Page 68 of Milo

"Exactly!" Julia claps her hands, her energy almost breaking through my gloomy reserve. "We are the latter, cara. In just a few days, I have learned everything I need to know about you in order to adore you. So yes, we are friends. Aren't we?"

Her tender words prick my heart. Is she right? Do some relationships transcend time?

"I guess," I murmur, extremely hesitant to open myself up to her.

The more you love, the more you hurt. And she might not hurt me now, but one day she will. They all do. Perhaps not from words or actions but from absence. I don't want to grow fond of someone that might not stick around.

"I am not the only one who cares about you, cara," Julia says as if she can read my thoughts. "We are all very grateful that you've come into our lives. Milo?—"

"Stop.” I shake my head. No. I can't. "Please."

She frowns. "All I am saying is that you have many friends now, Kiara. And we will be here for you in whatever capacity you need us."

I bite the inside of my cheek, the fire igniting inside my body once again. These people are now my friends? The ones who take lives? Laugh at the deceased? Commit horrendous crimes? They're my friends?

It's difficult to separate the person from the act. It's hard for me to see the pieces, not just the whole. I hate the whole. It's everything I despise. But the pieces? I'm starting to see the good in the pieces, the tiny flashes of humanity.

I nod, discomfort gnawing at my stomach. "I'm impressed you can quote Jane Austen," I muse, needing a subject change. "Are you a fan?"

Julia smiles. "My father didn't let us watch TV when we were young. Instead, he would read to us every night."

"Every night?" I ask warily. "Even though he was?—"

Julia takes a deep breath. "He was always a father first. He always made time for us."

Right there.

Flashes of fucking humanity.

Chapter 19

Buried Deep Down

The piercing chirps of crickets outside the window cut through the ominous silence that surrounds me. I slip on my bathing suit, sighing as I stare at my weathered reflection in the mirror.

I was expecting chaos to erupt once we returned to Italy, but it has been eerily quiet in the villa. It's unnerving. Like the calm before a storm. And a storm must be brewing; there's no way there won't be retaliation for what happened in Monaco.

Absolutely no way.

The phrase 'quia oculo ad oculum' is carved into the stone archway at the front of the estate; it's the first thing anyone sees when they enter.

It's a warning to all visitors. To all employees. To every single member of the family.

An eye for an eye.

A war is stirring. I can sense it.

I can feel it in my bones.

Thankfully though, whatever sinister scheme is in the works does not require my skill set.

Being left in the dark has allowed me the opportunity to avoid Milo for six days. Six whole days with just three words exchanged between us.

When Julia wasn't whisking me away on sightseeing tours of Liguria, I made myself scarce, invisible, changing my daily routine so Milo couldn't corner me, find me, make me do something I'd regret.

Or enjoy.

Even Gio and Mateo have been giving me space. They haven't been hovering as much as they were before; perhaps because now they know I can take care of myself. That I'm not helpless. That I'm not weak.

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