Page 152 of Milo

"No." Milo cocks his head to the side, his tone deep, menacing as he states, "I am Santi Oscuri, and you, Marchello, have broken the code. And for that, you must die."

My gaze darts between the two men.

Loyalty. Power. Wealth.

Stability.

No.

No.

"Stop," I shout as Milo racks the slide, chambering a round. "Milo, stop! Stop!"

His head snaps toward me, his eyes chocked full of agonizing pain as his gaze flickers around my face. "Look at you, tesoro," he breathes, his voice trembling. "Look at what he did. He needs to die."

"No," I whisper, placing my hand on Milo's stiff arm. "You can't kill him." Marchello shoots me a dubious look as I glance at him. "You can't kill him."

"Yes, I can. He broke the code."

"It doesn't matter," I whisper, removing the Beretta from his hands. Big picture. "If you kill Marchello, we'll look weak. We'll lose power, Milo. The other families, they'll know. It'll get around. It'll—" I swallow. "It'll start another war. A civil war."

"Kiara—"

"You need stability, baby," I say, clenching my teeth as my fingers coil around the gun. "We need stability. At least for a little while."

"I have underestimated you, Kiara." Marchello expels a low laugh, drawing our attention. "Perhaps you do belong here after all."

"You will keep your mouth shut, understand?" I repeat his words as I stride toward him. "You said that there is no room for love in Santi Oscuri, right? But you're wrong."

"Wh—"

"Did I say you could talk?" I meet his defiant gaze as he snaps his lips shut. "Better. You're wrong because if I didn't love Milo, I would let him kill you. I would let him unload this entire magazine into your fucking body." I take a deep, calming breath. "But you see, I do love him, and I've grown to love his family. Julia, Natalia, Luisa even. And I don't want to see this family, my family, be catapulted into another unnecessary war on the basis of internal conflict. So, thank whatever God you worship that love does exist in Santi Oscuri, because without it, you would be dead."

Marchello swallows.

"I cannot trust him anymore.” Milo glares at his underboss. "What do you suggest we do with him?"

"You can trust me, Emilio!" Marchello pipes up. "You can."

“We'll think of something.” I cast Marchello an ominous smile. "The floors in my bathroom looked a little dirty. He can start there." I turn to Milo, my head throbbing. "Let's go, I need to have a word with Vittoria."

"The floors?!" Marchello shouts, his chest puffing up. "You expect me to clean your fucking bathroom?! After all the years I gave to this family? After all the sacrifices I made?!"

Dull pain pulses in my temples as I whip my arm out and fire a bullet into his shoulder.

He staggers backward, sliding down the wall as he presses his palm against the bullet hole.

"Shut up, Marchello, you're giving me a headache."

"Jesus, Kiara," Milo murmurs as Gio lurches forward.

I hold out my hand. "No, don't help him.” I nod toward the galley kitchen. "Go get some paper towels and spray." I smile, peering down at the whimpering old man. "You're getting blood all over the carpet. Clean it up." I expel a deep sigh, looking up at Milo. "As I was saying, I need to have a word with Vittoria."

Milo blinks. "Whatever you want, tesoro, just don't shoot me."

"Here. Take it." I hand him back the gun. "For your own safety."

I am not a pawn.

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