Page 124 of Milo

He kidnapped me

He lied to me

Pros:

I love him.

Perhaps, I should have told him how I feel. I should have said it back. I should have given him some hope.

But he broke my trust.

I think I'll wait a bit before I give him full access to break my heart.

Chapter 32

Under a Spell

Golden hues of the rising sun peek through the arched windowpanes as I enter the library, a cup of coffee and a book in hand. Tightening a wool throw over my shoulders, I stare into the hypnotizing crackles of the fireplace, the sparking red embers flickering violently.

There is no rest for the wicked.

Or the hurt.

Sleep is the enemy and literature is the savior. Trading nightmares for literary escape is something that I'm used to. It’s familiar, it's comforting. A book has an ending, a conclusion, it's there, on the last page. Will she, or won't she? Books are simple. Beginning, middle, end.

Am I at the end of a story?

Or at the beginning?

My gaze floats above the mantle to the oil paintings of generational criminals. Milo, his father, his mother, his brother. They're all there. Smiling. The soft brush strokes and muted colors of the paintings make them look harmless, normal, human. Just a family.

A family.

Sighing, I shake my head.

My future family.

Maybe?

"He was a handsome man, no?"

I gasp, my entire body jerking. Hot coffee spills over my hand as I spin around to find Antonia standing behind me. "Oh my God, you scared me. I thought you weren't coming until Christmas."

She takes a sip of espresso, her plum lipstick leaving a semi-circle stain on the tiny cup. "Natalia missed her mother.” She strides toward me, her fingers twisting an emerald gem around her neck. "We arrived late last night."

"Oh," I hum, feeling mildly embarrassed as I wipe my coffee-drenched hand on my silk pajamas. "Well, welcome home. It's nice to see you again."

"It is nice to be back.” Her eyes soften as she admires the paintings. "My husband was not a very photogenic man, but on a canvas?" She clicks her tongue, a ghost of a smile on her face. "He was beautiful."

"Milo looks just like him," I sigh, comparing the renderings of the two deadly men. "It's almost eerie."

"Yes, they are very similar, both in appearance and in heart," Antonia agrees as she faces me. "Emilio was Santino's favorite child." She expels a soft laugh. "Do not repeat this to Julia, she will argue otherwise."

"I would think most parents have a soft spot for their youngest," I muse as Antonia gestures for us to sit down on the couch. "I don't have any siblings but that's what I've heard."

"Very true.” Antonia sets her coffee on the table. "Even when his hair turns grey, Milo will always be my baby." I shift uncomfortably as she slowly scans my face. "He told me what happened, Kiara."

I swallow, anxiety thudding in my chest. "He did?"

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