Page 84 of Milo

Milo swallows as he sidles closer to me on the couch. His thigh presses against mine, heat radiating off his stiff body. "I told you that there are bad people in our world, Kiara.” He drags his thumb under my eyes, wiping away the small puddles of frustrated tears. "Men like Andre do not deserve to breathe."

I study him intently. "No, they don’t.”

"Kiara?" He tilts his head. "What are you thinking?"

"How many men like Andre do you work with? This type of behavior is probably quite normal in your world."

Our world.

His features harden, offended. "None. We do not tolerate rape in my family. It is non-negotiable."

"It is?" I ask warily. "Really?"

"Yes. Before Santi Oscuri was formed, as retaliation for setting a warehouse on fire—" He falters, his voice hoarse, croaking. "My grandmother, she was?—"

No.

My troubled heart seizes as I cup his clenched fist, grazing his knuckles with my thumb. "It's okay. You don't have to say it. I’m sorry about your grandma."

"I am too.” Milo absentmindedly caresses my fingertips, tenderly, delicately, like he's unaware that he's doing it. "When my grandfather became Capo, he amended the code. Every man under my employ is aware of this rule. And they follow it. They must."

"I'm sorry for implying that—" I swallow, guilt eating at me. "That was insensitive. I just assumed that?—"

"It is a normal assumption to make. There are other families who do not abide by our guidelines, but I cannot control those men. I can only control mine."

"Yeah," I whisper, intertwining my fingers through his, creating a web of mutual understanding, respect.

Admiration.

Milo meets my dreary expression. “Kiara, I know this past week has been difficult for you. I am not oblivious to your struggles, but I do hope this new information puts your mind at ease."

My hands tingle from his soft touch. "It does. A little bit, but what about the families of his victims? Don't they deserve justice? It's almost like—" I pause, shaking my head, conflict stewing in my stomach. "It's almost like I did him a favor. By killing him. He should have spent the rest of his life rotting in a Russian prison. He should have suffered. He should've paid for his crimes."

Is that wrong? To wish suffering upon another human being? Even a horrible one? I'm beginning to understand the need for grey areas. I'm beginning to understand Milo.

I just don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

It's quiet for a few minutes, the heaviness of Andre's vicious actions weighing on us.

Both of us.

"Kiara, you di—" he begins to say but stops. "You?—"

"What?" I tilt my head, trying to gauge his emotions. I can't. Sadness? Regret? Pain?

"You di—" Milo curses under his breath, expelling a low, almost inaudible grumble as his expression softens. "You did nothing wrong, Kiara. Remember that."

"I know." I nod slowly, trying to convince myself of the same thing as my gaze drifts to the second envelope on the coffee table. "What's in there?"

"Nothing you need to see."

"Why not?" I pinch my eyebrows together, curiosity piquing as I reach for the envelope. "What is it?"

"No.” Milo coils his fingers around my wrist. "Trust me, Kiara. Please."

What the fuck is in there?

"Fine," I mutter, pretending to lower the file. Once Milo lets go of my arm, I spring up off the couch with the envelope and round the coffee table.

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