Page 162 of Milo

Marchello swallows. "It is healing."

"Oh, good. I'm glad."

"What are you doing here, Marchello?" Milo asks, his jaw clenching. "I thought we told you to take a vacation."

"I will go but I—I have a request."

"I do not think you are in any position to request anything," Milo says through his teeth. "Leave now, Marchello, before I take Kiara's advice and break your fucking legs."

"Please listen to me," Marchello pleads. "Please."

I narrow my eyes. "What do you want?"

Marchello clears his throat. "You have every reason to say no, but—" His gaze bounces between us. "Let me go to Russia. Let me finish this. Let me prove my loyalty."

"You want to go to Russia?" Milo asks, shaking his head. "How do I know you will not betray us? My trust in you, Marchello, is non-existent right now."

"I understand that but—" Marchello lowers himself on his knees as he takes a blade from his pocket, cutting a deep gash into his palm. "I vow to you, Emilio, that I will not betray you. I will bring honor to our family. Let me go. Please." He hands Milo the knife. "Please."

"Mors Votum?" Milo asks, taking the knife. "Are you sure?" I tug on Milo's hand. He faces me to explain. "If he breaks the vow, it is instant death."

"Oh.”

"Let me do this, Milo," Marchello states. "Please."

Milo's quiet for a minute as he studies Marchello's desperate face. "I have no reason to trust you."

"I will not let you down," he insists, blood streaming from his hand. "I will not let Santi Oscuri down. You can trust me."

"Let him go," I whisper, meeting Marchello's solemn features. No hint of falsity in his tone, eyes, lips. He's being sincere. "He has to earn our trust somehow."

"Fine." Milo sucks in a deep breath, dragging the blade across his palm. He holds out his hand. "Mors Votum."

Marchello grabs Milo's hand, a gleam of hope in his eyes. "Mors Votum."

Death surrounds us.

It's in our blood.

Chapter 43

A New Reign

Noise.

Sometimes it's loud. Sometimes it's impossible to ignore. Like the howling of the wind during a storm or the pulsing growls of erupting volcanoes.

But sometimes the noise is a whisper. A faint voice in the back of your head. Like static on a TV or a heart beating a little too fast.

Noise. It never truly goes away. It sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

Can I do this? Is this right? Will I be successful? Will I be able to uphold the values of this family? Am I capable? Am I worthy? Am I enough? Am I strong enough?

Are we strong enough?

Noise is destructive. I know that. I do. But some noise is valid, it has merit, yet oftentimes, it's just a manifestation of all your worst fears. Either you can listen to the static, grant it permission to hum in your ears and infiltrate your mind or, with enough faith, you can mute it. You can silence the noise, the doubt, the fear.

Faith is louder than fear.

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