Page 92 of Milo

"No, you can call by yourself." Milo surprises me by linking his fingers through mine, his thumb idly drawing tiny circles on my wrist. "We have several hours before the fundraiser. I want to take Kiara to the Piazza del Duomo."

"What?" I blink, excitement vibrating my body. I didn't think we'd have time to sightsee. Let alone together. Maybe he's making up for the three days he was MIA. Whatever his reason, I'll take it. "Really?"

"Gio and Matteo will accompany us." Milo nods at our guards. "Not too close, si?"

Marchello's jaw tightens, disapproval flashing across his face. "Milo, this is important. The Duomo can wait until tomorrow."

"It is a phone call, Marchello," Milo sighs, narrowing his eyes at his underboss. "Are you incapable of pressing keys on a pad by yourself? This is quite worrisome if true."

Marchello stiffens. "Of course, I am capable, Milo, however, I am certain Nico would want to talk to you not me."

"Nico will talk to whoever I tell him to talk to," Milo states, his voice deeper, commanding. "I trust that you can handle this by yourself. If something went wrong on his trip, then call me. If not, I will see you in several hours."

"But—" Milo glares at Marchello who snaps his mouth shut. "Understood."

"Excellent," Milo murmurs, nodding at the car. "Make sure our luggage gets brought upstairs." He pauses, shooting me a subtle smirk. "Same bedroom."

Define your relationship.

I shake my head, banishing Julia's voice from my mind. When the time is right, we'll talk about it. That time is not now. I just want things to be relatively simple. Even if it's for a few hours. A few hours of normal.

"Right away." Marchello glances at me with a tight-lipped smile. "Enjoy the cathedral, Kiara. It is spectacular."

"I will," I say, crinkling my eyes, attempting to exude a friendly vibe. "Thanks."

"Andiamo," Milo says as Marchello stomps away, muttering in Italian under his breath. That man needs a hefty dose of serotonin. So fucking grumpy. "This way."

"Are you sure you're not too busy to do this?" I ask hesitantly as we stroll through the streets of Milan, every single building snatching my attention. I will forever be amazed by European architecture. It's awe-inspiring. "Marchello seemed pretty bothered that you left."

Milo chuckles, weaving us through the sparse crowds of tourists. I suppose December isn't the most popular time of the year to visit Italy.

"That is just how he is, Kiara. I've known Marchello since I was born. If he could go without sleep and solely focus on business operations, he would."

"Everyone needs a break every so often," I muse, taking in the quaint cafes, street performers, and the various Christmas market kiosks. "He's going to burn out if he doesn't relax."

"I believe the word relax is not a part of Marchello's vocabulary," Milo says as we cross the street toward the piazza. "He means well but sometimes even I find him to be overbearing."

"Overbearing is one way to put it," I mutter to myself, a wide grin spreading on my face as the Duomo di Milano comes into view. "Wow. It's so big."

Milo tosses me a sly smirk. "I know."

"Cute.” I roll my eyes as we stop in front of the largest church in Italy.

The cathedral is a magnificent feat of gothic engineering. The historical stone structure is wrapped in faded pink Candoglia marble, bright stained-glass windows, and vertical towers and vaults. For such a menacing design, with its sharp edges and ridged points, it conveys an airy sense of light, hope, and beauty.

The parallel isn't lost on me.

"Are we going inside?" I bite my lip. "Do we have time?"

"Whatever you want, tesoro," Milo whispers, sweeping a wayward strand of hair out of my face. "But we cannot stay too long. I want to show you something at sunset."

I cast him a suspicious grin. "What?"

"You'll see," he smirks, motioning to my hip. "Gio will hold your purse."

I narrow my eyes. "Why?"

"They check for weapons," he whispers. "I presume you have your pistol."

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