Chapter 34: Chapter 34

Brichese, Italy

◆ MILES ◆

I rubbed the grogginess off my tired eyes and sat up against the headboard, ignoring the sleeping naked woman snuggling under my covers.  Her arm was loosely draped over my right thigh.

"Woman" because she told me she was 23, right before I'd asked her if I could buy her a drink. The memory provided some reassurance, somehow relieving the incessant pounding in my skull.

We didn't even spend more than ten minutes in that bar outside the bustling city—one of my cousin's highly recommended spots for surreptitious meetups, and, eventually, information-for-money type of transactions.

The girl definitely seemed interested in more than a drink on my tab, as far as I could remember. We didn't even have to use codes or anything. Unlike the first time I tried to scout for a willing snitch. She seemed quite familiar with the trade for someone as young as her.

I glanced at the pretty brunette resting on my bed, unsure whether I could even spell her name right.

"Rosamonde"? Or "Rosamund"?  I couldn't care less. Bottom line:  I got what I needed. And I was quite sure she'd steal enough from the cash stash in the dresser come first light when she found me gone. Just like the last one. The missing two-week-old watch I just bought was guarantee enough. She probably hid it in her jeans pocket.

Certainly, I wasn't one to judge;  the girl could just be having some financial troubles at the moment. Just hustling her way through desperate times. Aiming to secure a better future here in Italy.  Like someone I knew well.

How was she? Did she even read the last email I'd sent her? Surely she figured out it was my new and clandestine attempt to get in touch with her again. But Mykaela didn't even send a one-line response.

Was she doing okay? Was she back in school? Or still working as a model to help pay for her dad's bills? Last time I checked, she was still in Schenectady, New York, and with her family—according to her most recent photos on social media posted some two months ago.

At least she was somehow trying to keep her day-to-day activities private. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't send her money. She didn't give me any of her bank account information. I'd been planning to help her out since she left Italy, but  Pappa had advised otherwise and told me to wait for Mykaela to actually ask for financial help.

The doubts, hesitation, and concern gave me mixed feelings about the whole issue, but, at least she was safe back home. Safe and far away from my insane family. Far away from any kind of danger.

It was the only thing that comforted my worries for the past couple of months. She was no longer in my life—I should just swallow the bitter pill and move on with mine. It was certainly in her best interest.

The clothes and books she'd left behind in my empty guest room worsened the loneliness I felt most nights but...that wasn't her fault. It was self-inflicted. Everything was my own doing. I should have just told her to leave Italy as soon as she could.

Guilt and regrets... I had plenty to keep myself sleepless for an entire month. But I'd had enough of those nights.  At this point, I just wanted to see her again. Just pay her a visit. See how she's doing now.

Question was:  did she want to see me again?

◆◆◆

...

"If this goes sideways, we're screwed. I'm done for. We're all dead."

"You don't like Enzo? Leandro's much worse. I don't even wanna know what goes on in that psycho's head."

"Leandro wants to change the contract terms. Basically all of it."

"Talk to your Pappa. He's losing it. One of these days you're gonna have to come forward. Start deciding for the company."

...

Ricchar's words rang in my head as much as I hated to recall every implication behind his statements.

For days now, the damned threats stumped my thoughts no matter how hard I tried to ignore it. I couldn't quite complain.

Ricchar only worried for everyone's safety, thus his efforts to give me a heads-up. Our last board meeting with the Falco seniors had been an eye-opener, to say the least. They of course wanted to team up with the Tomassinis—that filthy rich family with important connections and all—but only on the condition that the entire clan wouldn't be screwed over after the merger.

I hauled myself out of bed and trudged out of the dark room. No use. Sleep had been scarce since my last dose.

Apart from the fact that my growing corporate workload left me too stressed to paint, the torrential influx of bad news about the Tomassinis still toyed with my sanity at times.  The "heir to the empire" label wasn't helping, either. It just complicated my routine and doubled their expectations, annoyingly so.

So I resorted to prescription drugs again.  Sometimes, I'd up the ante and go the hard route. Just to keep focus. Since I didn't have drug dealers on speed dial, I often tried my luck with the party girls I would meet.

Just a temporary fix, though.  The stress would go away once I quit the company.  I wouldn't dare ask Ricchar or my parents for help finding a dependable supplier—they'd just chuck me straight into rehab. For the nth time.

It's not a mere relapse this time, though.  I just needed some to help me focus on the job.  If I didn't get a more dependable drug supplier soon, I might have to ask my family for help—which would be downright embarrassing.  Just degrading.  I shook off the thought and gulped the last of the red wine in the fridge.

Of course I wouldn't ask for help.  For years, I prided myself with the idea that I led an independent life. Self-reliant. Capable of holding my own.

This new job gave me bigger responsibilities, and I needed to show them I could handle it and meet their expectations—not only for my sake.  If I had to fulfill all my corporate duties soon, I would have to figure it out for myself.

Strangely enough, the thought of my entire family having connections to the criminal underground no longer angered me to the point of wrath.  It's just what it was.  My father and the clan seniors wanted more wealth, more influence, more power, more control.

Typical Falco.

What I couldn't justify was why my father chose to be involved with those ruthless family of criminals.  Those soulless mobsters—with PhDs in violence and organized crime—killed people on a daily basis.  Sometimes for no good reason, I heard.

Shoving the thought to the back of my aching head, I grabbed my phone and walked past the empty kitchen.  Then a loud buzz echoed within the unlit hallway.

Seconds of hesitation pinned my feet on the carpet.  A guest?  At this hour?  I didn't have guests.  I rushed along the quiet hallway to get to the front door.  Security wasn't an issue, though.  My parents had been too paranoid.  Thus the four or so bodyguards watching the lot 24/7.

But the second I recognized the tall skinhead outside the front door, I felt the immediate shock freeze up every thought in my brain. My throat constricted as I stared at the guy in front of me.  Panic built up, hurting my chest somewhat.

"Hey." Niccolo acknowledged me with a nod.  The guy stood on the unsuspecting doormat with a big laptop snug under his armpit.

I gawked at the guy.  Pretending I wasn't shocked speechless required much effort, so I didn't bother.  Instead, I tried to blink away the image of my ex standing right in front of me.

Alive and well.  Staring back at me.

Shit. Am I having a lucid dream? Or a nightmare?

"We just gonna stand here or..." Niccolo mumbled while glancing past my front door.

"You're...here."

"I look like a ghost to you?" Niccolo laughed at my monotonous reaction.  "Need your couch for the whole day." The guy squinted at the early morning sun gleaming on his smooth, naturally brown skin.  His eye bags looked puffy and he looked rather exhausted.  "Just real busy today."

I backed away.  Alarming thoughts surged in my mind and formed grievous suspicions, but I still opened the door wide for my unexpected guest.  "Ricchar said you're working at the..."

"Yeah. It gets bloody boring in there."  Niccolo snickered and walked past the entrance. His short steps were tentative but quite calm.  His dark, deep-set eyes surveyed the first floor. "Nice place."

"Thanks," I muttered. The daze of seeing the guy again was far from wearing off.  I hadn't forgotten the accent, the deep, humdrum voice, and his bad posture.  Even the laptop he brought looked familiar.

"Surprised?" Niccolo turned slightly to glance at me. "You're fine. I'm not a ghost, or evil spirit." Without asking for permission, Niccolo proceeded to my empty living room.

"What?" I pulled a face again. The heck's he talking about? I shut the door out of paranoia. I had no choice but to follow the guy into my living room.

"Asked your father a favor. Now I work for him." Niccolo flumped himself on the couch, then set his laptop on the coffee table in front of him. The guy grinned when I remained too floored to respond.

So, Pappa never really planned to kill Niccolo for blackmailing us?  I stood by the TV and tried not to scowl.

"How's Mykaela?"

"Fine. I guess."  I squinted at the guy lounging on my couch.  "Wait. Favor?"

"Okay." Niccolo scratched his forehead and placed his lean forearms on his thighs. "You wanna hear the long, boring version or the short one?"

I stood still, legs stiffening, my heart pounding hard in my rib cage. Should I call up Pappa? Ask him exactly why Niccolo dropped by? Did Pappa send him here to check up on me? Why not just give me a call?

My utter silence prompted Niccolo to begin his overdue explanation.  "Just an update:  Ma and Padre are broke because they owe the Bôzìcs money—dirty money they've been spending like degenerate gamblers on a Vegas weekend.  So Ilya, heading the mob today, treats my family like shit now and told me to gather intel on yours.  I hadn't contacted him since so he probably thinks I'm dead. Being the wiser businessman, Stefano talked me into another deal. Fast forward few months, I'm still doing jobs for him."

What? Was he serious?

"Gave me an option. So I made a choice." Niccolo gave me a casual shrug and stared. "We good?"

Barefoot and half-naked, I stayed standing stiff as a post beside the TV, too dazed to answer the question.  What the fuck's happening?

"Something wrong I said?"

"Your parents work with the Bôzìcs?" I blinked at the guy's cool composure.

Niccolo's family had always belonged in Italy's wealthiest clans. The Vinciguerras built and operated a successful tailoring business, as well as a retail business in the city.  How the heck did they end up owing a group of sociopathic, immigrant mobsters?

The Vinciguerras had been working for the Russian drug cartel?  Or just slightly involved with the mob's money laundering schemes?

"Ilya and his brothers don't like you guys at all," Niccolo said after a moment of absolute silence. "Been like that for decades."

"You mean Ilya Bôzìc?"

"Ilya and Stefano go way back, used to do business together. They were new to the trade when your Pappa skimmed some from the top. Ilya didn't like it. A year after, they broke it off." Niccolo started tapping the keys on his laptop, as if busy with something. "It's quite dramatic to the point of hilarity. Except they both like killing people whenever it suits their mood."

Fuck.  Wait.  Niccolo was a double agent now?  "D'you even realize how crazy you sound?"

"Everything is." Niccolo shrugged. "It's quite simple, though. Ilya's starting a turf war 'cause he heard your Pappa is teaming up with the Tomassinis, their biggest competition at the moment."

"Sure," was what I could only reply. Everything did sound wildly insane, but most of what he said also made a lot of sense.

The Bôzìcs' hitmen definitely ambushed Cloe and Lorenzio Tomassini before they could settle the merger with Ricchar and Stefano.  The Russians wanted to take us out of the trade, obviously to monopolize organized crime in the continent.

I took in a deep breath.  My brain kept sorting the facts laid out before me.  Now I just felt stupid.  I could easily be the dumbest person to ever exist.  How could I even believe my father's crimes merely involved killing off snitches and fixing up arms deals in the black market?

"I'm not saying this to stir up shit or anything, but...I'm sure your Pappa will go back to his old ways, just to convince Leandro he's in it for the long haul. Solidify their business relationship or whatever. Stefano will get rid of loose ends under Leandro's request, or just 'cause he can." Niccolo regarded me with a steady gaze and a mild frown. "They own banks all over Europe. An autocratic conglomerate, if you haven't heard."

"I'm not that clueless. Ricchar tells me things."

"Lorenzio seems like just another millionaire playboy, but his family's not messing around." Niccolo shook his head and kept typing.  "Tell Mykaela to keep away from those creeps."

"What d'you mean?"

"Lorenzio's in New York again. I bet he's meeting up with her this week. Your dad's making me track his flights."

Sure. Of course Pappa would be that paranoid. But Kel and Enzo meeting up in New York? I contemplated the odds. Were they dating now?  The heck?

"They're going to wipe out the minor players in the trafficking scene. Pushing for the top place."

Well, shit.  Clearly Lorenzio's family weren't simply in it for the money. Dammit.  I should have warned Mykaela better.  More importantly, I ought to tell her dating Lorenzio was nothing but a glaring death wish.  I rubbed my face and let out a sigh.

"You look like shit," Niccolo commented while typing speedily on his computer, looking as though he was doing something important. "When did you last sleep for eight hours?"

Eight?  I scowled.  I didn't have time for eight hours of sleep every day.  If I wasn't on the road, I'd be on a plane sorting out errands for the management—a.k.a. my demanding family.

"You need a healthier routine." Niccolo stopped typing away on his laptop and scanned my appearance again. "Quit doing blow. It's not doin' you any favors."

The heck?  How did he know?  I stood still beside the TV, speechless once again, unable to stop gawking at the guy on my couch. So, now he knew about my recent dilemma?  Had he been spying on me?

As if able to read my thoughts, Niccolo stopped grinning at my lack of a reaction.  His thick, shapely brows creased as we kept staring at each other.  "Sure you figured your father didn't send me here just to catch up."

I frowned. The confirmation that my father did send Niccolo to see me just stirred up the whirlwind of emotions coiling my chest. "Why're you here?"

"He wants you to convince Leandro to sign the deal," Niccolo said after a yawn.  "Soon as possible."

"What?"  Pappa wanted me to convince Leandro Tomassini to sign "the deal"?

"The revised contract."

◆