Chapter 3. The Falcos

MYKAELA

[The Falco Estate]

"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 dr*gs in those jars? Was it real c****ne 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."