Page 95 of Milo

"I won't be long," I say, tossing him a small smile. "Thirty minutes."

He raises a dubious brow as the other men laugh at my timeline. "I will start the clock."

"Go ahead."

Who am I kidding? Thirty minutes is not enough time but I, for one, stick to my promises.

When I shut the bedroom door, I start a timer and transform myself into a jaded Cinderella. Once my hair and make-up are done, I slip on the red chiffon dress Milo bought for the gala and string on some jewelry.

With two minutes left on the timer, I triumphantly waltz out of the bedroom, the seven men in the living room all giving me a cheeky round of applause. Even Marchello is smiling at me. Must be the alcohol.

"Grazie, grazie," I grin, tossing them an elegant curtsy as Milo walks toward me, his covetous gaze flicking around my ensemble. "You like it?"

"Bellissima," he says, stopping in front of me. "Red is definitely your co—" He pauses, his face blanching as his eyes dart to the ruby stone hanging around my neck. "Where did you get that?"

"This?" I look down at the glimmering gem. "Julia and I were going through some of your mom's jewelry this morn?—"

"Take it off."

Prove me wrong.

Chapter 25

Lifting the Fog

It's a simple question.

Three letters. Two consonants. One syllable.

Zero chances of getting a simple answer.

The room falls silent as I ask, "Why?"

His skin pales as he stares at me like he's seen a phantom. Blue flames glow in his hooded eyes, the icy heat burning and freezing my skin at the same goddamn time.

"Take it off, Kiara," he says through his teeth. "Now."

"Why?" I whisper again, rolling the ruby heart stone between my thumb and index finger. "Because it's your mom's? It's just a necklace, Milo."

It's more than that. I know. It must be.

A gift from his father? An heirloom? A family jewel? If it were important to Antonia, she would have taken it with her, right? An uneasy knot forms in my stomach. Yes. She would've taken it.

"I do not know how you came to possess that necklace, but it is not my mother's."

Milo sucks in a stabilizing breath, his jaw tensing. Control. He's trying so hard not to explode. He's trying to remain calm in the midst of inner chaos. He's trying to not yell at me. He's trying so fucking hard.

For me.

"Take it off," he repeats himself, desperation trembling his hoarse voice. "Please."

A glass shatters in the distance.

I don't look. I don't care. All I want is for Milo to stop staring at me like I'm causing him physical pain. Agony. It's hurting me to see him like this. It's pricking my fucking heart.

And I hate that.

"Okay." Worry ripples down my throat as I wind my arms behind my neck and unclip the gold chain. Not his mother's. Dangling the necklace above Milo's palm, I ask, holding my breath, "Whose is it?"

---