Page 11 of Milo

Go take a shower, Kiara. Well, now I can see why he was pushing it so hard. What a sick, twisted pervert. I refuse to be a channel that he and his goons can turn on whenever they're feeling frisky and need a little peep show. I've already degraded myself by agreeing to work with the goddamn mafia and I would like to preserve the smidgen of dignity I have left. I wonder how many other cameras are hidden in my room. Does he think I won't mind? That I won't protest? That I won't do something about it?

How naive.

Grinding my teeth, I storm out of the bathroom, scanning the bedroom for a blunt object. As luck would have it, Mr. Di Vaio seems to be a sculpture aficionado, so my options are vast. I hope he's not attached to any of them.

On second thought, I hope he is.

Perhaps the marble lion licking his paw? I run my fingers along its smooth white surface, lifting it up. Pure marble. No. Too heavy. I continue looking. Maybe the archangel Gabriel? I shake my head. No, that would be sacrilegious. Nana would be disappointed. My eyes dart to a bronze Hercules with the weight of the earth on his shoulder. Hmm. This seems like it could be quite aerodynamic.

Snatching the metal statue off the sleek black dresser, I traipse back inside the bathroom, hoping that my hand-eye coordination will not fail me. Maybe the season of baseball my parents signed me up for when I was ten has been ingrained into my muscle memory.

Here's hoping.

Pursing my lips, I line my feet up with the ogling camera, my fingers coiled around the spherical earth of the statue. Taking a steady step backward, I wind up my arm and fling the bronze Hercules toward the camera, quickly jumping back in case it ricochets. I smile triumphantly as the lens of the camera shatters upon impact, the red light dimming as the statue falls to the ground.

I smirk at my handy work. That's better. Now I can get ready in peace.

Milo might be a voyeur but so far, he's not a liar. The outfits Luisa picked out for me are phenomenal, everything designer and nothing under a grand. I've always wanted to own couture, to feel glamorous with expensive fabric draped over my body. Perhaps this is the silver lining. I might no longer have a soul but at least I have Chanel. It could be worse.

Removing an off-the-shoulder chiffon blouse and a black pencil skirt from the velvet hangers, I lay the items on the bed before perching on the upholstered gold stool in front of the rococo vanity table. I barely recognize the woman looking back at me. I'm in Italy, a country I've always wanted to visit, yet I don't feel the joy that's supposed to come with checking an item off one's bucket list.

I adjust the flap on the towel hugging my body as I scan the tubes and containers of make-up in the drawers, shocked to find that the BB cream matches my skin tone. Maybe Luisa color matched me while I was in my Xanax coma.

Nana always told me to find happiness in the little things whenever I was feeling miserable, drained, empty. When your entire world collapses and you lose the most important people in your life, the little things become your life source. The chirping of a bird. The smell of Earl Grey. The warmth of sunshine on your face.

Today, it's make-up.

As I'm about to apply a gorgeous shade of taupe shadow to my lids, Milo and three of his henchmen come bursting inside the room, weapons drawn, ready for battle.

God, they're so dramatic.

"Alright, alright, I'll use the gold eyeshadow," I joke to myself, letting out a soft laugh. Milo stops in front of me, his expression stern, serious. Unbothered by his tense reserve, I continue to do my make-up. "Is there a problem?"

"Is everything alright?" He thoroughly scans the bedroom, hovering behind me, pistol gripped tight. "We received an alert that a security camera had been tampered with."

Oh, that's why they're here. Oops.

"Yeah, I threw Hercules at it.” I close one eye and sweep the shimmering dust across my lids. "Was I not supposed to do that?"

"You what?" he seethes, facing the mirror so that I'm looking at his reflection. I take in his unbuttoned white dress shirt, a tuft of chest hair peeking through the collar, two gold chains around his neck.

"I... disabled it.” I give him a sweet smile. "I hope you don't mind."

"Those cameras are connected to sensors on the windows, idiota.” He waves his associates away before snapping his gaze back to mine. He holsters his gun and runs a frustrated hand through his hair. "They are there for your protection."

"Right, the windows, sure," I scoff, craning my neck toward him, my body following as I stand up. "They're pointed directly at the shower. I'm not an idiot, Milo."

"Do not flatter yourself, Kiara.” His jaw twitches with irritation as he sweeps his lecherous gaze across my spilling breasts. "If I wanted to see you naked, I would. And it most certainly would not be through a screen."

I bite my lip, tilting my head to the side.

So fucking arrogant.

"Is that what you want, Mister Di Vaio?" I toss him a coy pout and cross my arms, inadvertently pushing up my breasts to create more cleavage for him to leer at. "To see me naked?"

He sucks in a sharp breath, dragging two fingers across his lips. "Do not tempt me, Kiara.” He flicks his strained gaze up to my defiant eyes. "You are not the only person who struggles with controlling their impulses."

I swallow, cursing myself for taking us down this road. I'll simply feign ignorance since he already thinks I'm an idiota.

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