Chapter 35: Chapter 35

◇ KEL ◇

No more modeling. No part-time jobs to secure my savings. No state support (not even a tiny discount off rent and utilities). And definitely no more time for procrastination...

They should be enough reasons to motivate me to work my butt off, study all day to get good grades, and make no more excuses. Medical school was definitely not for the faint of heart.

It had been a year since I'd lost sleep preparing for an exam that I nearly forgot about the pressure.

Plus the steep hospital bills, which my dad's insurance barely even covered. "Strapped for cash" would be a mild way of putting it. As expected, we had to get a loan again to pay off outstanding bills, and the cash I'd spent on tuition was my hard-earned money the past year.

Therefore every single cent should not go to waste. Frustratingly, my head couldn't absorb any more medical terminologies. For the life of me, I couldn't figure out why my brain just fell into a darn coma.

But it had no problem wasting hours just thinking about Miles. How was he? Was he doing okay?

Did he still paint? He must be enjoying his peaceful countryside life again. Was it even safe now to communicate with him?

As I expected, the Italian police hadn't been forthcoming. I'd been searching online for news about Niccolo but it seemed the police still had no definite leads as to where he was, or when they'd be able to trace his most recent activities.

Did a mob of Russian criminals abduct him? Some thugs could've held him hostage somewhere. I badly hoped that wasn't the case.

Was he merely a victim of circumstances? Did he disappear from the face of the Earth just because he happened to piss off some mafia boss?

If Miles knew the reason behind Niccolo's apparent involvement and disappearance, I imagined he'd asked his parents for more details. Did he have any plans to come to New York?

I stared out the window, mulling over the possibility. I could only wish he'd come see me.

Months ago, I tried calling him but my calls couldn't get through. Tried his social media, too. But once I realized someone could be monitoring my online activities and other private communications, I stopped contacting him. Like Miles insisted.

The anxiety pushed me to delete my email account. Miles had made me promise I wouldn't tell anyone about what happened in Umbria with his family. So I kept my mouth shut. Except for that one time I got vodka-drunk and mentioned a few things to Paul, his best friend...mostly about my unrequited feelings for Miles.

A loud clunk broke off my musings sooner than I noticed that somebody just took the vacant seat beside mine. A hot cup of coffee now sat next to my plate of poached eggs.

Men's perfume. Warm woody scent with hints of vanilla and fresh roses.

I budged in my seat, only to be met by a familiar pair of pale blue eyes I didn't expect to see again. "Enzo... Hi."

"In the flesh." The jaunty guy moved his chair closer to mine. "How's school, bellezza?"

"I, uh... Good."

What the heck? How did he even know I was here?

Oh. My post on social media this morning. I pulled back and put on a smile for him.

Did he fly all the way out here just to see me? No. Of course not. Back in Umbria, he'd mentioned that he also ran a business here in New York. The other details were hazy.

"I-I didn't know you were..."

"Never texted me back or phoned me." Enzo sighed at my probably round-eyed, abysmally awkward greeting. A deep frown slightly wrinkled his forehead and pouting lips. Although his first words were amicable, his tone now wasn't all glad. "You avoiding me?"

"W-What? No." Fidgeting in my seat, I tried to laugh at his bluntness. Hopefully my hair looked like I'd bothered to comb it this morning. "I just... I got so busy with school, and family," I explained. Of course I wouldn't mention that Miles also warned me about talking to people associated with his family's businesses. "How you doin'?"

"Better. Keeping busy." Enzo stopped frowning but didn't smile back, seeming authentically miffed. He loosened his navy blue tie and drank his coffee. The tailored three-piece suit he donned looked like it cost way more than my rent. "Been waiting for you to call back. Is it five, or, six months now?"

"I don't..."

"Shite. Time flies." He grinned and looked away after smacking his lips. "Coffee?"

"No thanks." I stared at his chin-length dark brown hair that matched his five o'clock shadow.

His fingers were tapping the edge of the table repeatedly.

Should I apologize?

In hindsight, I did try to check up on his recovery after we left Umbria. Thanks to the Internet, I'd read about his three-day stay in the hospital in some article online featuring his older brother, Leandro Tomassini, currently in charge of the family business. In the same article, his brother also mentioned that Enzo got the injuries from a "boating accident".

That was months ago. It felt like a warning, so I didn't bother to contact Enzo. Miles might hear about it, then get upset that I didn't heed his advice.

"This okay?"

"Hmm?" I pasted a pleasant smile on my lips and stared at my unexpected brunch buddy.

Enzo cleared his throat. "Us hanging out?"

Huh? What did he mean?

"Or am I not allowed to be friends with you?" Enzo squinted at me, as if he wanted to unravel some truths beneath my friendly mask.

"Yeah— I mean, no. Nothing like that."

"Scherzo." A real smile bared his nice teeth and deep dimples before he put his arm around my back, pulling me closer.

I held my breath when he kissed my cheeks.

"Bello vederti, bellezza."

"Likewise." I pulled away—he was too comfortable invading my personal space—but prolonged my smile. Nerves made me hope it looked genuine enough.

Him randomly showing up at my favorite diner outside campus on a Tuesday?

Biggest surprise I'd gotten this month. I couldn't even think of something interesting to talk about. "Sorry. I actually got your messages. It's just... Studying and family stuff kept me real busy."

"Clearly."

"How's your foot and..." I leaned closer to check the scar on his forehead. Yup. There it was. Almost an inch. Right along his hairline. "All good?"

"Definitely better than last time I saw you." Enzo drank more coffee. "How's your father?"

"Good. Dad's home now. Getting better." I looked away and noticed his company. Seated in the next table were some brawny, dark-clothed men. Two wore sunglasses. Definitely his bodyguards.

"The surgery went well." Enzo nodded. "Good to hear." His heavy arm rested on my stiff shoulder.

"Yeah," I muttered, glancing away again. Oh sheesh. What else should we talk about now? My brain wasn't in the mood to socialize. At all.

"Scare you a bit?" Enzo chuckled and finally pulled away. "Met up with one of our investors this morning. Then I saw the photo you just posted on your profile."

"Oh. Yeah. That." I tried smiling back. "I was just on my way to class." Yep. Exit strategy. Kinda weak, but, at least he'd know I didn't have all day to catch up.

"Med school not torturing you too much?"

Oh. So he'd heard I resumed my last two years. Who told him? Miles? "Yeah. It's been great," I lied with another smile I hoped didn't look as fake as I sounded.

Enzo squinted again. "What's the matter?" he murmured, seeing right through me.

"Nothing."

"Huh. Sure." He made a face at my lie, then glanced around to call for a waiter. "I got a few ideas."

"So sorry I haven't asked," I mumbled after mentally slapping myself. "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"Can I join you?"

"Uh... Yeah. Sure." I smiled when he looked busy studying my reaction. "But what would you like? I mean, they only serve a handful of dishes here." I glanced around the small, noisy, crowded establishment. "Not exactly, um, gourmet meals. Sorry."

Enzo scoffed and sat back. He grinned lopsidedly and patiently waited for the tall waiter to finish cleaning up a messy table. "My clothes don't always match my preferences, bellezza."

I stayed put. My throat shrank little by little as he studied me with his blue eyes. Or gray-green? Perhaps depending on the lighting.

"I'm a grown man. I eat whatever's on the table."

"Right." I couldn't help but giggle at his candor. "Sorry. How 'bout eggs, then? Sandwiches? They still serve pancakes at this hour."

He closed his eyes and smiled. "Sembra deliziosa."

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"Oh no. Please— Not this again."

"Perché?" The guy paused from eating his heavy breakfast and immediately scowled at my reaction. "Dammi una sola ragione." His creasing brows and question were as stern as the confidence in his words.

Clearly, another point-blank refusal wasn't what he expected from me today. "Enzo, you're kidding." I drank water from my glass and tried to ignore the briefcase he'd placed in between my chair and his.

The gray case was probably filled with what I imagined were piles of hundred dollar bills. The heck? Did he casually walk around town carrying this much cash on him?

Granted, he still wanted to return the favor. But he'd already thanked me that night we were about to leave the Falco estate after I tended to him and his injuries, same day when some merciless murderous thugs tried to harm him and Cloe.

I didn't need any sort of payment. It was rewarding enough that he'd fully recovered in just weeks.

He even took the time to visit me here in New York. Maybe he never forgot that I had money issues to sort out. Was that why he impulsively paid me a visit today?

"So no plans to go back to Italy?" Enzo glanced at me after finishing his sandwich. Ham and cheese with some lettuce.

"None at the moment," I replied, trying not to look at the briefcase again. I should just keep my gaze centered on his face. Then he might stop forcing me to take his wads of cash. "So don't give me money 'cause I honestly don't know how I'd pay you back."

"Never said you have to." Enzo frowned and drank water.

"Enzo..." I sighed. "Be serious."

"I am." He shifted in his seat to sit closer to me.

Ugh. Why wouldn't he just leave it alone? I never asked for money. Not once. Why did he keep insisting? "Is it a loan?" I muttered, trying not to frown again.

"Loan or not, it's yours." He swiftly wiped sauce off his lips when I handed him a table napkin. The guy talked like he was merely stating facts.

"Enzo, I never asked you to..." I tried to match his steady gaze, although it proved to be difficult in my current situation. Sure. I needed financial assistance right now since my savings account was getting emptied.

Worse? My dad's hospital bills were paid with two credit cards, whose penalties would be enough to bleed our family's savings dry in a few months' time. But I never asked anyone for money. Nor would I ever try.

"Use it for school. Bills. Help your parents out." Enzo belched and apologized. "Unless you prefer cheque now?"

"What? No." I scoffed and tried to laugh at his suggestion. Better to seem pleasantly surprised than ungrateful.

"Good. We done?" he said with partly raised brows, seeming thoroughly bored by the conversation. "No more arguing?"

I nodded faintly. Were we arguing? "Wait. What d'you mean?"

"You're taking this home. Or if you prefer, I'll hand you a cheque." Enzo kept staring at me, just anticipating my reply. "No interest. Give it back whenever you can."

Ugh. Why... Why wouldn't he just let it go?

"Porca putta—" He glared at his gold watch, then grabbed the small briefcase beside me. "Bellezza, è mezzogiorno. Andiamo." He extended a hand to help me stand up. "I'll drive you back to school."

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Exhausted and alone in my bedroom, I slapped the thick textbook onto my forehead, hoping it would magically absorb all the surgical terms on the pages.

Another crucial test awaited me, stretching my patience thin, preparing me for another disappointment-filled remark from my clinical professor:

"Either get better grades or just switch tracks, Mykaela. You don't see yourself doing this all your life? Try something else."

That happened last week. The advice almost made me bawl like a baby right then and there, but I'd worn a smile and said "Thanks" instead, despite the mounting anxiety crippling what was left of my optimism that day.

Seeing Lorenzio again the next morning didn't help, either—I just wasted my entire afternoon thinking of ways to forget about the signed blank cheque he gave me. He'd handed me a cheque, because I didn't want to have to carry a suspicious briefcase full of cold hard cash on my way home.

I was about to flip to another page when my ringtone cut through the silence. Curious, I got up from my study desk, followed the loud noise, and took my phone out of my bag. Jill's photo and name stayed on my phone screen.

"It's a new number. Screw it. You're not under surveillance," I reminded myself before tapping on the green icon. "Hi," I greeted my sister.

For some reason, Jill panted, my loud breaths making noises over the line. Was she jogging? "Where are you?"

"Apartment. Studying for another exam. Why?"

"Any news on Niccolo?"

"Nope," I muttered with a sigh. I'd told my sister about Niccolo, and as shocking as it was, she believed me when I said Niccolo was missing and suspected to have been abducted by mobsters.

At the moment, I could only keep praying he was somewhere safe, alive, and well. I'd like to help the authorities find him; however, I didn't have the resources or the time. All I could do was pray, stay optimistic, be vigilant for clues until they find Niccolo.

"The heck's takin' 'em so long? It's been months." I tugged at my ponytail, scowling to myself. "Not even sure if he's still alive."

"Don't say that..." was Jill's louder reaction, clearly unnerved by it all.

"Are there any suspicious cars parked outside at night?"

"At the house?"

"Yeah." I glanced out the window. Was there any chance our family could also be in danger now? Were the Falcos keeping an eye on me in case I slipped up? Did they want to make sure I could keep a secret?

I covered my mouth with my palm. My brain kept speculating the possibilities, but I had to stop overthinking about it. I had exams to prepare for and half a dozen trainings to complete. Alright. Optimistic. No bad thoughts. We're fine...

"Stop worrying." My sister's voice thinned out. "Focus on school. Keep your grades up. The cops are doing their jobs." Jill paused. "I hope."

I could only hope for a positive outcome, too. "How's Dad's VS? Tried to call. They're probably asleep now."

"Don't stress; he's fine. Eats more now. He even lets David cook for him." Jill chuckled lightly after mentioning her husband.

"Can't come home this weekend. So busy with exams and requirements."

"Come home after. I'll cook your favorites. Be here before Thanksgiving."

"I'll try. Thanks." I smiled and breathed a sigh of relief.

Our dad survived the surgery but wasn't quite back to his normal self yet. He'd lost weight and had been prescribed new medications, but at least he was no longer confined in the hospital. One more good thing to lessen my anxiety. We'd also become much closer as a family after what happened. For now, he just needed proper care and recuperation.

"Still studying?" Jill asked. "How's Miles? You talked to him lately?" my sister asked out of the blue.

"No," I muttered. It felt like I hadn't heard his voice in years. Something in my chest coiled at the thought. Somehow, hearing the guy's name did that to my insides. "I miss him."

"Just busy with work, I guess. He misses you, too."

"Highly doubt it." I got up from the bed, unable to stop frowning.

"He still sends flowers every now and then."

"What flowers?" Miles had sent flowers?

"Last time was two weeks ago, probably. Mom puts them on the altars."

"What?" I scratched my nape. "Since when?"

"Like, two months ago?"

I let my mouth hang open, failing to react with words. Out of nowhere, warm tears just blurred my vision, and my heart started thumping a little harder.

Miles knew my home address? And he sent flowers? With a card and all?

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I thought you knew," Jill replied with some nonchalance. "Mom didn't say anything?"

"No." I scowled again. If Miles knew our exact home address, surely he knew how to get in touch with me. But why didn't he? "Did he ever call?"

"Maybe. Not sure. Ask Mom."

Ugh. Fine. I slapped my forehead. My mom wasn't a fan of my relationship with Miles. No matter how many times I tried convincing them he was just a close friend, my mother would always drop the conversation and say, "Prioritize your studies before anything else."

"I knew it." Jill sighed when we both got quiet. "You guys actually got serious."

Did we? Her words left me speechless for a while. I couldn't tell whether it got serious or not. Judging by his behavior last time, Miles only thought of me as a clingy, needy friend. He didn't even want me to call or text him, much less go back to Italy.

"Baby's awake. Back to the books. Ace that test," Jill reminded.

"Okay. I'll call Mom tomorrow." I kept up a smile. My sister was such a hands-on mom now.

"Get some sleep."

"Bye. Love you."

After she ended the call, I opted for a quick break. I rested my strained back and legs on the bed while idly browsing online. For a few minutes, my fatigued mind enjoyed having nothing to memorize verbatim.

It only took me a few taps to find Miles' private profile.

No recent photos of him. Only pictures of unfinished paintings he'd posted some months ago. Still got thousands of fans. I shut my eyes to concentrate.

Wait. I should use tags.

A familiar nervousness got my heart pounding a tad faster as I typed his name in the search box. And like a quick answer to my prayer, new photos of him surfaced on my phone screen in just seconds.

Actually, several pictures crowded the long screen. One showed him kissing a brunette girl, and there was a video of the two drinking shots with friends and dancing cozily at a crowded party. Some friends of his posted these...three days ago?

I cussed. Paul, his best friend, wasn't exaggerating at all—Miles really was out there. Meeting new faces. Enjoying his old life again. Living the "work hard, play hard" mantra to a T.

Why should it matter, though? Why did it make my chest hurt a little?

So what if he was practically showing off how easily he'd found a new pastime? We were never a couple. He was never my boyfriend. Therefore my feelings for him were insignificant. Still, his recent behavior begged the question in my head:

Why was he acting like this? Just months after I left Italy, he was already seeing other people? Dating younger girls? I wasn't always vocal about my feelings, but I was sure I'd shown him enough to make him aware.

Did he even care?

Before my jumbled mess of thoughts spiraled into a bigger mess of anxieties, I put my phone away and hid it under my pillows. The thought of a long nap to clear my head got me back in bed. Then familiar beeps distracted my plans.

Blindly, I reached for my phone again. The screen displayed a new notification. Someone just texted me. No name. Unregistered number.

New message

From: ***-304-599-***

"Need to talk. You home now?"

Today 20:38

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