Page 143 of Milo

Easy enough.

Sucking in a deep breath, I slide the steel divider and peek into the rundown dimly lit room. "Andre.” A chill zaps down my spine as he cranes his neck toward me, his face thin, dirty, bruised, and broken. "I have a couple of questions for you."

"Who are you?" Andre shifts on the mattress, the rattling of metal sounding from where he sits. He squints, a small smile forming on his face. "Oh, Kiara," he says with a hoarse laugh. "I remember your pretty little eyes. Please, come inside."

"I think this is fine," I wince, bile rising in my throat. "I need to ask you a couple of questions about your cousin."

"And I will answer all your questions. But not through a door." He cocks his head. "Don't be scared, kukulka—" He shimmies his wrist. "Your boyfriend chained me, like a dog."

Fuck.

"Fine," I sneer, unlocking the door. The hinges creak as I open it and step inside, all my senses on high alert. "Okay, now for my questions."

He smirks, giving me a slow, disgusting once-over. "You are the best Christmas gift I've ever received. And I've gotten many treasures over the years."

I wince at the word treasure. "Do you know a woman by the name of Vittoria?" I ask, hiding my discomfort. "Red hair? Italian?"

"Maybe…” He props himself against the weathered stone wall. "Maybe not. “ He smirks at me. “Why?"

"I'm not here to play games, Andre," I state, keeping my distance. "Answer the question or I'm leaving."

"Fine." Andre's eyes harden. "The name sounds familiar." He pauses. "I thought your questions were going to be about my cousin, not some woman I don't know."

"Igor never mentioned that name before?" I ask, taking a step forward. "Maybe ten/ eleven months ago? Around the same time you killed Sergio?"

"That was a good day," Andre chuckles. "Idiots, all of these Italians."

I clench my jaw. "So, you did kill him? Sergio?"

"I believe Milo can confirm that," he says in a knowing tone. "He has a pretty blue rose to remember him by. Perfect for a funeral." He shrugs. "No, body though, so sad."

"How many roses did you send here?" I slowly stride toward the bed. "Only one?"

Andre purses his lips. "One, maybe two. I don't remember."

"Try. Did you or did you not kidnap and hold hostage a woman named Vittoria?"

He grins, peering up at me. "Red hair, right?"

"Andre.” I stop at the foot of the bed. "Answer the fucking question."

He scans the room, a pensive look in his eyes. "I am curious, Kiara," he muses. "Why is it that you are here alone?" He licks his lips. "Does anyone know you are down here?"

"Yes, they do," I answer immediately.

"Too fast, kukulka," he notes, clicking his tongue as he shifts on the mattress. "I think you are lying." He tilts his head, a devious grin on his face. "Truly a great Christmas."

Before I can react, the handcuffs slip off his right wrist as he surges forward, wrapping his hand around my throat. My head whips back, slamming against the wall as he presses his body against mine.

"Get off me," I croak, gasping for air as he licks the side of my face, his hand inching along the hem of my sweater.

"I've wanted to do this since I first saw you at the casino," he whispers into my ear, sliding his hand up my shirt, his filthy fingers grazing my midsection.

"Milo will kill you," I say between ragged breaths. "If you touch me, he will kill you. Let me go."

Andre laughs, pushing his hips forward, his half-erect dick pressing against me. "He will kill me in six days anyway," he says, thrusting harder. "At least this way, I'll die with your sweet pussy on my cock." My heart hammers in my chest as I writhe under his strong hold, trying to get my right arm loose. The blade of the knife digs into my wrist.

Fuck, just a little bit further.

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