Page 154 of Milo

"I've felt lost my whole life, Milo, and when I'm with you, it finally feels like I'm home," I say, caressing his stubbled cheek. "You have more light inside of you than you think." I smile, losing myself in his earthy eyes. "The devil is not as black as he is painted."

"Do you truly believe that Kiara?" He leans into my palm. "The things I have done—" He sighs. "I am not sure how much light remains."

"The dichotomy between light and darkness, it's—it's dynamic, Milo, it changes, it's not stagnant. Every day one might outshine the other, but you'll always have both, always."

He smiles, lacing his hands through my hair as he kisses my forehead. "Your father would be very proud of you, Kiara. You are a philosopher in the making."

"I stabbed one man to death and shot another all in the course of thirty-six hours," I murmur, resting my head on his shoulder. "I'm not so sure he'd be proud of me right now."

"He would understand, tesoro. He would."

"Maybe." I close my eyes, letting out a grunt. "Shit, I probably shouldn't have shot Marchello. That was an impulsive and rash decision. He knows too much, what if he?—"

Milo's body tenses as he begrudgingly states, "He won't. Marchello has proven to be a great disappointment and I'd like nothing more than to kill him, but he has always held Santi Oscuri above all else. I do not believe he will betray the family. You were right to stop me, Kiara. There would have been severe consequences if I had killed him."

"I'm sorry," I whisper. "I know how much you trusted him."

"It wasn't personal," Milo says in a strained tone. "This was business. It's always business."

"Still—" I crane my neck up. "He hurt you, you're allowed to feel that."

"According to Marchello, I am not allowed to feel anything. Or else I risk destroying our legacy."

"I think that depends on what kind of legacy you want to leave behind. Marchello's version of the future doesn't have to be yours. He wants world domination, which is unrealistic and dangerous. The future lies in your hands, Milo. What do you want to be remembered by?"

Milo stays quiet, gazing out the window for several comfortable moments of much-needed silence.

"I want to conquer Europe," he finally says. "That will be my legacy."

I manage a small laugh. "Europe's still really big, baby."

He faces me, a smirk creeping up on his face. "But it's smaller than the world."

I roll my eyes, my temples instantly pulsing. "Taking control of fifty countries in your lifetime will be impossible. How do you plan on doing that?"

"What you meant to say is, how do we plan on doing that," Milo counters with a grin. "And easy—" He cocks his head. "One country at a time." The car stops in front of the estate. "We can discuss this later, right now, you need to see a doctor."

"No," I say, climbing out of the car. "I need to see Vittoria."

"Kiara, please, she is not going anywhere. First a doctor, you could have a concussion," Milo pleads, placing his hand on the small of my back as we enter the house. It's quiet. Everyone must be sleeping. I ignore him, heading to her room. "Kiara?—"

"I'll be quick," I say, pausing at the top of the staircase. I need a plan. Strategy. Stability. Damage control. "Who knows about this? About Marchello? Obviously Gio and Mateo, anyone else? Paolo? Luisa?"

"No, I didn't have time to tell them," Milo says. "Why? What are you thinking?"

"I think we need to keep this quiet for a while," I whisper, biting my lip. "The fewer people that know the better."

"They will ask questions, Kiara. They will wonder why Marchello is not by my side. It will lead to speculation. We need to be honest."

I purse my lips. "He's injured right now. Unfit for duty. We can go with that."

"It's just a gunshot, Kiara. A scratch. He can still function."

"Then break his fucking legs," I say dryly, eyeing Vittoria's door. "We can't risk the other families finding out about this, Milo. We can't. We'll have to tell everyone that Vittoria was the mole and that we killed her after catching her talking to Igor or something. We can put Marchello on desk duty. It’s not ideal but it'll have to do."

"Break his legs?" A low chuckle tumbles from Milo’s lips. "Who are you?"

"Your future wife," I say, crossing my arms. "So, what do you think? Will it work?"

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