Page 66 of Milo

I envy her.

Her innocence.

When his niece is out of the room, Milo strides toward me, his features hardening as his smoldering eyes latch onto mine.

He's back.

"Did you sleep well?” Milo attempts to read my expression. But he can't. I won't let him. Poker face. I've mastered it in a day. A useful skill in and out of a casino.

"Yes," I say dryly, gripping the mug so tight it might crack.

"Kiara..." He lifts his hand up to my cheek, but I smack it away before he can make contact.

"Don't touch me.” I push past him. He won't corner me. Not this time.

Milo turns around, his lip twitching. "You seemed to have no problem with me touching you last night."

His tone is so bitter it changes the flavor of the coffee in my mouth.

"I wasn't myself last night.” Not technically a lie. But not technically the truth either. It's a grey area; Milo's apparent area of expertise. "I wouldn't read too much into it if I were you. You were just a means to an end."

Milo-tonin. It would fly off the fucking shelves.

Milo cocks his head to the side. He's not buying a word I'm saying.

"You are upset.” He stalks toward me like a lion. "I understand."

I blink, letting out a scoff. "Do you? Really? Because that's hard to believe."

"When I gave you the gun, tesoro,” his tone softens, "I did not anticipate that you would ever need to use it."

"When are we leaving?"

"Kiara..."

"When are we leaving?"

Milo closes his eyes, the muscles in his neck straining. "Thirty minutes."

"Okay, and where's Julia?"

His chest rises as he stares at me through his veil of dark lashes for a second, before answering, "Packing. She and Paolo are driving to Genova."

"Driving?" Excellent. "I'm going to go with Julia then."

“No, you will not.” He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “You are coming with me."

"No."

The last thing I want, or need, is to be stuck with Milo in a confined space. I'm either going to kill him or fuck him. Neither option is viable. And the former is far too enticing at this moment. This is for his benefit just as it is for mine.

"Fine," he huffs, pulling out his cell phone. "You may go with Julia."

"Oh, thank you so much.” Every sardonic syllable drips with disdain. "I'll see you in Italy."

"Where's Paolo?" I ask Julia as she slides into the back of the black SUV, one of her guards in the driver's seat.

"I told him to go with Milo.” She rests her Chanel purse by her side as the car hums to life. "I thought this would be a good time to talk."

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