Page 155 of Milo

Milo sucks in a long breath. "Only one way to find out." He nods at the door. "She's all yours."

"Excellent.” I turn on my heel and enter Vittoria's bedroom, flicking on the lights. "Wake up!"

"What the fuck?" Vittoria grumbles, jerking upright. Her face pales as her gaze darts between me and Milo. "What—what do you want?" She pauses, cringing. "Dio, what happened to your face?"

"What do you think?" I walk toward her, my head spinning. "I gave you the chance to tell me the truth, Vittoria, yet you continued to lie. That was a mistake. Do you remember what I said would happen when I found out the truth? Hmm?"

She swallows looking at Milo. "You—you know?"

"Yes.” I glare down at her. "We know about the cheating, the money, Dubai. We know you came back because Marchello paid you." I shake my head. "It takes a very special type of person to lie about being raped, Vittoria. It's disgusting and you should be ashamed of yourself."

"He would have killed me if I didn't take the money. I didn't want to die—" Her bottom lip quivers. "And I didn't want to come back! I didn't! I was happy in Dubai, I met a nice man, I—" She wails into the comforter. "But Marchello, he said he would kill my sister if I didn't return and say all those horrible things. I didn't want to, believe me." She peers up at Milo. "I'm sorry, I really am. I didn't?—"

"Actions have consequences, Vittoria," I say, catching a glimpse of Milo, his expression neutral, unaffected. Whatever fraction of his heart she was holding hostage is now free. Good.

"I know," she whimpers, shame flashing across her face. "I know that! I think about it all the time, okay? I made a mistake. Please don't kill me! Please."

"This is what's going to happen. You are going to leave tonight. You are going to go back to Dubai, and you will never come back to Italy." I pause, pursing my lips. "Have you called your sister yet? I know you were not talking to her last night."

"No," she whispers, sniffling. "I didn't think it would be safe."

"Good. You will never contact her again. She will continue to think you are dead."

"But—"

I shoot her a glare and she stops talking. "You will forget about this life, about Milo, about Santi Oscuri. Do you understand?"

She blinks. "You're not going to kill me?"

"No, I'm not going to kill you. Not today at least," I say, shaking off the sudden onset of fatigue. "But if we ever find out that you have opened your mouth about this to anyone, we will kill you and your new boyfriend and his entire family and your sister." I tilt my head as her eyes widen with terror. I glance at the clock. "You have ten minutes to get ready and then Gio will drive you to the airport. You will take the jet back to Dubai and never come back. Is that clear?"

She nods. "Yes."

"Good." I glance over at Milo. "Anything you'd like to add?" He shakes his head. "Okay." I turn to Vittoria. "Get dressed."

"Thank you," she mumbles.

Without another word, I exit her room, feeling lightheaded. Milo closes the door behind us. "I am surprised you are letting her live," he whispers as we walk down the hall. "Are you sure that is wise?"

"I feel bad for her," I say, dancing black spots infiltrating my vision as we reach the staircase. "She was just a—just a pawn. Plus, umm...I think that living in a state of constant fear is worse than uh—worse than death." I grab the railing, steadying myself as my head spins. "It's the—" I blink, my knees giving out. "The uh?—"

"Kiara!"

Chapter 41

Beating Hearts

The sterile scent of disinfectant fills my lungs as my eyelids flutter open. Attempting to prop myself up, I wince, glancing at the IV needle inserted into my right forearm. Oh, God. I hate needles. I look around the private room, the humming of various medical machinery ringing in my ears. I frown, unease stirring in my stomach. I hate hospitals even more.

"Oh, thank God." I crane my neck toward the far end of the room, smiling as Milo walks out of the ensuite bathroom, relief gracing his worried face. "You're awake."

"Where—" I clear my throat, my mouth dry as he sits down on a stool beside me. "Where am I? What happened?" I blink, looking out the large windows, the sun beaming through the blinds. "What time is it?"

"You have been unconscious for eight hours, Kiara," Milo whispers, his grip gentle as he takes my hand in his. He passes me a glass of water off the side table and I take a slow sip. "I was worried you sustained head trauma." He sucks in a deep breath, caressing my cheek. "Fuck, baby, I am so happy to see your eyes."

"Eight hours?" I hum, squeezing his hand as I shift my weight in the surprisingly comfortable bed. "Am I—am I okay? That seems like a long time."

"Yes," he smiles, kissing my knuckles. "Aldo came with us and I made him run every test imaginable. It is a miracle that you do not even have a concussion."

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