinned. Her white and perfect teeth brightened the look on her freckled face. "You're his first, as far as I know." She studied my reaction with her beautiful eyes, so different from the same pair I'd seen this morning... Pale and filled with terror. Clinging to dear life.

"Sorry." I faked a grin. "First?"

"Girlfriend."

"No. Actually, I'm... We, uh..." The pit of my stomach curled as I debated with my logic. Should I just come clean? Did Miles need me to lie to his entire family? "We haven't really...talked about that."

Cloe giggled. A weak smile remained on her pale lips. "You two make a lovely couple."

"Scusi." Ricchar muttered something to his wife and then stepped out of the room, shutting the door behind him.

"Hey, Clo?" Despite my hesitation, I stared at the redhead sitting on the bed. The past two days had been bombarding me with strange events and layers upon layers of intriguing family drama. At this point, any explanation to my questions would be helpful.

"Yes?"

"Do you know Nicco? Niccolo Vinciguerra?"

"Yes. Why?" Cloe replied with a slight frown. "I heard Zia was scheduled to meet up with the Vinciguerras some weeks ago, but the meeting didn't materialize. Busy schedules and all," she explained. Her British accent was most audible when she said 'and all'.

"Have you met him? Or talked to him on the phone?" I sat closer to her, skeptical but eager to hear more details.

"Niccolo, his ex? No." Cloe shifted on the pillow and winced whenever she made sudden movements. "Charr mentioned he's gone missing. He's talking with the Carabinieri now."

Right. Local cops. As my heartbeat sped up, I could only stare at Cloe's pale hands. If Ricchar was already talking to the police about what happened to Cloe and Enzo, did that mean Italian investigators would be here any minute now? "About this morning?" I held my breath.

"Yeah. Charr is...just furious right now." Cloe made a face. A tinge of displeasure narrowed her hazel eyes. "I'm sorry Enzo and I freaked you out."

"No. It's okay."

"Sorry, that you had to see all that."

"No. Don't apologize. I'm just glad you're feeling better now."

"Charr thinks it's the Russians. They've been trying to strike a deal with Zio and Ricchar, just last year. Zio Stefano and the seniors declined. He'd rather partner with the Tomassinis," Cloe said matter-of-factly.

"Oh...okay." I held back a long sigh. The whirlwind of surprising facts my head tried to digest in one day could trigger a migraine. I took a moment to concentrate.

"Sorry you had to find out this way. Maxim didn't know about it, either...since he's not really involved in the family business."

Not involved at all, I should say. "No need to apologize," I replied with a curt smile. At least I had someone to talk to about this stuff. Since we got here, Miles didn't seem to want to talk to me about anything, except when it was about my impatience to go back home to my family in Schenectady, New York.

"Merda!"

"Ricchar!" Cloe glanced to the door and frowned at her husband's loud swearing.

"Something wrong, Charr?" I watched as Ricchar returned to the bed to sit beside his wife. His noisy phone remained in his hand and kept making shrill noises. If only his curly hair was inches longer, I wouldn't have noticed the fresh, pinkish shiner forming well on his cheek. "What happened to your face?" I stood up to get near him.

"I'm fine." Ricchar dismissed my worrying with a fake smile. "Sit back down. Relax."

An overwrought silence spread in the room while Cloe eyed him, her pale, slender arms almost crossed on her lap. "What happened?" she asked flatly.

"I talked to Zio," Ricchar murmured some quiet seconds later, distractedly staring at his phone.

"And?"

"Told him it's my fault, about the drugs. He tried not to lose it, but..." Ricchar rubbed his fingers onto his forehead. "Anyway, I just took it."

"What?"

"He's still furious."

"About what?" I blinked. What drugs? The strange packs of white powder in the vases?

"That I fucked up." Ricchar clenched his stubbled jaw. "Because I struck a deal with new suppliers." He looked away and kept his voice muted. He sounded more apologetic now.

"Sometimes you just make the daftest decisions. I can't even begin to..." Cloe pulled away when Ricchar tried to hold her hand.

"I'm sorry," he said earnestly. At the moment, Ricchar couldn't match Cloe's intense gaze. "I-I still want to kill myself." His voice wavered this time. Seconds of silence filled the room once again. His emotional state filled his pale green eyes with tears. "I'm so sorry."

"Unbelievably stupid and reckless." Cloe rolled her eyes, her accent more distinct now that she was annoyed. "Next time this happens, I'll be too dead and mutilated for you to identify me correctly." Cloe tried to get up to leave him on the bed, but Ricchar grabbed her by the arms before she could even stand up.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." Ricchar knelt in front of his wife now. His head hung low in regret, and his shoulders drooped in regret as he clasped Cloe's dainty hands. He sniveled and murmured more apologies to her. "I love you so much..."

"Bloody he—" Cloe scoffed and shook her head. For a moment, all we could hear was Ricchar's sniffling. "Get up. You look silly."

Although confounded more than ever and restless for definite answers, I held back a smile and watched the two. I appreciated their clamant argument, the vicious honesty in their words, and their profound closeness despite problems clearly long-existing in the relationship.

Just like any woman with a hopeless romantic streak I just couldn't control most days, sometimes I wished I had someone like that. Someone I could talk to whenever I needed company. Someone who wouldn't stop encouraging me whenever things get tough and frustrating. Someone who treated me like I was too important to take for granted. Someone who would treat me like he could never be happy without me.

Too sentimental and flat-out cheesy. But...yeah. I wished to experience that kind of unfathomable love and commitment, even just for once in my entire mundane existence.

"Signorina Mykaela?"

I turned when a familiar voice called out from the doorway. Then a uniformed woman with braided brown hair stepped into the room. It was one of Ricchar's maids. I stood up and gave the woman a smile. "Yes?"

"Signore Lorenzio is looking for you."

I tensed up. Enzo? Was he in pain again?

"Scusi." The maid slightly bowed in Cloe and Ricchar's direction.

"Va bene." Ricchar got back on his feet but kept holding onto his wife's hand.

"Talk again later." I glanced at the couple and let out a sigh. "Cloe, please stay in bed and rest." I hurried out of the living room. Enzo needed my help.

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My rushed steps towards the guest room came to a stop when a familiar pair of khaki pants and suede leather shoes caught my attention.

Mr. Falco stood by the foot of the bed.

Why was he in here?

Oh. Enzo needed to talk to him. The injured guy sat against the pillows. Enzo's eyes centered on the Falco patriarch.

"Mykaela, come in," Stefano called out when I stood by the door. His fingers pinched a lit cigarette.

With caution, I approached Enzo.

He was still barechested, sweating a bit.

I stared at the small gauze on his forehead where a bullet had grazed his scalp, then glanced at his arm, neck and shoulder. They stayed wrapped in clean white bandages I'd put together barely an hour ago. "Mr. Tomassini, you needed something?"

"It's Enzo, Mykaela." Enzo sighed shortly. "Only my employees call me Mr. Tomassini." The guy frowned but sounded rather friendly. "Could you give me a hand? Is this food alright? I can eat all of this now?" He glanced to his side.

A serving tray full of citrus fruits and two bowls of food sat on the bedside table. "Oh. Sorry. I forgot to..." I walked closer to him after respectfully acknowledging Miles' father with a smile. "Signore."

Mr. Falco didn't smile back and only gave me the slightest of nods, then resumed speaking to Enzo. "Incontreremo i capi del distributore."

"Alfonz diceva di non poter firmare, non senza l'autorizzazione del suo presidente." Enzo used his manlier voice this time. He didn't have any trouble matching Mr. Falco's weighty stare.

I inspected the food on the metal tray and stepped closer to the bed. Beads of sweat had formed on Enzo's smooth forehead. Was he feeling any better?

Despite the dimness of the spacious room, I could see Enzo's hair got damper. The sheen of sweat on his skin made his chest and arms glisten. "You feelin' any better?" I asked quietly, so as not to disrupt his serious discourse with Miles' father.

"Yes. Just starving." Enzo turned to glance at me. His movements were minimal and cautious because of the sling holding his wounded arm. "Could you help me with the fruits and that..." The guy pointed to the bowl of porridge on the food tray. "What is that?"

"Porridge with bananas and berries." Although taken aback by his request, I obliged him and took the bowl out of the tray. He smelled of sweat, pungent antiseptic, and faintly of men's cologne, but I didn't mind. He needed bedside care, and I was here to take care of him until the medical team arrived in the estate via his family's private plane.

"Dobbiamo costringerlo a firmare oppure sbarazzarci di lui." It was what Mr. Falco said to Enzo after Enzo budged closer to the edge of the bed with my help.

"D'accordo, fa' come vuoi." Enzo let out a sigh and glanced away, seeming bothered by what the conversation was about.

It was difficult to tune their voices out, but I tried my best to look as indifferent as possible. I actually caught Enzo almost glaring at Mr. Falco.

Ask "him" to sign the deal? Who exactly were they talking about?

I didn't get most of the swift exchange, but I could tell they were discussing high-priority business deals and whatnot. Whatever it was, they were arguing over it.

What I was certain of was that Mr. Falco was planning with the Tomassinis to get even and target the mobsters who harmed Cloe and Enzo. I couldn't come up with a better translation.

Plain old revenge and constant intimidation. It was the easiest conclusion my common sense had come to in the last hour.

Enzo was about to ask Mr. Falco something when familiar footsteps made dull noises on the concrete floor. We all glanced to the door.

Scowling and approaching Mr. Falco with a steely stare was Miles. His dark brows furrowed as he looked at his father. "You lied again." Miles' attentive eyes focused on Mr. Falco.

"What are you accusing me of this time?" Mr. Falco leisurely crossed his arms and frowned at his son. "I told you: stay with your Mamma. Wait for the plane."

"You were already dealing with those criminals even before Ricchar thought of changing suppliers." Miles scoffed, his tone laced with contempt now.

A long silence discomfited me as the tense conversation went on. I kept my eyes away from Miles. I even started spoon-feeding some of the porridge to Enzo, just to seem partly oblivious. "You comfortable sitting up?"

"Sure. Thanks." Enzo grinned at me. Deep dimples appeared beside his shapely lips, which no longer looked a concerning shade of pale pink.

"Eat. It's gettin' cold."

"I just hope it tastes alright. Sorta looks like vomit." Enzo leaned forward to eat the spoonful of oatmeal as I tried not to laugh. But no doubt he paid attention to Miles and Mr. Falco's argument. Enzo's gaze constantly flitted from me to the door while I fed him his bland dinner.

"I'll work for you, but only if you stop fucking around with the Russians." Miles spoke quietly now. His icy glare directed at his father would make anyone seriously uncomfortable. "Take it or leave it."

"Fine," Mr. Falco sighed in reply. He shrugged after seconds at the receiving end of his son's death glare. "But you'll help Ricchar and Enzo settle the merger."

As his father's words sank in, Miles faintly shook his head and looked away. Was he upset by the compromise? "Mykaela, talk to you in private?"

My whole body stilled before I could respond. Why's he talking to me now? "Uh...yeah. Sure," I muttered after glancing at Enzo, the bowl of oatmeal keeping my hand warm. "After I help him finish dinner—"

"He looks okay to me." Miles stared straight at me from the doorway. His posture looked stiff as a board, his wide shoulders squared up underneath his dark sweater.

"She'll be right outside." Mr. Falco clamped his right hand onto his son's arm.

Miles just shook it off before disappearing out of our sight. Then came utter silence again.

"Signore." Enzo shifted on the bed, his eyes concentrating on Mr. Falco.

"Alora... Leandro." Mr. Falco stood closer to the door now but turned to face Enzo again. "Ti ha detto che Massimo Vinciguerra è scomparso? Per caso sai qualcosa di lei?"

My hand paused from stirring the porridge.

Mr. Falco just mentioned Niccolo's last name. Who was Massimo? Nicco's dad?

Nervous and perplexed, I kept pretending I wasn't in the room. Without a doubt, Miles' father would make me leave just to keep the conversation more private.

"I don't know who you're talking about." Enzo winced when he slid his legs off the bed, then slowly placed his feet on the carpet. "Can we discuss the deal later? If you'd excuse me, I need rest."

"Certo." Mr. Falco was almost out the door now. "Grazie." The don stared at me with his cold gray eyes. The impassive look on his bearded face seemed anything but friendly. "Mykaela, I trust whatever you heard in this room, will stay in this room?"

"Sì, Signore."

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