Page 115 of Milo

As soon as her body disappears through the weathered wooden door, I run toward it before it slams shut. Sticking my foot out, I hold it open and squeeze through, propping the bottle of wine under my arm as I tiptoe down the foreign stairs. I run my fingers along the untreated stone walls, the dim recessed lighting making it hard to see.

Where the hell are we?

The clamping sound of metal catches my attention as I turn the corner. My heartbeat quickens as I watch Teresa slide the tray of food – if we can call it that – through a steel slot carved in the prison-like door. She dusts her hands off as she stands upright and turns around.

"Signorina!" she gasps, covering her mouth as I slowly walk down the stairs. "What are you doing here?!"

"I could ask you the same question, Teresa," I say, my fingertips tingling from the sudden onset of anxiety and dread. "What's behind there?"

Teresa shakes her head, planting her body in front of the steel door, her head bobbing in front of the large sliding peephole in the center. "Nothing. Please, Signorina, you must leave."

I suck in a deep breath, gripping the straps of my shoes as a wave of trepidation nearly drowns me. "Teresa, move."

"No, per favore," she pleads. "You cannot be here. You need to leave."

"Move," I state, peering down at her with a stern expression. "Or I will make you move."

She whimpers, hobbling off to the side as I take a step toward the door. My throat clogs up as I slowly slide the hatch open. I narrow my focus on the back corner of the empty, dark room. There's someone sitting on a dirty mattress. Their shaved head is turned away from me, but I can see bruises and cuts on the side of their face.

A familiar face. So fucking familiar.

"Who is tha?—"

The wine slips from my hands, shattering on the ground as they whip their head toward me, his beady blue eyes piercing mine.

I stumble backward, blinded by shock, rage, fucking betrayal.

"Signorina, the glass! Be careful!"

Andre.

Chapter 30

A Fight Against Fate

Trust.

It can take weeks, months, years to build trust. Trust is fragile. Like a flower. A beautiful rose bed. If you take good care of it, it flourishes, grows, survives. But if you don't, if you fuck up, if you grow that fucking flower in soil that's infested with lies and deception and betrayal then it dies. It's destroyed. And it's damn near impossible to grow anything healthy in that fucking soil ever again.

"You lying piece of shit!" I storm into the dining room, my vibrating gaze narrowed in on Milo. "I can't believe I fucking trusted you!"

"Kiara?" Milo twists his neck toward me as he abruptly stands up, his face plastered with confusion. "What is wrong? What happened?" He pauses, looking down at my feet. "You're bleeding."

"He's alive?!" I cry, incredulity searing through my goddamn veins. "He's fucking alive?!"

"Wha—"

"Signor Di Vaio! I am so sorry!" Teresa calls out, running up behind me, panting to catch her elderly breath. "She saw him. She uh—she followed me. I tried to stop her but I?—"

All the color drains from Milo's face. He knew. He fucking knew. Of course, he knew. This makes so much sense. The bruises on his knuckles. Why he was gone for hours on end but never left the estate. Oh my God. The sparrow. Andre was the fucking sparrow?!

"Kiara, please?—"

"You fucking asshole!" I yell, every single one of my nerve endings buzzing with betrayal. "This whole time?! He was alive this whole time?! What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

"Do not talk to him like that!" Marchello slams his hand on the dining room table. "Know your place!"

"Shut up!" Milo snaps his head toward his underboss. Julia and Paolo's gaze darts between the two of us. "Everyone leave," he commands. "Now." He peers over my shoulder at Teresa, his jaw clenching. "Please bring some antiseptic and bandages for Kiara's feet."

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