Page 26 of Milo

"It was not intentional.” He adjusts the cuffs of his black button-up shirt before fanning open today's edition of Il Corriere Della Sera. The headline reads: Two Unidentified Bodies Found at the Port of Palermo.

I squint suspiciously at Milo. That can't be a coincidence.

"How was your trip to Sicily?" The plane takes off and I grip the armrest, taking a deep breath. Please let there be no turbulence. "Anything interesting happen?"

"No.” He keeps his eyes affixed on the daily Italian newspaper, not bothering to look at me. "It was uneventful."

"Really?" My heart skips a beat as the plane ascends into the sky. "You didn't, I don't know, murder two people or anything?"

This grabs his attention.

"What?" A frown mars his groomed brows as he closes the paper, lowering it to his lap.

I point to the front page, tilting my head as I perk up an accusatory brow.

"This?" He lets out a small laugh, looking at me like I'm a clueless child. "Please, Kiara, do not offend me so early in the morning."

I cross my arms. "That wasn't you? Really?"

He places the newspaper on the table, hiking his ankle over his thigh, his black loafers bouncing up and down as he grins.

"If it were me, Kiara, there would be no bodies," he says with twisted humor as he scans the front page again. "And I would certainly not dispose of said bodies in such an unimaginative location. A dock? How amateur."

There's nothing in his tone or posture that indicates he's lying, if anything, he truly is offended by my accusation.

My knowledge of the mafia world is limited to what I've seen on television or read in books, but discretion does seem to be of vital importance to the preservation of criminal organizations.

That being said, my suspicions are still completely warranted.

"Okay, well then how would a professional, such as yourself, dispose of a dead body?" I cross my legs, mirroring his body language. "Give me a mini-Masterclass in the art of— how did you put it before?" I pause, biting my lip. "Clean up."

"Kiara," he hums with amusement. “A woman should never be burdened with the knowledge of such gruesome matters."

I cock my head to the side. "I thought you said you were a feminist, Mr. Di Vaio? Believe me, I think I can handle it."

"Perhaps.” His gaze drifts over to a flight attendant near the galley. He waves two fingers in the air before snapping his focus back to me. "But I would hate to strip you of your innocence. Some things are better left unsaid."

"My innocence?" I blink, an incredulous scoff escaping my lips. "I think that ship sailed when you shot two men right before my eyes, don't you think?"

He sighs, a pensive look on his face. "There is innocence of the eyes and innocence of the soul, Kiara. It is important not to confuse the two. And believe me, there are far worse things to witness than a bullet entering the brain."

"How very poetic. But everything is connected. Your eyes, heart, mind, soul. It makes one being. What the eyes witness seeps into one's soul. You can't compartmentalize morality, Mr. Di Vaio."

His jaw tenses. "In my line of work, Kiara, it is required."

"Perhaps you should rethink your line of work then.” I rest my head against the wall of the plane, my brain buzzing from the vibrations. "It seems like a steep price to pay for eternal damnation."

"Eternal damnation?" He lets out a boisterous laugh, drawing perplexed glances from his associates. "Oh, Kiara, what is it that you think I do? Murder children? I can assure you, in the hierarchy of evil, I'm nowhere near damnation."

"I don't think that's your call to make.”

His eyes harden. "Nor is it yours."

I scowl at him, my blood pulsing with irritation. Who does he think he is? Does he expect me to waver on my stance? Accept that murder is just an unfortunate byproduct of his chosen profession?

No. I won't.

There are universally accepted notions of right and wrong.

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