The Mafia Heirs and The Heiress

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, considering he was several inches taller than me, but he looked quite muscular, too.

His attractive features held my attention. I thought he was a full-blooded Italian. Apparently, he was of American descent as well. His mom was half-American, and he'd mentioned that they lived in the States when he was a teen. Quite an interesting family background.

Actually, I found everything about him rather interesting. Subtly mysterious. 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 on the sofa with my legs crossed, watching him chitchatting with his friends while the lights made his shoulder-length hair look 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 it could be because we just did a freakin' blood pact 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 thought. I stared at the antiseptic-laden bandages on the small cut I made on my left ring finger. It still stung.

He said his hammered friends blackmailed him, so he "just had to do the dare" 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 and should've just said no to the stupid dare. 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. What we did was outrageously biohazardous. Oddly, he didn't flinch much when he tasted my blood. He must have been that intoxicated already. Why were his friends letting him drink more beer?

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 supposed Miles didn't like that his first name was a mouthful—hence, him choosing the nickname "Miles".

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.

He wasn't a total wild child, as far as I could tell. But he's definitely the type of guy my strict parents had warned me to stay away from when they transferred me out of the all-girls Catholic school I grew up in with my sister. My gut told me he was inherently a nice guy, though.

Our first lengthy conversation an hour ago also assured me of my overall impression of him. As soft rock music soothed my fairly inebriated senses, I shut my eyes and rested my nape on the sofa's headrest.

The liquor had depleted my energy, 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.