Page 65 of Milo

Good point. Henri might just be telling them what they want to hear. I wouldn't trust the balding Frenchman either.

"He is not lying, Milo." Marchello spills a rusty laugh. "No man is that strong. And Henri, he has been faithful to our family for years. I do not doubt his loyalty."

I wince at what Marchello is insinuating. Not that strong? Poor bastard must have spent the night at an Italian black site.

"Very well," Milo hums. "And what did you do with Andre? Did you?—"

My heart drops.

"What we always do," Marchello replies, his tone eerily chipper. "Once we are back in Genova, we can talk more, yes?"

Milo chuckles. "Yes, Marchello, we will talk."

No. Talk more now. I need to know mor?—

"Kiki!" I grab my chest, startled by the honey-sweet tone of Natalia's greeting as she runs up to me. Her puffy purple dress bounces as she skips. "Goo' morning!"

I clear my throat, putting on a friendly smile. "Good morning, Natalia. How's it going? Pretty dress."

"I know!" She gives me a twirl. "I want juice."

I blink. "Juice? Um...sure. Let's get some juice."

Natalia squeals, grabs my hand, and drags me into the kitchen. Milo and Marchello's heads snap up at me.

"Kiara.” Milo studies me warily as Marchello tosses me a respectful nod before exiting the room. Not even a verbal thanks for saving his boss? Rude. "You're awake."

I swallow away the bubbling bile of loathing and lust that's forming in the back of my throat. "Natalia wants juice," I say, my tone calm, collected as if I'm unaffected by his piercing gaze. "Is she allowed?"

Milo narrows his puzzled eyes at me for a brief second like he was expecting a different greeting. Well, tough luck. This is what you're getting. Self-righteous fucking dick.

Licking his lips, he looks down at his niece who's running around the island. He scoops her up, planting her tiny body on the granite countertop.

"Did your mamma say you can have some juice?" Milo lowers himself to be level with the giggling child.

Natalia nods her head with a cheeky grin. "Mhmm. She did."

Milo hums, pursing his lips. "Are you lying to me, Talia? You should not lie."

I inwardly scoff. Pot meet kettle.

"No! She said I could!" his niece whines as I saunter toward the coffee machine and pour myself an espresso. "Please! I want mango. Mango, mango, mango."

"You want orange juice?" Milo teases, heading to the fridge. "Okay."

"No!" Natalia exclaims, somehow hopping off the counter and landing on her feet. She aggressively tugs Milo's charcoal grey suit jacket. "Zio! I want mango. Man-go!"

I lean against the counter, gripping the mug between my palms, my expression sour. His carefree and relaxed attitude is irking the living shit out of me. He's acting as if nothing happened. Granted, it could be for the sake of his niece, but still. I close my eyes, taking a deep breath, suffocating the flames within.

Milo grins, pulling a juice box out of the fridge. "Apple?"

I roll my eyes.

Natalia flaps her arms, stomping her foot. "Mango!" Her shrill voice rings in my ears. Good God, she's got a set of lungs. "I want mango!"

Milo expels a soft laugh, finally giving in to her diva demands and fetching the correct beverage out of the fridge. "Okay, here—" He hands her the juice.

"Grazie mille!" she singsongs, humming a sweet melody under her breath as she prances away.

---