Page 56 of Milo

"Milo," I whisper, trepidation creeping up my spine as I examine Andre's expression more intently.

He's not just angry, he's livid, a deep-seeded contempt clipping his mouth, oozing from his pores.

"Get the fuck out of here.” Milo takes a step forward, asserting his dominance but Andre doesn't flinch, instead, superiority flashes across his face.

No...

His hand slowly snakes around his body like he's reaching for a?—

"Milo!" My heart drops to my stomach, legs trembling. "Gun!"

It happens so fast.

Milo whips out his Beretta that's tucked into the back of his pants.

But he's too slow.

Just a second too slow.

By the time Milo's pointing his pistol, Andre's already fired a silent shot. The bullet grazes Milo’s right shoulder. He falls backward, slamming against the cement. The Beretta flies out of his hand and skids under a parked car.

"Milo!" I scream, my heart racing, my hands shaking as Andre strides toward us, his maniacal laugh filling my ears, weakening my knees.

Milo's six feet away from me, gripping his shoulder, groaning in pain.

"Kiara, go!" he demands, keeping his gaze on Andre. "Go!"

"She stays.” Andre stops a few yards away from Milo. He tilts his head as an evil grin spreads on his face. "I don't know why everyone is so scared of the great Don Emilio. You are not as indestructible as some chose to believe. You are made of the same flesh and blood as everyone else. Look at you—" He lets out a scoff. "Pathetic, just like your brother."

"Do not talk about my brother like you knew him," Milo spits, attempting to get up.

"Stay down." Andre points the gun at him, clicking his tongue. "I'm not sure how such a weak man managed to cause my boss so many problems.” This accent gets thicker, less controlled. "I wasn't supposed to kill you tonight but—" He shrugs. "Plans change."

"Who are you?" Milo asks, his voice deep, even. No hint of fear. Nothing. "What do you want?"

"We want our guns back.” His gaze jumps to my frozen face. "But since you've been so unwilling to cooperate. I'll gladly take your life instead."

"You work for Igor," Milo deduces.

No. This isn't happening. He's going to kill him. He's going to shoot him. I knew something was off. I knew it. I felt it. German? He's not fucking German.

"Say hello to Sergio for me.” Andre smiles, regripping his pistol. "Any last words, Emilio?"

My brain buzzes with fear as I glance down at Milo, my heart clenching as his face morphs into Natalia's, into Julia's, into Paolo's, into his mother's, into Marchello's.

Into mine.

No. Please. No.

Fighting back tears, terror fills my body as I grip my purse. My hands clutch onto the outline of the Ruger.

My breath catches in my throat.

"Well?" Andre takes a step closer to Milo, his gun pointed directly at his heart. His heart. He has a heart. It's still beating. He's alive. He's human. He's just a man. A person. "Anything to say?"

Milo was right.

There is innocence of the eyes.

---