6 ◆ Not A Fair-Weather Friend ◆

◇ KEL ◇

1) Study.

2) Eat.

3) Sleep.

4) Study.

5) Pass the assessments.

6) Complete the trainings.

7) Study some more.

Rinse.

Repeat.

It was my routine for the past months, and more or less a full-time job I was tied to. Then, in just a couple of months, we would have to seriously prepare for the Shelf Exam. No doubt sleep and I would be having more daily arguments by then.

"So proud of you, sweetie. Just keep up the momentum. Get enough sleep, eat healthy, exercise..." It was my mom's repetitive advice every time she'd see me struggling mentally and emotionally.

The 'exercise' part, I had been ignoring quite often—only because I preferred to read books in bed for hours than going to the gym by myself.

"Always here if you need me or a workout buddy," Gaia would say. "But I'm too busy right now so we're just gonna have to stick with texts and scheduled calls," she would also say.

No biggie. I knew why she was too busy. Like Miles. This year being my third year in medical school, I wouldn't have any free time to hang out with Gaia, either. On the bright side, I had learned not to focus on keeping my grades up so much.

Our mentors kept saying it would be best if we just focused more on our progress—improving our lacking skills—than obsessing over getting excellent marks.

The advice helped me a lot during our period of adjustment. Well, to be fair, every year I'd spent in med school felt like it warranted a good few months of adjustment.

In the hospital, every day felt like an exam. Thus the amount of concentration I needed during trainings. I had also made it a point to befriend the nursing staff to brush up my patient care skills with their help, aside from trying my hardest not to piss off my superiors and the attending on duty.

So far, only one had told me off. The reason: I forgot to track down the phlebotomist to get the patient's lab tests samples drawn 20 minutes earlier. I'd almost perspired buckets during that late-evening shift. The bright side: our resident didn't humiliate me and even gave me tips so I could easily work on my weaknesses.

Constant sleep-deprivation was a normal thing for an in-demand physician like him, and since then, I thought it best to ease his stressful workload for him. In return, putting in the extra hours helped me push myself to perform better and improve my patient care knowledge and abilities. It was essential; I was aiming to achieve honors on 90% of my evaluations at the least.

So far my grades said I could keep up the pace and deal with their usual demands for another year. And then finish residency.

Maybe by then my mother would finally stop treating me like the problem child she didn't really want.

◇

"Thank you. Have a nice day, too." I smiled at the courier and shut the door when he left the hallway.

As I held the box the guy left by the door, I read the name of the sender another time. Just initials.

"L. R. Tomassini."

"Enzo," I sighed, unsure what the package contained. It must be from him.

No one else from the Tomassini family knew my address here. The sender's address didn't look familiar, but it said it came from Florence, Italy. I didn't have friends in Florence, so, it could only be from Enzo.

Why didn't he tell me he was going to send me a package?

This box looked too big for... No. It couldn't be just some paperwork. Why would he send me paperwork? I pulled the box away from the door.

Not really heavy. I grabbed my smallest kitchen knife and slashed the tape that sealed the top portion. After I opened the box, a medium-sized yellow envelope sat on the other stuff inside. I held my breath and picked up the envelope.

Upon opening the envelope, I made a face at the handwritten note on a white piece of paper. It smelled new. Fresh. Crisp to the touch.

Black pen. Cursive letters. Pretty.

"Sorry for the wait and I'm sorry for what happened. Rest assured no one touched these except me. I hope the money helps. Take care.

Sincerely,

L. R. Tomassini."

Money? "What money?"

Who wrote this? It didn't look like Enzo's handwriting. Beneath the envelope lay the bag I had brought to Belgrade a few weeks ago, which I'd then left in San Pietro unintentionally.

Maybe Enzo found it the same morning Miles, Niccolo and I left the island. If it was actually Enzo who sent this through post, why didn't he text me that he'd be sending me my stuff back? What money was the note talking about?

"Hope the money helps?" I poked the box with my foot. I checked the yellow envelope again, my stomach twisting into small knots, my curiosity doubling.

There was another piece of paper in the envelope, apart from the handwritten note. Smaller. Rectangular.

Oh heck. A signed check. "Two hundred thousand?" I muffled a gasp with my palm.

200,000 euros! What the heck?

My legs turned weak. For some reason, I couldn't breathe easily. I fell on the couch, almost dropping the piece of paper on the floor, my breaths quick and shallow. My hands turned cold, too.

L. R. T.

"Leandro Russo Tomassini..."

Oh shit. No.

Leandro sent this package. Not his brother. How did he know my address? Who the heck told him where I lived? And why the heck would that headcase send me a check? Did he think I needed this much cash?

Well, I did, but...

Oh.

Right.

Of course it was hush money. Nothing else.

Like I was some whore he used and abused for a night. As if a piece of his dirty money was the only solution. As if it would be more than enough to shut me up for life.

What an ass.

Since when had he found out my address? Did Enzo forward it to his brother? No one else knew exactly where I lived besides my family, Gaia, Enzo, Miles and his security staff.

Shit. I should call Miles.

Either Leandro wanted me to think he was sorry and he actually bothered to write me an apology letter... Or the psycho thought I was dumb enough to fall for it.

Did he think I talked to the police? Why the heck would I? Did he think I wanted to get killed?

◇

"Hey. Can we talk?"

Shoot. The guy sounded exhausted and dead serious. Almost desperate. Was he home? In Florence?

Enzo sighed on the other end. "Mykaela."

"Yeah. Sure." I gripped my phone, my opened textbooks spread out before me and eagerly waiting for me to refocus. "Did you send the package?"

"What package?" he asked, his tone a bit taken aback.

"The box with my bag in it, a-and my old phone, and the clothes I brought to, um, Belgrade, when we were..."

"Right. Erm... I told Lele to do it," he mumbled. "Told him to send it to you a few days ago." Enzo cleared his throat. "I put your bag and clothes in the box."

Lele? One of his bodyguards. Wait. He didn't mention the envelope. Or the note. So it was really his brother who arranged the whole handwritten note and signed check thing.

"Oh. Okay." I took a deep breath, my hands cold and shaking a little. "Thanks."

"Sorry it took a while."

"It's fine. So, um, why'd you call?"

"What's the money for?"

"Huh?" I got up and switched the call to speaker mode, trying my best to sound unfazed while the name "Enzo Tomassini" stared back at me.

Seeing it and his old photo on my phone screen was enough to startle my brain. Now my face and nape felt too hot.

It was almost midnight, and I still had lots to read up on to prep well. I also had to work on my study plan for our scheduled rotation in the Surgery Department next week—and surely Enzo was as busy as I was.

But the second I heard his voice on the other line, my thoughts immediately switched to overdrive. His voice just prompted memories I had been trying to smother with the busyness of my everyday life.

Like a snap back to reality, I couldn't do much but listen to his voice. The anatomy and clinical surgery books laid out before me would just have to wait.

"Why'd you send me money?" he asked in his serious voice, the 'Mr. Lorenzio Tomassini - CEO' voice he used whenever he was talking about business with his subordinates.

"What?" I frowned.

Did he really need to ask why? Was the gesture not clear enough? Should I apologize?

"The money you transferred to my account yesterday?" The guy spoke louder and a bit slower now, as if I couldn't understand English.

"I just thought... I-I should pay some of it back at least." I held in a sigh. "I mean, you gave me the money months ago."

"Yeah, and?"

"I booked a quick photo shoot last weekend. Just a one-time thing. They paid me the same day, so, I thought I should..."

"Didn't we talk about this already?" Enzo sighed loudly.

Like I did something that embarrassed him or inconvenienced him a great deal. Or maybe I actually did. But in what way?

"You don't have to pay me back now."

"But it's been..."

"You don't have to work on your off days. Alright?" Enzo sighed again when I didn't say anything.

I bit on the inside of my cheek. My gut ached somewhat at his rather authoritative tone.

"Mykaela."

"Okay. Sorry," I mumbled.

Jeez. Why didn't he want to hear me out? If I didn't need to pay him back right now, then when? We never really talked about the terms.

"Don't take up jobs if you feel like you have to just 'cause of the money I gave you." Enzo's noisy sigh cut through the awkward silence when I didn't say anything more. "It's not necessary."

"Okay."

"I'm bloody serious. Don't send me money again."

"Okay." Should I say sorry one more time? I held my breath.

Despite his calming voice, he sounded like he woke up on the wrong side of the bed.

Or it could just be the shock and my anxiety about having to talk to him again. The sleep deprivation wasn't helping me concentrate, either. It wasn't anything new, though.

The months-long clinical rotations were part of our routine now. All those extra hours, all those meticulous tasks, and all that pressure to perform well... It should discourage me, but, now I was just used to it all.

"Don't send me money again. I don't need it," Enzo insisted. "You on the other hand need it for school, rent, training fees, living expenses and whatnot."

"Okay." It was all I said. I should be grateful for his help and reassurances. But his stubborn refusal to compromise just left a bad taste in my mouth. I just couldn't put it into words.

"Why aren't you replying to my texts?" he asked with a quick sigh.

"Sorry."

"Why? Something wrong? You alright?"

"I'm fine." I stifled a sigh with my palm. I knew I sounded robotic and disinterested at this point. But I didn't really expect he would call in the middle of the night just to ask why I sent him cash.

"What now? Maxim?" Enzo sighed. "He told you to stop talkin' to me?"

Ugh. Busted.

Odd that Enzo always called Miles by his childhood nickname—as if they were close friends. As far as I knew they'd never been friendly, even after that ambush in Umbria.

"He told you to ignore me? Block me?"

My hesitations clouded my brain as I stood beside my study desk. "Yeah," I replied.

"When?"

"Before I left Italy." I bit on my lip. If I shared more details, this conversation would only take longer than it should.

Ignoring Enzo's messages for weeks wasn't easy at all. I only did so because of Miles and Mrs. Falco's warning.

They thought I should stop communicating with Enzo. They just didn't trust him or his family. Ironic. The Falcos had partnered up with Enzo's family and had been doing business with the Tomassinis for almost a year now, but, trust was still a huge issue between the two clans.

"Did he say why?" Enzo sighed, his question egging me on to say more.

Ugh. Darn it. I just didn't want to explain to him why—hence my recent efforts to keep our communication minimal. If I told him the exact reasons Miles and Mrs. Falco told me, it would only spur a bigger rift between him and Miles, just because I didn't keep my trap shut.

"Mykaela..." Enzo sounded more impatient now.

"Sorry." I cleared my throat and mentally cursed myself for the half-assed apologies.

"Why're you apologizing again?"

"I just... I think it would be better if we didn't talk often."

"Why?" he sighed. He sounded groggy, weary, and somewhat sad.

It concerned me a little, but our conversation had to happen now. I had put it off long enough. I stopped talking to him but I didn't block his contact numbers—in case of emergencies.

Now that he called me to hash it out, I should just get it over with. Tell him everything. But did he really expect me to believe him? That he had no idea as to why I had been ignoring him the past weeks?

"Why would you think that?" he murmured after the awkward silence.

"Enzo..." I let my phone rest on my thigh, leaving it on speaker mode. I went back to bed to hide under the covers. His fairly incredulous tone made me frown again. "Do we really have to talk about it now?"

"Yeah. Why? We can't?"

"No. I mean, yes. But..."

"I just wanna know what he said to you."

Oh drats...

"I don't wanna say this, but..." Enzo paused to clear his throat. "They're the ones telling you lies. Alright?" he said with another sigh, letting faint static noise come through.

I made a face and gawked at his photo on my screen. He thought Miles and his mom lied to me? "What? Why would they lie?"

◇