Page 121 of Milo

"No." I expel a deep, stabilizing breath as I grab a cardigan off a chair and slip it on. "I'm not going to answer his question until he answers mine."

Luisa quirks up an eyebrow. "What question?"

"I have many."

Musky odor permeates the air as I enter the gym. Scanning the room, my gaze lands on Milo who's in the far corner, throwing calculated jabs at a red and black punching bag, all the muscles in his torso, shoulders, forearms contracting with every swing.

I swallow. Nope. Dismiss.

As if sensing my presence, his eyes land on mine as I walk toward him. "Kiara," Milo pants, grabbing a white towel off the floor. He drags it across his sweaty forehead. "What are you?—"

"I'm ready to talk.” I cross my arms, keeping my posture straight, confident. "Are you free?"

"Of course.” He tosses on a light grey t-shirt, much to my disappointment. "Would you like to go to my office?"

"Nope, here is fine." I turn around, raising my voice so that all the men at various workout stations can hear me. "Hey! Can we please have the room?" Nothing. No acknowledgment. I clap my hands. "Hello?" A few heads turn to face me. "Leave, please." Four sets of eyes glance over my shoulder toward Milo. "Oh, my God!" I whip my head around. "Tell your sheep to fuck off."

"Sheep?" Milo attempts to suppress a grin as he joins my side. "Ascolta!" His baritone voice echoing off the walls. "Tutti se ne vanno. Adesso."

"Unbelievable," I mutter as the room empties in seconds. "It's like you have them programmed."

"They will listen to you, tesoro, give it time. Once we are wed, you will have control."

The audacity.

"Don't get ahead of yourself.” I glare at him, taking a seat on a bench press. "I didn't say yes." I point to an adjacent bench. "Sit."

"Oh." His face falls as he slowly sits down. In a low, gruff tone he says, "You are here to tell me you are leaving then."

"No."

"No?" A gleam of puzzled hope flashes across his features. "You will stay?"

"I haven't decided yet. First, I need you to answer a few questions."

"Questions?"

"Yes."

"Okay.” He rubs his hands together. "What do you want to know?"

Milo stays quiet as I organize my thoughts. I can't live like Julia. I don't want to be bitter like Luisa. I need answers. If I'm going to forgive Milo, if I'm going to look past his transgressions, then I need to know the who, what, why, where, and how.

And if he can't give that to me... I will leave.

"You said only five people knew Andre is still alive, who are they?"

"Me, Marchello, Paolo, Henri, and Antoine," he replies without missing a beat. "And Teresa, technically." I blink, taken aback. "I told you, Kiara. I will no longer lie to you."

I ignore the latter of his reply, I ignore the soft thumping of my heart. I ignore it all.

"Henri and Antoine know? Why?"

Again, no hesitation.

"If Igor believed that we killed his cousin, there would be a bloodbath and if he knew that Andre was alive and being held captive, none of the information he'd give us would be valuable, they would alter their operations. In order to avoid both of those circumstances, Henri and Antoine helped us fake his death. Drinking and driving. They used a cadaver, the car exploded. No evidence, no body."

"Smart.” That's why it's been so eerily quiet these past few weeks. "That was a good plan."

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