6. Valerie

Chapter six

Valerie

" O kay, Terminator ." I mock sarcastically at my papá's cyborg jokes. He's been making the same joke, about how he's practically a robot now that he's got a titanium hip, for the last week straight.

We both laugh and he starts sitting up on the bed, getting ready to head home. The surgery went well, and after a week of observation, the doctor called to say he was ready to come home.

"Miss Farina, I need you to sign a few discharge papers for me," the doctor calls from the door and I nod.

"I'll be right back, Papá," I say, and he brushes me off.

I follow the doctor to the front desk and he hands me a clipboard with the forms.

"They're mainly just going over payment and the recovery process," he says and I smile, looking for the places to be signed.

"Miss Farina—"

"Please, call me Valerie." I cut him off, and he nods politely.

"Valerie," he starts again, his large veiny hands grabbing onto my father's file. "I want to reiterate that this has been a major surgery, and he has a long recovery ahead of him. His first hip has to heal sufficiently enough for us to even consider his second operation, which means he'll need numerous hours of physical therapy a week."

"I'm aware, Dr. Rossi." I smile politely, even though my heart is sinking into my stomach with each word he says. The idea of the pain my father is going to be experiencing has tears settling in my eyes at the thought.

"I'm not going to sugarcoat this. It's going to be a very expensive few months, Valerie. I've seen medical coverage give out mid-way. So, I suggest you double-check exactly what is covered by your father's medical plan before we proceed any further," he says. He's leaning against the counter, rubbing his hands together, a similar nervous habit that I've seen Antonio have.

"What are you trying to say, Dr. Rossi?" I suspect there may be more than what he's letting on.

"Your father's specific cover has been known to only partially cover certain medical expenses." He frowns.

I fake a smile. "Don't worry about it Dr. Rossi, we'll take care of all the payments. Please just make sure he gets all the care and treatment he needs to get the second surgery and finally be pain-free."

He nods and I can sense his apprehensiveness, but nothing is more noticeable to me than the sickly feeling of wondering if what he's saying is true.

I hand the papers back to him, fully signed and initialled. "You can send his physio schedule to me, as well as any bills. I don't want him to have to worry about any of that while he's in recovery." I smile, and again the doctor nods.

Under different circumstances, I would have probably found him rather attractive. He's tall, and burly, but not overly muscular, just enough to show off the fact that he works out regularly. He has short blonde hair that's faded close to his scalp and brown eyes that look like pools of warm coffee. But I can't let my mind travel down that road right now.

"Will do, Valerie," he says, snapping me out of my observations .

Karyn and I manage to successfully get my father in the car, and into the downstairs bedroom at home.

"Get some rest, Papá." I smile as both Karyn and I head out seeing how tired he is. He is worn from the surgery and what I assume to be the stress of it all.

My head feels thick as I slump onto the couch with my laptop next to me. Dr. Rossi's words plague my head and I run my fingers through my hair, tugging at it gently.

I went from being carefree and reckless, to mature and dependable, in a matter of days and the change feels like whiplash. It feels as if my mind is running wild with thoughts, worries, and all sorts of plans that all need to somehow come together very soon.

The stress has put a major hindrance on any creative energy, leaving me unable to sketch for the last few days. The only remotely creative thing I've been able to do was to start organising my studio and set everything up for when I'm ready to take on a few commissions again.

"When was the last time you left the house?" Karyn asks as she steps into the living room.

I roll my eyes and stare at her as if the answer isn't blatantly clear, considering she was with me at the hospital this morning.

"Besides the hospital, Val." She folds her arms across her chest and I see a vision of her mom. Our mothers being sisters meant Karyn and I just about grew up as siblings and have always been inseparable. Even after I left for Paris, we stayed in touch, both she and I constantly visiting each other whenever we had the chance. She was the only one Mattheo willingly let me see, now that I think about it.

"The funeral with Antonio," I sigh.

"That's depressing, Val. Get out, please. At least for a few hours while he's asleep." She all but begs

"Fine, I'll go get breakfast and work from Giovanni's for a bit," I say as if that was the worst possible thing I could do in the world. In reality, it is my absolute favourite thing to do whenever I'm in Tevici.

"I' m sorry, I know I should've called sooner, it's been a bit hectic since I got home," I speak into my phone while comparing prices of a few cheeses.

"Girl, why are you even apologising? We're grown, I understand how life gets," Natalia says through the speakers of my earphones. We've been catching each other up on what's been happening in our lives.

Natalia and I have known each other since we were around seven, and she lived with my family for our entire high school career up until she left Tevici to move to Monaco.

"We should have dinner soon, when are you free? I'm back in Tevici for a bit, as well." Natalia asks, always being one for enforcing plans and ensuring we stick by our words to make plans.

"I have to take my dad to his first physio appointment tomorrow afternoon, maybe we could have dinner tomorrow?" I reason as I walk backwards a bit.

My back hits what I think is a wall until I feel said wall move. I spin around ready to apologise profusely, until my eyes trail up the large figure of the one person I didn't expect to see in a little deli in the "slums" of Tevici.

Natalia continues to rattle off details for dinner tomorrow all while my blood begins to freeze over. The first thing my eyes notice is the spider tattoo on his hand that is complemented by two gold rings. A barbed wire one, and the infamous Cartier band. He is dressed to the nines; a thick coat, dress shirt and slacks. Then here I am, in sweatpants and a hoodie, wearing my father's old corduroy jacket over top due to the near-freezing temperatures.

He must be equally surprised because his brows are raised a fraction more than normal .

"Let me call you back," I say, hanging up and not even waiting to hear if she heard what I said.

"Valerie," is all he says with a small nod.

"Sorry for bumping into you," I say in a small voice before shifting slightly under his stare.

"Yes, you were always a bit clumsy." He peers into my basket. "Parmigiano is always the better choice."

"Not all of us can afford to blow out hard-earned money on a piece of cheese," I sneer, and turn towards the deli counter. I'm thankful to see he doesn't follow me as I do.

I watch as a little girl, along with her mother and father, stands near the counter ready to place their order. As they're about to, the father picks the little girl up allowing her to rattle off their order.

I watch them, a small smile graces my face. Starting a family was all I thought about five years ago. Now, after everything, it's the furthest thing from my mind.

The sound of the family's laughter rings through my ears, but all I can focus on is the hot irritation the ring on my left hand brings to me. I fiddle with it while the sales assistant wraps up their order, hoping to relieve the feeling a bit. It doesn't.

The deli clerk turns to face me but instead of looking directly at me, she practically looks over me as a large figure approaches us. I can smell who it is. I've learned very quickly that Ambrose Vitale has a unique smell. A mix of vanilla and lavender. Fresh, but sweet. It contrasted his appearance so much. It reminds me of the smell of freshly washed jeans, while a dessert bakes in the oven. It smells all too inviting for my liking.

"Good morning, Mr. Vitale." The female greets him.

I let out a scoff so small I was convinced no one would hear, but when the deli clerk turns her head in my direction, with an alarmed glance, I know it was too loud.

Quickly I busy myself grabbing the last of my groceries, the basket in my arm growing heavier with each item .

"Valerie." My head shoots up at my name.

Ambrose stands to my left in his full 6'3" glory, easily towering over my humble 5'4". I look up at him cautiously.

"If you're done spending your hard-earned money on shitty cheese, I'd like to pay for my groceries," he states.

"There's another till over there." I point to a second pay point, not too far from where we are. My eyes shift to the deli clerk, who looks shocked and when my eyes return to Ambrose, he wears an apathetic expression.

He gives my outfit a once over and scoffs. "Glad to have you back in Tevici, Val."

He walks off without another word, and I stare at him not even noticing that my fists are clenched, not until I look down and notice the crescent-shaped scars in my palm.

The café is loud with chatter as I approach an empty booth near the back. It's mainly filled with people doing the standard Tevici work from café routine. No one is working, but rather pretending to while they indulge in delicious food.

"Anything I can get for you this morning, love?" A middle-aged lady walks over, handing me a menu.

"Just a cappuccino please." I haven't had the chance to enjoy good coffee since I left. Maybe that's why everything has been going to absolute shit.

I flip open my laptop and search for the number of the insurance company my papá belongs to. I shuffle through some papers in my laptop bag hoping I kept a card, between them a small black piece of paper falls out. My heart sinks as I read what's written on the back.

You don't seem to realise this yet, but I will find you sooner or later. When I do, it won't be pretty.

I glance around the restaurant as if the person who put this note in my laptop bag would be staring at me smiling. There's only one person I'm on the run from, only one person who could have wanted me to get this note. Mattheo.

There's no way he could have gotten into my house, someone must've slipped this into my bag now in the cafe, probably as some sick joke or something. I shift in my seat and slide the note back into my laptop bag, focusing on my first task of finding the insurance company's number.

A part of me is hoping that Dr. Rossi is exaggerating, but when I hit call, another part of me has a horrible feeling that he's not. I shove that part to the back of my mind and try to stay positive as the dial tone clicks over, and a woman answers.

"Vitality Insurance, Claire speaking. How can I help you?" Her voice is flat, and already, I can see the tone of the rest of the conversation.

Why do people, who hate people, even bother getting jobs in call centres?

"Hi." I beam. "My name's Valerie Farina. I'm calling on behalf of my father Carlo Farina to confirm the coverage for his hip replacement surgeries.

Silence.

Not something you want to hear from a call centre generally.

"Hello?" I am confused as to whether the call died, or if something else happened.

More silence followed by the sound of typing. "Can you give me his employer's details?" Her tone has gone from unimpressed to unreadable rather quickly.

I rattle off the details required to her. The lovely waitress drops off my coffee and I mouth a thank you.

"So according to the records we have, ProStruct Innovations has only paid a third of what was required to support the coverage and therefore, only the first surgery is covered by us. All other payments are the responsibility of the family. "

Air lodges itself inside my throat, and all the loud chatter of the cafe drowns out. It feels as if my head's been dunked underwater.

My father has been paying a portion of his salary to Prostruct for nearly twenty years, and they've only been paying a third of it in reality.

"Miss Farina?" Her voice questions through the phone.

"Ye-yes. Okay, thank you," I say and hang up, not even waiting to hear anything further as reality crumbles down on me like an old building.

These surgeries and rehabilitation cost thousands of euros. Thousands of euros neither I nor my papá have.

"Fuck sakes," I whisper aloud, as I cover my eyes and lean into the table. Tears threaten to spill as frustration and anger twist within me.

"This is why Italians stick to plain espresso," A male's voice says, and the recognition of the voice alone makes me want to cry even more.

"What are you doing here, Antonio?" I grumble wiping my eyes, before looking up at him. His eyes flick between mine before looking up at the café. He seems to be fighting some internal battle.

"I meant to call after the -"

I'm cut off by him sliding into the opposite seat of the booth and opening the menu. "Since the cappuccino is so depressing, is there anything good at this place?" His eyes scan the menu and I'm lost for words at his intrusion.

"Uhm, the tea is good…" I trail off and he pulls his face in disgust.

The waitress from earlier walks over. "Anything for you, love?" she asks with the same enthusiasm as when she'd asked me the first time.

"One café lungo please." He smiles. As much as she tries to feign indifference, the middle-aged woman all but melts under Antonio's megawatt smile, which gives her smile a run for its money.

As soon as she walks away he throws me the least intimidating questioning glance I've ever seen. "So what's up, buttercup?" he asks, pulling a piece of paper towards him as he starts sketching waiting for my reply .

I sigh, the tears threatening to fall again. "Nothing, just dealing with something."

"Do these things have names? Anything I can help with?" His tone is a lot softer than his gaze when it finds mine.

"Unless you have a job that's going to pay me a few hundred thousand euros, no." I chuckle to myself and sip my cappuccino.

And a way for me to find out what creep hid this note in my bag.

The irony is that the man in front of me truly couldn't be bothered by a few hundred thousand euros. He probably uses that much in his shower routine alone.

"Are you sure that's how much you need? You know your maths skills have always been a bit…questionable." He tries to suppress his laughter but instead, it results in a hissing sound coming from his nose.

"It was one test I failed in high school, get over it." I roll my eyes and chuckle.

"I might have a job for you, but only if you tell me why you suddenly need that much money." His voice is solid, calm yet careful as if he's worried he's crossing a line by asking.

"I was kidding. I could never take your money, Nino." I shake my head and pull my laptop closer to begin looking for a job.

"It won't be taking my money if you work for it." He shrugs and my eyes lift off the screen for a few seconds, enough to scope out his face.

No emotion. Until he shifts, rubbing his hands on his thighs and I scoff.

"You're lying," I say with irritation clear in my voice. Antonio is a magnificent liar to a stranger, but anyone who knows him can spot it a mile away.

He has a nervous tick where he rubs his hands together or against his thighs.

"I'm not lying, I'm just withholding some information." He defends.

Smiley returns and hands Antonio his coffee before turning to leave rather quickly. I frown at her sudden change of pace but brush it off .

"That's the definition of lying, Antonio." I frown, still staring at my laptop.

His large hand reaches forward and shuts the laptop. "I'll trade you one piece of information for a piece of yours," he bargains and I frown, contemplating just how serious he is about the job offer as well as how badly I need the job.

I nod, and then he gestures with his hand for me to go first.

"My father's medical policy isn't covering all his surgeries and rehabilitation fees. So, I need a job pretty quickly."

"How much aren't they covering?" He continues to question, but I shake my head, knowing if I answer, he'll pay off the debt as if it's nothing. And then I'll be left feeling guilty about owing him for the rest of my life.

He scoffs. "The job is as Ambrose's assistant. The salary isn't usually too high, but I'm sure he won't notice if I raise it a tad so it can help you pay everything off."

My eyes widen. I'm scanning his entire body again, but he sits perfectly still with both hands resting on the table pencil now in hand again.

"Really? You'd do that for me? For my dad?" I rush out and he all but laughs straight in my face.

"Your father was a huge part of my life when we were growing up, so, of course, I would. You mean a lot to me as well and if it'll help, I'll do anything."

"Antonio, I don't know how to say thank you enough…" I trail off, already feeling as if I owe him for this.

"Stop," he raises a hand. "Don't even start feeling like I'm doing you a favour. Working with Ambrose is shit. So I'll be surprised if you last longer than a few weeks." He chuckles and I roll my eyes at his lack of confidence in me.

"You little shit, I've been waiting in the car for the last twenty minutes and you're sitting here flirting. You were supposed to be getting a coffee." Ambrose's voice booms from beside us, causing me to jump while Antonio doesn't even flinch .

His eyes raise to his brother's and he lifts the cup in a cheersing motion. "I did get a coffee," he says sarcastically.

"Let's go or I'm leaving you here, and I'm sure the media would love to have a picture of Italy's youngest billionaire taking a taxi," Ambrose says and walks away.

Antonio turns gravely white and stands up. "I'll send you the details, Val," he says before rushing off. The only trace of Antonio is the small, very detailed, sketch of a tulip on a piece of paper where he was sitting.

When the rush of the last few minutes settles, my brain begins to process what just happened, and I'm left questioning whether or not this is a good decision.