1 ◇ Trigger

◇ Umbria, Italy ◇

Every punch, every strike, every heavy blow to the head had the guy shouting profanities at the armed men beating him till he could barely speak.  Miles winced as he watched from afar. Good thing he wasn't the one hanging from thick, long chains, clutching onto them as if his life depended on it.

The guy in shackles lifted his head while the rest of his bruised body helplessly swayed.  The taller goon toyed with a baseball bat, using it to hit Niccolo Vinciguerra on his outstretched limbs.

"Figlio di pu—  Merda!" Niccolo's handcuffed wrists stayed attached to a concrete beam.  Metal clanking against metal echoed within the cold walls of the basement as they all watched the Vinciguerra heir suffer. At least he still had the energy to swear out loud.

Miles scowled.  Niccolo glared at him again. Utter hostility hardened the guy's darkened eyes as Miles stood in the corner, watching. Waiting.

Did Niccolo blame him?  It wasn't his fault they ended up here. Niccolo made the choice to betray his trust;  the guy even tried to blackmail him and his family.

"Animali!"  Loud grunts of agony filled the next five minutes as Niccolo tried to stay conscious amid the cruel beating his entire body endured. Bright red liquid stained his lean chest and stomach. His bound hands hung high above his shaved head that shone with sweat and fresh blood.

The scenario definitely was what he'd expected, but Miles didn't exactly predict his father would actually torture the guy for hours.

Matter of fact, Stefano Falco never got his hands dirty for a nobody, but this one might've pushed the right buttons to warrant a good beating from the big boss.

"Torturing him's not gonna solve anything." Miles stared at his father's wrinkled, bearded face,  and Miles waited for Stefano's stone-cold expression to change.

If Miles only had the heart to forgive the person he once thought would give him the contentment and sense of belonging he'd always craved, he would stop the blatant homicide about to take place right in front of them.

Should he question his father's orders and stop all this pointless violence? Or just pretend this vengeful act of brutality didn't bother him at all?

"We're not trying to solve anything, bambino," Stefano replied while wiping splotches of Niccolo's blood off his knuckle.

So why beat the living daylights out of the guy?  Why would his father have Niccolo kidnapped?  Miles didn't take his eyes off the bloodshed until deafening gunshots disrupted his train of thought.

"Fuck!" He covered his ears and backed off. "Was that really necessary?" He scowled.

Shit. The hostage.

He turned to check on Niccolo, who was now being laughed at by Stefano's thugs. Their guns pointed straight at Niccolo's shaved head. The poor guy's chest continued to heave. Dirt and sweat tainted the blood smears concealing the sharp angles of his face. Must hurt like a son of a bitch to be in his shoes right now.

"Simply teaching him a lesson."

"You're not his father." Miles frowned and kept his eyes off Stefano's vacuous gaze. "Leave it to his parents."

"Funny that you think they still care." Stefano Falco grinned faintly at the suggestion. "Or perhaps..." His gaze narrowed while his thick brows contorted on his wrinkled forehead. "You're just as clueless as I thought."

Sooner than he could react, his father's guileless response wedged a giant pause on all of his current thoughts. Miles stood still. Waiting for his rage to simmer down took him half a minute or so.

Self-control was always something he struggled with. But not now. Not before his father's  scrutinizing eyes.  Calm. Focus. Move past it. It's just another test.  "Cosa voi animali vi fate l'un l'altro, sono affari vostri."

"Ah. So your stupid boyfriend didn't even tell you?" Stefano calmly backed away from the scene and lit a cigarette. "He sold them out to the Russians."

"What?" Miles walked with his father towards the colder corner of the basement. "What's that got to do with the business?"

"You mean, 'our business'?" Stefano sighed out loud and took a moment to reflect on something. "At some point, Maximiliano...you'll have to assume liability and learn to care for your responsibilities in this family."

"Why bring him here then if it's the Vinciguerras that's got beef with the Russians?" Miles stared past the glass windows separating the makeshift office from the rest of the roomy basement.  His father's henchmen, at the moment, still enjoyed making a punching bag out of his ex-boyfriend's limp and trembling body.

"Maxim, smetta di fare domande stupide." His father's blue-gray eyes squinted at him again.

"I'm just curious, not stupid."

A tense silence stretched. Stefano took a drag and sat down behind the wooden desk, the time on the wall clock well past midnight. "I don't need to tell you being a good businessman is how I'm able to provide for this family. Those who try to mess with our plans are just setbacks. I want them out of the way no matter the costs."

"You told Mamma about this?"

"Perché lo chiedi a me?"

"Pappa..." Miles sighed.  "Stop keeping secrets." He eyed the boss, trying to sound as neutral as possible. "Can't hide this from her forever."

Eleana Falco had always been ignorant when it came to the family's underground, off-the-books transactions. Which only meant Stefano could be the biggest, sneakiest businessman to ever exist.  It was safe to say his father loved making money and extending his influence more than he appreciated his wife's decades of loyalty and commitment.

Miles felt his jaw tensing at the thought.  Were businessmen always that soulless and narcissistic?

◇◆◇   

September

◇ Milan, Italy ◇

Today wasn't going to be any different.

This wouldn't be another one of those days. She had prepared for this, prepared herself for instances like this.

Her breaths turned shallow and quick. But she was in control; everything was going to be okay. She would make it out of here easily, like everybody else, calm and in an orderly fashion.

Kel repeated the hopeful words in her head, while her eyes focused on the wide mirror in front of her.  "You're fine. He can't do anything in public."  She pushed stubborn strands of hair away from her cheeks, ignoring the anxiety and shock welling up in her eyes.

Her hand clasped the edge of the cold sink as she tried to stop the voices. Her lips wrinkled into a frustrated frown as her paper-white reflection stared back at her.

The wipes her fingers crumpled dampened her skin with a coolness her dazed senses could barely register. Kel rubbed out the foundation on her face and moved on to her forehead when the swift, repetitive strokes started to chafe some color on her cheeks.

Two opening shows yesterday, one closing for this afternoon, and all went well. Typical work day for her—round-the-clock schedule, consecutive shows, nonstop changing and dressing up. Her feet and back were killing her already.

It had been her routine for three straight weeks now, including the work days she had to get up at 5AM to travel to the city for castings and fittings. Kel sighed. If she had other options, she'd quit in a heartbeat and find an easier job. But that wouldn't pay off her family's bank loans and credit card bills, would it?

Kel leaned against the cold sink, enduring a massive headache weakening her muscles and bleeding her patience dry. If this wasn't an escalating anxiety attack, then why did she feel like passing out on the floor right now?

"Because you're weak..."

"Always been, always will be..."

"You're nothing but a stupid, gullible, pathetic wannabe..."

"Loser. Slut."

"No one really likes you. Because you don't take anything seriously. You mess up other people's relationships. You chose to ruin their lives. You made that conscious choice. Now you're paying for it."

Oh crap. Not again.

Not today. Please.

"Mykaela? You there? Kel?"

The familiar female voice made Kel relax her fist and momentarily forget about the unsettling voices in her thoughts. The oddly painful sensation in her gut also might put her out of consciousness.

The missed phone calls and text messages didn't threaten her or anything, but the constricting feeling in her chest just wouldn't go away. She knew right then and there that it was him. No one else but him.

"Yeah," she muttered after putting her phone on speaker mode. It was her sister, Jill, calling to check up on her all of a sudden. Kel didn't want any more family drama, so she took the call when she saw her older sister's photo and name on her phone screen.

"Are you still at the show? Sorry. Really wanted to be there but the hubs had to fly out."

"It's fine." She zipped up her coat until it totally covered her shirt, her face paler in the reflection now that her skin was free of makeup.

"You sound weird. Eat breakfast and lunch yet?" Jill asked over the line, probably worrying about her still skinny figure.

"Yeah. I'm fine." Kel used a more pleasant tone to cover up her lie. Good that her voice didn't waver. She put the call on the background to check. Did she have unread messages?  Wait—

It was past lunch. Miles could be somewhere around the building. Right! She should text him now.

"Sure?" her sister asked.

"Yeah." Kel took a deep breath, pretending her rapid heartbeat didn't bother her. "How's the baby?"

"She's always sleeping when not hungry. Mom keeps saying you're still too skinny." Her assurance made Jill stop with the interrogating. "She keeps Googling recent photos of you and Miles; it's hilarious."

"Ugh. Please don't tell me she found posts of his self-portraits," Kel droned on, praying her puritanical parents hadn't stumbled upon her roomie's latest paintings yet.

"Too late." Jill laughed a little. "Her mouth just hung open for an entire minute. Can't blame her, though. Your boyfriend's got mad painting skills. I mean, whoa.  Those paintings were so...anatomically correct." Her sister giggled.

Mykaela sighed. Jill was referring to the nude self-paintings Miles just finished. "For the hundredth time, not  my boyfriend." She paused to think. "He likes guys. Jeez...this is gettin' exhausting." It wasn't her problem their parents didn't believe her roommate only let her live with him because she liked to clean and cook.

"Maybe he's bi. Did you even ask?" Jill teased. "Anyway, no after-parties tonight? It was a Dior show, right?"

"Not interested." Kel straightened up in front of the wide mirror. She'd easily choose to lounge in bed reading her new cardiology and pathology ebooks rather than spend all night partying with younger models whose last names she didn't even know.

"Why? You're goin' out with Miles?"

"Got somethin' else planned." Kel mumbled the white lie while checking her message inbox.

Why hadn't Miles replied yet? Was he busy hanging out with friends?

Impatience had started intensifying her headache, and she decided to text him a short one. "Driving to the venue now?  Pls wait in the parking lot," she sent twice.

He wasn't supposed to pick her up this early, but she couldn't risk being seen without him today. Not with her ex lurking and circling the building at the minute.  Well, it was just an idea. Just a suspicion. But it still shocked her to a startling degree.

Mykaela glanced at the empty bathroom where she'd stayed while doing some arms-above-the-head, standing yoga poses in the corner stall. She could barely breathe then.

Her last panic episode months ago being the worst, she did some research. Turns out she had an anxiety disorder. She'd tried some self-treatment she read online, because, if she hadn't, Miles would've dragged her to a psychiatrist in a heartbeat. Which was the last thing she would go for. Her bank account said enough. Seeing a shrink? Just out of the question. For now, at least.

"How true is it that his family's filthy rich?" Jill's voice drifted off to a whisper, her tone curious and a bit playful.

"They run three businesses, I think."

"Sounds accurate. The rumors are true, then," Jill muttered on the other end. "By the way, Mom told me to remind you to submit another application to NYU School of Med."

Ugh. Not again...  Kel almost rolled her eyes. She'd applied into that same school two years ago. So far, not even a short rejection letter to show her folks. Hence her decision to move to another country to try working as a model here, because, apparently:  no hard cash, no medical degree.

"K, she really wants you home," her sister went on. "She found pics and videos of Miles drinking and partying. So, now Mom and Dad's more convinced your roomie's bad influence."

"Fine. Tell 'em I'll make time this weekend." Kel remained standing by the sink, unsure of what else to say.

Although she didn't appreciate the idea of another drastic change in her everyday life, she'll submit another slew of scholarship applications to the medical schools in New York, just to appease her mother's worries. Mykaela frowned.

Her entire savings wouldn't even be able to pay for half of her tuition should she choose to resume her studies in New York. And now her parents wanted her to quit her job and go back to university?

After saying goodbye to her sister over the phone, Mykaela let her shoulders droop.

It wasn't until she heard a clicking sound that her senses went on full alert again, acknowledging the complete silence around her. The bathroom was clean and the lights were bright enough, but the space was still rather small. The tension was again building up in her chest.

Darn those texts from him. She should have just deleted them right away. Shouldn't have read them over and over. How did Andrew get her new number?

She had an inkling, but Kel wanted to be sure. As she stood alone in the cold room, slouching and discouraged by her thoughts, Mykaela tried another breathing exercise, which, after a while, gave her a pinch of control over her nerves.

It's just the hinge. Deep breaths...

There's no lock. Deep breaths... Relax...

Her stare idled on her shoes as she anchored herself against the sink. Her noisy exhalations sounded like drawn-out sighs, and again, the unregistered number she'd read on her phone screen kept disrupting her thoughts. Darn it. Why did she have to check her phone before the show even ended?

Much to her relief, though, she was able to finish her runway walk without tripping or falling off of the elevated platform. Which would've been the most dreadful mishap—lots of famous industry people and celebrities had come to see the show.

Stupid. How stupid of her to think Drew wouldn't track her down. He must've talked her sister into tattling where she'd been holing up all these months.

"Holing up" would be a little inaccurate, though, since she wasn't exactly hibernating under a rock all this time...

Lying low  would be a more appropriate term, because, ever since she made it big and began working for the most prestigious brands in the industry, the number of photos of her online started to double and double. It got to the point where Kel would feel the need to ask her agent if he could have some photos taken down.

It was bad enough that she was proved to have been involved with a married man. And in a matter of days since the news broke out, people began dubbing her as "Homewrecker of the Year".  Well, a few people...as she and Drew weren't really household names yet that time. But those weeks had just been pure torture for her.

So she hightailed it. Packed up and left New York. Left her family and friends just like that.

Luck was on her side when she met Miles again, or else she wouldn't have mustered up the will to just move and make a living in foreign country. And owing to his laudable niceness and very generous parents, she was able to follow through. If someone asked her, she'd honestly say that she now loved life here in Italy.

At least she could go out for coffee and hang out anywhere in the city and not have camera flashes blinding her on the way back to her place. She wasn't completely anonymous here, but, she could still go out and not sweat about finding dozens of unwanted pictures online the next morning.

Her message alert tone paused her train of thought. It should be Miles. Kel lifted her phone. Yep. He sent a reply:  "Just parked in the far left. Where u at?"

She was about to compose her reply when her phone went off, making her favorite song echo throughout the small, dark-tiled bathroom. Her breathing hitched. The screen flashed an unregistered number she knew wasn't local. Mindful of her quickening breaths and cold hands, Kel let her phone ring and tossed it back inside her satchel.

It's just a short walk. Five minutes tops. Deep breaths...

No negative thoughts.

"You're okay. Miles is waiting out there," she reminded herself.

It wasn't a minute later when she started jostling her way out of the crammed main lobby, politely mumbling "Excuse me" and "Sorry" every now and then. Her vision began to blur when a ringing in her ear intensified, drowning out the party music playing over the blaring speakers, the sounds of champagne glasses tinking, high heels click-clacking, and the loudening buzz of the conversations taking place around her.

Jeez. She needed to get out of here. Now.

Her stomach rumbled while her nerves worsened. Kel took a deep breath and continued a steady pace, up until she could make out the sidewalk behind the building's wide windows. There weren't as many people loitering by the entrance—twenty or so, it appeared.

To seem perfectly normal, she nodded at the entrance guards. "Hi." She put on a smile, which disappeared soon enough when she made it out the glass doors.

An array of vehicles lined either side of the sunlit street. Kel started her hasty strides towards the parking lot, thankful that her intakes of breath weren't as forced and noisy. Street noises echoed around while her eyes skimmed the multi-colored lines of parked cars.

Her anxious search didn't last a minute because she soon caught a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired guy in a familiar pair of sneakers. He stood by a black sedan with his back to her, his attention held by the cellphone in his hand.

Ah...her savior.

She wanted to call out to him, but her throat felt funny, almost compressed.

"Hey." Miles spotted her and put his phone away, his brisk steps accompanied by dark, scrunched brows. Old paint smudged the hem of his wrinkled shirt. During season breaks, if he wasn't doing print jobs, Miles would be spending days and nights in his studio just painting and painting, until he would eventually lose either inspiration or concentration.

The afternoon sun hurt her skin as Kel stood still.

"What's up?" Miles asked upon reaching her side. His dark brows crumpled more when he noticed she'd gone stiff as a board in the middle of the sidewalk.

"Let's go home," she managed to say without stuttering.

Her timid state made Miles hug her closer to his side. He even bent down to peer at her face. "What?"

"Tell you in the car," Kel mumbled, handing him her bag. Miles had already placed his arm around her back. She sped up her steps even though his ride sat a few cars away.  Her fingers curled inside her pockets while she restrained herself from scanning the street to look for a tall, pale but muscular guy with a scruffy jaw.

"You look like you're gonna be sick."

"Just hungry." Kel glanced behind and swallowed, holding back the other reason why she felt like she was going to hurl any second now. Her back stiffened when she heard a familiar voice.

It was a man's voice, and what he yelled sounded a lot like her nickname.

Her pounding heart now in her throat, she tried her best not to look behind as they rushed along the busy sidewalk.

"Sure?" Miles didn't seem to hear it, probably because of his earphones. They reached his parked car in no time. "You okay or d'you need to throw up?" Miles opened the passenger door for her and leaned against his car.

"I'm good," she said when he kept waiting for her to speak up. "Just having a nervous breakdown." She grabbed his arm to pull him closer and press a hard kiss on his lips.

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