3 • Stranger Than Fiction

◇ MYKAELA ◇

"How did you end up here if you're from New York?"

"I had to work full-time." I leaned over the bedside table and returned the bowl of warm porridge on the tray.

"Ah."

I stared at the guy's bandaged arm, trying my best to ignore his curious tone and attentive eyes.

To him, a young American med school dropout being here in the Falcos' estate on the same day he and his bodyguard almost got killed in broad daylight was rather suspicious.

Well, okay. I get it. I'd definitely be questioning a bunch of people after what happened this morning. After hearing about Russian mobsters plotting against the Falcos and all, I'd be suspicious of foreigners, too. But no reason to take it personally.

Perhaps Enzo just wanted to ask more personal questions to pass the time. The medical team and the jet must be half an hour away at this point. Yet it was getting more obvious that being helplessly stuck in this guest room, in someone else's mansion, was starting to irritate him. Besides his gunshot wounds. Thank God he didn't bleed for hours.

Even better, his brother owned a private jet. "Why?" Mr. Tomassini sat on the edge of the bed, half-naked and a little sweaty. He'd insisted on "Enzo" when I'd addressed him formally this morning.

I still wasn't comfortable using his nickname, as if we'd met and known each other before all this. "Dropped out of medical school," I explained. "Then I applied for a working visa here. Was already doing small-time modeling jobs there whenever I could. So I thought, why not work here instead?"

"Why here?"

I shrugged and faked a smile, pretending to be busy with the first aid kit the maid had brought here. The actual reasons I chose to work and live here was a whole story for another day.

"Why Italy?" Enzo stared at me and rested his bandaged arm on his muscular thigh. Actually, his entirety was an athlete's physique, more obvious now that he only wore dark boxers.

The weather and this room's ventilation weren't making me sweat buckets, though. Not warm, but not that cold. Good enough temperature for his injuries. "Some well-paying job opportunities."

"The Falcos helped you move here? They sponsored you or something?"

"Kind of. Miles and a common friend helped me out." Miles and his stubbornness, especially. "Are you really done eating?"

A faint nod was Enzo's response. "Why drop out?"

Oh gee. More questions... "Money issues." I looked away, mainly because he plainly ignored my attempt to switch the subject.

His unwavering gaze was also making my nape and arms sweat a bit. Was he interviewing me out of utter boredom?

I cleared my throat and slid the crisp piece of paper out of my pocket. "By the way, here's the, um..." I stared at the signed cheque his bodyguard gave me barely an hour ago.

"Che?" [What?] The guy pulled a face at the cheque.

"Thanks, but I don't need it," I lied.

Enzo squinted. "That's yours."

"No. It's yours," I muttered, forcing another polite smile.

"What?"

"You don't have to give me money." It wasn't like I revived him from near death single-handedly.

He didn't exactly flatline or need CPR when they brought him here. "I'm serious, Mykaela."

"Same."

Enzo scoffed and wouldn't stop scowling. "You'll need it for school, among other things."

Tuition. Rent. Dad's hospital bills and medications... But, it was no one else's problem but mine. "Thanks. Really. But I can't take your money." I shouldn't. Period. I was a total stranger on my way back to where life needed me most at this moment. Back to my family. But he didn't need to know that much. Or the fact that I just got a text from my mom saying my dad was back on the ventilator.

Enzo sighed, absently watching me clean up the food tray. "Alright, then. Someone will deliver it in cash to your parents' house. I have an office in New York."

"What? No. Don't." Breathe. Smile. Just focus on inspecting his injuries. Laugh off his overconfident suggestion. But the sound that came out of my mouth sounded like a nervous chuckle. "You can thank me later." I got up, turning my back to him to refill the glass on the nightstand with clean drinking water.

"How?"

"When you're back to your normal routine and able to work again."

"But..." Enzo frowned. "How can I return the favor?"

"Up to you." I stared at his bare legs and feet. Still no signs of bad fractures. Some bruising and redness on his shin. Fairly swollen left ankle. But nothing really alarming. "You're making me wanna bandage that foot now."

The guy just squinted at me as if I didn't make sense.

"Keep your ankle elevated."

"Been sitting in bed for hours." Enzo sighed out loud. His foreign accent sounded more obvious along 'hours'.

"Why d'you sound like you're from London?"

"Finished college and my master's there."

"Oh." Made sense. I nodded and pointed to his partly swollen foot. "Could be a lateral ligament tear. You can't put pressure on it for at least three days." I went into the dim bathroom to wet a clean face towel, then walked back to the bed with my gaze on his tan face. If he caught me checking him out another time, I might as well dig my own grave somewhere in the Falcos' insanely huge backyard.

With his bare feet on the carpet, Enzo gave me a casual nod. "Copy."

"Use compression socks and binding."

"How often?"

"Daily. No physical activities for a while." I put on a poker face as his scowl deepened. "I'm not exaggerating."

"Yeah. Alright," he muttered.

Minding his slight discomfort, I wiped sweat off his neck and chest, working around his fresh bandages as carefully as I could with his back tensing up. Actually I'd already written him a list of things to buy. I just forgot to bring my notepad.

"Why won't you let me pay you?"

Oh shoot. Back to this conversation... "You really don't have to." I wiped the sweat off his broad shoulders and looked away, keeping up a pleasant face despite my sleep-deprived brain making it quite difficult. Seeing my best friend crying to himself for the first time also didn't help. Was Miles feeling any better? "It's not—"

"I should."

"No. It's nothing. Really." I averted my eyes and wiped his hands clean. If he still wanted to give me that signed blank check, I should just say no and give him a better reason.

"You didn't tell me you're going back to New York." Enzo inched closer when I didn't get up to walk away from him again.

"Who told you?"

"Stefano."

Right. Of course. They were talking about me before Mr. Falco saw me by the door.

"You will be on the plane with us. Right?"

"Sorry?" I stared at Enzo as he scratched his dark stubble.

"Is your flight tomorrow?"

Why? I mean... Why did he care? "Yes. Dad needs surgery," I tried to say calmly after grabbing an orange from the food tray. "I have to be there."

"Surgery?"

I nodded.

"Why does he need surgery?"

Gee. 20 questions must be his favorite game. What else did he want to know? "Tumors. Cancer." I grabbed the glass of water for him and tried to give him the peeled orange, but Enzo only shook his head. "You're sweating a lot. Sure you feel fine? You need water?"

"No more." Enzo watched my every move like it amused him or something. "Why won't you accept my help?"

"Just 'cause..."

"It's my money."

"Thanks, but no thanks." I feigned another smile. "Can we chat about something else?" I put the orange and glass of water back on the tray.

With a loud grunt, Enzo adjusted his sitting position. The stitches weren't bleeding anymore. Yet he still seemed to be in much pain.

I already gave him the second dose of painkillers, but he would still clench the muscles near his injured arm and neck every few minutes or so. Hopefully he'd receive the utmost care and proper treatment he needed once they reached a city hospital.

"I'm still curious about you and Maximiliano."

Oh. Now he wanted to know more about my living situation with Miles. Or why I spent the weekend here. Probably both? Did Mr. Falco tell him I was his son's parasite girlfriend?

"Are you together?" With his fingers, Enzo combed his hair that looked darker and less unkempt. "Like, exclusive." Deep-set blue eyes studied me again.

Or were they pale gray? The windows were shut closed. Dusk had already settled in, the lights drawing shadows on his bare torso and angular face. High cheekbones matched his strong jawline.

"We're friends." Best friends... Or just close friends who kissed one time?

Jeez! Shut up. It was none of his business.

It wasn't like I owed him an explanation. Kneeling on the covers, I leaned over Enzo to avoid his questioning gaze. "The paramedics should've been here half an hour ago." I wiped the cold sweat off his back.

Shit. Like his nape, his back felt warmer.

Ugh! I knew this would happen. But if I told him that his fever meant his immune system was fighting off an infection, it could give him more anxiety, or annoy him, which could also worsen his current state.

So, I'd shut up about it for now. Unless he told me to discuss everything I'd be explaining to the medical team.

"S'alright. I like how you take care of your patient."

"Enzo, I've given you antibiotics but I'm not sure it's taking effect."

"Great."

Huh? Great? Why's he smiling?

Enzo stared into my eyes. His heavy-lidded gaze looked more...appreciative than curious. Not at all dubious.

My throat nearly closed up when his grin bared his nice teeth and dimples.

What exactly did he mean?

"You'll have to stay with me till the plane gets here."

"Um...yeah. Looks like it." I cleared my throat and got up to kneel beside the bed, pretending I needed to check his injured foot again. "Want me to get a bigger ice pack? For your ankle?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"It's just a sprain. And I used the fuckin' thing." Enzo made a face at the ice pack on the nightstand and carefully stretched his legs. "Didn't help."

Alright. Fine. I'd reassess his ankle before the team of medics transported him out of here. "We can bandage it now if you want."

"It's not that bad."

Ugh.

Obviously, he wasn't going to say yes as it would force him to keep his foot elevated. Meaning, he would be lying on his back again until we had to leave this place.

I frowned at his bare chest and abs. Sweat formed a few droplets on the upper part of his abdomen. "D'you take supplements?"

"Sure."

"Could you be more specific?"

Enzo winced as he stretched his bandaged arm with my help. "The usual. I work out almost daily, and I run sometimes."

"You take Vitamin K?"

"What's it for?"

"Avoiding blood clotting issues. Joints and heart ailments."

"Ah." Enzo cussed under his breath and itched the bandaged part of his neck. "I do triathlons every now and then. I take the usual cocktail beforehand. Amino acids. Protein whey. All that."

"Right." I took my phone out and showed him a short list of other supplements he should take while his wounds healed.

"Just send it to me. Berto gave you my email. Right?"

"Done."

"Grazie, bellezza." [Thanks, beauty.]

"Is he waiting for a call or something?" I headed for the door.

His bodyguard wasn't outside.

I shut the door and wiped some sweat off my temples.

"Told him to get dinner." Enzo wiped his face with a white towel.

"Oh, okay." I glanced at the bathroom door and stood by the foot of the bed. "So, d'you want a bath?"

Enzo raised a brow, grinning slightly.

"A cold bath," I said a tad louder. I stepped closer to the nightstand to avoid his stare. My face and neck were heating up. "You've been sweating all day. I just thought, you feel uncomfortably warm and sticky all over."

"If I really need one."

"A bath? Yeah. I-It might help. I'll assist you."

Enzo smiled but didn't say anything.

Once my heartbeat calmed down enough for me to sit next to him again, I looked him in the eye. "What?"

A lengthy sigh was his initial reply. "Why not just take it?"

"Sorry? Take what?"

He tried to hand me the signed blank check, then scoffed when I ignored the gesture. "You'll need the money. Or just use it whenever." With creased brows, Enzo leaned forward, his eyes seemingly fixated on me. "What? You really don't believe it's mine?"

I touched his stubbled chin to carefully tilt his head. "That's not why I'm hesitating." I leaned closer to check the bandage on his slightly wrinkled forehead.

The bullet only grazed his hairline. Weird. It was such an unusual trajectory if he sat in the backseat with no bulletproof vest or any protective gear when the shootout happened. This guy, an heir from a wealthy clan, was too lucky to get out of that ambush with only non-fatal injuries. Angels definitely watched over him.

"Did Stefano talk to you?" Enzo grabbed my wrist before I could walk away from the bed.

I pulled my hand until he let go of my wrist. "Mr. Falco?" Shoot. Did I look scared when Mr. Falco was talking to him? Or too nervous? Maybe both. I mean, who wouldn't be? That man could melt ice with his mere stare, and the threats he made while he "talked" to me in the basement only amplified his distrust of my presence here. "About what?"

"About this?" Enzo glanced around the room.

Did he mind the dimness? Should I turn on the bathroom lights, too?

"Us being here," he mumbled.

"You mean, you and Berto?"

"Sure. Did Stefano talk to you about me?"

I nodded.

"And my family?" Enzo kept up a mild frown that showed concern rather than annoyance.

"Yeah. A little."

"What did he say?"

"That you're working on a business deal, a-and you're here as your brother's proxy. Cloe met with you in the city because Ricchar was busy. I mean, that's basically all he said." Another lie, but, I just didn't want him to think I had anything to do with this morning. I'd never tried to harm anyone in any way. Never.

Why did Mr. Falco easily believe I had something to do with the ambush? Was he that paranoid? Because of this big merger with the Tomassinis?

"Sure," Enzo muttered, his gaze rather skeptical. "Correct me if I'm wrong..." He glanced down at my wrinkled shirt dress.

I didn't back off and tried to keep my breathing steady. But to hide my fidgeting hands, I had to rest them on my lower back.

"Maximiliano brought you here to celebrate his birthday with his parents, and Ricchar and Cloe. But you told them you'll go back to New York tomorrow?"

"Yeah. Miles and his parents know why. I mean, Maximiliano. Sorry. I just call him 'Miles'."

"And he knows about your dad's surgery."

"Yeah. I explained to them last night why he needs it ASAP. They offered some financial help, too."

"I see." Enzo looked at me with a weak, close-lipped smile. "I just thought he told you not to accept any sort of help from me. I thought you and him were a thing."

Well, yeah. I wished. But as Miles said more than enough: he didn't really do relationships. "No. He didn't say that." Not explicitly in that context, anyway.

"I just heard the Falcos are big on privacy."

"Yeah?"

Enzo shrugged as he watched me try to act cool and unbothered. "Stefano doesn't go anywhere without bodyguards."

"Prolly true most of the time." I bit on my inner cheek and backed away. The smell of his shampoo mixed with his musky sweat was making me a bit dizzy. Not that he reeked. I just wasn't used to his scent.

Did he want to talk about everything he remembered from this morning's events? Could he still recall specific details? Was he awake before and during the ambush?

"Did your brother talk to the police?"

"In Florence? Nah," Enzo murmured. "He's not home."

"What about the local cops?"

"I suppose, he's made a few calls. Why?"

"Nothing."

So, his family already contacted the police. Well, considering everything Miles said about them, the Tomassinis could be affiliated with the Italian mafia. Meaning, they also had a good number of cops on their payroll. Or were they actually a mafia clan?

Which begged the question: did Miles intentionally keep away from his family the past several years because the Falcos had ties to the Italian and Russian mobs?

Or... Were they a mafia clan, too?

Shit. I didn't sign up for any of this.

I should leave. Go back home. Stay far, far away from these people.

Darn it. I should be on my way to the airport now.

Too bad I didn't have a brother with a private jet.

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