The Heir's Love [Mafia Games 3]

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED © 2022

by M Xian

Scenes, characters, dialogues and events in this story are all invented.

This story contains mature themes, profanity, graphic violence and graphic sexual content not intended for young readers.

Unauthorized reproduction of any part of this story or plagiarism of any kind is prohibited by the law.

••••••••••••

This is the first draft of Book III of The Heir's Secrets, my first mafia romance story.

Like the sequel, this is also written in 1st person narrative. If you've come this far and have read Book I and Book II, thanks a million!

❤ Your continued support and interest in my stories is what keeps me going.

For the new readers' sake, the first few chapters (all free!) contain scenes from the first two books in this mafia romance series to provide some context and background info on the main characters' relationships.

Some chapters in this book contain Italian dialogue [but not pivotal to the plot]. Translations are written inside brackets [ ].

Buckle up, friends! Enjoy Book III!

• • • • • • • •

Main Characters

• • • • • • • •

• Mykaela "Kel" Leviste Nielsen

• Lorenzio "Enzo" Russo Tomassini

• Maximiliano "Miles" / "Maxim" Cruza Falco

• •••••••••• •

P R E V I E W

• •••••••••• •

• E N Z O •

After decades of living with my family's dark secrets, I settled with the fact that a future with her just isn't possible. Nothing but a selfish wish.

Yet I held onto hope. No matter what they all thought, no one else in this world could fill this dull, hopeless void I've tried to accept as my fate for being a Tomassini.

The first time we kissed, I knew I was done for. She's my kryptonite.

It's almost insane. How much I want her. How much I miss her. How much she makes me wish for a better future for us.

I knew forever was too much to ask--I didn't need to hear why. Besides her stubborn feelings for her best friend, I always knew she wouldn't stay. And I don't blame her.

It just pains me to think that the only woman I ever wanted this much is the one who could tear my whole family apart.

Falling for the enemy's daughter...

Putting my own brother in prison...

Betraying my flesh and blood...

I broke every single one of the clan's rules.

They all think I'm just a self-centered bastard and Mykaela should keep out of my chaotic life. But I don't care anymore. I just want her.

I would give up everything. Do anything it takes. I'll make her believe in us again. Make her see the whole picture.

I need to make her choose me.

•

• K E L •

We're just not meant to be.

The quiet, normal, happy life I wanted and dreamed for us... It was just that. A dream. Too good to be true.

It's not entirely his fault. My life and priorities were to blame, too. The fact that monogamy wasn't his thing didn't help, either.

Then again I always knew. I should've known better than to give it my all.

My dreams. My heart. My soul. For him, I would've done anything. I was about to put my entire career on hold just to make him happy.

Then other things got in the way. Bigger, messier, life-threatening circumstances. Now it's all clear as day: a real marriage with him--just out of the question.

Yet my broken heart still wants to try. Give it another shot. Test fate and everything else. Idiotic, but, my heart never really listened to logic and common sense. It's no longer a matter of right or wrong.

It's crazy and stupid to take such a huge risk. To challenge everyone and everything telling me to face reality and move on... But I just can't imagine a life without him.

I want Enzo back. I miss him. I need him. Our love deserves another chance.

•

• M I L E S •

This world deserves to go down in flames.

I'm no hero by any means. My crimes warrant lifelong punishment, in fact. But these idiots had it coming. There's just one too many selfish, corrupt bastards who refuse to acknowledge right from wrong. Including my family of wealthy crooks.

So I pushed my best friend away. For good. It's time I learned to live without her.

Kel doesn't need me anyway. Not anymore. She needs a better future. A better life. Somewhere far and quieter than mine.

I'm nothing but a disappointment and years of baggage she can do without. A quiet, normal married life in New York suits her better. Being with someone like me would only get her and her family killed.

Or I just need a better shrink to "fix" me and my brain, like Mamma said.

Removing the Tomassinis from the face of the Earth remains one of my priorities. But for Kel's safety and happiness, Lorenzio can stay off my hitlist.

Unless he makes her cry. Or he does some stupid shit that puts her and her family at risk.

We made a deal. I've given him enough chances.

If he breaks his word or her heart, I'd gladly introduce him to his God. My guns won't be necessary. Won't be the first time, either.

I got nothing left to lose. I already sold my soul.

••••••••

Mariangela, Umbria

2 years earlier

◇ MYKAELA ◇

Answers. I needed real answers. Right now we all did. Why did these people get hurt?

Not one of them seemed eager to explain. What happened to the others was even more dreadful. Just inhumane.

Did the local cops find out about the ambush yet? Who wanted to murder all of them in broad daylight?

The list of reasons must be lengthy. A crime this violent couldn't be just a case of mistaken identity.

At times, the fine line between a horrible dream and my own reality would blur. This morning was a prime example.

Bloody. Nightmarish. The total opposite of what I pictured when I said yes to Miles.

Did his parents call the cops yet? They still wouldn't say who caused all of this. Maybe they all thought the secrets I shouldn't be privy to should stay that way:

Well-kept secrets.

Miles didn't know anything. Or did he lie to me? But why?

I took a deep breath. My face mask now smelled of coffee and blood. "Shit." I leaned against the cold wall. No conscious, sensible part of me signed up for this.

Heck. I shouldn't even be here! Vacationing in this remote estate with my best friend and his parents... Pretending my own father wasn't dying in the ICU.

My brain had been racing beyond my control, just making up a dozen scenarios every freakin' minute. The nagging voice in my head kept saying being stuck here with Miles, his family, and these injured strangers was...all my fault.

Must be the shock. Too much stress. Uncertainties.

This off-the-cuff countryside trip with Miles was supposed to be a quick one. Easy. Fun. No stress...

Just two friends hanging out with his folks on his birthday.

"It's just two days. Unwind a bit," Miles promised yesterday.

1) Celebrate his birthday with his parents and cousins

2) Act like we're boyfriend-girlfriend and get to know the Falco family

3) Say goodbye to Miles and book a flight

4) Go back to New York to check up on my dad

My list was simple. Doable. Not at all impossible to complete in a few days. Until all this.

After the Falcos' security staff hauled this bloody, unconscious guy down here in this dim basement, I just knew this makeshift operating room would be where I'd spend the rest of my day. Not by choice.

Darn. I should've listened to my gut. Should've been more honest with my best friend. Should've just said no to Miles the first time a sense of creeping dread twisted a knife-like ache deep into me.

"I'm coming home, Dad," I murmured, squeezing my eyes shut until my vision went pitch-black. "Please wait another night."

"You okay, Miss?"

Okay?

If "okay" meant shook to my core but not to the point of a nervous breakdown, then sure. I was fine. "Yeah. We're good. For now."

"Do you need help?"

"No. He's doing better. The bleeding's stopped. Thanks." I turned my back to the two men watching me from the other side of the room.

Like some of the surgical tools I used, two steel tables were haphazardly placed in the middle of this dingy storage room. Old, but not filthy. Still in good condition. The other rooms looked smaller and less organized, hence my decision to do the emergency surgeries in here.

So far nobody died yet. Thank God! No one within my peripheral vision, at least.

What a freaking nightmare...

Despite the numbness in my legs, I cleaned up some of the mess, pacing around the room to walk off the daze. The barrage of negative thoughts just ruined my efforts to seem calm. The knots in my chest remained, but nothing unexpected.

With another deep breath, I wiped sweat off my face with the sleeves of my dress. Duty called. So I had to help. I was not the right person for the job. Yeah. They knew that. But it was me or some paramedics who'd be at least an hour late.

Well, sure⁠-I was trained in first aid. Completed a couple of hospital trainings and all. But I was still years away from being a licensed physician. And so undeniably far from a trauma surgeon. I wasn't a licensed anything in this country.

For now we could only hope every one of us out here stayed alive and safe. They all looked as if they expected I could just stitch up the guy and send him home with no qualms. No hiccups. No threats of bad infections. Or other complications. As if I did this on a regular basis. Like all this was part of my day-to-day.

Someone coughed.

I turned to the armed men standing near the door.

"Scusi, Signorina." [Sorry, Miss.]

I stared at the guard who spoke⁠-one of the security staff who helped me stop Mystery Guy from bleeding out all over the place. "Yes?"

"Signore called us. We have, erm, meeting upstairs. We also need to check with the other staff."

Ah... "Signore" as in Mr. Falco, their employer and Miles' dad. Mr. Falco probably wanted his security team to regroup. Discuss their next plan of action and reevaluate our current situation.

"Yeah. We can handle it. He's okay for now." I gestured to the wounded, bandaged, half-conscious guy somewhat grunting on the bigger steel table. Italian Mystery Guy. "Please call me once the paramedics and ambulance arrive."

"Signore is saying we stay here," the guard with the cross tattoo on his arm reminded, his Italian accent thicker than the other guy's. "All of us."

Great. Another reminder that we're all trapped in this estate. "Yeah. Sure," I sighed. "For now. We need to transfer them to the rooms upstairs."

"Please wait."

Once I gave a half-meant nod, the dark-haired guard slightly bowed his head before they exited the room.

Mystery Guy's tightlipped and sweaty personal bodyguard stood closer to the table. We watched the patient closely. The fairly tall and muscular bodyguard glanced at me every ten seconds or so.

Was he waiting for new instructions from me?

"Sir, you okay?" I asked.

He nodded.

"It's fine if you want to go upstairs or make a call to check on something, or someone," I tried to say as calmly as I could. "You should call for another ambulance to fetch you two. Just to be sure."

The bodyguard stared at me with a slight frown, a look of uncertainty. "I called his brother."

"Oh. Good. Is he coming?"

"No."

Why not? "But he knows about, um, what happened. Right?"

The guy faintly nodded. "His assistant already called some people."

The assistant. So, that's it? The brother wasn't even gonna drop by?

"I will keep an eye on him, until the plane arrives." With his arms crossed, the bodyguard leaned closer to his boss.

A complete stranger. Not a local, but also Italian, based on his accent and looks.

"Right," I muttered.

Plane? Whoa. Mystery Guy's brother had a private jet?

"I just talked to the pilot. A medical team will be here later," the bodyguard said flatly.

"Ah. Good." But how late?

"Thank you again, Miss..."

"Mykaela. Or just 'Kel'," I replied with a quick smile. "Sorry. I didn't catch your name."

"Berto."

"Ah. Nice to meet you."

"His name is Lorenzio. Tomassini. Just call him 'Enzo'."

"Okay." Tomassini? Familiar. "So, uh, he's doing better, as he's not bleeding anymore. But like I said, he needs to see a doctor ASAP." I glanced at Mystery Guy. I took off the bloody surgical gloves and flung them into the trash bag.

"Can we move him now?"

"Yeah. He needs a comfortable bed. Clean sheets and clothes. Fluids. Proper rest." My hand clenched around the edge of the steel table as we waited for Mr. Tomassini to open his eyes. My second and hopefully last patient.

Tall guy.

Early 30s.

Fit.

Tan skin.

Wavy dark brown hair.

Sweaty. But he smelled nice. Manly.

The almost fatal head and neck injury weren't the only problems we'd be dealing with this afternoon. He could be falling asleep, but his deep scowl and the constant fidgeting of his bare torso and limbs assured me he'd stay awake for another hour or so.

Unless I gave him something that would knock him out. "Can't give him stronger pain medications. Sorry."

"Alright." Berto leaned over his half-naked boss and mumbled something in Italian.

Soiled blood smeared the cemented floor around Mr. Tomassini. Mostly his. Some used and unused medical supplies lay scattered on the other table.

I should do a more thorough medical history. A more clinical interview. Jot down more specific details about them before explaining my treatment plan.

Except, Mr. Tomassini didn't look chatty. His eyes remained shut. Maybe he wanted to sleep the rest of the day. For someone who lost that much blood, he should.

"Thanks. You did great back there. You saved them both."

"It's my job." Berto gave a tight smile. "You work for the Falcos?"

"No."

"But, you are Maximiliano's friend?"

"Yeah." Best friend, to be more accurate. Actually, Miles and I were a little more than friends on vacation with his family, especially after last night. But these strangers wouldn't care to ask.

"Thank you for taking care of everything." Berto sighed, his faint accent reminding me of the owner of this house.

No. Scratch that⁠-this incredible manor included three concrete storeys of beautiful Victorian architecture, give or take 15 bedrooms, a pool, an insanely huge garden with a labyrinth that could be older than me, and maybe even a few secret rooms only Ricchar Falco knew about.

Ricchar, our host, was Miles' first cousin and the VP for Operations of their family business. Actually the Falcos owned at least three companies.

"No problem. Anyway, we have to check on him and his bandages every now and then. Monitor his vitals and all." I glanced down at Mr. Tomassini. "Where's your boss?" I asked the other guard in the corner.

The guy stood by the door with a black handgun. Probably younger than me, but old enough to be working for the Falcos. Crew cut. Poker face. Bloodstained shirt. Dark pants.

I should talk in Italian, but they didn't seem to mind that my brain was just too exhausted to translate. "Ricchar, I mean."

"In the other room with Mrs. Falco," the guy replied with a slight accent.

"Right." Mrs. Falco as in Ricchar's wife. Cloe⁠-my first patient this morning. Thank God I didn't have to stitch up all of her wounds. The blood transfusion I facilitated with Ricchar should be done in a few. I should check on them.

"You need anything else, Miss?"

"No. But we gotta try again."

"I'm sorry?" Berto frowned and wiped the sweat off his forehead with his wrinkled sleeve.

"Call for another ambulance. I stitched 'em up but they need proper medical attention. Tests. Medications. Constant monitoring. Proper bedside care." Honestly I might just panic-cry if some internal complications or a scary infection happened. I didn't need a medical degree to know there's a 50-50 chance that kind of thing would happen soon.

"My phone's dead." The man sighed again.

"Where's his?" I nodded to his boss.

"Not here."

"He lost it?" I glanced around the room.

"Left it in the car," Berto muttered. "Intentionally."

Huh? "Why?" Oh. Wait. Bringing Mr. Tomassini's phone out here would put him at risk? Again? "Enzo wanted to leave his phone there?"

"Yes."

"Berto." Mr. Tomassini groaned but stopped fidgeting on the steel table. His voice remained hoarse as he talked to his bodyguard in Italian.

"You okay, Mr. Tomassini?" I stepped closer to his head once they were done talking.

The guy stared at me with a frown that creased his dark and thick brows, as if he didn't understand the question. Or he forgot who I was and the things I just did to him the past hour.

I was 100% sure he spoke fluent English, though, and with a Londoner's accent. We kind of chatted half an hour ago while I bandaged him up. "You should call your family. Tell them you were in a vehicular accident," I suggested. Not a minor one, too.

If his bodyguard wasn't exaggerating earlier, then it was a full-on ambush that nearly left them for dead in the middle of nowhere. This place was the definition of countryside life, just with a multimillion-dollar estate in between two mountain ranges.

"Sincerely doubt it was an accident," Mr. Tomassini strained to say without scrunching up his nose. His pale hand still clutched his bandaged shoulder.

"You have two gunshot wounds, but you're stable now. Please don't touch the bandages and try to keep still," I advised.

The guy blinked at me. Barely moved.

"We'll take you upstairs. But first we have to check your blood pressure again. Then I'll inspect your bandages."

Mr. Tomassini stared at the ceiling.

"You sure you don't have any allergies to certain meds?"

"Yes."

"Great." I nodded.

The guy shut his eyes again. A scowl wrinkled his tan forehead and pale lips, his right hand gripping his bloodstained shoulder. He didn't look dirty when he got here, save for the blood on his face, neck, and upper torso.

But to avoid scary infections, I had to disinfect all of his injuries with his bodyguard's help.

Thank goodness his bodyguard wasn't dumb and put tourniquets on him before Enzo bled out in the backseat. Thanks to his alertness and Kevlar, Berto only sustained a minor head wound and some bruises on his upper body.

What really happened out there? Who wanted them dead?

Was Enzo a criminal? Or an innocent victim?

Why would anyone want him killed?

◇

The Falco Estate

◇ MYKAELA ◇

"We need to talk about your family."

My family?

"Do you know why, Mykaela?" Mr. Falco led me inside the old storage room in Ricchar's cold basement. One of the suit-clad guards switched on the lights. Pretty sure Mr. Falco never left his house without his security detail.

The door locked with a soft click. The gun-toting bodyguard snuck out of the room without sparing us another glance.

Mr. Falco turned to face me, his tone low, restrained annoyance tensing up his angular jaw.

It pushed a sharp, ominous feeling deep down in my gut. The cold wall behind me somehow made my palms sweat buckets. Or it was this behind-closed-doors talk with the big boss, who, for some reason seemed eager to talk about my family. Why?

Did Miles share something besides my father's recent hospitalization? Why bring up my family again? Why here and why now?

"I-I'm sorry. What're we talking about?" The thumps in my chest ratcheted up. Grayish specs partly obscured his attentive eyes that pierced through my pretense as I tried to keep still next to the locked door.

"Before you lived with Maxim, did your parents..." Mr. Falco squinted. He took another step closer. "Did they know of our business associates?"

"Um..." What? How would my parents and sister know about their business transactions?

If I hadn't said yes to Miles and traveled all the way out here just to help him stomach a weekend with his folks, I wouldn't even find out that his family owned and ran more than two businesses:

1) SF Shipping - a cruise and shipping line, and

2) Luxoria - a chain of hotels all over Italy

Mr. Falco tilted his chin when I merely shook my head. Did I seem the type to gossip about other people's lives?

My feet itched at his unwavering stare and suspicious tone. But I shouldn't be rude. For Miles' sake and mine. Maybe he didn't tell his parents the real deal yet.

Or...his dad brought me back down here in this creepy, dim basement--with his armed bodyguard, no less--to make sure I gave him nothing but the whole truth now that we had total privacy.

Mr. Falco glanced sideways and cleared his throat. "You've met Niccolo Vinciguerra last year. Correct?"

Oh. So it wasn't a secret that his only son preferred guys.

Did Miles tell them everything?

I replied with a slight nod.

The man's tone hinted that he had more to say. They probably heard about Niccolo's disappearance. Miles could've mentioned it this morning.

Or... They already found out that Miles lied. That we both lied.

Shit. Miles came clean? Months ago, he'd asked me to pretend I was his girlfriend just to discourage Niccolo. To make the guy stay away for good. Did Miles actually explain the whole issue?

"Lorenzio's father had some hackers tracked down last week."

What?

"They found one of them. Niccolo gave up their names." Mr. Falco stared at me again. "Your name was also on his list."

Huh? List? "I-I'm sorry. What?"

The heck's he talking about? Hackers...

Why would my name be on his son's ex-boyfriend's "list"?

◇

Somewhat violent, disturbing images flooded my brain, and I couldn't help scowling at the man standing in front of me and trying to intimidate me with his cold, scrutinizing gray eyes.

Wait. So, it was Lorenzio Tomassini's father who wanted to cut a business deal with the Falcos. That's why Enzo met up with Cloe Falco in the city and ended up here. But why would Enzo's father hire some people to find Miles' ex?

Did Niccolo owe them money or something? Dirty money? That kind of thing? Wait. That would mean the Tomassinis could be...a mafia clan?

"Lorenzio's family has been experiencing some, er, issues with security lately."

"I... Enz-- Mr. Tomassini didn't mention anything."

Security issues... Niccolo must've hacked into their systems or something. To steal confidential company information and whatnot. One of the few things Miles had shared about his ex was Niccolo's impressive tech-savvy skill set and penchant for modern vigilante-ish activities.

But, in what way did that involve me? What list was he even talking about? Did he mean Niccolo dug up dirt on me, too?

Funny... My working class immigrant family were just that: working class and immigrants. No big, dark secrets they hadn't already dissected during our yearly clan reunions.

"Quite paranoid these days. And they think you being here has something to do with the ambush." Without tearing his gaze away from me, Mr. Falco put on his poker face again--something I didn't think would put the fear of God into me.

So, he and Enzo's family all thought Cloe and Enzo almost getting killed today could be my fault?

Crap. Was he serious? Or just trying to make me sweat with half-baked assumptions?

The tense silence weakened my knees.

Mr. Falco stared at me like he wanted to slice me open and spill all my secrets.

My legs wouldn't move, and my throat felt parched. The back of my mouth itched a little. The longer his eyes gripped my attention, the quicker my heart switched to overdrive. My chest kind of ached. I should speak up. Not make him wait for answers.

But, what did he really want me to say? His eyes just... Did he think I lied to him?

That I would dare lie to his face? Why? "I'm sorry, Sir. I don't know why they would think that." I averted my gaze.

Mr. Falco's footsteps echoed faintly as he stepped closer. Just hearing him say Niccolo's name...

Goosebumps bulged all over my arms. I tried to prolong a straight face. When he barely made a move, I dropped my gaze to the floor, mentally tracing the outlines of the bloodstains till the brownish spots blurred. If I played the staring game with him, I might spill the secrets Miles didn't want me to divulge just yet.

Where the heck was he? Did Enzo's family really think I had something to do with the ambush?

"Niccolo managed to get his hands on some privileged information. Bank records, ledgers, criminal records, the Tomassinis' books, among other things."

What other things?

"You know what those people are willing to do?" Mr. Falco sighed, his tone no longer droning. Forbidding, almost. "Just to keep their businesses and other lucrative activities above the law? I suppose you have an idea."

I swallowed. Shit. Was that...a threat?

"Did he tell you anything about it?"

"No, Signore." [No, Sir.] I folded my arms below my chest.

"I'm not a violent person, Mykaela." Mr. Falco lightly shook his head. "At times, however, like them, I'm forced to use other measures to make sure my family's safe and my business stays unharmed."

Like them... Probably Enzo's family.

"It would be better for you to tell me now why your name happened to be on Niccolo's list."

What? How should I know? "I only met him one time, Signore." Holding back a frown, I stepped backwards till my backside hit the cold wall.

Was he seriously accusing me of lying about his son's ex?

Why the heck would I? "Last time I heard of him was when Miles told me that, he was reported missing."

"I don't suppose you have any idea where he is at the moment?"

"W-What do you mean?"

"Just curious." Mr. Falco shrugged faintly.

Why did he expect I knew Niccolo's whereabouts? I didn't know the guy on a personal level, and vice versa. So what if they found my name on his "list"...

Perhaps Niccolo only wanted to know more about me, because he was jealous that I moved into Miles' house after they broke up.

"So, it's true? He was kidnapped?" I asked.

Who actually wanted Niccolo dead? The Tomassinis?

"I'll tell you if we receive any news." Mr. Falco gave me a forced smile and escorted me out of the room. "Get your things. The jet will be here soon."

◇

Alone and pacing by the huge, arc-shaped staircase, I glanced around the living room adorned with red drapes, thick rugs, and elegant sculptures of angels and Jesus and the Holy Family.

Familiar footsteps stopped me from fidgeting. Miles.

Finally. "Hey."

Without even a cursory glance, he walked past me and the wide staircase.

"Where you going?" I traced his rushed steps. He didn't even look my way. "Miles." I quickened my steps before he could disappear again.

"Not now." Miles headed towards the other side of the hall.

Ouch. Okay. Couldn't be bothered.

His voice sounded weird, too. Like he was coming down with something.

With furtive steps, I followed him past the hall, then the spacious and pristine dining area.

Miles rushed past the room with his head down, his steps echoing against the lofty marble walls. Did something happen?

"Ugh. Miles, where you going?"

◇

We ended up in the mansion's prayer room. Or was there another one upstairs? Intricate artworks hung behind the candle-lit altar. Must be worth a lot.

This place was the definition of grand.

A quiet moment lingered as Miles sat in front of the altar, his long legs sprawled on the floor, lean but muscular arms seeming lifeless on his lap.

I hid behind the huge palm plants by the entrance. The frustration and loneliness in his eyes just pinched my gut.

His nose and cheeks looked pinkish, too. Blankly staring at the opposite wall, Miles held back tears, sniveling but trying to be as quiet as he could.

My chest and every bit of me ached. First time ever I'd seen him cry. It hurt like someone just struck a knife into me.

I should've known-something bothered him. A lot. Not the best time to bring up the things his dad just told me. The things he accused me of doing...

"Sorry," I muttered. With tentative steps, I sat next to my best friend on the floor.

Tears dampened his smooth cheeks. Miles faked a half-smile after swiftly wiping his face with his shirt collar. "You good?"

I should be the one asking. I held in a sigh, his fairly swollen nose making me feel worse. I should've stayed by his side all morning.

Miles let out a long breath and still wouldn't look me in the eye. Was he ashamed I caught him crying?

"Yeah. Just hangin' in there," I muttered, faking a neutral face. "What's up?"

"Not much." He cleared his throat when his voice faltered. "Just...fuckin' hate all of this."

Oh shoot.

Why exactly was he crying? Did he and his parents argue? About me being here? Or about what happened this morning?

"Cloe's doing okay," I said calmly. "She'll be fine."

"Yeah. I know." Miles kept his face away from me as I stroked his hair. "Sorry."

Huh? I was expecting a murmured 'Thanks'. Not an apology. "Why?" I knelt between his outstretched legs on the floor and held his face. When his lips stayed pressed together, I pulled him in for a hug. "What's wrong?"

"Just...sorry." Miles sniveled, then gently pushed me away. Like my embrace bothered him.

"Why?" I pulled back.

Okay. The last thing he wanted was to seem vulnerable. Needy.

I should give him some space. Except...all I wanted to do was comfort him, stay here by his side, and kiss his troubles away.

"Shouldn't have come with me." Clenching his fist, he gently shook his head. Only to hit his own forehead with his fist. Over and over. "Fuck."

"Stop it." I grabbed his hand. Watching him so forcefully hurting himself, as if he blamed no one else... It twisted my insides.

Okay. So he thought it was his fault that we're stuck here. But was that it? That's what upset him and made him cry?

"You asked. Of course I wouldn't say no." I shouldn't. After everything he'd done for me, for helping me get back on my feet, for encouraging me to pursue my goals, the least I could do was say yes to his request. I wasn't leaving Italy for good. Not yet.

But this might be the first and last time we'd get to spend his birthday with his family.

I sighed at the lit candles on the altar. Was Daddy Jim feeling a little better? Did the surgery terrify him? Probably. "You wanna pray with me?"

"Sure." Miles grinned weakly, still avoiding my eyes. "Pray for my damned soul."

◇

"What else'd he tell you?"

"That his Kevlar protected him from the bullets." I held onto Miles, his forearm warmer than my palm. "And that, two of the attackers had brown and black snake tattoos on their neck, hands, and forearms."

"Fucking Russians." Miles itched the side of his head. A scowl deepened the crease between his dark brows.

When I tried to get up, he caught my wrist and pulled me to him. My stomach flipped when his arms wrapped around my hips and waist.

He made me sit between his strong thighs, just trapping me in his embrace while his warm face pressed onto my nape.

What did he really mean?

"Homicidal bastards."

"Wait." Homicidal Russians? "The Russian mob's actually targeting your family?" Shit.

That's why a bunch of masked thugs tried to murder his cousin-in-law and Enzo Tomassini. But why would the Falcos be feuding against a Russian mob?

Instead of giving me a straight answer, Miles only heaved a sigh, avoiding my eyes as if it would give away the secrets he'd been keeping to himself. Then he mumbled another swearword in Italian.

So, the Falcos were...a mafia clan? Hence those drugs in those jars? Was it real cocaine I found in the guest room?

"What d'you mean?" I held my breath, my throat aching somewhat, the suspense and his reticence only doubling my suspicions. "You actually know the people who tried to kill Cloe and Enzo?"

"The piece of shit who put a hit on their convoy? No." Miles scowled and shook his head. "Not yet."

I bit on the inside of my cheek, his grim tone making me expect a threat. A restrained and unfamiliar, constantly growing rage behind his scowls and swearing only worried me, to say the least. "So, they're definitely guns-for-hire?"

"Ricchar and Pappa think so."

"Crap. You're scaring me."

He scoffed. "You want me to lie? Tell you there's nothing to worry about?"

"No. But, why can't we just leave?" I hugged Miles, pressing my face onto his warm neck so we could keep talking in whispers. "Ricchar's got a few cars. We could borrow his SUV."

Miles sighed and barely moved. The rest of the mansion stayed quiet. Almost too quiet.

The almost eerie silence just made my thoughts race. What if the surgery failed? My dad's pulmonologist and the surgeons were experienced, trusted doctors... But we just didn't have much of a guarantee. Daddy Jim was too old and weak. Another major surgery might just...

"I'd drive you to the airport now, but, Ricchar and Pappa don't want us to leave." Miles hugged me back.

Ugh. Why? I'd already explained to all of them why I couldn't stay all weekend.

Fine. So Mr. Falco didn't really care that my father could be dead first thing. Well, after all he said in the basement, threatening me instead of thanking me, accusing me of lying and partly causing the almost perfect assassination of his favorite nephew's wife and the son of his new business partner...

I wouldn't be that surprised if he actually couldn't care less whether I made it back home alive and well. Darn. I couldn't stay in this town any longer. My dad couldn't wait another day. That surgery was scheduled for tomorrow. I should be there for him. My mom and sister needed me there, too. "You think those guys set up road traps?"

Miles swore under his breath. "That's what the head of security keeps saying."

"Your dad told you we shouldn't leave until the cops get here?" I sighed when Miles nodded faintly.

Did they even call the local authorities?

"Yeah. Where's the guy?" Miles sat back and let go of me.

"What guy?"

"Lorenzio."

Ah. Enzo, my grumpy patient. The last time I checked on him, though, the guy asked some very personal questions as if he wanted to get to know me. Or was it some kind of background check? Probably. "Upstairs." I sat up and tried to get rid of my frown. "In the room beside mine. Ricchar told the guards to bring Enzo there."

"Did you have to stitch up all of his bullet wounds?"

"Yeah. Gave him meds, too. He's a bleeder."

"How many bullets?"

"Just two. Grazed his hairline and the side of his neck. Not near his jugular, but, still pretty nasty."

Miles sighed. "Did he thank you, at least?"

"Sure. And his bodyguard."

Enzo showed his gratitude in a more businesslike fashion, though.

Miles arched a brow. "And that's it?"

"No. Enzo gave me a check, too." Definitely returning it later, though. I'd politely declined when Enzo brought it up the first time, but, the guy wouldn't take no for an answer. "It's so weird."

"What?" Miles pulled a face. "Him giving you money? Pfft..."

I squinted at his sardonic grin. "I feel like, you wanna say something else."

"His father and greedy uncles have billions. He prolly gave you spare change."

Really? Wow. A clan of billionaires wanted to do business with the Falcos. So, the Falcos were in the same bracket financially? Maybe they mingled in the same social circles. Or both. "But, definitely not weirder than almost getting murdered by a bunch of psychos in broad daylight."

"The escorts are all dead." Miles pinched his nasal bridge.

But the two people who I'd bet were the main targets made it out of there alive. With multiple gunshot and stab wounds, though.

Jeez. The savagery... It just wasn't what I pictured when I got out of bed and planned my itinerary this morning.

"What else did you give him?" Miles asked.

"Enzo? Started him on IV fluids. He's dehydrated." But if his injuries bled again, I'd stop the IV drip. If it popped the clots, that'd be a different nightmare I might not be able to handle on my own until the paramedics got here. "His bodyguard said he called Enzo's brother."

"He's not coming."

"Yeah." I could've asked Berto why, but, Enzo might not want to give any more personal details. "But a medical team's on the way."

"Good." Miles sighed out loud. "We'll use their jet."

◇