Page 139 of Milo

Milo shakes his head, rubbing his chin as he scans my flustered face. "You're very sexy right now. Perhaps I should anger you more often."

"If you wish to walk around with both of your balls intact, I would advise against that.”

"You are ruthless.”

"Well, I am marrying into the mafia. I need to start acting the part."

"Fuck." Milo runs a tired hand down his face. "I need to go review the footage Paolo collected."

"Can I help?" I twirl the engagement ring around my finger. "Please."

Milo grins, gesturing to the door. "After you, Mrs. Di Vaio."

I purse my lips, mentally exhausted but physically thriving. "Has a nice ring to it, don't you think?"

"Definitely," Milo agrees with a mischievous smirk as he places his palm on the small of my back.

We exit the kitchen and make our way upstairs. Entering Milo's office, we find Paolo and Marchello sitting on the couch, talking to Vittoria. I clench my fists, attempting to keep my expression neutral.

"I thought you were going to call your sister," I say, scratching my nose with my left hand. Petty, I know. "What happened?"

Paolo and Marchello exchange a look. "Vittoria just told us some very concerning news," Paolo says.

Milo frowns. "What is it?"

"Tell him what you told us," Marchello says.

Vittoria clears her throat. "Two days ago, I overheard Igor talking on the phone," she explains, her gaze darting between the two of us. "He mentioned a mole."

Milo’s body stiffens. "A mole?"

"Yes.” Vittoria subtly glances up at me, a barely noticeable smirk clipping her conniving lips. "Here. In Santi Oscuri."

Oh, this fucking bitch.

Chapter 36

Hidden in Plain Sight

The ability to control your emotions is an invaluable skill, one that comes in pretty fucking handy when a redheaded bitch is essentially accusing you of being a spy. But since she hasn't said it point-blank, I'll go ahead and pretend as if I'm not rattled by her not-so-subtle insinuation.

"A mole? Here?" I ask, my tone even, calm. "Really?"

"Yes," Vittoria says, fiddling with her fingers. "That's what I heard."

"What exactly did you hear?" Milo asks, running a hand through his hair as he paces in front of the couch. "Word for word, Vittoria."

"My memory is still a bit foggy from being drugged," she says in a broken tone as she looks up at my fiancé. "But he was thanking whoever was on the phone. He said that they were much more competent than—" She clears her throat, looking between Milo, Paolo, and Marchello. "Than Enzo."

Milo's jaw locks.

I blink, unfamiliar with the name. "Who's Enzo?"

"The rat from Manchester," Marchello spits, disdain in his voice. "Fucking rat. He deserved more than a bullet in the brain."

I frown at Vittoria. She's lying yet she knows about Enzo? It doesn't make sense. How would she know? Unless she's telling half-truths. Or reading a script.

"That is all you heard?" Milo asks. "No name?"

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