Page 137 of Milo

"He is a sick man, Vittoria." Milo's face contorts with disgust. "I am so sorry you had to go through that, I really am."

"But now it is all okay," she says, reaching out to grab Milo's hand. "Now I am home. I am with you."

"Vittoria," Milo whispers, taking a step back and pinching the bridge of his nose. "I?—"

The French doors to the living room swing open as Paolo walks inside. "Milo, we checked the security footage," he says, glancing at Marchello. "It was an unmarked black van, no plates. Nothing. They pushed her out and drove off. We cannot track them."

"Try," Milo says through his teeth. "Tap into the city lines, I do not give a shit. If Pravda is in Genova, I need to know."

"Right away," Paolo says, giving Julia's hand a squeeze before exiting the room.

"Luisa," Milo says, his expression weary. "Please take Vittoria upstairs."

"No, don't leave me," Vittoria whines, pouting. Breathe. Stay calm. I am staying calm. "Do not leave. I don't want to be alone. Milo, please."

"I cannot do that," Milo says, his tone low. "You are free to stay here for as long as you need but?—"

"Milo," Marchello says, taking a step forward. "Take the poor woman upstairs. Look at her, she is scared."

I inwardly roll my eyes, immediately feeling like a piece of shit. I have no evidence that she's lying. I can't prove anything. For all I know, maybe she's telling the truth. And if she is, then I'm a horrible, awful person.

"You can take her," I say, speaking for the first time in what feels like hours. "It's fine, Milo."

Vittoria whips her head toward me, frowning. "Who are you? You are new."

"That is Kiara," Milo says, taking a breath. "She is my?—"

"Friend," Marchello cuts him off, shooting me a hardened look. "She is a friend."

Respect.

"Actually," I say, meeting Milo's gaze. This is not the right time or the right place, but I don't care. I refuse to be a casualty in her destructive wake. "I'm his fiancée."

Marchello's lip twitches but he doesn't say anything.

"What?!" Vittoria grabs her chest, letting out a loud gasp as she looks at Milo. "Your fiancée? Milo, how could you? Did I mean nothing to you?"

Milo's body tenses. "I think it is time for you to go upstairs, Vittoria. Get some rest."

"Maybe call your sister?" I suggest in a gentle tone. "I know she misses you."

Vittoria's eyes light up with genuine excitement. "My sister? You have spoken to her? When? Where? Is she okay?"

I frown at her. Odd reaction. "In Milan, a few weeks ago. She will be very pleased to hear that you are alive."

Marchello clears his throat. "Perhaps Milo is correct, it is time to rest, Vittoria."

She blinks, averting his gaze. "Fine. I will go."

"I will be in my office," Milo says, pulling out his phone. "If you need me." He looks over his shoulder. "Kiara? Come with me."

I cast Julia a nervous side-eye as I follow Milo out of the living room. Instead of going to his office, Milo leads us into the kitchen. He darts to the liquor cabinet, pouring himself a glass of scotch and downing it. He hangs his head, gripping the edge of the granite counter, letting out a deep sigh.

"Hey…” I come up behind him and rest my cheek on his back, wrapping my arms around his torso. "Are you okay?"

"No," he admits, spinning around. "All this time, she was alive. She was suffering all this time." His jaw tightens. "He was hurting her, he was?—"

"It's not your fault, Milo.” I caress his cheek, my heart hurting for him. "It's not your fault."

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