Chapter 42: Chapter 42

◇ KEL ◇

Medical Jurisprudence took three excruciatingly long hours. My last class for the day, thankfully. Sunset had dappled orange and dark blue hues on the horizon as I made my way out of campus.

Despite my qualms, I checked my phone, stared at his name for a while, and finally called Miles' new number. My concern wouldn't let him go back to Italy before we could talk things over.

Seven long rings. He picked up, eventually. "What?"  he muttered. His voice sounded dull over the line.

"Goin' home for the weekend. Busy then?"  I asked in haste. Pleasantries were a waste of time at this point and would only sound odd to him.

Seconds of silence filled the line before Miles spoke again. "Why?"

I frowned. Did he need to hear a long explanation?

Still, he could be real busy with something work-related this weekend, so spending time with me wasn't possible. At least that part I was certain of, and like he'd said, we shouldn't be seen together. For my own safety, he said.

The Falcos had murderous mafia families for business rivals, after all. Even the Internet  confirmed it, leaving me quite caught up on the latest buzz about modern day business tycoons—the Tomassini clan, the Bôzìcs, and other international syndicates operating in Europe and nearby continents...which could only mean one thing:

The Falcos had long been involved with the mob? Hence Miles saying he didn't want me to keep seeing or talking to Lorenzio? So, the Tomassinis were also a mafia family?

Such outrageous claims for a commoner like me. But it was all my brain could derive from the information I'd gathered. Niccolo's decaying corpse in the funeral parlor also kept my brain overactive at the moment.

"I need to be in Florence by Sunday," Miles sighed over the phone.

"Why're you here?" I asked after seconds of contemplating. I'd been waiting for a proper explanation all day, to no avail.

"What?" Miles scoffed, as if irritated by the question.

"Just business? Or you just had to make sure I didn't tell anyone?"  Or both?

The Falcos needed me to keep quiet about what happened to Cloe and Enzo, so, of course Mr. Falco would send his son to New York to confirm it himself.  Make me stay quiet.  Problem solved.

"Or both?"

"This is getting annoying."

Ugh.  "Stop keeping secrets from me."

"You home yet?"

After his monotonous question, I rolled my eyes. Why even expect him to give a direct answer?  It was a habit of his lately and I couldn't seem to make him outgrow it. Ignoring the growing crowd of students passing by, I frowned at my dusty shoes while the early evening breeze tangled my hair on my face.

"Still in class?" Miles asked when I didn't respond.

"Just got out."

"Stay there. I'll pick you up."

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8:25PM

"You look better."

At the comment, Miles walked past me to survey all corners of my apartment unit. He glanced around and took off his navy blue jacket.

Upclose, his skin no longer looked ashen or anything deathly pale. Maybe he felt much better now?  "I could order something else if you want." I put the takeout food in serving bowls.

Half an hour ago, Miles had picked me up outside campus. I just couldn't say no. Merely hearing his bossy tone over the phone told me he would look for me all around school if he had to, so I quit acting like I couldn't be bothered and agreed to his dinner plans. At least we were alone this time.

Well, not totally alone...of course his bodyguards tailed him wherever he went. Miles had also bought takeout before he took me back to the small apartment unit where I'd been staying for months now. It was near campus, and my remaining savings could afford the cheaper than usual rent.

"It smelled weird in the lobby and elevator," Miles said while his bodyguards stayed by the windows and ate pizza, with black handguns strapped to their sides. Miles flung his gaze around the four corners of the apartment. Then his lips twitched. "You sure it's okay to stay here till you graduate?"

"It's practical and safe enough."  I began serving him food and the drinks he bought. "For the tenth time, there's guards on shifts everyday. With real guns. Right by the entrance and exit doors."

Miles stopped twirling his fork into his pasta. He eyed me with a frown that narrowed his lips. "I'm not allowed to worry 'bout you anymore?"

"Sorry." I glanced down at my plate.

"Eat. You look exhausted." Miles tried a much calmer tone this time. He ate his food and watched me struggle to finish the garlic bread he put on my plate. "You're studying all week. You gotta ingest more than that."

"I'm trying." I sighed and munched on a slice of bread.

Okay. Back to the usual. Good that he was his normal self again: his finicky, disciplinarian BFF self. At least we'd stopped trying so hard to ignore each other, unlike earlier when Enzo was around.

The apartment's dining room barely fit four chairs and a square table. It was a third of the size of his fancy dining room in his house in Brichese, Italy. But Miles didn't comment on it, and I appreciated how my chair almost touched his.

He sat close to me as we enjoyed the simple, quiet dinner. Like old times. His familiar, mild cologne occupied my thoughts for a fleeting moment. It was enough to bring back pleasant memories.

"I should be the one worrying after that episode," I murmured while distractedly staring at the food.  Of course I should be concerned;  he looked like he was about to die in that men's room this morning.

At the moment, though, he seemed much better—no excessive sweating, stomach-gripping, and he ate the pasta and dumplings on his dish. "But I'm not the one staring down at my plate and having trouble getting anything down," Miles retorted.

"I'm just...having trouble processing everything."

Miles drank some water and reclined in his seat. Then he regarded me with a slight frown. "You mean Niccolo?"

"Wish I knew his family or..." I took a bite of the bread. The scent of delicious buttered toast and garlic should entice my appetite, but my tongue could only feel the texture and taste nothing remarkable. Like I was chewing paper. "You think they already know what happened? Can you...  Do you know anyone working for the cops there?"

"What?" Miles frowned, and my reply raised his voice a notch. "Why're you makin' it your problem?"  The annoyance drew faint lines on his tan face.

"They need to know."

"Let them deal with that. The cops are on it." Miles shook his head weakly. "Stop stressing."

"Gone so young."

"Stay out of it." His words took on a warning tone now. "Just wait for the investigation to be over."

Easier said than done...   His poor parents must be devastated, their only son dead all of a sudden.

"Besides, I doubt Lorenzio knows what really happened." Miles scoffed. "For all we know, the intel he got's shit-all."

"He suspects Niccolo had already been talking to the Russians before he disappeared."

"Enough." Miles squared his broad shoulders. "You don't know shit about that."

"So tell me everything."

"No."

His blatant refusal shut me up. The terseness of his reply just agitated the emotions welling up inside my chest. I gripped my fork and clenched my teeth until it hurt.

"You don't know those people." Miles' scowl creased the skin beside his keen hazel eyes. "And I want it to stay that way."

"You can't keep everything from me."

Miles scoffed and glanced away. He was unbearably quiet for a while. "Mykaela, you still got this normal life. Choose it, and you won't have to deal with all kinds of crap. Just 'cause you somehow got involved with the wrong people."

I stared past him. My brain straight off mused over his words.

The wrong people? Was he talking about his own family? But I loved meeting them, to be frank. I loved a good mystery, and the Falcos were the epitome of a good, mind-boggling mystery I just couldn't get out of my head.

"How's Cloe?" I asked out of genuine curiosity. I hadn't read anything online about what happened months ago to Cloe and Enzo, or perhaps the local cops in Italy just didn't want to divulge any information on their ongoing investigation. If there was one, that is.

"Better," was all Miles said. He drank more water and ignored my stare.

"Did the cops find the people who hurt them?"

"Ricchar's got a guy working on it."

"So, they think it really was the Bôzìcs?  I mean, are the cops investigating?"

"Most likely."

Jeez. I had an inkling he wasn't allowed to share a lot of details, but he could at least pretend he liked talking to me. He wouldn't even look me in the eye.

"If you're done eating, I'm cleaning up." Miles got up from his chair. "Then I'll leave."

"Already?"

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