Page 150 of Milo

Scream and you'll die. Got it.

"Do you speak English?" I look up at the bald middle-aged man. He doesn't move a muscle, standing still, stoic and impassive. Let's try again. "Russian?" Nothing. "Arabic?" No. "Ita?—"

"Italian, yes. He does."

I whip my head around toward the familiar voice, my eyes widening with disbelief as Marchello strides toward me, waving his revolver in the air.

"Marchello? What—what are you…" Realization dawns on me. "Oh my God, you? You're the mole?"

"Me? A mole?" He throws his head back and laughs, his nefarious cackles rattling my bones. "I like you, Kiara, I really do," he stops in front of me, “but you are not nearly as intelligent as you think you are. There is no mole, idiota. Well—" He clicks his tongue. "I suppose there is now." He cocks his head to the side. "You."

"I don't?—"

"You don't understand?" he cuts in, a sly grin on his face. "I know you don't. See, that is the problem, you are incapable of understanding. Do you know why? Because you do not belong here, Kiara. You will never belong here."

"Go fuck yourself," I seethe, struggling to free myself from the ropes binding my limbs.

"I will not be disrespected!" His features harden as he whips me across the face with his pistol. Pain spreads through my body, metallic odor filling my nostrils and coating my tongue. "You will keep your mouth shut, understand?"

I clench my jaw, my left eye welling up with tears. Don't fucking cry. I look up at him, spitting blood-infused saliva into his face.

"Fuck you."

He blinks, glaring at me as he wipes two fingers across his cheek. "I would hit you again, but I am afraid I might kill you."

"Isn't that your plan? To kill me?"

"Maybe, it depends on your answer," he says, pacing in front of me as he sucks on his teeth. "The truth is, Kiara, it was never supposed to come to this but unfortunately you have proved to be a very malignant form of cancer." He stops, peering down at me. "You are more difficult to remove than I had originally thought."

I swallow, my brows knitting together in confusion as I keep my mouth shut. Based on the curl of his lips, the gleam of pride in his eyes, and his boastful tone, I don't need to ask any questions. He thinks he's won whatever game we were playing.

This is a victory lap, his moment to shine.

He twists the revolver around his index finger. "I created many opportunities for you to leave on your own accord. I planted the necklace, I led you straight to Andre, I even brought that cheating whore Vittoria back from the dead, and yet you stayed."

He lets out a maniacal laugh that sends chills down my spine. So, Vittoria wasn't kidnapped. I was right. Or she was. Just not by the Russians.

Marchello continues, not giving me time to ask what happened. "Not only did you stay but you accepted his proposal. I was certain bringing back Vittoria would be the end, but I was wrong. When you referred to yourself as Milo's fiancée, I thought it was over. I thought I lost, but then, I had a moment of pure genius."

"A mole.”

"Yes," he grins. "A mole. It was perfect, I thought in time I would be able to convince Milo that you were a traitor, a spy, but then you go and kill Andre, all on your own. It was beautiful but it changed my plans. I had to act quickly. I had to strike while the iron was hot. So tonight, Milo will think that you fled, that you ran away. That in fact, you were the mole."

I blink, attempting to make sense of everything he's saying. "So, you orchestrated all of this because you don't want me to marry Milo?" I pause, narrowing my eyes. "Why? I don't understand."

He takes a deep breath. "Because, Kiara, there is no room for love in Santi Oscuri. There is only power, loyalty, and money.” He scans my bleeding face. "Not only do you make Milo weak—" He points the gun at my uterus. "But you are also a broken woman, and you have no place by his side. When the time comes for Emilio to produce an heir, my daughter will gladly offer up her womb because she understands the importance of legacy."

My face falls. "I don't think your daughter will be as willing as you think."

"It is not about will, Kiara, it is about duty. I have served this family since I was fifteen years old, almost fifty years. I have been at the forefront of battles, of wars, standing beside the Di Vaio's, ensuring that our legacy lives on, even after I am dead. And I will not let you, Vittoria, or any other woman, jeopardize our position as leaders."

"Vittoria?" I ask in a low hum. "What did you do? Why?—"

"Milo, he was not groomed to be capo. That was always Sergio's birthright but then he died, and Emilio was going to undo everything his brother was trying to accomplish." Marchello's lip twitches. "He was going to relinquish control of Moscow, and for what? His brother's body? So sentimental, so foolish. A body is nothing, Kiara. It is flesh and bones and blood, nothing of value, nothing important."

"So, you kidnapped Vittoria and framed the Russians," I say, the pieces finally falling into place. "Why? To make Milo angry? To make him want revenge?"

Marchello casts me an impressed grin. "Exactly, he needed motivation, he needed fuel, so I gave it to him. Not too long after Sergio's death, I caught Vittoria in a very compromising position with one of our men, so I gave her a choice, the same choice I am now going to give you."

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