◆ Fairly Jilted ◆
◇ KEL ◇
Seeing Miles holding a gun would never be something I would find amusing or comforting.
Once, he showed off his special skill besides painting masterpieces I always admired. That time he took me to a shooting range for fun, I discovered he had a predilection for handling guns—but not for a second did I think he would be this comfortable carrying a deadly weapon. My nerves acted up again the second I saw him gripping the handgun with such familiarity.
It seemed he didn't want to put it away despite the armed bodyguards surrounding the mansion day in day out. Ricchar and Cloe's well-guarded home didn't give Miles enough security, I supposed. With a sigh, I just watched him as he sat on the covers, his back facing me.
We slept in the same bed for barely four hours. While I wished he would get rid of the gun and get some more sleep, nevertheless I understood why he felt like he needed to protect himself at all times. He and his family lived risky lives for the most part, and his father had knowingly partnered with a violent international drug lord wannabe.
Apparently, Leandro had come barging in as if this estate was his territory. "Was about to shoot the bastard in the head, but Mamma was beside me, just yelling and crying." Miles didn't tell me much about it or what exactly happened, but I suspected it was vehemently criminal.
Considering what I knew about Leandro Tomassini, it wouldn't surprise me if he hurt someone again or some people. I even saw Mrs. Falco looking stunned and wiping tears off her cheeks when I stepped out of the basement with a bloody, tired and sweaty Niccolo. Thankfully, Nicco didn't have any serious wounds. But I did strongly advise Ricchar and his men to get Niccolo to a hospital.
Try as I might, I couldn't leave the estate without Miles just to accompany Nicco to the nearest emergency room. Mrs. Falco didn't want us to leave the estate at this hour. I heeded her request—seeing her crying and trying her best to contain her emotions just pained my heart.
It wasn't sunrise yet, but Miles looked like he had no plans to go back to bed. He sat on the pillow beside mine, obviously upset by tonight's events, his scowl now looking permanently etched onto his tan and stubbled face.
"Glad you and your Mamma weren't hurt," I muttered as I sat beside him on the bed, my thigh touching his. Thankfully, we still had total privacy in this guest room. "Did they take Nicco to the ER?"
"He doesn't wanna leave."
I scoffed at the thought. They all seemed allergic to hospitals. But at least I didn't see any telltale signs of internal hemorrhage when I examined Niccolo's wounds. For a minute back there in that creepy basement, I actually thought Mr. Falco would kill him with his bare hands before our eyes.
The don just looked like he was raring to hurt someone permanently. It only perpetuated my anxiety-triggering thoughts. Naturally, I breathed a sigh of relief when Alessio told me Mr. Falco left the estate with Leandro and his henchmen. I'd rather lock myself up in the basement all night than have to interact with that sicko again.
"Go to sleep." Miles got up from the bed and slid his gun into the nightstand drawer. His unbuttoned long-sleeved shirt looked all wrinkled and overused, but I liked how he looked in his rather formal getups lately. "Just another requirement of the job," he'd explained once.
"Want me to go?" I put my dress back on, almost shivering from the cool night air reaching my bare skin as I sat on the pillow, half-naked and groggy. Before we fell asleep from exhaustion, I gave him some blood to help him get rid of the pains. What I expected to be a minute of necking and feeding turned into a while of us together in bed—kissing and pleasing each other, and then cuddling after I helped him fend off a migraine and the excruciating stomach pains.
Miles said he hadn't taken any pain pills all week. A small cocktail of drugs did the trick for him most of the time—no matter how often I told him they were only making his liver function worse. "Gets the job done without much of the hassle," was his banal excuse every time I would bring up the subject.
At this rate, I seriously doubted he would get to celebrate his 30th birthday off his untimely deathbed. I'd like to have a word with his doctor slash drug dealer, but Miles never told me the person's name.
If ever I would have time to get into genetics during my residency, I would definitely conduct more in-depth research on the Falcos' "vampirism". I might even take samples of Miles' and Ricchar's blood tomorrow just so I could study their blood components in detail. I would have to pay to work on it in the lab at school, but it's nothing compared to the suffering he had to live with for years and years.
It would be challenging, for sure. Studying their peculiar disease would need a lot of research, time, patience and perhaps even money. But I just wanted to find a safer solution to manage his liver problems, blood dependency, and the dreadful pain attacks. I wanted Miles to stop abusing prescription drugs and avoid resorting to the more dangerous stuff just to get rid of the pains.
"You wanna leave today?" Miles asked after a tense silence. He stared at me with fairly creased brows, then took off his long-sleeved shirt while he stood beside the bed, his frown deepening.
"No. But I can't stay more than two days," I mumbled after glancing away from him. It wasn't like he said he wanted me to stay longer. But if he would ask nicely, I might consider it. I would skip another day of classes just to spend more time with him.
"Then don't." Miles took off his pants without tearing his gaze away from my face. His thoughtful, deep-set eyes just kept poring into my soul. "I know you got lots of work to do. Trainings and all that." He sighed and combed back his wavy hair with his veiny hand, his highly skilled painting hand. His voice sounded hoarse just as his tone sounded dull, as if he was quite disappointed that I had to leave him again.
"But..."
"You can't stay here another two days." He shook his head weakly and went back to bed, lying next to my legs now. "Alei will take you to my house tomorrow, before that psycho decides to come back here with Pappa."
"They're coming back?" The thought alone near made my heart jump into my throat. I'd rather leave the estate now than run into Leandro again. "You said your Pappa needs to check something at the port."
"I just don't want you staying here," Miles muttered while his arm rested on my thigh. "Ricchar thinks you're safer at my place."
Okay. I should heed his advice and understand his concern and Ricchar's reasons. I should leave this place before Leandro and his men barged in again. I could easily imagine him doing something more brazen, even in front of his respected business partners.
"Why did your dad tell me to check on Enzo?" I slid down to get under the covers and snuggle up to Miles. I rested my arm on his bare chest, loving the feel of his warm body pressing against mine. "He said, Enzo's not feeling well." Ignoring the dimness, I stared at his beautiful face as I waited for him to explain.
Instead of answering my question, Miles only let out a sigh. He shifted on the bed and pinned his steady gaze on the ceiling, his lips stuck in a mild scowl.
"What's up with him? I asked Alessio but he doesn't know where Enzo is right now."
"Guest room beside the study," Miles replied with another audible sigh. Another frown made his lips pout. "His brother just beat him up."
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