The Secret Mafia Heiress

NOTE: Some of the chapters contain Italian dialogue. Translations will be written inside brackets [ ].

***

MILES.

Shoot the bastard? Watch the guy murder his own brother? Or shoot the bastard after watching him murder his own brother?

As I weighed the pros and cons, my mother paced behind me, barely containing her panic. Not her fault.

We all came here to spend time with family, not watch this display of unrestrained violence right in the middle of my cousin's pristine dining room.

Where in the flying fuck's Ricchar?

Leandro, the last person we expected to show up here in the estate, threw another couple of punches at his victim. This drug-dealing psycho just didn't give a shit.

Everything looked so out of place. The stream of profanities. Loud grunts of palpable fury. Cries of terror and pain. Stoic, tense-jawed armed guards surrounding the scene...

Were they enjoying it? The fuck's wrong with these people?

I gripped the gun but stayed put.

My best guess: Lorenzio was catching up with Mamma here in the dining room, clueless that his brother would find him here, beat him up and show him what "dominance" and "untimely death" meant.

"Do something!" my mother shrieked at the sight of blood on Lorenzio's cheek.

"Back off, Mamma." I stayed put in front of my mother. We kept a safe distance from the Tomassini brothers. A warning shot might work. Or should I just let it all play out? If I interfered, these barbaric assholes might pull out their guns and spray bullets all over the house.

Behind me, Mamma gripped my forearm, sounding like she was hyperventilating. "Stop it!" She mewled. "Maxim, stop him!"

***

KEL.

Tall. Dark. Raven-black hair. Muscular all over. A looming presence.

My intakes of breaths wouldn't reach my lungs. I backed off. My hands and legs turned numb. Why?

Why wouldn't he stop staring? Deliberately intimidating me...

Now he towered over me with a full glass of wine and a crooked grin. It stretched his pale lips and dark beard. Leandro sipped his drink. "Thank you for helping my brother."

"I was just trying to help, Signore."

"You know he's got a thing for your type?" He chuckled.

My type?

"Humor me. Why are you with him?"

"W-We're just friends, Signore." I faked a smile at his natural talent for giving shade. I'd rather walk out of here now, but it would be rude.

"Really good friends, I gather." Leandro grinned when I kept my mouth shut. He stepped dangerously close.

The smell of alcohol on his breath and tongue wrenched my gut.

Should I shove him? Run? Shit. Where'd the guards go?

"Why Belgrade?"

My breath got trapped in the back of my mouth when his heavy hands grabbed my arms. I should scream and run. But no sounds came out of my mouth. My feet and legs wouldn't move.

Shit. What was happening?

Alone, cornered, wincing at his painful grip, I tried to push him off.

Nothing. He didn't even budge. He looked ready and excited to drown me with his bare hands.

Tears fell on my cheeks. I pulled away. My head slammed onto the edge of the pool. "Wait! Enzo! N—"

No guards. No maids. No Enzo.

Shit. His brother might murder me out here. No one would even notice anything.

"Who told you to go to Serbia?" Leandro gripped my throat, his other hand clasping my wrists. He pinned me against the wall. Hot breaths fanned my skin. "Why Belgrade?"

"I-I met up with someone there. Please let go." I bit back tears.

Should I tell him why Enzo and I were in Serbia? Wouldn't that endanger Niccolo, too?

This paranoid sadist would torture us if he found out that I met up with Niccolo, the guy who spied on him to expose his illegal businesses. "Who?" Leandro gripped my wrists.

"No one you know." I avoided his face but I just couldn't move away from him. "Just a friend."

"I'm the last person you should be lying to, Mykaela."

"I'm not—" I held back sobs. Now my lungs felt like they were burning up. I tried kicking him.

Useless. He's still taller, more muscular than his brother, and just livid. "They paid you a lot?" Leandro smirked. "You like snitching, huh?"

"No!"

"You one of Stefano's whores? Or you work for the Russians?"

"No! Stop—" I gripped his wrist when he squeezed my throat. "No! Please, Si— Don't." I couldn't die out here. Not tonight.

"Answer my question," he murmured to my lips. "You will tell my brother you're using him to spy on us. Understand?"

"I'm not! Get away—" I slapped his hand away and stopped struggling. Freeing my arms from his deathlike clasp suddenly felt easy, but my vision was starting to blur.

Calm down.

Breathe...

Panicking wouldn't help.

Breathe...

Just think of a plan.

I just needed to distract him. I could still escape. Maybe if I gave him the answers he wanted to hear...

My insides shivered when he stared me down. My chest felt uncomfortably tight now. I feigned calmness. I grabbed his hand on my throat and stared into his dark eyes.

He stopped choking me and laughed. "Feisty." His lopsided grin raised the tip of his dark beard. "I see now why my brother likes you."

"Let go!"

The psycho grabbed my arms again. "You almost got him killed. Do you wanna kill me, too?"

2 years earlier...

Milan, Italy.

KEL.

It was his dark, wavy hair. Or was it the devil-may-care air about him? His height was also a plus. He was of lean build and several inches taller than me.

Quite muscular. Distinct and symmetrical features. Plus a unique name. It made me think he was a full-blooded Italian. Apparently he was of American descent as well.

Actually I found everything about him rather interesting. Subtly mysterious. He probably had a bad boy streak, too, but I didn't mind.

Miles gulped some more of his beer as the loud party music drowned out the conversations simultaneously happening around us.

I reclined in the sofa with my legs crossed.

Miles went on chitchatting with his friends, the dull lights making his shoulder-length hair look somewhat shiny and soft to the touch.

It was only the second time I saw him here in Italy. But I already felt drawn to him for some reason. Or was it because of the freakin' blood pact? We did it in front of his friends barely half an hour ago. He even drank some of my blood.

Partly regretful and embarrassed, I smothered a laugh at the images forming in my head. The weirdest dare I ever heard, but I gathered his circle of friends preferred weird hobbies.

His best friend said his real name was "Maximiliano" and that his parents were from Umbria. But Paul didn't mention a lot about Miles' background, leaving much to my imagination. I guessed Miles didn't like that his birth name was a mouthful—hence him choosing "Miles Falco" as his artist name.

Despite my opinion of him being an introvert, I could also tell he liked partying with his friends and some recreational activities—besides smoking cigarettes and the usual party booze.

Bad boy cliché personified. Not a total wild child, as far as I could tell. But Miles seemed the type of guy my strict parents had been warning me to stay away from ever since they transferred me out of the all-girls Catholic school I grew up in with my sister. A gut feel told me he's inherently a nice guy, though. Our first lengthy conversation told me so.

As soft rock music soothed my fairly inebriated senses, I shut my eyes and rested the back of my head on the sofa's headrest. Well past tipsy, judging from my lightheadedness and the unpleasant sensation in between my thighs. Almost like I was on my period.

To be honest, alcohol and I were never friends...mainly because I stayed away from it and other indulgent habits. Granted, I shouldn't be staying up this late drinking with strangers and doing nothing, but the past few days felt as if my brain was just completely worn out from all the studying and adulting.

Right now both my mind and body just felt drained. Useless. Overworked. Full of pent-up anxiety and unable to keep up with adulthood's demands. But at least my mom wasn't around to chastise me eight ways to Sunday. Kinda missed her, though, and Jill, my sister.

"Sorry the party's boring you to death," someone mumbled to my face.

Miles. I could tell by his American accent and his minty, soap-smelling cologne. The joke sounded rather serious, though. I opened my eyes and sat up.

He lounged beside me, no longer clutching a beer bottle, his breath warm. It reeked of alcohol, and his eyelids looked quite droopy.

"It's a nice party," I commented and stared into his hazel eyes. "I was just zoning out for a bit."

"You look ready to bolt. Not blaming you, though." Miles clicked his tongue and reclined next to me. He chewed gum, his lazy gaze roaming around the small groups of people drinking and chatting around us.

"Nah. Just tired. Sleepy," I muttered.

My phone clock said I should leave the party and call it a night. But I liked the feeling of being around strangers who knew nothing about me. Being invisible gave me a sense of comfort most of the time.

They didn't even know my first name, which I preferred. It was Paul's birthday. He'd invited me to join their late-night celebration. For letting me crash on his couch for two weeks now with his girlfriend's full approval, I couldn't just say no.

"Still hurts?"

"Huh?" I glanced down. I almost pulled my hand away when Miles touched my wounded finger. My left ring finger. "Just a bit." I stared at the antiseptic-laden bandages covering a small cut. It still ached. No one else was to blame but me, though.

"Sure you're okay?" Miles stared into my eyes, a slightly concerned grin tilting his lips.

I tried to match his dimply smile. "I don't look okay?"

With a fainter grin, he let go of my hand and glanced away. "To be clear, though, I'm clean. Far as I know."

"Good to know."

Miles cleared his throat and chuckled, as if amused by something that crossed his mind. "99.99% sure."

"Yeah. Okay." I giggled.

Once we had completed the dare, to his friends' satisfaction, he'd said that he just had to do it with me to avoid crossing paths with his ex-boyfriend again. Allergic much?

As a former medical professional trained in laboratory infection control, I shouldn't have encouraged it. Should've just said no to all of it. But they were all drunkenly and brazenly cheering us on. And most of my common sense had already been suppressed by the alcohol in my system.

It was really stupid. Definitely biohazardous. Yet Miles didn't even flinch when he tasted my blood. Must be the intoxication. Why did his friends let him drink more beer? "I mean, I use condoms. I don't do oral. And I don't shoot up. So, no needles."

At his barefaced admission, I couldn't hold back my laugh as he itched the bandages on his palm. They covered up his cut. Actually I was the one who put the bandages on his hand.

To everyone's amusement, Miles nonchalantly cut himself using Paul's Swiss knife earlier. Just for that stupid dare. And now he was casually sharing private matters about his sex life.

It was pretty funny. "I don't doubt it," I replied, chuckling at his candor. "I'm clean, too."

He grinned and nodded faintly.

"I don't sleep around and I don't do drugs. Just FYI." Except some anti-depression meds, I should say. But I doubted he would find that a relaxing conversation segue, so I opted not to elaborate. I just wanted to reassure him that I didn't have any blood borne pathogens that could cause serious harm to his health.

"Hmm. Yeah," he muttered, "I don't think you're into Italian guys." A slanted grin showed his nice teeth. "They're pretty filthy. I mean, some of 'em."

I snickered. "Does that...include your ex?"

The one he'd been hiding from all night? Miles didn't say much when I asked about the guy earlier. I just heard the guy's name was "Niccolo".

"Probably. I really don't give a shit if he sleeps around," Miles said with a mild frown. "Wasn't anything serious."

"Oh." I glanced around us.

The other guests had returned to the party downstairs.

"And you?"

"Me?" I looked at Miles.

He stared at my face again. "You dating someone?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"I dunno..." I shrugged. "I just don't date," I admitted, faintly giggling at his apparent curiosity.

"Huh. Okay. Are you...asexual?"

"Yeah." I nodded almost too enthusiastically. It somewhat surprised me that he could tell so easily.

"Cool. First one I've met so far." He coughed away from my face before staring at the pitch-black sky above us. "How old are you again?"

"24. You?"

"26 soon." Miles fixed his hair into a ponytail. "I like your hair." He scooped a chunk of my long hair and lightly combed his fingers through it. "Naturally straight and soft."

"It's boring. I like yours better." I smiled at him. Actually I was crushing on his long and wavy hair that almost looked black. It completed his vaguely mysterious look. "It's got character."

"It's my mom's hair," he muttered before glancing away. He reclined and put his arms on the headrest. "Why Italy?"

"I dunno. Just...impulse. I've always wanted to visit Europe."

"Paul told me you're looking for modeling jobs."

"Yeah. Wanna try doing it full-time here." I sighed to myself, knowing the transition wasn't going to be that easy. "I mean, I badly need the cash, too."

"Why?" Miles glanced at me and frowned slightly.

"I was modeling part-time to help pay for my tuition and student loans...all that."

"In New York?"

"Yeah. But I had to drop out. So now, I'm trying to work here full-time."

"Why drop out?" Miles furrowed his brows at me.

"Just, y'know, the money, and some family issues," I replied, not bothering to elaborate. He didn't need to know that I couldn't find decent modeling jobs here in Milan.

I just moved here weeks ago. I couldn't get odd jobs because I didn't speak the language at all. I'd been crashing at Paul and India's apartment. Luckily they didn't seem to mind.

Miles yawned. "Paul said you're lookin' for a place to stay?"

"Yeah. Told him and India I'll move out once I get enough cash. I'm looking to book more runway gigs."

"Right. Listen. You can crash at mine. But it's almost two hours away."

I nearly gawked at him. Was he joking? "Where d'you live by the way?"

"Brescia. In Brichese."

"Ah..." I nodded. I knew nothing about the place, but it must be peaceful since he was a painter by profession. "Alone?"

"Yeah." Miles gave me a lopsided smile. "I need a new muse for my next collection."

Collection? "I'm sorry. What?"

"I'm starting a couple of paintings. Gonna sell the pieces next year. If I finish all of 'em on schedule."

"And you want me to...pose for your paintings?" Me? His new muse?

"Sure. You said you need a modeling gig." He snickered. "No full-on nudity, if you're uncomfortable with that."

"Cool," was all I said. My heart thumped in my chest when he kept staring. So he thought I was good enough to be his muse?

"You can move in soon as tomorrow. I got two spare rooms in my house. You can use the one downstairs."

Wow. His house? He already owned a house? At 25? How rich was he?

"Sound good?"

"Um... Yeah." I blinked at his steady gaze. "Are you serious?"

"Yeah."

"I mean..." We just met. Was he seriously offering me his spare room or just seriously drunk?

"You need a place and a job. I need a muse," he replied casually. A look of certainty had replaced his grin. "You'll be my temp. So you won't have to worry about rent. Then you can go to castings. Work full-time on Fashion Week. That's if you wanna live in Brescia."

"No, I... I'd love to." I couldn't hold back a smile when he held out his hand. I shook it.

"Really?" he murmured with a somewhat doubtful look. He frowned a bit and let go of my hand. "Can I ask you something personal?"

"Sure." I sat still.

Miles leaned in to regard me with his watchful eyes. They looked even more beautiful up-close. Almond-shaped. Long and dark lashes. Attentive. Thoughtful. "Were you dating that Russian actor?" He squinted at me.

The question wasn't what I expected, but it didn't really surprise me. "Not really." I chuckled. "Paul told you I was dating Andrew?"

"No. Just saw a photo of you and the guy online."

Not on my social media profile, for sure. "We weren't really dating." I pulled a face. "It's, um, complicated."

"Hey. Not judging here." Miles gave me a half-grin and took out a wrinkled cigarette stick. "You smoke?"

"Just socially."

"Good. Don't smoke." He lit the cigarette and took a long drag with his head turned away from me.

I almost smiled. He was full of contradictions, but I was starting to like that about him.

Why was he hanging out with me? Did he find me remotely interesting to talk to? Or he just thought I needed company because I looked like such a loner?

"Any questions?" I muttered after he put out his cigarette with his leather boots. "What if I'm a serial killer or something?"

"Pfft..." Miles cleared his throat after staring at me with slightly creased brows. "You don't have that aura."

"How d'you mean?"

"I know a grade-A bullshitter when I meet one."

I giggled when Miles snickered at his own words.

"You ever posed nude?" He squinted at me. "Some photographers and agents can be total pervs."

"Yeah. Some definitely are," I muttered. "Just semi-nude. No nips."

"Hey. No judgment here."

I chuckled. "Thanks for hearting my photos, by the way."

Miles glanced away and grinned timidly. "I wasn't stalking you online, to be perfectly clear," he mumbled with a throaty chuckle.

I held back a smile.

"Okay. Maybe just a little."

"No judgment here." I raised my palms and snickered at his smirk. "I tried modeling 'cause I just felt like I needed a break, y'know? From med school. The pressure. Anxiety..."

"Sure."

"And the loans were piling up and dad's getting sicker." I shrugged.

"Sicker? Is he doin' okay now?"

"A little better." But not for long. I should know. I sighed. Sad thoughts shut me up before Miles could respond. When my stress and anxiety reached peak levels, I just packed up and left America before my parents could even talk me out of it.

"Sorry about your dad." Miles pouted.

"Yeah. I just left New York. Felt like I badly needed a breather."

"And you thought you could work here to save up and enjoy the anonymity."

"Exactly." I giggled.

"Your parents know you're here in Milan?"

"Of course. My mom's a worrier, to be honest."

"Ah." Miles looked away and glanced up at the starless sky again. "Wanna try living in the countryside? Lots of privacy there." He yawned. "Just sayin'..."

"At your place?"

"Yeah." He grinned at my fairly skeptical reaction.

"But... How am I gonna pay rent?" I squinted at his handsome profile, gauging his seriousness. Obviously he was already inebriated, but the certainty in his tone told me he wasn't joking at all. "I don't have a steady job yet."

"Did I say you gotta pay rent? I need a muse ASAP." He stared and snickered at me. "We got a deal?"